The Barkel lands. Kylis, head of House Barkel, was preparing to receive rather unusual guests. According to rumors, they would arrive within a few days. A group that included his daughter and son. On the face of the middle-aged man flickered a mixture of curiosity and unease.
“...What kind of person is he, if Seril praises him this much?”
He sat in his study, rereading his daughter’s letter. The uneven handwriting, like that of a child, repeated one thing over and over.
[This is truly a “talent that cannot be hidden in a sack,” Father.]
Endless praise for Night Raven and the agent among them known as the Nameless One Without a Moon.
“That prideful Seril, and saying something like this...”
Honestly, it was hard to believe the feats described in the letter. A drug capable of reversing brainwashing? And even more unbelievable was the claim that every member of Night Raven possessed strength comparable to the elite of the Round Table.
“...I hope she wasn’t deceived.”
Kylis sighed and carefully placed Seril’s letter into a drawer. Inside was already a stack of letters he had been unable to send due to the “Barrier.” He had written them as a kind of last testament, but now it seemed they would never be delivered.
“...How strange.”
Just a week ago, Kylis had seriously considered taking his own life.
The brainwashing spread by the Apostle of Repose, Revmael, grew stronger with each passing day, and the fall of the fortress had been only a matter of time. If things had continued like that, he would have had to either cut down his loyal vassals, sworn to House Barkel, with his own hands—or lose his sanity and turn against the kingdom. Though he was a gentle man and not a perfect knight, he had always carried chivalry in his heart as a member of the Round Table.
“Most of all, if I fell, Seril and Servan’s position would become even more unstable.”
For the honor of Barkel. For the son and daughter who would remain after him. He had prepared himself for the final step. But at that very moment—
Dong—!
A bell rang—louder than any before—and the Apostle of Repose, who had tormented them from beyond the walls, suddenly vanished. She even abandoned those she had already brainwashed.
“A most curious incident, wouldn’t you say, Lord Kylis?”
An unfamiliar voice slipped into the room. Kylis flinched and sharply turned toward the door.
“...Did I leave it open?”
A man stood there. The heir of the Third House, Royen, sent from the capital—Krest Royen.
House Royen oversaw laws, institutions, courts, and internal governance of the kingdom, earning them the nickname “Secretaries of the Sword.” Its members valued honor, authority, and cold adherence to procedure above all else.
Yet the atmosphere around Krest was different. Short silver-white hair, contrasted by pitch-black eyes. Beneath the mask of strict aristocracy lay a strange sense of freedom.
“No wonder he was the loudest advocate for supporting Night Raven.”
More than anyone else, Krest had insisted that the kingdom needed Night Raven’s help. He argued that against unknown enemies like Evil Gods and their followers, specialists were essential. In the end, Arder had yielded, and the decision to dispatch the unit had passed by a vote of three to two.
“A perceptive man.”
Kylis recalled this as he looked at Krest.
“Curious, you say? What exactly is curious about it?”
“The Apostle of Repose, Revmael...” Krest sighed ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) and shook his head. “I searched the entire surrounding area with the house knights, but aside from a few faint traces, nothing. She didn’t go to Laska Plain either. She simply vanished.”
“Perhaps she learned of the approaching reinforcements and retreated in haste?”
“Perhaps... But it still feels suspicious. To abandon forces she spent so long brainwashing—this contradicts the methods of the Cult of Repose.”
Krest tilted his head slightly and mimed the ringing of a bell with his fingers.
“That brainwashing must have cost a great deal. Even if she no longer needed those forces, she could have at least sent them toward Laska Plain.”
Kylis found the gesture unpleasant, but said nothing. In truth, though Krest was merely an “heir,” their standing was nearly equal. In fact, Krest’s influence was stronger.
House Barkel was often overlooked, while Krest effectively acted as the head of House Royen and stood at the center of power. Kylis silently waited for him to continue.
“As you know, the power of the Cult of Repose comes from those who have been brainwashed. Brainwashing breeds more brainwashing—it grows like a snowball. And yet she abandoned those she controlled and withdrew all her influence...”
Hearing Krest speak with such certainty that this was not over only made Kylis’s heart heavier.
“As you said, the specialists will arrive soon. We will explain the situation and request their help,” Kylis said with effort.
Krest gave a brief smile and nodded.
“I also have high expectations. Perhaps... they will piece together this strange puzzle. I will do everything I can to provide them with information.”
Their gazes drifted toward the window. The plain was slowly sinking into twilight. Krest murmured softly:
“I sincerely hope they find what we have overlooked.”
***
When the walls of Barkel Castle came into view, Servan could not hide his excitement.
“There it is—the heart of Barkel lands! My homeland, where ancient traditions live on! Before the Border Cities existed, this fortress protected the north from the barbarians of Badland.”
As he spoke, he glanced at Night Raven. He seemed to expect admiration at the sight of the grand walls. But the platoon fighters, who had seen the sky-piercing towers of the Labyrinth, reacted with a slight delay.
“Waaah... looks cool... traditions... yeah, definitely old.”
“Oooh, very refined.”
“I wish this were our home!”
“Tarsha, people here were attacked just recently, that might sound wrong.”
“Shut up, Parco!”
If Gunther had been fully present, he would have reacted appropriately. But right now, he was deep in thought. The reward calculation for Act 1, Chapter 5 had just finished—and it was completely unexpected.
“Should I use it now?”
While he pondered, and Seril and Servan visibly deflated, Werner Camaril casually remarked in his androgynous voice:
“In the Kingdom of Valloren, each region has its own character. In Barkel’s case, it is... how should I put it... traditional.”
“Oh, really? And what’s special about Camaril—ah!”
Just as Blanc innocently tried to continue the conversation, Gunther, now alert, discreetly jabbed her side to cut her off. He understood Werner’s meaning—“traditional” was a polite way of calling Barkel backward and insignificant. Nearby, Levain muttered quietly:
“...What a mess.”
After several days traveling with Round Table knights, the platoon fighters had clearly grown a little disappointed. They had expected too much from the “kingdom of knights.” The infighting between houses was intense, yet true “chivalry” was scarce.
“Not all of them are like that,” Gunther muttered and made his decision.
[You use “XXX XXX XXX”]
[Three gods express some concern about your plan]
He then shifted his gaze toward the main gate. More precisely—to Kylis and Krest, who had come out to meet them.
Kylis Barkel. Gunther knew the name well—it even appeared in the official storyline of the game. Despite being head of a Round Table house, he bowed his head with surprising humility.
“Thank you for your long journey. My daughter has told me how you saved our lands. Barkel does not forget kindness. We will repay it.”
“It was nothing. Thanks to the young lady and young master, our journey was comfortable.”
Gunther replied formally, glancing at Seril and Servan. Their faces brightened instantly upon seeing their father. He seemed to be a good parent.
“A good father, huh...”
Polite exchanges followed. Kylis introduced Krest and mentioned that a reception had been prepared. But at that moment, Gunther gave an answer no one expected:
“My apologies, but could we postpone the reception?”
An outsider postponing a reception prepared by the head of a Round Table house. The surrounding knights stiffened at once. Even Kylis blinked in surprise.
“...What?”
But Gunther did not back down.
“Knowing Kylis, he definitely isn’t in the mood for banquets right now.”
He had already understood everything. Despite the warm welcome, Kylis could not hide the anxiety in his eyes and posture. And there were suspiciously few knights and soldiers present.
“The domain is in bad shape.”
Searching for the Apostle, dealing with the brainwashed, treating the wounded—every available hand was already stretched to the limit. In such a situation, Gunther had no intention of leisurely sipping wine.
“First, I want to see those who were brainwashed. I don’t know if it was conveyed to you, but we have a drug that can restore their sanity. We brought enough materials.”
Silence fell.
Shock flashed in Kylis’s eyes. Then relief. Then a deep, heartfelt gratitude. He took a breath and spoke with sincerity:
“...Without even washing the dust of the road, you think first of the suffering. You are the true embodiment of chivalry.”
The fighters of Night Raven stood behind Gunther without a hint of complaint, as if it were only natural. Confidence filled their faces.
“Ahem, ahem.”
Meanwhile, several knights who had been disappointed by the canceled banquet quickly composed themselves.
“Then let’s go,” Gunther said to Kylis.
At that moment, a puzzled voice interrupted:
“I’ve been meaning to ask...”
It was Krest, who had been silently observing. His gaze fixed on the small figure tied tightly to Gunther’s saddle.
“...What is that?”
Rem sat perfectly still, just as Gunther had instructed—but she could not escape Krest’s perceptive eyes. Those who knew the truth looked at Gunther with concern.
“...Here it comes.”
Gunther sighed quietly.
.
.
.
Somewhere, a candle flame flickered.
From the shadows beyond the light came a clear, high voice:
“Everyone makes this ‘brainwashing’ far too complicated.”
“....”
“Or perhaps they think it’s too simple and primitive?”
The priests gathered around did not dare raise their eyes, whispering prayers to the one before them.
[A drop of repose consumes the ripples, and your suffering will fall into sleep.]
Their voices sounded like a chorus—or like rustling leaves. A cold mist seemed to fill the room, an inexplicable vibration. Revmael traced a circle in the air with her slender fingers and murmured:
“After all, you’ve already been brainwashed.”
She finished the prayer almost like a song.
“And so Repose will grow without end.”
