After passing through the entrance of the imperial palace, Graham paused and looked around.
Something felt strange.
Nothing seemed to have changed, yet it looked as if stains had been smeared here and there.
The shadows were long enough to pale the sun hanging high in the sky, and the corners were drenched in deep darkness.
Thinking it was just an illusion, he blinked and looked again. But it was the same. A feeling of unease crept in.
"Is something wrong, sir?"
"No."
Graham shook his head in response to the guard's question.
"Let's go."
"Yes, sir."
He had been summoned by the Emperor.
He had heard rumors that something had happened in the imperial palace, but he didn't know the specifics. Still, he assumed the Emperor's summons had something to do with it.
Graham reached the main hall where the Emperor resided.
The entrance was guarded by the royal guard clad in black armor.
"Please go in."
"Very well."
As soon as the doors opened, Graham stepped inside, knelt on one knee, and paid his respects.
"Your servant Graham greets Your Majesty."
There was no response, so he kept his head bowed.
Soon, a tired voice spoke.
"Come here…"
Graham lifted his gaze.
Emperor Ibarra was seated on the throne.
He was wrapped in a red blanket embroidered with a golden lion, and at a glance, he clearly appeared ill. His complexion was ashen.
A royal physician stood at his side, tending to him.
Graham approached without showing his surprise. Ibarra smiled.
"Are you surprised?"
"No, Your Majesty."
"Hmph…"
"If Your Majesty is unwell, wouldn't it be better to rest in your chamber?"
"The Emperor cannot leave the throne. The Empire is all mine—where else would I go? Isn't that so?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"An Emperor must sit upon the throne. Hmph…"
Graham once again felt a sense of incongruity.
Ibarra had never flaunted his position as Emperor. In fact, it was the opposite. He usually expressed his authority through unusually humble and casual behavior.
But now, his words and demeanor resembled that of a noble drunk on power.
"Hmph, hmhmhm…"
Ibarra chuckled again, then broke into a coughing fit as if he had choked.
The royal physician quickly offered him a bowl. Ibarra spat into it, vomiting a mixture of yellow pus and blood.
"Are you all right, Your Majesty?"
"I'm fine, fine. Do you know who I am?"
"You were healthy before, how did this happen…?"
"Are you curious?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Truly?"
"Of course."
"Why?"
Ibarra looked at Graham. There was a strange intensity in his eyes, as if they were burning.
"If you knew, would you help me, Graham?"
"…Pardon?"
"Would you help me?"
"I am Your Majesty's knight."
"Indeed. You are the model of a knight. Though sometimes, being too upright is a flaw."
Ibarra chuckled.
"Someone poisoned me."
Graham looked up.
Ibarra spoke as if it were nothing serious, but this was no trivial matter. Someone had attempted to assassinate the Emperor with poison.
"How could such a thing…?"
"So I made a bit of a mess. They'll be here soon."
Soon, the doors to the main hall opened, and new guests entered.
Two people stepped forward to Graham's left and right and offered their respects in unison.
"We greet Your Majesty."
"We greet Your Majesty."
They were familiar faces.
Crown Prince Eugen.
And the "Barbarian of the Empire," Yalta.
"How did it go?"
"I crushed all their skulls, Your Majesty."
Yalta replied with a wicked grin.
His barbaric cruelty was terror itself to his enemies.
He twisted his prostrated body once, as if the clothes draped over him were uncomfortable, then continued.
"How could I let those who tried to kill the Emperor live? I smashed their heads with my fists."
Ibarra laughed.
"Oh my, I asked for confessions, but…"
He looked at Eugen. Eugen shrugged.
"Your Majesty knows Sir Yalta has a short temper."
"Hmph…"
Ibarra chuckled.
"Right. Confessions don't matter. I already know, after all."
"Indeed, Your Majesty."
Graham stayed silent, still unsure of the full situation.
"Graham."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"I intend to punish those who dared to poison the Emperor of the Empire. What say you? May I send you?"
"Of course, Your Majesty."
"Good. I'll send Yalta with you, so go together and drag those bastards here before me. Hmph…"
It seemed Ibarra intended to make a clear example by sending Yalta.
Sending him was as good as declaring that no mercy would be shown.
Yalta's face brightened.
"To go with Sir Graham—what an honor, Your Majesty."
"I'm glad."
"I'll follow Sir Graham's instructions completely."
"Yes, yes."
Only now did Graham realize why he had been summoned.
There were few who could keep Yalta in check. Graham was one of them.
Yalta usually acted on brute strength and whim, but when someone he respected intervened, he often accepted it without resistance.
One could say he was as simple as a child.
He looked at Graham with a foolish grin.
"Sir Graham, let's avenge His Majesty together. Doesn't that sound good?"
Instead of answering, Graham looked at Ibarra.
There was still something he needed to hear.
"Your Majesty, who exactly are those that tried to harm you?"
"Ah, I almost forgot."
Ibarra gestured.
"Come closer."
Graham took a few steps forward and stopped.
Ibarra waved more strongly, signaling him to come closer still.
Now they were close enough for their arms to touch. Graham could smell the faint stench emanating from the Emperor.
"Your ear…"
Graham turned his head as instructed.
Ibarra's hand tugged on his earlobe. A flash of pain surged through him, but he did not react.
The stench from Ibarra's breath seemed to crawl over his skin and stab into his nose.
At last, Ibarra's lips parted, and he whispered the name of a country.
"..."
Graham blinked with his head still bowed.
It was a word he couldn't make sense of.
But Ibarra said nothing more and released his ear.
"Do you understand?"
"Your Majesty…"
"Strike them down with Yalta."
"Your Majesty, is what you just said truly the truth?"
"It is."
"Do you have any evidence or witnesses…?"
"Are you saying you don't believe me, Graham?"
Ibarra struck Graham in the side with his fist. Though it had no effect on the knight's body, Graham could feel the strength of his will.
"I said go and demand justice. Are you not my knight?"
If they had truly done such a thing, they certainly deserved punishment. But the truth had not yet been revealed.
"Your Majesty, if it's truly certain that they poisoned you, I will go gladly and hold them accountable. Even if I must build a mountain of corpses to do so."
"You shall."
"I am foolish and cannot believe in things unseen. Please, give me reason to believe."
"Evidence, you say?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Didn't those bastards admit it!"
"Your Majesty…"
"Graham!"
Graham kept his mouth shut.
Emperor Ibarra, revealing anger on a face marked with illness, looked unfamiliar.
The emperor Graham knew wielded generosity as a weapon. Whether sincere or not, he believed that was the dignity of one born of the noblest blood on the continent.
But now, he was not restraining his emotions at all.
The change was too drastic to be attributed to the poison alone. It was as if he had become a different person.
"Sir Graham."
It was Eugen, who had remained silent, that spoke.
"I know you're a man faithful to chivalry. But this is not a trivial matter. Someone tried to poison the Emperor of the Empire. In such a situation, must you remain so rigid?"
"It could be a scheme. If so, the Empire might become the laughingstock for falling into their trap. We must investigate the true culprit more thoroughly…"
At that, Ibarra shouted.
"Graham!"
The voice was loud enough that it was hard to believe it had come from a sick man.
He pointed his finger at Graham's chest, as if thrusting a sword.
"Just answer whether you will or not. That's all. Even if it's not you, there are plenty of others who can go. Just sending Yalta alone would be enough."
Graham gave the best answer he could.
"Please give me time."
"Time?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Hahahaha…"
Ibarra let out a dry laugh, as though his throat was tearing.
Then he fell silent, staring blankly into space.
It was a bizarre sight.
A suffocating stillness followed.
Then suddenly, Ibarra nodded.
"Very well."
Eugen objected.
"But Your Majesty, we must punish those who laid a demonic hand on Your Majesty without delay—"
"What's the rush?"
"Pardon?"
"Whether it's today, tomorrow, or a month from now, I am still the Emperor and they are still the walking dead. What matters is the form of justice."
Suddenly, Ibarra's pronunciation became clear, his speech coherent.
"Is there another knight as trustworthy as Graham? If it were simply a matter of killing them, anyone would do. But the only knight who can handle this in the most imperial manner is Graham. I respect him, and so I shall grant what he asks."
"…Yes, Your Majesty."
"But I cannot give much time. I have almost no patience left in me."
Watching Ibarra shift from moment to moment, Graham began to wonder if something had gone wrong with the Emperor's mind.
He glanced at the royal physician standing beside Ibarra, but the man only stood silently, observing the Emperor's condition.
"Graham, do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good. Then you may go. I will send another messenger."
Graham bowed his head.
As he walked out of the great hall, he looked back just before the doors closed.
Eugen was gesturing animatedly, saying something, while Yalta burst into laughter beside him. Ibarra, now returned to his sickly state, sat shriveled upon the throne. He only chuckled foolishly whenever Eugen spoke.
Seeing that scene, Graham felt a sinking anxiety in his chest.
At last, the doors closed.
***
It was a dark night, under a new moon.
A square stack of firewood, built up in layers, stood tall.
Suddenly, a tiny spark—no one knew who had thrown it—crossed the air and landed atop the wood.
The firewood began to catch slowly, and soon the flames spread and engulfed the whole pile.
As the surroundings lit up, the once-hidden scenery emerged from the darkness.
Sturdy young men, clad in tattered clothes, sat in a circle.
With each flicker of flame, red glows danced across dozens of pairs of eyes.
"The time for us to part has come."
Spoke the man in the red cap standing behind them.
He was Instructor No. 1, Yuri—the one who had planned all of this training.
"I didn't think you would all make it through this training. I thought most of you would give up. But you've proven me wrong. Yes, I'm proud of you."
At his words, someone sniffled.
Memories of the brutal training flickered through the minds of those gathered.
It had been harsh, but just as valuable.
"A night like this wouldn't be complete without music. Instructor No. 2."
"Yes, sir."
From the opposite side, Instructor No. 2, Gonte, took out an instrument from his coat.
It was a whistle.
Pillili, pillili…
During training, it had been the sound that made knights want to cover their ears. But now, it flowed as a mournful melody, soaking into their hearts.
Pillili, pillili…
Then, Instructor No. 3, who had been standing silently, opened her mouth.
"No matter how much I insist… there's nothing I can do…"
It was a lonely tune.
"This dung heap… is my home…"
It was that one song—always sung at gatherings like these.
As the second verse began, the knights who had been sitting still started to sing along with her.
Though so many sang together, it harmonized like a single voice.
The Owls had become one.
Even if I open my heart… I have no true friend…
Even the birds that cried… fly away in haste…
Don't go… don't go… please don't go…
Just one song… sing with me…
The chorus continued. Some couldn't finish the song and burst into tears. Partings were always painful.
Soon the song ended.
Pillili… pillili…
Even the sound of the whistle faded, trailing off.
Everyone sniffled, caught in the lingering emotion.
Yuri walked over and embraced Gonte.
"Sir Gonte."
"Your Highness…"
"I was glad to have you with me."
"And I as well. This won't be a final goodbye, will it?"
"Never."
"That's a relief."
"We'll meet again."
They patted each other's backs.
"The training was a success."
The knights of Yoheim had become experts in mountain warfare. Yuri considered it a greater success than he had hoped for.
He had transformed knights lacking in spirit into cunning hunters capable of facing any enemy.
Yuri looked at Ena, who was sitting quietly.
"Instructor No. 3."
"Y-yes, sir?"
"Why are you just sitting there?"
"Sniff…"
Ena was clearly on the verge of tears. After all the torment she'd dished out, it seemed she had grown attached to them.
"Are you crying?"
"N-no, I'm not."
"Instructor No. 3 is crying! Owls, will you just sit there?"
"No, sir!"
"We must repay her!"
The knights stood up and began tossing Ena into the air.
As they started throwing her, she soared high into the sky, then fell back down, only to be launched again.
Ena screamed instead of crying.
"Kyaaah!"
Yuri and Gonte, watching the scene with warm smiles, were soon dragged in by the knights and sent flying through the air as well.
Laughter echoed against the backdrop of the campfire.
It was a beautiful moment, one you'd almost want to stop time to preserve.
But time moves on.
No one knew what lay ahead in the days to come.
Only the moon, buried in the night sky, shed its pale light like tears.
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