The sound of waves from the night sea rang out in a steady rhythm, and the sharp, salty scent of the ocean rolled in. Sipping juice as if we were on a picnic, we watched the building—then both of us leaned forward at the same time.
People who had been loitering around the back alleys for a while were finally lining up to enter. A moment later, a thick iron door opened, and a man stepped out.
He wore a black suit from head to toe and a deep blue fedora pulled low. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but when I closed my eyes and listened, I could hear his voice.
"Name."
"Conrad."
"It’s been a while. Enjoy your time."
After the brief exchange, the iron door squealed as it opened and shut.
"Name."
"Nicholas."
"A VIP, then. What you’re looking for is in Section B."
The same pattern repeated, and each time the iron door opened and closed.
I’d assumed it was a lawless operation, but they seemed to have some kind of entry registry. The fact that a black market like that had a system at all made the back of my neck tighten.
I opened my eyes and muttered irritably.
"Look at them putting on airs. VIP, my ass."
"It’s not cold enough to freeze to death."
I ignored the nonsense.
Leaning my upper body against the wall in earnest, I narrowed my eyes. Through the gap of the window Morpha had broken ahead of time, I could catch fleeting glimpses of the inside.
The interior, lit by faint candlelight, wasn’t visible in any real detail. All I could make out were silhouettes slipping past.
Frustrated, I scratched at my head and let out a sigh.
"At this distance, we can’t see the black market bastards or the Rebels. Do we really have to just watch from all the way back here?"
Unlike me, growing restless, Varen sat with his arms crossed, calmly observing. I shot him a sideways look.
"Varen, you’re fine with this? You said there are a ton of your people trapped in there."
"We’ll save them all tonight."
The certainty in his tone made me push myself upright. Staring at Varen—wearing a familiar man’s face—I asked again.
"How can you be so sure?"
"There are many Rebels."
"Huh? They’re already here? No—how would you even know that?"
Instead of answering directly, Varen pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.
It was what Morpha had found after combing the city for two straight days, claiming it was a trace left by the Rebels. I hadn’t understood it, and with time running ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ out, I’d abandoned trying to decode it.
[When the third bell rings, sit in the twenty-first chair.]
The handwriting was so sloppy it was hard to read at all.
Varen pinched the note between his fingers, shook it once, then brought it to the tip of his nose.
"It has a distinctive ink scent. There are humans among them who smell the same."
"Well, look at you. You were working in your own way, huh?"
"It’s not 'in my own way.'"
Varen answered curtly and propped an elbow against the wall. He leaned his upper body slightly out over the edge and jerked his chin toward the long entry line.
"About ten of them are in that group. I can smell the ink inside the building too, and around the building as well."
"Good. Sounds like they have numbers. I thought they were a small elite unit."
"If they have numbers, that’s good for us."
At that, I pressed my lips shut.
Even before Dorban’s advice—telling me to seek help from humans—I’d been thinking about what kind of group I could bring in.
As Varen said, what we were ultimately facing was the entire kingdom. We were planning a war against an army so large we couldn’t even predict its scale.
Even if we absorbed every single Rebel, we still might end up short on manpower. We needed as many allies as possible.
But we couldn’t just swell our ranks for the sake of numbers. People we could truly trust—and who would actually strengthen us.
Recruiting even one person wasn’t easy. To secure enough strength, it might take far longer than I’d hoped.
So I couldn’t afford to rush.
"God, this is driving me crazy—just sitting here and watching."
Maybe because I’d been running around on my own feet lately, the moment it passed an hour of mere observation, I started getting restless.
Before I knew it, the long entry line was gone, and the thick iron door shut. In the narrow, dark alley, there wasn’t even a single ant in sight. We were just staring at the building.
Nothing showed through the broken window gap anymore. Even when I closed my eyes and focused, I couldn’t hear anyone’s voices.
At this distance, I should have been able to. Which meant they’d gathered somewhere properly soundproofed.
Anxiety gnawed at me, and I started biting at my thumbnail.
"Why is it so quiet? Are the Rebels actually doing anything? I don’t even know if Morpha got in. If I’d known it would be like this, I would’ve sent Rami with Morpha."
My muttering dragged on, and without realizing it, I started shifting my hips on the cushion.
Varen, who’d been watching me silently, stood up. I craned my neck almost ninety degrees to look up at him.
"Why are you getting up?"
"I’ll go myself."
I grabbed him without hesitation as he moved like he was about to jump down from the building. Margon’s wrist—my first time actually gripping it—was absurdly thick.
"Morpha told us to just watch."
"Since when do you follow other people’s orders?"
"I haven’t not followed them... I think?"
I answered his question, but the last word came out as if I wasn’t sure myself.
Back in my previous world, I’d lived like a textbook example. I never really strayed. I did what I was told and lived properly.
But after coming to this fantasy world, I hadn’t. I thought for myself, worried things through—and to put it bluntly, I’d been doing whatever I felt like doing.
As I remembered everything I’d done, I made an awkward face. Varen, even while wearing Margon’s appearance, let his clear blue eyes shine.
"Ceryl. I’m not inferior to Morpha, either."
"What are you talking about?"
"Choose. Come with me, or wait here."
Varen held out the rough hand of a swordsman, and I grabbed it immediately. I didn’t know what he meant by not being inferior to Morpha, but there was no reason to refuse going with him.
He pulled on my hand and rose lightly into the air. From the rooftop of the five-story building, we jumped down and landed on the first floor in an instant. I shivered, my shoulders trembling—no matter how many times we did it, I never got used to a dragon’s flight.
As soon as we reached the alley, Varen headed straight for the black market building. I swallowed hard and hurried after him.
After checking again that there was no one around, I lowered my voice.
"Isn’t this dangerous?"
"What exactly is dangerous. I’m here."
Fair point. Standing behind Varen, I nodded.
Morpha and Neira had both warned me repeatedly to prioritize Varen’s safety—but the man standing in front of me was a dragon who could burn an entire city to the ground.
Unless there was some condition like “you can’t kill anyone,” there was almost no chance a fully awakened Varen would end up in danger.
But Varen misread my silence. His eyes flashed, and he spun around sharply.
"Ceryl. I told you. I’m not inferior to Morpha."
"Why do you keep bringing Morpha up? When did I ever—"
Now that I thought about it, over the past few days I had praised Morpha a lot in front of Varen.
So this was jealousy too.
I scratched the back of my head, then gave Varen a thumbs-up.
"Obviously you’re the strongest dragon."
"......"
"Dragons are the best. Without you, I can’t do anything."
Amazingly, Varen’s furrowed brow eased at my halfhearted words. I sighed silently and patted his broad shoulder.
I tried to return my attention to the building, but Varen’s gaze shifted toward the end of the alley. When I turned my head, I saw a single man standing there.
Instinctively, I knew he wasn’t an ordinary human. Even if Varen and I had been talking, there was no way I wouldn’t have heard someone’s footsteps approaching.
Varen, without taking his eyes off the man, spoke softly.
"He smells like that ink. A Rebel."
"...Good."
As we faced him, the man began walking toward us at a slow pace. The alley was dark, but I could make out his outline.
Short and slight. Close-cropped hair, a thin body. In silhouette, he looked like a young boy, but the aura he gave off was crushing. And yet it wasn’t an alien sensation like what I felt from dragons or spirits.
When he came within a few steps, he blatantly scanned Varen and me from head to toe. Then he tilted his head and spoke.
"Judging by how you look, you’re not customers. If you’re looking for a bar, you’ve got the wrong address."
It was a low, husky voice that didn’t match his appearance. The moment I spotted the slender baton tucked at his waist, I had to fight with everything I had to keep the corners of my mouth from lifting.
The original story never revealed much about the Rebels. And the point where I’d dropped it was before they even started playing an active role.
Even so, back when I was a reader, it wasn’t only their goal—freeing the monsters—that drew me to them. Even when I’d been screaming that all humans should die, I’d still had a favorite character.
"The Silent Conductor, Noance."
I murmured it like a private thought—quiet enough that only Varen could hear. Varen tilted his head, still staring at the man at the end of the alley.
