'For now, I need rest. No more needless thoughts.'
His breathing grew heavy, sinking deep into his lungs, coaxing his eyes to close. But within moments his rhythm faltered, confused once more. The bedroom door stood ajar, light spilling across the carpet. The clock' s ticking beat on, but a clash of steel inside forced Victor to rush in.
Brian scrambled for anything at hand, raising a wooden chair against a young woman wielding a knife with frightening precision, her growl deep and feral.
"What happened, Brian?"
"I was just cleaning up the plates—suddenly she lunged and snatched the knife from me!"
Victor glanced at the fallen cutlery, then stepped calmly toward her, causing Brian to shrink back. He extended his hand. Slowly, the girl released the blade.
'Instincts? A fighter' s instincts. She handles blades… that means her weapon is surely the sword.'
The golden-haired girl curled under the blanket, trembling, eyes wide in fear, yet Victor' s gaze remained calm, thoughtful.
'She knows who is dangerous in this moment. The qualities of a sacred knight cannot be overlooked. I may need to restrain her—or draw out her true self.'
But his mind turned to what the princess had said, wrapped in memory. The cages: all holding captives from the Republic of Venn, taken less than a week ago. Rows stretched so far their number was unknowable. Yet when Brian shouted in his cage, no others called for help. And this girl from Rollrien was caged nearby.
'No… not even Brian knew what lay around him.'
Victor sat on the bed.
'Wait. I' ve misunderstood much. I relied too heavily on Brian' s account. My own interpretation twisted the picture. Retina wanted me to know this—but not yet. The more I pressed, the more she affirmed, turning truth into leverage. Her archery "test" was a test of my will. If the cages mixed Vennians with others of sound body, then I already knew more than she intended. She only confirmed it. At first I sought to humiliate her—but instead it became my lifeline.'
'Power is a piece of the future. Reality is confrontation. Now that I know, she cannot easily use it against me—save perhaps through the emperor himself. The slave girl may be irrelevant… yet I cannot ignore her. I must remain cautious.'
Exhaling, Victor left his thoughts behind.
"Brian, let' s begin. What news have you gathered?"
The thin, dark-haired man set the chair down and pulled a folded paper from his coat: a daily from the Republic of Venn.
"Read this first. The details are overwhelming."
Victor spread it across his lap. The reports differed entirely from the first day' s news. Oliver Dengart—or Victor, by their distortion—was no longer the headline. Instead: massive restructuring, the purging of revolutionaries—executed and displayed in public squares. Rapid expansion of heavy industry, building fifty new warships beyond the original twenty. Lists of dead and imprisoned swelled into the tens of thousands—ordinary citizens who chose the wrong side, now branded criminals.
Every measure of oppression pressed forward. Perhaps all meant to pressure him. But Victor could not fathom Oliver' s intent. The Republic he once knew would be changed beyond recognition. The revolutionaries had potential—yet no victories surfaced. Newfanrein lay in ruins, and the people' s suffering could not be coincidence. Unless Oliver had orchestrated it all, collapsing everything from behind the scenes. His grip on every name involved proved one thing: he was a danger to every ally.
"The Republic is not our concern. What about the Blood Empire?"
Brian paused, thinking.
"What I know… tomorrow marks a great day: the Selection. Commoners and weak soldiers are chosen to enter the Wasteland. I overheard it in a tavern. Next month, nobles will have the privilege of choosing substitutes, manipulating the records in the archives."
"The Wasteland? Why send only the weak?"
"It is an ancient graveyard from the dragon hunters' era. A dungeon within grows stronger as time passes, spreading through desert and underground. Survival there is near impossible—few ever return. The weak are sent because their loss bears no weight to the Empire."
Victor leaned forward, intrigued.
"Near impossible? You mean they all die simply from weakness?"
"They say only the Emperor himself ever returned. His scars are proof. Sending the weak en masse is a gamble, a chance at future success. It forces the people to grow stronger—if only to survive."
"What are the criteria?"
"Age nineteen to twenty-one, and twenty-nine to thirty-one. Male or female, even the legally incompetent."
Victor' s gaze hardened.
"One more thing. When you bathed her—you said she showed no resistance. Why?"
"She was like a doll, sir."
"Could she relieve herself? Did she cover herself?"
"She could, without my help. No signs of modesty. But I didn' t spy on her—I' m not some pervert!"
Victor' s tone cut cold.
"That' s not my concern. She' s a slave. I fear she feigns madness. Be cautious tomorrow—I' ll be elsewhere. Ensure your safety."
"Yes, Victor."
"And… what do you know of the Eastern War? The emperor has been long absent there. I need to know why."
Brian grimaced.
"As far as I know—it is a great war. The Dungeon Organization against a being called the 'Adorer of Stars.' "
He drew a map from his coat.
"A threat to all existence. It destroyed fleets by the hundreds of thousands, slew millions of miracle-bearers. Every nation watches. In the east, near the Forbidden Isles, countless disasters followed: tsunamis, earthquakes, more than a hundred times over. No news agency can tell the whole truth."
'The stars… the Adorer of Stars…'
Victor clenched his fist.
"What was the outcome?"
"As I heard… a great victory for the Dungeon Organization."