The green spreading up from the south was coloring the continent, though it seemed it hadn't reached this place yet.
Sturma, the northernmost city in Bayezid territory.
In one of its rooms, the sound of coughing still lingered—a remnant of winter.
"...Are you alright?"
The faint candlelight beside the bed illuminated Peter's face.
But Peter's expression remained shadowed, as if that small light wasn't enough to dispel the darkness within.
Peter Bayezid, who had defended the north against the invasions of the Golden Duke and Gaidar, was now praised as the northern wall.
Yet even he bore deep wrinkles on his face, traces of the hardships of the past two years.
"Don't worry."
Where Peter looked, a woman lay, her color slowly fading.
Her hair had grown brittle, and her lips were chapped.
Watching Oksana as she lay weakly, Peter's gaze could not hide his concern.
"I'll at least try to stand for Rutiger's succession ceremony."
Yet Oksana's vacant eyes were not on Peter but on the window beside her.
Peter, seeing that she didn't even seem to have the strength to turn her head toward him, spoke gently.
"...That's not what I meant."
Though she was withering away, losing her will to live, Oksana clung to her sense of duty.
Seeing her like this, Peter felt a sharp pain in his chest, as if he were looking at someone who no longer belonged to this world.
"Is the wind making you cold? Would you like me to close the curtains?"
The window was shut, but a chill seeped in through the frames.
Even with summer approaching, the northern night air still held a touch of cold.
Peter rose to close the curtains, worried about the draft, but Oksana's voice stopped him.
"Leave them open."
Though closing them would be better for her frail body, Oksana's determined voice, wanting to see outside, made Peter let go of the curtain's edge.
"Keep them open. If I can't see the outside, I feel trapped."
"...Alright."
After that, silence settled between them.
It wasn't a silence born from a lack of words, but a calm born from caution, making the air in the room feel dense.
"The moonlight is bright."
Night was advancing, and soon it would be time for Peter to leave. Yet his feet remained planted, drawn to the view outside.
Something in the landscape had captured his attention.
"Perhaps it would be better to open the window a bit."
There, under the moonlight, a small gravestone stood.
It didn't seem like much time had passed since it was placed, and it was close enough that even Oksana could see it from her bed.
"..."
Peter knew it.
He knew that the curtains he held had likely never been closed, not even in the depths of winter.
For in silent longing, this mother still yearned for her son and didn't want to look away from him.
In the deep night, beneath the pale light of the moon, a father, a mother, and their son looked quietly outside.
That night, the wind felt colder than usual.
***
"…The tea is too sweet."
Sunlight filled the mayor's office in Soara, and Vlad, sitting at the visitor's table, grimaced as he lowered his cup.
"Really? I put less sugar in yours on purpose."
"I've told you before, if you keep drinking tea this sweet, you're going to die young."
Much had changed over the past two years, but the mayor's office in Soara seemed unchanged.
Although some faces were now absent, the cozy atmosphere and sweet scent of tea remained the same.
"Die young? Look at the pile of papers here. With or without sugar, I'll be gone sooner rather than later."
"...Hmm."
In response to Vlad's scolding about the sugar, Bordan waved his hands as if to draw his attention to the towering stacks of documents around the mayor's seat.
Vlad, looking at the piles of papers, took another sip from his cup without a word.
"I cleared everything yesterday, but today there's already another mountain. Why is this city so exhausting?"
Between postwar reconstruction efforts, the never-ending stream of orphans arriving, and the knights drawn to the fame of the Sword Master, Bordan, the new mayor of Soara, had more work than hours in the day.
"If I die early, it'll be half your fault. I've already noted it in my will."
"Just drink your tea before it gets cold."
Like a boiling cauldron, Soara continued to function thanks to Bordan, a capable and dedicated mayor.
Although he wasn't a knight skilled with a sword, Joseph had trusted him for his remarkable administrative talents.
"So, what brings you here?"
"...I need a favor."
"What kind of favor?"
Vlad, somewhat reluctant to interrupt Bordan in the middle of his work, began to speak cautiously.
"The convent up the hill."
"What about it?"
"The ownership seems a bit unclear, and I'd like it to be officially endorsed."
Even a renowned Sword Master had to respect certain principles, especially in Bayezid territory.
"Also, Harven is about to embark on a long journey. I'd appreciate it if you could support him with personnel for repairs to the ship and some supplies."
"...Hmmm."
Bordan, while reviewing some papers, massaged his temples, visibly overwhelmed.
"It's funny, really. You somehow manage to ask for things that push the limits of what I can grant."
Bordan frowned as he looked at Vlad, though a faint smile played on his lips.
"You ask for things I can't easily refuse but are also difficult to grant."
It was hard to ignore the request of a renowned Sword Master, and Vlad's favors seemed precisely calculated, making Bordan agree despite his packed schedule.
"No matter how busy you are, I learned this here."
"Yes, I see you've learned well."
The boy from the alleyways, once ignorant of worldly matters, was gone.
Now, before Bordan stood a young man with vision and insight, someone who had learned from experience.
"Joseph would have loved to see you like this."
"...Really?"
Hearing that familiar name on Bordan's lips, Vlad couldn't help but give a faint, bitter smile.
That man, whose shadow had always provided him shelter.
Joseph, with his presence so vivid in his memories, was an image Vlad could never erase from his mind.
"Well, I'll take that as a yes."
"Yes, go easy."
As he stood up, Vlad took one last look at Bordan, who had returned to his paperwork.
The mayor's office was still familiar, though something about it was subtly different.
Vlad averted his gaze, feeling strangely unsettled by those small changes.
***
"He's going to feel hurt. If he's human, he can't help it."
As Vlad exited the mayor's office and walked down the corridor, the town hall staff quickly bowed their heads in respect.
"How can everyone think only of themselves? Don't they realize who's responsible for getting them to this position?"
"...Can't you shut up already?"
"Shut up? Of course I can. I, Goethe, would do anything the captain asked me to do."
For most people, the annoyance of a Sword Master would be alarming, but Goethe simply answered with a sly grin.
"Just like that time I held the captain up, drunk, beside the grave. Always right there for Sir Vlad, while all those important wizards and captains drift away. Goethe will never abandon him…"
"You said you'd shut up."
Vlad grumbled at Goethe, who kept talking as if he'd only been waiting to be interrupted. Yet, the most loyal squire in all the land merely stepped back, chuckling.
"By the way, Captain, when do we leave for Sturma?"
"Stop following me."
"I've already prepared everything, the servants and the carriage."
"And why would we need a carriage?"
Though Vlad found his audacity irritating, he knew Goethe was someone who often proved useful.
"Are we not bringing Miss Zemina as well? Or did you plan to seat her on a single horse?"
"…"
"One can't bring a lady without a proper carriage. I've arranged for an elegant one already."
Goethe had stood by Vlad's side ever since he had disguised himself as Riman in his prayers and, after Vlad's banishment from Soara, continued to watch over him.
He was one of the few who could anticipate Vlad's thoughts without a word spoken.
"…I haven't decided that Zemina will go with us."
"Regardless, we should depart within a week. Though there are no longer bandits in the north, the roads remain dangerous."
As if he hadn't heard Vlad's reply, Goethe insisted they should leave in a week. The timing seemed to align with Vlad's own plan, so he closed his mouth without further objection.
"Oh! Noir, long time no see! Do you remember me?"
*Neigh—*
Reaching the stable, Goethe greeted Noir, putting on a display of exaggerated warmth.
That was the essential trait of a rogue: charm. Watching Goethe pour on his unreserved friendliness, Noir only snorted, unable to resist.
"Come along, Captain. All you have to do is show up."
"Damn it."
Despite his smile, Vlad couldn't suppress a curse, frustrated by Goethe's persistence. But what Vlad didn't realize was that his somber expression had already begun to ease, though he was unaware of it himself.
***
Following the setting sun, Vlad returned with a smile like a blooming rose and headed straight to Nibelun's room.
"Have you finished packing?"
"Huh? Yes, I've got everything ready."
Nibelun's room, which had been a mess the day before, was now spotless, as if chaos had never touched it. Only an overstuffed backpack betrayed the rush.
"Then, follow me."
"Where are we going?"
"Even if I told you, would you know where it is?"
Nibelun recalled the sorrowful look on Vlad's face when he'd been drinking the previous night. But today, Vlad seemed to have left behind the melancholy that had recently clung to him.
"Are you missing anything aside from what you packed? Emergency medicine, motion-sickness tools?"
"Miss Zemina is preparing those things."
"And why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you don't have much money left, Lord Vlad."
Now that he no longer served Bayezid, Vlad had no steady income. Aware of Vlad's situation, Nibelun was already receiving some assistance from Zemina.
"…Is that so?"
Unable to argue about the money, Vlad led Nibelun to a quiet corner of an alleyway. Though it was now a bit better lit, only a local could navigate through the complicated passageways.
"Have you recharged your magical artifacts well? For a rugged journey like the Arctic, they'll come in handy."
"Hehe, not yet. It's been years of constant use."
The mage Vlad knew, Nibelun, wielded magic through enchanted items. At first glance, he might appear harmless, but he used objects that held special meaning according to the traditions of his tribe.
"Yes, true. You haven't had a break to recharge them with all the use."
Vlad knew well that, since they met, Nibelun hadn't had time to recharge his artifacts.
Only he had seen dozens of his magical tools so far.
"Is it them?"
"Huh?"
"I'm asking if they're the ones who stole your spheres."
Deep in the alley, Nibelun noticed the watchful eyes of a group of kids surrounding him.
Among them, some faces looked familiar, and he nodded slightly.
"Yes, it's them."
"Alright."
Identifying his target, Vlad stepped forward. In his hand, he held a pouch filled with spheres, their soft texture stirring nostalgic memories from his childhood.
"Tell them to send out the leader."
The feel of the spheres in his palm brought back simpler times.
For his mage friend, who would soon set off on a long journey, it was the best farewell gift he could offer.
Vlad, the boy who now understood how to handle farewells, tossed the glowing spheres toward the kids, leaving behind a gesture that spoke louder than words.