Dawn light touched the Empire’s camp.
Adel sat inside his tent, one hand pressed to his forehead.
His head rang.
Yesterday’s shouts, yesterday’s footsteps, yesterday’s stench of blood—
all came rushing back at once, belatedly.
And with them,
the backlash from the power he had drawn up was slowly reclaiming his body.
His fingertips trembled.
His heart followed a beat too late.
When he closed his eyes, moments appeared in broken fragments.
The memories of last night lay scattered like a shattered mirror.
Between those shards were wedged a rage and certainty even he could not understand.
‘What… have I done…’
The reckless orders he had given the soldiers.
The hand that had struck down the commander.
The intrusion into the council, the threats.
The moment he listed them out, his head throbbed again.
It was not something that could be covered up as a “mistake.”
As a knight, as a commander, it was an act of self-collapse.
And—
what cut deepest was his slip of the tongue.
Justification.
Necessity.
Explosion.
The air from the moment those words had slipped from his mouth still seemed to linger on the tip of his tongue.
That single line had sullied not the Empire’s blade, but the Empire’s face—by his own hand.
Adel let out a long breath.
As his breathing settled, another fear came belatedly on its heels.
The overuse of Mirkin did not merely eat away at the body.
It snapped the reins of the mind.
It made him mistake anger for “righteousness,”
turn procedure into “obstruction,” and twist honor into an “excuse.”
Then,
a cautious voice came from outside the tent.
“Sir Paladin. Are you awake?”
It was the commander’s voice.
Adel closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
“…Come in.”
The tent flap was lifted, and the bandaged commander entered.
One of his shoulders sagged, and his steps were slow.
But his gaze alone had not wavered.
He looked exhausted, but his were the eyes of a man who had not abandoned his duty.
Just as the commander was about to speak—
Adel spoke first.
“…I crossed the line.”
The commander’s eyes widened.
Adel saw him swallow.
Adel did not avert his gaze.
“There is no excuse for what happened yesterday.”
He paused briefly to steady the end of his sentence.
“You should have stopped me, and I should have listened.”
The commander barely composed his startled expression and returned to his report.
“I will inform you of the current situation.”
He swallowed, as though his throat was dry.
“The food is at its limit. The water as well… If we do not conserve it, it will be difficult to last through the day.”
Then, after hesitating as if making up his mind, he gave the numbers.
“Fifty casualties from the forest search two days ago. Around twenty missing.”
“Excluding the wounded, medical staff, cooks, and sentries, the available fighting force within the camp is not even ninety men.”
Adel’s chest sank once.
Those numbers were sharper than blades.
The orders I gave have returned as a count of people.
Adel held his tongue for a moment.
Then he spoke quietly, but clearly.
“First, pull back the troops in front of the gate.”
He did not use the word “retreat.”
“Regroup at a distance. Rotate them and let them rest.”
“Isolate those who are exhausted. Do not force those who have collapsed to stand.”
The commander nodded.
“I will issue it as an order.”
Adel continued.
“And prepare an official letter.”
The commander asked carefully.
“What… should it say?”
Adel swallowed a sigh.
The word “apology” did not come easily to a knight.
But he could not simply make brazen demands either.
What was needed now was not face, but time—and control.
“A formal request for negotiations.”
Adel said.
“Request an audience outside the gate at noon today.”
He paused briefly, then added,
“Also propose the handover of the dead and a request for relief supplies for the wounded.”
The commander’s eyes trembled faintly.
But he soon nodded.
“…Understood.”
Adel drove in his final point in a low voice.
“We cannot sacrifice the soldiers like this.”
“I will bear the responsibility. I will make the proposal in my name, and settle this in my name.”
The commander slowly bowed his head.
“As you command.”
After the commander left, silence settled over the tent again.
Adel looked down at his palm.
His fingertips were still trembling faintly.
That trembling was not from fatigue.
‘If I draw on that power again…’
‘How far will I fall?’
Adel clenched his teeth.
Honor was not something one upheld only when one’s mind was sound—
it had to be something one seized hold of oneself when one felt on the verge of collapse.
—
After dawn passed and light began to enter the windows of the council chamber.
The moment the official letter arrived at the council, the chamber immediately stirred.
“What in the world is that Paladin?”
“Was it truly sent by the Paladin himself? Is it not another deceptive tactic?”
The secretary held up the sealed document.
The Empire’s seal, the Paladin’s name, the formal format.
It was far too “official” to insist that it was forged.
Someone said in a low voice,
“The state he showed was certainly not normal.”
Another councilor clenched his teeth.
“But he is a Paladin of the Empire.”
“At least outwardly, he will try to avoid abandoning ‘procedure’ and ‘honor.’”
“This official letter as well… may be a struggle to undo what has fallen apart.”
“Are you saying, then, that what happened yesterday was honorable?”
An argument broke out.
The chairman raised a hand and pressed them down.
“First.”
“Let us accept the audience. If we refuse, we will only hand them the justification for ‘rebellion’ they have been speaking of.”
“They will make demands again.”
“Once they finish reorganizing, then—”
Raymond cut in quietly.
“That is precisely why we must accept the audience.”
“What we need right now is not a ‘conclusion,’ but ‘time.’”
The councilors’ gazes gathered on Raymond.
Raymond continued.
“I have received a report that the Silver Moon Order has already completed its preparations.”
“We will accept the audience, but we will make a proposal of our own.”
“What proposal?”
the chairman asked.
Raymond answered decisively.
“Withdrawal.”
“And if they agree, we will provide the minimum supplies necessary for that process.”
“If the Paladin truly wishes to hold on to ‘honor,’ it will be difficult for him to ignore this condition.”
Another councilor objected in a low voice.
“Will they… obey that? We have already seen their ambition.”
“They will not leave easily.”
Raymond nodded.
“That is correct. It is more likely that they will not leave.”
“Even so, we must make the proposal. We need the fact that we offered ‘peace’ first.”
“That way, when they begin the siege, their justification will collapse on their side.”
Someone asked,
“Then if they do not leave… is it war?”
Raymond shook his head.
“I will buy only until tonight, so that we are not dragged into war.”
“During that time, the gates will remain closed.”
“The city’s official forces will focus on internal order and maintaining the blockade.”
“And the matters outside the gates… will be handled by the Silver Moon Order.”
The chairman narrowed his eyes faintly.
“That may sound as though the city is avoiding responsibility.”
Raymond lifted his head.
“It is not avoidance. It is a division of roles.”
“Even at this very moment, the Silver Moon Order is not the ‘army of the Republic.’ They are only an independent organization.”
“We do not ‘command’ them.”
“However… by clearing their false charges, not interfering with them,”
“and maintaining order inside the gates,”
“we will fulfill our responsibility.”
“And if withdrawal is achieved—then we will send an envoy to the Duchy of Carmen. Officially.”
One councilor quietly let out,
“…Are you saying you will sacrifice them, the Silver Moon Order?”
Raymond met his eyes at once.
“It is not a sacrifice.”
“I have already reached an agreement with Yun. These are the conditions they chose, and the promise we must keep.”
“We are not buying their future as a ‘price.’ It is a ‘deal’ for all of us to survive.”
—
At noon, when the sun was at its highest.
In front of the gate, a simple table and a single chair had been set out.
Raymond was seated in the chair,
and behind his back, the steel gate still stood firmly shut.
The guards atop the wall held their spearpoints lowered and held their breath.
It was a time when even the passing wind sounded as sharp as the tip of a blade.
Soon after, Adel walked over.
His steps were different from yesterday’s madness.
They were slow and heavy.
But that weight did not lead to weakness.
As soon as he pulled out the chair and sat down, he looked straight at Raymond.
“Are you the council’s representative?”
“I am Raymond.”
Raymond answered briefly.
“The Republic’s resolve remains unchanged. The gate will not open.”
Adel’s gaze swept once over the gate.
Then it returned to Raymond.
“Good.”
he said in a low voice.
“Today, I will not begin with ‘open it’ either.”
When Adel gestured, two soldiers behind him dragged out stretchers.
Three forms covered in cloth.
Raymond’s brow narrowed faintly.
“Yesterday… they are the ones I cast down with my own hand.”
Adel did not bow his head.
Instead, he chose his words precisely.
“I hand over the bodies. And permit passage for the recovery of the dead.”
“I am not telling you to open the gate.”
Raymond was silent for a beat.
That proposal was not an “apology,” but a knightly form of responsibility.
Nor was it easy to refuse.
The moment he refused, it would make the Republic appear to have abandoned the bodies of its citizens.
“We will receive them.”
Raymond said.
“The gate remains closed. The handover will take place outside.”
Adel said in a low voice,
“There were many casualties among the Imperial soldiers who went to search for the Silver Moon Order. I request support in the form of relief supplies.”
Raymond brought out the sentence he had prepared in advance.
“A minimal amount of water and food… at the level of ‘humanitarian supplies.’”
He did not avoid Adel’s eyes.
“We will leave it on record as a measure to prevent plague.”
Raymond continued.
“And I will convey the Republic’s proposal.”
“We no longer require the Empire’s assistance.”
He pressed each word clearly.
“We propose that you withdraw from the Republic’s land.”
“If you do so, we will support your withdrawal with supplies.”
Adel immediately shook his head.
“There will be no withdrawal.”
He spoke lower,
and more firmly.
“Knights and priests of the Empire died in the explosion.”
“After that, my forces were cut in half.”
In Adel’s voice, there was more “resolve” than anger.
“We will capture the culprit behind the explosion here.”
“The Silver Moon Order.”
Raymond gritted his teeth inwardly.
He could tear apart that justification as a self-fabricated act here and now.
But that choice would very likely lead straight to all-out war.
Even if the gates could still hold, the inside of the city could not endure much longer.
Above all—
they had to use tonight.
Raymond steadied his breathing and turned the conversation aside.
“I see. Paladin.”
“I understand well what you want.”
He lowered his head slightly.
It was not submission, but procedure to buy time.
“However, our will is firm. It seems difficult for an agreement to be reached immediately.”
Raymond calmly drew his conclusion.
“First, we will proceed with the handover of the bodies and relief support for the Empire’s wounded.”
“Let us resume negotiations here tomorrow at noon.”
Adel was silent for a moment.
He read the intent mixed into Raymond’s words.
Buying time.
Guarding the gate.
And meeting the night.
He was not so dull as to fail to understand what that meant.
But at the same time, Adel himself knew.
His camp was at the bottom of its supplies, its breath, and its leeway.
The wounded were increasing.
The soldiers’ eyes were already growing empty.
If only for today—
they needed to reorganize.
Adel thought,
‘It is true that we, too, first need the supplies and time to care for the wounded.’
He lifted his head.
“Very well.”
Adel said.
“Today… we will tend to the wounded and the dead.”
His voice sank low.
“Tomorrow at noon, I will come again.”
Adel rose from his seat.
Raymond also stood, as if seeing him off.
The gate never opened to the end.
Instead, only the agreement on the small table bound the battlefield for a brief moment.
As Adel turned back toward the camp, he added one final thing.
“That time was not given to you.”
“It was given to my troops.”
And he began to walk.
Today was not breakthrough, but recovery.
But the final reckoning was not yet over.