The door opened, and the wooden hinges groaned low.
The first to emerge was Miryeong.
Her expression was no different from usual.
Mendel walked out behind her.
The bandages wrapped around his back were fixed tightly beneath his clothes.
His movements were slow, but he stood on his own feet.
Last, Bido crossed the threshold.
Dawnlight was spreading faintly.
The moon had almost set.
The party was already waiting outside.
Erdin stood with his legs straight,
while Muryeong was surveying the surroundings with his axe slung over his shoulder.
Aslo was silently organizing the equipment.
And—
Rangnan was the first to lift his head.
His gaze went straight to Bido.
It was brief.
But it paused once.
At the corners of Bido’s eyes.
The faint red scales that remained caught the dawnlight.
There were still traces on her wrist that had not completely subsided.
Rangnan’s eyes narrowed by the slightest degree.
There was no surprise.
No agitation.
Confirmation.
That was all.
Bido drew in a short breath.
The dawn air was cold.
The dawnlight spread thinly along the grain of the scales.
As the cold air brushed her cheek,
Bido instinctively bit her lip.
Rangnan’s gaze had not simply seen the scales.
It was the gaze of someone measuring “what remained.”
A gaze checking whether the end of last night was still clinging to her body.
Bido felt that gaze.
It felt as though something had been exposed.
She was about to lower her head, then stopped.
Rangnan looked at her,
then turned his head without saying a word.
“We move.”
It was a short command.
Miryeong was the first to step forward.
Mendel followed a beat later.
After steadying her breath one last time,
Bido slowly began to walk.
The sword on her back felt unusually heavy.
After that, the party moved in silence.
At the front was Miryeong.
Behind her, Rangnan and Muryeong.
Aslo adjusted the spacing of the party from the middle,
and Mendel kept an even pace, as if matching his breathing.
Erdin followed at the very rear, limping slightly.
The thigh bound in bandages did not seem entirely free.
But he did not slow their pace.
Bido walked between Mendel and Erdin.
The weight of the sword on her back
swayed subtly with every step.
‘If I pretend I’m all right, will I become all right?’
Bido’s hands kept clenching.
She could feel the red scales remaining on her arm brushing beneath her clothes.
As though they had not disappeared,
but were merely being pressed down.
Mendel slowed a little and came up beside Bido.
“Lady Bido.”
His voice was still gentle.
“Are you dizzy?”
Bido lifted her head.
For an instant,
the bandages seemed to overlap over Mendel’s clothes.
Beneath them—
a scene from her dream flashed past.
That warmth she had felt.
Bido hurriedly withdrew her gaze.
“…I’m fine.”
Her answer was short.
Her throat felt a little drier.
Mendel looked at Bido a moment longer,
then nodded.
“If it becomes too much, please tell me. I’ll—”
“Stop.”
Miryeong’s voice flew back from ahead.
She had not stopped walking.
“Both of you.”
“Walking comes first right now.”
Miryeong’s words were as brief as a blade,
and that very brevity became the rule.
Mendel started to say more, then closed his lips.
Erdin, too, swallowed his breath.
Silence settled over them.
Bido’s hands began to tremble again,
quietly.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Not out of fear, but to find her balance.
Her breathing evened out.
The forest path was narrow.
Only the sound of the earth being pressed underfoot continued steadily.
Without slowing his pace, Rangnan spoke.
“Bido.”
It was a brief call.
Bido’s shoulders stiffened by the slightest degree.
“Why did you draw the sword?”
He was still looking straight ahead.
“…That was—”
Bido opened her mouth, then closed it.
Her voice cracked as though her throat were parched.
While she searched for an answer,
Erdin cut in quietly from behind.
“If not for Lady Bido, we would have—”
His breathing was still uneven.
Rangnan’s steps did not stop.
“And what happened because of it?”
His voice remained calm.
Bido swallowed.
That scene flashed past.
The sensation of cleaving through Mendel with her own hands.
The red light that had covered her vision.
The hand that had moved against her will.
Bido’s steps faltered for a moment.
Erdin tried to say more, but shut his mouth.
Rangnan continued.
“Your power is weakest at the full moon.”
“Originally, your Mirkin was suppressing the sword’s energy.”
“Did you not know what would happen if you drew the sword when that power had weakened?”
His words sounded like reproach.
Bido lowered her head.
“…I know.”
Her voice was small.
Rangnan paused for a moment.
The wind brushed through the leaves.
“And still, you drew it.”
At those words, Bido’s gaze wavered.
“Did you want to protect them?”
There was no emotion in his words.
Only judgment.
Rangnan looked forward again and said,
“Fear the sword.”
“The moment you do not fear it, it is no longer yours.”
He stopped walking and continued.
“But do not use fear as an excuse.”
“If you cannot control it, you become a burden.”
His footsteps became steady once more.
“This time, you did not fail.”
The words fell lightly.
“Next time, stand first—before the sword.”
Bido tried to unclench her fingertips, then clenched them again.
The moment she admitted that it was not the sword but herself that had wavered first,
a chill spread through her insides.
Her throat went dry.
‘Next time… I have to stand first.’
The forest path grew a little deeper.
After that, Bido walked without a word.
The sword on her back was still heavy.
The sword strap seemed to bite into her shoulder,
and when she swallowed, the taste of iron lingered on the tip of her tongue.
Each time the fallen leaves were crushed beneath her feet,
it felt as though the events of last night rustled with them.
Bido lifted her head a little higher.
For now, she would walk.
The forest path fell quiet for a while.
Then—
Miryeong slowed her steps and glanced to the side.
“Hey.”
She called out briefly.
Bido lifted her head at the sound.
Miryeong’s eyes met hers straight on.
There was no wavering in them.
“Bido.”
“Don’t hesitate next time, either.”
There were no additional words.
No explanation, no comfort.
She simply said that,
then faced forward again and quickened her pace.
Bido stood there for a moment.
No words came out.
And yet—
her head was not lowered as much as before.
After Miryeong’s words fell,
only the sound of footsteps continued for a while.
Erdin cleared his throat once
and planted his leg a little more firmly.
“Lady Bido.”
He called to her briefly.
When Bido looked back,
Erdin awkwardly avoided her gaze, then met it again.
“If… it had not been for you.”
The words did not continue to the end.
Instead, he nodded once.
As if that was enough.
Mendel, too, slowly turned his gaze.
The bandages on his back remained firmly fixed beneath his clothes.
“We are still walking.”
The words were utterly calm.
“That is enough.”
There was no resentment in his voice.
No reproach, either.
Only the statement of a fact.
Bido was unable to answer in the end.
But this time—
she did not look away.
—
The first day held few words.
By the time the sun began to tilt,
the party concealed themselves at the edge of the forest.
They did not light a fire.
And they staved off hunger with cold provisions.
Mendel sat with his back against a tree.
The bleeding beneath the bandages had stopped, but his face was pale.
Erdin sat with his legs stretched out, teeth clenched.
Pain could be hidden,
but footsteps could not.
Bido sat a little distance away.
She did not set down the sword.
But neither did she touch it.
The deeper the night became,
the quieter the forest grew.
Bido closed her eyes, but sleep did not come easily.
In the darkness, she looked down at her hands again and again.
The red scales still remained.
On the second day,
the party set out once more.
Their steps were slow,
and their conversations brief.
Miryeong looked ahead,
and Muryeong watched the rear without a word.
As noon drew near,
Bido looked down at her arm.
The color of the scales had clearly faded.
By evening,
the alien sensation on the back of her hand had almost disappeared.
The third day.
Around the time the dawn mist lifted,
Bido checked her arm again.
No red traces remained.
But—
before relief at their disappearance,
what came first was the feeling that something was somehow empty.
The party did not stop.
And that night,
the forest grew deeper and deeper.
The moonlight visible through the trees dwindled.
Then—
the forest suddenly ended.
A collapsed stone roof leaned in the darkness.
The pillars were half broken,
and the altar had sunk halfway down.
Moss and vines wrapped around the stone.
At first glance,
it was nothing more than a shrine abandoned long ago.
Miryeong stopped.
“This is it.”
Rangnan walked silently around to the back of the shrine.
Beneath the vines,
there was a narrow gap barely wide enough for one person to pass through.
Muryeong ducked inside first.
Then Miryeong, Aslo, Erdin, and Mendel.
Bido looked back at the shrine one last time.
She felt nothing.
And yet—
somewhere in her chest, something rang faintly.
Rangnan descended the stairs.
They were short and steep stone steps.
The smell of wet stone mingled with the scent of old incense and flowed out.
The moment she stepped inside,
the air grew heavier and pressed against her lungs.
Without thinking, Bido touched the hilt of her sword,
then slowly drew her hand away.
Below, there was a simple cave wall.
At a glance, it looked like a dead end.
Rangnan stood before the wall.
He raised his hand
and knocked on it in a steady rhythm.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Silence flowed for a moment.
Then the air trembled ever so slightly,
and a low resonance spread from within the stone.
And—
what had been a wall
slowly began to split apart.
A soft light flowed from within.
The night of the Silver Moon Order revealed itself.