After order was restored, the reinforcement unit from the Union of Kingdoms—of which Seril Barkel and Servan Barkel were a part—decided to leave the Border City as soon as possible. No one knew what kind of threat might descend next, but more than anything, Seril and Servan themselves seemed in a hurry.
“Looks like things in Valloren are far worse than I thought.”
Gunther Sirhe agreed with the early departure. The “Distortion” had warped history. The situation might be far more dire than the version of events he remembered.
— Ah... Guess we’ll only be able to visit the fallen in the second half of the year. I really wanted to stop by.
The platoon members looked genuinely disappointed that they couldn’t visit the cemetery for Gunther and their former commander. But it couldn’t be helped. It was in the opposite direction. Well, if the timing worked out, he could stop by the divine relic warehouse the King of Flame had mentioned.
The composition of the reinforcement unit was as follows: the entire Fourth Platoon, including Ryan Parker. And...
— No, seriously? You expect me to move together with these snot-nosed brats?
Cheonmae had joined them. The “maximum support” Grand Crow had promised was no empty phrase. In the official history, she had died at the hands of Moon Wolf, but because Gunther had rewritten fate, she survived and now joined them as a powerful combat asset.
— With you here, senior, we’ll feel much more at ease. Even the Union won’t dare look down on us.
— Well... that much is true. Hmph. Fine.
They set their departure for dawn the next day.
Shhk—
When Gunther, who had spent the entire previous day preparing, arrived at the Union-side checkpoint, a crowd of people waiting to see them off stood in the snow-laden wind. Deep sorrow was written across the faces of those remaining behind.
— Gunther, I know you can handle everything on your own, but... please take care of yourself. And don’t overexert.
— You too. Honestly, I’m worried you’ll die from overwork.
— Can’t be helped. I want to be a useful partner.
With those words, Brody Wilder pulled out and handed him a mountain of items—from various madogu needed for the journey to everyday necessities.
— Handsome big brother, don’t worry about sis, I’ll look after her. Come back soon!
— Alright, I’m counting on you.
Standing beside her, Roanna gave a short nod, as if to say there was nothing to worry about.
Gunther shifted his gaze. Over there, Eddie Wilder—finally reunited with Yor Ladenbach after a long separation—was practically bouncing around her like a fish back in water.
— M-my lady... it’s cold, let’s go inside. That Gunther will manage just fine on his own.
— Huh? No. I want to see Gunther off.
Hearing that, Eddie let out a heavy sigh, as if the ground had collapsed beneath him, and shot Gunther a murderous glare.
— Damn pretty boy...
— Baldy.
— ......!
Eddie raised his fist, but ended up chuckling, unable to suppress his smile. Behind them stood Kalian Ladenbach, waving. In his other hand, he held Besti firmly. Gunther’s attention was drawn to the notebook in the mute girl’s hands, where neat handwriting read:
[Come back soon, big brother! Save as many people as you can!]
The priest-blacksmith Dramcrow and Dorian had come as well. They looked exhausted—they had been repairing the expedition’s equipment until late into the night—but they stood there quietly, steadfast.
— When you return, we must conduct another experiment... there’s still so much left incomplete... — Sharin Vega whispered, clinging to Gunther’s side from the start.
Next came Mikhela Iska and Seraz Bolton. Dressed in formal attire, Seraz exhaled a long stream of smoke.
— Sweetheart, without you, the city will feel awfully dull. Maybe this auntie should drop everything and come along with you?
— Chief Seraz...
— I’m joking, Madam Mayor.
Mikhela glanced at her with slight confusion before meeting Gunther’s gaze.
— The city you protected with your life—I will safeguard it. I neglected it for far too long. From now on, I will devote myself fully to internal affairs.
— I’m counting on you. If your condition worsens, find the person I mentioned.
— Understood. Safe travels.
Neigh—
At that moment, Giles Bellamor appeared, leading several horses by the reins. The man who had once lost his daughter and contemplated death now seemed to have regained his will to live. From Seraz, Gunther had heard that after those events, Giles had begun supporting orphans who had lost their parents. Giles stood silently before Gunther and bowed deeply. Then he handed over the reins of the largest horse.
— This is a horse I wouldn’t sell even for thousands of gold.
— Thank you.
The road to the Union was difficult terrain for extracting mason stones, and the landscape wasn’t suitable for transport, so they would travel on horseback. In truth, Giles’ help didn’t end with the horses. The Bellamors were an ancient noble house of the Union. Naturally, he still had many connections. Upon arrival, that would be a considerable advantage.
Step—
Once all members had mounted, Dimona Ryen quietly stepped toward Gunther. She looked at him in silence, then slowly reached out and stroked the horse’s mane.
— May the fangs of winter never touch Gunther... I pray for the protection of ancient powers. Please return safely.
Gunther could feel how strongly she wished for his safety. Sitting atop the horse, he gave a faint smile.
— Try to get along with people. Being a recluse is fine, but sometimes you need to step outside.
— I’ll try.
Before urging his horse forward, Gunther glanced back at the companions waving their hands. The bonds he had formed and protected over these months. The time had been short, but across several lived and lost lives, these people had always fought at his side. Leaving them felt strange... and a little heavy.
There were worries as well. Outside, there was no communication network. Though messages could be sent ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) via the magic crows enhanced by Dimona, instant communication was impossible. That meant if something happened, he wouldn’t know immediately... and if the save point was set poorly, fixing anything would be extremely difficult.
And yet—
— ...I’m going.
Gunther chose to trust his companions. After all, he wasn’t the only one who had grown.
— Hya!
He spurred his horse and surged ahead. Across the snow-covered plain, hooves struck softly, quickly gaining speed and cutting through the white expanse. The expedition headed east, toward the rising sun.
Behind them, a lone black cloud silently followed... circling for a moment before suddenly disappearing.
***
They rode without rest for several days.
Gunther questioned Seril and Servan about the state of the Union of Kingdoms. Servan raised a hand to stop Seril, who was about to speak, and began explaining.
— The Union is currently under simultaneous attacks from the Cult of Justice and the Cult of Repose—both externally and internally.
— I’m aware. What kind of assistance does the Union expect from us?
At those words, Servan fell silent for a moment. Gunther watched his expression carefully.
“His pride is wounded. And... he’s disappointed.”
Beyond aristocratic pride, there was dissatisfaction—the forces sent by Night Raven were far too few. They had likely expected at least a battalion, yet only seven had arrived. Far too small to be called “reinforcements.” To save a kingdom in crisis, it seemed absurd.
But Servan quickly suppressed his emotions and continued:
— ...What do you know about the Cults of Repose and Justice?
— Oh, I know quite a lot.
Cults always reflected the nature of the Seven Evil Gods they worshipped. Just as the Cult of Abundance drew power from gluttony, so did the others follow suit.
For example, the Cult of Justice considered any form of “judgment” to be a source of power. The harsher and more painful the process, the more valuable the offering. The death of heretics, pain, humiliation, punishment—these were the most straightforward methods. As a result, it was the most infamous cult and possessed the greatest military strength. Especially under its archbishop Bellesa Lucan, and “Revmael,” whose very presence inspired genuine terror.
On the other hand, the Cult of Repose was far more insidious.
— Valloren is likely facing a more serious threat from the Cult of Repose.
— ...You have excellent intelligence.
Servan nodded, surprised.
The Cult of Repose. The “peace” they sought could be described in a single phrase: the loss of self.
In other words—brainwashing.
Mass suggestion, erasure of emotion, total assimilation. This cult had played a decisive role in spreading Luthien’s faith across the continent, using any means necessary. Their influence was enormous.
“Instead of confronting Valloren head-on, they chose to devour it from within.”
Recalling the history, Gunther spoke:
— You’re suffering because of cultivation techniques, aren’t you?
Servan’s face stiffened. Gunther continued calmly:
— They infiltrated over decades under the names of noble houses. They spread cultivation techniques so simple, fast, and effective that anyone could learn them... even knights of fallen families and freelance mercenaries.
— How do you...?
— In reality, it was magon. It suppresses the mind and turns people into blind fanatics. Now you don’t know what to grab onto, so you’ve turned to external help. Am I wrong?
And it wasn’t just cultivation techniques. Clinics, hospitals, academies. Under the guise of healing and education, brainwashing was carried out.
— ......!
Servan couldn’t say a word, stunned that an outsider from the far end of the continent knew the kingdom’s inner workings so precisely. He simply stared at Gunther’s black mask. Seril muttered quietly:
— You’re... incomprehensible.
— ......
She probably meant omniscient. Servan let out a heavy breath and lowered his head.
— It’s exactly as you said. We’ve reached a point where we can’t distinguish ally from enemy. We can’t even trust the Knights of the Round Table. Chivalry has fallen. Our swords are still sharp—but they no longer serve justice under the sun. They strike in the dark. We cut down our own people... those we swore to protect.
[The King of Ninety-Nine Defeats laments the fall of knights]
Seril and Servan lowered their heads simultaneously. Valloren—the land of chivalry, proud of its “justice” and “spirit.” Gunther could feel how bitter it was for them to realize that the foundation of their homeland had crumbled so deeply.
At the same time, Gunther’s own thoughts grew heavy.
“Even the Round Table is compromised... this is happening too fast.”
It was serious. Valloren was a kingdom—without a king.
No one had been able to draw the Holy Sword embedded in the Hill of Swords. The Holy Sword was the foundation of legitimacy, the source of order and authority. Only the one who drew it could become the new King of Knights, and in that moment, the kingdom would unite under a single will.
But for decades, the sword had remained silent. Central authority had weakened drastically.
And yet, ironically, Valloren had not collapsed.
The reason was simple—the Knights of the Round Table. Five families who served the King of Knights. Rigid to the point of stubbornness, often lacking flexibility—but armed with the purest knightly code. They ruled their lands wisely and justly. There was no central king, but in each region, there existed a “small King of Knights.”
But what if part of that Circle fell?
That wasn’t just local chaos. The entire region would become prey for the Luthien Theocracy.
Exactly as it was now.
Pr—
The horses came to a stop. They had barely crossed into Valloren’s borders.
A small village. At its center stood an unfamiliar flag. A banner bearing a closed eye—the symbol of Bonangi, the Cult of Repose.
— Dear god...
Seril and Servan froze.
In their minds, this place should have held Valloren’s flag. The words that should have been inscribed upon it surfaced in memory:
“The nobility of a knight lies in knowing where his sword must not be pointed.”
Screams. Crying. Pleas. Collapsing homes and people scattering in all directions.
And amidst it all—knights stripped of all emotion, coldly cutting down those they had sworn to protect.
Clop—
Gunther rode past the frozen Seril and Servan, guiding his horse forward. Their despair and grief mingled with the faint sigh of the wind. In that moment, Gunther once again felt the weight he carried on his shoulders.
— ...Do not dare lower your heads.
— ...Gunther.
— Forward.
Gunther raised his sword.
