"So what do you reckon is happenin' out there? Did they find those workers, or did they lose 'em completely in the snow?"
Inside the valley settlement, several laborers gathered in quiet huddles, debating the fate of their infected companions who had fled into the high passes. They worried about how those unfortunate souls could possibly survive out in the freezing waste.
Meanwhile, gossiping townspeople discussed the sudden disappearance of the two noble clan heads. With no news for so long, rumors of the legendary mountain Tschäggättä began circulating once more among the frightened populace.
"Tell me... if we hadn't agreed to terms today," Enya asked, turning her eyes toward Enciodes as their negotiation reached its final phase, "would you have wiped out our joint forces entirely, only to claim afterward that the mythical Tschäggättä were responsible for the slaughter, washing your hands of the whole affair?"
"I would have," Enciodes admitted openly without a second of hesitation.
His blunt acknowledgment earned him sharp, cold glares from both Arctosz and Ratatos.
"Truly... just like you," Enya remarked softly, her tone devoid of surprise.
"I offer no defense for my darker schemes," Enciodes continued, looking at the three of them. "If all of you are willing to swear before Kjeragandr that you will do everything in your power to fulfill the pledges you just made, I am prepared to step forward and accept the judgment of the Vine-Bear Court."
Now that he had secured a future where Kjerag would finally step onto the continental stage, accepting formal trial was a price he was entirely willing to pay.
"You will face punishment, Enciodes, but your life will not be taken," Enya declared firmly. "This nation still requires your intellect and strategic vision. If you feel that your actions betrayed Kjeragandr, you may take your own life after the reforms are finished."
"That will not do," Enciodes countered with a faint, wry smile. "Kjeragandr does not grant entry to believers who take their own lives. I suppose I shall have to sit tight and wait until old age claims me instead."
"Hmph! A man like you claims to believe in Kjeragandr?!" Arctosz snorted loudly, crossing his thick arms. "I assumed all your pious talk was just a show to sway the common folk!"
"I have always believed in Kjeragandr, Arctosz," Enciodes replied quietly, his eyes turning unusually serious. "Especially from the moment I realized our deity truly walks among us, perhaps far closer than any of us imagine. My faith is deeper than you think. It is precisely because of that reverence that I refuse to stand by and watch our homeland wither in self-satisfied isolation."
"You always have a speech ready, don't you?" Arctosz grumbled, though his tone lacked its previous vitriol. "Who knows what subtle schemes are still ticking inside that head of yours? Even under our joint supervision you managed to pull off a coup—if we give you total freedom, you'll run completely wild."
"Your family's surveillance was indeed formidable," Enciodes noted dryly. "Had I not staged my own death, I never would have slipped away to lead the Tschäggättä squad into position for this operation."
A short distance away, Jeanne turned to the three representatives who had been assigned temporary command over the combined forces. They were all craning their necks, trying to decipher what was happening at the center of the field.
"Looks like... they aren't going to fight after all, right?" Jeanne asked.
"Judging by the chief's expression, a consensus has been reached," Valais analyzed smoothly, reading the subtle shifts in Arctosz's posture. "If that's the case, we truly have no need for bloodshed today. That is a fortunate outcome."
Though Arctosz still wore a scowl, it was merely his usual irritation toward Enciodes—a far cry from the life-or-death fury he had projected hours earlier.
"We don't have to fight?!" Ensia let out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders sagging in profound relief.
She had been the most terrified person present; had combat erupted, she would have been forced to face her own kin on the battlefield, a prospect that tore her apart inside.
"But how are we going to wrap this up?" Sciurus chimed in, looking back at the long lines of armored warriors standing ready behind their barricades. "Everyone came out here expecting a desperate battle to defend Kjerag. If we just tell them to turn around and go home, won't it look like a farce?"
When thousands of armed fighters were assembled, resolving a crisis wasn't as simple as a few leaders shaking hands. A sudden cancellation ran the risk of causing confusion or mutiny among the rank-and-file soldiers who had primed themselves for war.
"Well, one way is for your leaders to give a grand speech to calm their blood," Jeanne suggested casually with a grin. "Or, there's a much easier way—why don't you pray to Kjeragandr right now and ask your goddess for a little divine favor?"
Ask a deity for a favor?
Only Jeanne could make such a suggestion with a straight face. Even if Kjeragandr could hear their inner desires, whether an immortal entity would step into mortal politics was anyone's guess.
Yet with no better alternative at hand, the three women closed their eyes, offering up sincere, silent prayers into the mountain wind, asking Kjeragandr to grant a sign that might disperse the gathering storm without lingering resentment.
At the center of the snowfield, the four figures stood up. Their voices rose in pitch, projected across the valley so that every soldier present could hear their words clearly.
"Let Kjeragandr be our witness! I hereby swear an oath that from this day forward..."
Under the Saintess's solemn gaze, the chiefs of the Tri-Clan Council raised their right hands toward the heavy sky, invoking the sacred name of Kjeragandr to seal their pledge before the assembly.
In the snow-bound realm of Kjerag, an oath sworn before the goddess was the highest binding commitment a leader could make. To break such a vow meant the absolute destruction of one's honor and standing; no citizen would ever trust a oath-breaker again.
As the final words of their pledge echoed off the crags, a sudden, miraculous break tore through the thick cloud cover directly above them.
A single, brilliant beam of golden sunlight pierced the gloom, illuminating the center of the snowfield. The light bathed the three oath-bound clan heads, spilling onto Saintess Enya as she raised her silver ritual bell high.
The polished bell caught the radiant beam, scattering dazzling rays of light across the snowbanks. Framed by the heavenly sunburst, Enya appeared precisely as a divine herald of Kjeragandr—serene, sacred, and grand.
Kjera was indeed watching over the battlefield, and her mood had brightened considerably. A conflict that threatened to tear her land apart had ended in a peaceful compromise.
The thousands of assembled soldiers watched the sight in stunned silence. One by one, weapons clattered onto the snow.
From the front lines to the rear reserves, warriors dropped to one knee, bowing their heads toward the Saintess as they softly chanted ancient hymns of praise to Kjeragandr.
In that single moment, all thoughts of warfare evaporated. Every soul present had witnessed what they believed to be the explicit mandate of their deity—Kjeragandr had acknowledged the sacred oaths of the Tri-Clan Council and commanded her children to lay down their arms.
Faith, when backed by a living god and devout believers, possessed the unique power to turn imminent slaughter into sudden, harmonious peace.
Seeing the threat of war vanish, both Jeanne and the Doctor let out long sighs of relief.
The Doctor immediately reached for her Terminal, intending to contact Blaze—who was still locked in a fierce duel with the Black Knight back at the Silverash estate—to tell her to disengage.
However, no signal came through. Whether Blaze's communication link had been smashed during the brawl or set aside in the heat of battle, the Doctor had no way of knowing what was happening back at the manor.
As the soldiers began their orderly withdrawal, Ratatos stepped up to Enya, her sharp mind already moving to the next challenge.
"We need to coordinate what we tell the townspeople inside," Ratatos said smoothly. "I suggest we craft a unified narrative—for instance, a heroic tale of how our joint forces repelled a legendary Tschäggättä attack in the high passes, rescuing Enciodes and the displaced workers together."
Now that the crisis was over, managing the public aftermath was essential to maintaining stability. Ratatos trusted that Enciodes would honor his oath; whatever else he was, he remained a true believer at heart.
In fact, judging by his earlier remarks, Ratatos began to suspect that Kjeragandr—or an avatar of the goddess—might actually be far closer to them than anyone realized.
Her eyes drifted toward Saintess Enya. If the deity truly walked among mortals, the most logical place for her presence would be right beside the Saintess.
Meanwhile, inside the quiet sanctuary of the Vine-Bear Court...
"Lady Kjeragandr... how does the situation on the snowfields stand now?"
The Grand Elder forced his clouded eyes open, using every ounce of his failing willpower to stave off the embrace of death. He refused to close his eyes forever without knowing whether his beloved homeland had descended into civil war.
"The war was prevented," Kjera spoke gently, sitting beside his bed. "The chiefs of the Tri-Clan Council have sworn an oath before the Saintess. They will lead Kjerag into a new era together, without destroying the foundation of our realm."
"That is good... that is very good..." the old man rasped softly, a look of serene peace washing over his worn features.
He had settled all administrative matters of the Vine-Bear Court prior to his collapse. With peace secured for his people, he could finally rest.
Kjera reached out, gently closing the Grand Elder's eyes with her fingertips as his final breath faded into the quiet room.
"I offer this final prayer for you," Kjera murmured softly into the quiet room. "You fought for Kjeragandr's land until your very last breath. Today, your past missteps fade away, and you shall sleep in peace beside Kjeragandr. It is a pity... that you will not see the Kjerag of tomorrow."
The old leader—who had weathered so many storms over his long life—had finally reached the end of his journey.