The air in the long, narrow hallway was thick with a stale smell.
Joseph should have been used to it by now, but the damp stench of the mansion was like poison to him, who needed to breathe.
Yet at that moment, Joseph forgot even the pervasive odor, focusing all his attention on the man before him.
"You passed through death in an incomplete way. You're so weak that a mere sigh could knock you down."
A man who had lost all color.
But once, he had been the brightest of them all, and now he stood before him.
"I don't understand what you mean, Your Majesty."
Although he tried not to show it, Joseph couldn't prevent his heart from racing upon hearing Frausen's voice.
And the quickened heartbeat wasn't just the result of a sense of danger.
'The founding king…'
The man who appeared in the storybooks his mother read to him as a child was now standing before Joseph's eyes.
The existence of the Swordmaster, whom he had vaguely admired since childhood, was like a bubble that Joseph couldn't grasp.
"…Don't call me 'Your Majesty.'"
However, Joseph was no longer the child he once was, and the man before him was no longer the glorious knight.
They were walking in a place so far removed from what they had once dreamed of, and they simply walked in silence through the damp hallway.
Thump-
The place where Frausen led Joseph, who was in peril, was his own room.
It was a spacious, well-organized room, far larger than any other room Joseph had seen before, and fortunately, the stench that had bothered him did not permeate it.
"Sit."
"Yes."
As Joseph looked around Frausen's room, not even illuminated by a single candle, his expression hardened as if he had finally regained his senses.
Since he had just been called in while eavesdropping on a conversation between sorcerers, there was nothing unusual about what was going to happen next.
"Joseph of Bayezid. At some point, I had planned to meet you."
"…"
Was it because he had been in the darkness for too long?
It was a room without light, but Joseph felt he could distinguish Frausen standing before him.
"I heard you were the one who first hired that Vlad fellow, correct?"
His face was stiff as a corpse.
However, each time Vlad's name was mentioned, an expression appeared on his face.
I don't know what kind of emotion it expressed, but it certainly seemed a little more alive than before.
"Yes."
"Good. Then tell me."
Creak-
It was probably just a decorative candle.
Since Frausen, not being alive, didn't need even the faintest light.
"Slowly, from the beginning. What was he like?"
But now Frausen struck a match and lit a candle in the dark room.
Perhaps he did it for the guest's sake, but Joseph felt that the light he was seeing wasn't for him.
"If you answer sincerely, I'll turn a blind eye."
Frausen smiled faintly as he watched the candlelight.
However, Joseph couldn't return the smile.
Because what Frausen held now was a small teacup that Joseph had been hiding.
Joseph couldn't help but stiffen his expression as he stared at the dwarf's teacup, completely spotless despite having been filled with tea as black as a wolf's maw.
***
Two weeks had passed since that terrible battle.
Though the graves that filled the vacant spaces still caused sadness, the lush fence that had replaced them was a great comfort to the elves.
"Is your arm okay?"
And now, the green wooden fence of Ausurin was visible from Vlad's room.
Vlad, who was looking at Jager with the image of the young World Tree behind him, made a complicated expression as he saw the bandages around Jager's arm.
"…The arm's fine, but now my leg is bothering me a bit."
There were still white bandages wrapped around Jager's left arm, where Vlad's sword had pierced through.
It was a serious injury that might prevent him from ever wielding a sword again, but Jager seemed more bothered by the chains around his ankles than by his limp left arm.
"No."
"I didn't even say anything."
"Remember that you're a prisoner of war now."
For Vlad, he was a close mentor, but to the elves of Ausurin, Jager was nothing more than a sinister man who had arrived with malevolent beings.
Jager, now lying in bed without his eye patch, nodded as if Vlad's words made sense.
"That's true, I couldn't complain if they killed me right now."
Seeing Jager laugh heartily as he said that, Vlad let out a brief sigh as if he were exasperated.
Jager's unique ease allowed him to fool others anytime, anywhere.
It was something Vlad had always admired, just like Jager's skill with a sword.
"Now tell me. Why the hell did you do it?"
"…"
However, the atmosphere between the two, which had relaxed for a while, began to cool once again with those words.
Just a moment ago, Vlad had been concerned about his master's injury, but now Vlad's blue eyes, as he looked at Jager, were filled with resolve.
"I'm telling you in advance, this isn't a request."
Vlad's eyes were turning cold, as if this was the end of the consideration that could be given out of simple acknowledgment.
After seeing that, Jager must have realized he couldn't hide it anymore, so he closed his remaining eye.
"I'm sorry."
"An apology is fine. Where is that woman in black now?"
Squeak-
A sharp sound came from the chair Vlad had pulled closer.
The sound that pierced Jager's ears also showed Vlad's determination not to back down easily from this position.
"That woman has killed more than a hundred people, just among the ones I know. If we count those I don't know about, the number might exceed a thousand."
"…"
"What makes her a true bitch is that she only kills the weakest, like children. If it were just regular warfare, killing indiscriminately, it wouldn't have bothered me so much."
Vlad had never considered himself a righteous person.
However, he firmly believed there were lines all people should follow.
The reason Vlad had been able to avoid losing himself in those alleyways that felt like sewers was because he had fiercely maintained a minimum level of conscience all along.
"…So, where is that bitch now?"
And now, Vlad was sitting here, trying to uphold the line he had drawn.
Vlad's determination to repay all that he had received and to take care of what he owed was as firm as the solid wooden fence visible outside.
"I don't know where she is."
"Jager."
"That bitch you're talking about doesn't belong to 'any place.'"
Jager, who had noticed Vlad's determination, had no choice but to tell him.
Though it was a bit earlier than expected, Vlad was fully prepared to know the truth.
"Ramashthu is a woman who lives in memories. I'm not a sorcerer, so I don't know for sure, but at the very least, she's not walking on this earth."
The woman known as Ramashthu, as Jager recognized her, did not exist in reality.
She was merely an existence settled in an illusion that swelled like a bubble and occasionally rose like a nightmare.
"But I can point you to some places that might lead you to her. Though I'm not sure if they still work."
However, her dark bubble, which should have been eliminated long ago by those responsible, was already overflowing to the point of threatening reality.
"Point them out."
Jager raised his healthy right arm toward Vlad, who was calmly lifting the map.
His hands trembled as he marked the map, one place after another, but neither Vlad, who sought an answer, nor Jager, who spoke the truth, said a word.
"Why don't you ask?"
"About what?"
"About Lord Joseph."
Jager, who had marked the last place he knew, spoke with his dry lips, but Vlad's response was not heard for a long time.
"I'll ask him in person."
"…Alright."
Jager was about to pass along Joseph's final message, but decided not to after hearing Vlad's response.
He believed there would be no need for an intermediary between the two, who would soon meet face to face.
***
"Lord Peter. There's a report."
In an office in Sturma, a city where the winter's chill still lingered.
In a place where there were as many books on the shelves as there were swords, Advisor Ragmus approached Peter with several pieces of paper.
"It is said that the Gaidar family is moving north, towards the Western Gate."
"…"
Peter, who had been reviewing documents for a while, raised his eyebrows at Ragmus' words.
The Gaidar family of the west had returned after suffering a heavy blow in the giant hall of Deirmar a few years ago.
But now, as if they had recovered from the damage, they were once again rising up, trying to remove the northern shield that blocked the canyon.
"They're moving faster than expected."
"It seems there's support from the Golden Duke."
To be precise, it may have been the intention of the Dragon Blood Duke.
Seeing the Gaidar army advancing northward, along with the central army marching from the heartland, was clearly a smart move—one that would have been difficult to execute without someone pulling the strings from behind.
"Defending up to that point would stretch our lines too thin. We must pull back."
"How far do you want us to retreat our forces?"
Although the Northern Alliance's Olympic Fortress was a stronghold for the seven northern families, it wouldn't be enough to block the forces of both the Golden Duke and Gaidar at the same time.
Peter, who had full authority over the fortress, decided to retreat in order to consolidate their defenses.
"To Deirmar."
Peter, who had been studying the map for a while, picked up the pen he was holding and began marking the location of Deirmar.
Though Deirmar was a small city, it was a suitable gathering point for the northern families to establish their base and was also close to their own city, Soara.
"…And, Lord Peter."
"Yes?"
"This is the report from Lord Joseph."
Though Peter was focused on the imminent threat, his expression softened at the mention of a note from Joseph, handed to him by Ragmus.
"…It's been a while since we've had any news from him."
"It's an important report."
Though carefully folded, the paper on which the report was written was badly worn, as if it had been hastily prepared.
As Peter unfolded the note, he recalled his son's hand desperately clutching the paper, and a complex mix of emotions crossed his face.
"He's done his best."
"Yes."
In the middle of the unfolded note was his son's familiar handwriting.
Though the writing was smudged compared to before, it was still readable, as it was his son's blood.
"Prepare a message. Ragmus, we need to inform the Iron Duke and the Northern Church."
After reading the note, Peter closely examined the map he had just been studying and picked up a pen.
"Wouldn't it be better to inform the Court Duke as well?"
"The Iron Duke will inform him. We shouldn't send too many messages from our position."
Even in the face of the telegram sent by his troubled son, Peter didn't show the slightest hesitation.
He simply made a sensible decision, fulfilling his role as lord and commander.
"I'm revoking my previous order. We will withdraw the Northern Alliance soldiers to Soara."
With those words, Peter began drawing a bold cross over the mark of Deirmar.
From Deirmar, they would retreat to Soara.
Advisor Ragmus nodded gravely as he watched Peter, who had drawn the defensive line that needed to be fortified as much as possible.
"Understood, Count."
Peter stood in silence, watching Ragmus exit the office with those words.
Carefully, he reopened Joseph's note and, after pondering for a moment, went to the bookshelf, where he pulled out a small book and delicately placed the note between its pages.
"…I'm proud of you, Joseph."
On the cover of the book that Peter had taken out was a colorful drawing, likely meant to appeal only to children.
It was an old children's storybook, one that had been his youngest son Joseph's favorite during his childhood. On the worn cover, a knight could be seen charging valiantly at a great dragon.