The near-full moon spilled silver radiance across the land, draping the silent world in a faint, pale luminescence. Yet, deep within the forest, the darkness remained impenetrable. Overlapping shadows stretched and coiled, as if something restless were lurking just out of sight.
Two soldiers carried oil lamps as they patrolled the dense forest outside the city walls. The flickering flames cast dancing, erratic shadows that stretched and shrank against the trunks. The young soldier trailing behind was clearly on edge, glancing over his shoulder constantly, his breathing ragged.
He lowered his voice to a hiss. "Dammit... night patrol in the woods is the absolute worst assignment. If it weren't for that bastard Billy, I wouldn't be stuck here."
The older soldier chuckled, shaking his head. "Did you not know Billy was handling the assignments? Relax, this forest is safe. You'll get used to it the more you patrol. The darkness isn't what's scary—it's your own overactive imagination."
The young soldier curled his lip and hurried to catch up, his tone bristling with barely contained rage. "Even if I had known, I would have punched him anyway. He harassed my sister! If I don't give that guy a proper beating, I'm not letting this go. When the captain returns, I'm demanding justice."
"You're still so young..." The older soldier sighed, clapping a hand on his shoulder with the seasoned comfort of a veteran. "Forget about it. Tomorrow is the Winter Moon Festival. Once we survive tonight, we get a full day's rest."
He added, a teasing glint appearing in his eyes, "Anyway, how are things going with that girl from the tavern?"
The young soldier's face flushed a deeper shade of red. He scratched his head, unable to hide a grin. "Heh... she agreed to go to the festival with me tomorrow. I've already ordered flowers and booked a table at a restaurant. This time... I'm going to win her heart."
Suddenly, an incredibly faint rustling sound broke through the trees.
The young soldier went rigid instantly, yanking his longsword from its scabbard. "Who's there?" he hissed. "Come out!"
After a brief silence, a raccoon dog darted out from the undergrowth. It glanced up at them once before nimbly disappearing back into the shadows.
The older soldier let out a laugh.
The young soldier's face went through a spectrum of colors, from pale to flushed with anger, and he glared at his comrade. "What are you laughing at? Vigilance is part of the job!"
"Haha, with the way you lunged, you'd scare off anything, raccoon dog or not."
"Tsk. You didn't even draw your blade. If that had been an enemy, you would've been the first one dead."
The older soldier waved a hand dismissively, his tone calm and sure. "Relax. A rustle that short and contained in these woods is nine times out of ten just a small animal. If it were a person, the movement would be louder, and it would last longer."
The young soldier was about to retort—but in that instant, his pupils constricted violently.
He saw it: a shadow had manifested silently behind the older soldier.
Before the words could escape his throat, he felt a sudden chill at his neck, as if a thread of freezing steel had swept across it—his consciousness plunged instantly into an endless void.
The shadows glided onward.
Gareth and Milia appeared almost in the same heartbeat. Two flashes of cold steel, their daggers cutting precisely across throats, silencing the two patrols without a sound.
The oil lamps swayed, their flames flickering, and the forest returned to a deathly stillness.
"My apologies, gentlemen." Gareth looked down at the fallen corpses, his voice low and restrained. "As an enemy, I can only offer you a quick end. In your next life... do not hold it against me."
"They're already dead; stop talking to yourself," Milia sighed, her tone tinged with helplessness.
Gareth smiled faintly, though his expression was complex. "Listening to them chat just now... they didn't seem like bad people. It's a pity we stand on opposite sides."
He sheathed his dagger, his voice returning to a calm, professional tone. "Enough. Let's not waste time. Get their armor on; we're infiltrating the city."
The pair moved with swift efficiency. They dragged the bodies into the woods, burying them in a shallow pit dug in advance. They stripped off the armor and boots to don them themselves, then smeared mud across their faces to intentionally blur their features.
Once finished, they were indistinguishable from any other soldier.
Moments later, they stepped onto the path leading to the city gate.
The night wind blew; their footsteps were steady and disciplined.
The guards at the gate spotted them approaching from a distance, their gazes sharp with scrutiny. Gareth gave Milia a subtle signal. They both lowered their heads simultaneously, slowing their pace, their expressions weary and slack—as if they had just returned from a long, arduous patrol.
"Another pair of greenhorns who fell into a mud pit in the woods?" The guard glanced at them and chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "Get inside and wash up. You've got shifts tomorrow."
Gareth gave a thumbs-up, responding with a tone of weary nonchalance: "Understood." Then, pulling Milia along, he strode through the gates.
In the shroud of night, their figures quickly vanished into the city's alleyways. The lights were sparse, the lanes winding. They navigated through the shadows and stopped in a secluded corner. Gareth moved with precision, unbuckling the armor piece by piece and hiding it carefully, then wiping away the mud and bloodstains to reveal his true face.
Milia leaned over, gently wiping the dust from her cheeks with her sleeve, and whispered, "I didn't expect... it would be this easy to get in."
"Everyone has grown accustomed to these peaceful times," Gareth said, straightening his collar with a faint smile. "Nobody would imagine that the enemy has already infiltrated the foot of the Royal Capital."
Milia smoothed her coat and looked up at him. "Where do we go to find them, then?"
Gareth fell into thought for a moment, as if sifting through a memory, before replying, "Let's start at the Catgrass Tavern in the Lower District. I had some stew there once—it wasn't half bad."
Milia frowned, exhaling a soft, exasperated sigh. "We're here to rendezvous, Gareth, not to grab a bite..."
Gareth waved a hand, his tone gentle yet unshakeable. "Don't worry. We've been leaving marks all along the way. It's far more reliable than wandering the city aimlessly; they'll find us easily enough."
Milia pondered this for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod.
The pair moved along the street. By wall corners, doorframes, and the bases of stone pillars—they quietly left subtle, hidden marks. These symbols of the Goblin Miners were drawn deliberately low, their lines simple yet distinct. To anyone else, they would appear as nothing more than a child's mindless doodle.
Before long, they arrived at the "Catgrass Tavern."
Inside, the tavern was dimly lit and bustling with noise. Dried herbs and slabs of meat hung from the wooden beams, and the air was thick with the warm, rustic scent of ale and stew.
They found a seat against the wall, ordered a few simple plates of food and drink, and instructed the waiter not to disturb them.
Milia lowered her voice, her brow still knitted in concern. "I'm still not at ease... will they really notice our marks? Rena... she can be quite careless at times."
Gareth lifted his cup, giving it a gentle swirl, his voice steady. "Don't worry. As long as they entered from the city gate, they'll see them."
Milia said nothing more. She bowed her head, her gaze fixed on the tabletop as she sank into her thoughts.
Gareth fell silent as well, taking a sip of the bitter ale.
Time bled away.
As the night deepened, the tavern's crowd ebbed and flowed, but the familiar faces they sought never appeared.
Milia's unease grew with every passing moment. Her fingers unconsciously traced the rim of her glass, her voice reduced to a barely audible whisper: "It's been so long... what if something happened to them?"
"They'll be fine," Gareth maintained his outward composure. "The Winter Moon Festival isn't until tomorrow. Maybe they're planning to infiltrate then."
Milia bit her lower lip, her voice tightening in spite of herself. "But... what if they're still trapped at Starfall Cliff? Or if something went wrong in the snowy mountains..."
She left the sentence hanging, yet it made the air between them feel heavy.
Gareth looked at the woman before him—someone always so calm and resilient—and felt a pang in his chest at the vulnerability she could no longer hide. A weight of unspoken responsibility settled upon his shoulders.
He took a deep breath and drained his cup, as if drawing courage from the act.
Then—
He reached out and took Milia's hand in his, firmly and gently.
Milia froze, looking up at him with wide, astonished eyes.
Gareth felt his face flush an unnatural shade of crimson. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice came out strained and breathless. "Milia, I..."
"Ha! I knew it! I knew you two were sneaking off for a secret date!"
A familiar, boisterous voice abruptly shattered the delicate atmosphere.
The two jumped apart as if they had been electrocuted.
They turned their heads in unison—
Only to see Owen standing not far away, looking thoroughly smug, with a dead-to-the-world Gerald slung over his shoulder. Beside him stood Rena, her expression a mix of complication and wry amusement.
Owen looked as if he had uncovered the secret of the century. He was practically vibrating with excitement, winking at Rena. "Didn't I tell you? Gareth is the sly one; he definitely brought Milia here to steal a moment alone!"
"Shut up!" Rena kicked him, hard, without a second thought.
Owen shrieked, hopping away while clutching his leg, but Rena didn't bother to spare him another glance. She hurried toward Milia.
Milia stood up almost at the same moment, rushing to meet her.
The two didn't say a word; they simply pulled each other into a fierce, desperate embrace. Their eyes welled up instantly, all the suppressed fear and exhaustion of the journey pouring out in that silent, shared moment.
"Milia, are you hurt? Did Gareth try to take advantage of you?" Rena asked, her voice rapid-fire as she eagerly checked Milia's face.
Milia couldn't help but laugh through her tears, shaking her head gently. "I'm fine, really. It's all thanks to Gareth... he protected me the whole way."
Gareth rolled his eyes from where he stood, unable to resist a retort. "Hey, hey, Rena. What's that supposed to mean?"
Owen had already sidled up to him, clapping a hand onto his shoulder with a lecherous grin. "Oh, stop acting so innocent. I saw you holding her hand with my own two eyes."
Gareth's face flared bright red again, and he stammered, "I—that was just..."
Before he could finish—
A figure materialized soundlessly between them.
The stranger was wrapped in a cloak with the hood pulled low. His voice was hushed, yet carried an unmistakable, chilling edge:
"Do you lot have any idea what 'keeping a low profile' means? Do you want the entire city to know we've infiltrated their walls?"
The group froze, turning their heads in unison to stare at the newcomer.
The stranger slowly raised a hand and pushed back the hood.
Golden hair shimmered under the candlelight, revealing a handsome, composed face—
It was Karl.
Gareth and Owen were on their feet almost instantly, throwing their arms around him without a second of hesitation.
"Prince! You're finally here!" Gareth's voice was thick with suppressed emotion, the weight finally lifting off his shoulders.
Karl offered a faint smile, tinged with a mix of helplessness and dry humor. "It's only been ten days. Why are you all acting like we've just had a long-lost lover's reunion?"
"These past ten days have been absolute purgatory," Gareth sighed, his tone filled with the lightness of a man who had stared into the abyss and lived to tell the tale. "All the crises of the last five years combined couldn't compare to the dangers of this trip."
Owen nudged him with a light punch to the shoulder, laughing. "Oh, give it a rest. You've clearly been living the high life these past three days."
Rena spoke calmly, steering the conversation back to business. "Let's not hold a reunion at the doorway. Sit down. It was Owen who started complaining he was starving, demanding we come out for food—it was pure luck we spotted the signals you left at the street corner."
Owen carefully set Gerald down in a corner before practically diving into a seat. He grabbed a piece of bread from the table and stuffed it into his mouth. "Exactly! I'm starving—let's eat and talk!"
The group shared a smile and sat down. For this brief moment, the air held a trace of long-lost ease, as if they had returned to those days before they were swallowed by the snow. They exchanged brief summaries of their experiences over the past few days. Their words carried the weight of endurance and exhaustion, balanced by lighthearted teasing and mutual comfort.
Once they had finished, Karl's expression darkened.
"So..." he began slowly, "you still have no idea where Rhine and Lunethia are?"
Rena offered a smile. Her tone remained light, though she couldn't quite mask the flicker of unease in her eyes. "Don't worry. The boss won't go down that easily. He's not the type to fall. Who knows? He might just blast the city gates open and make his entrance tomorrow—it wouldn't be unlike him."
Karl couldn't help but shake his head with a bitter smile. "That guy... he really is capable of doing exactly that."
He paused, his tone shifting, becoming grave and low.
"No matter. The Flame Star Coalition's ten-thousand-strong army has camped south of the Royal Capital tonight. By tomorrow morning, they will be at the city gates."
"What? Ten thousand?" Gareth nearly spat out his ale, his face a mask of shock. "Since when did we have that many troops?"
"Didn't I tell you? We sustain the war through war itself." Karl's voice was calm, yet carried an irrepressible confidence and edge. "Along the way, we've gathered many rebels and deserters. While we only have three thousand elite soldiers, the other seven thousand are fighters who have sworn to die for the cause—their will to fight is no less than our own."
Rena furrowed her brow, her expression growing grave. "Even so... how could the Lunaris Kingdom have let you advance here so easily?"
"That is exactly what worries me." Karl's face darkened, his tone turning low and heavy. "The garrisons along our route were not only sparse in number but also sluggish in their response. The true main force... has yet to appear. It feels as if—the entire kingdom is deliberately holding back, waiting silently for a specific moment."
Before he could finish—
A sudden, raucous clamor erupted outside the tavern, shattering the fleeting peace within.
"Did you hear? The former General's son has brought ten thousand troops, and they've encamped north of the city!"
"What? That traitor's son? Has he lost his mind?"
"I don't care—I'm not waiting around for the fighting to start! Wife, get back home and pack—we're leaving tonight!"
"Don't be a fool! The city gates were just locked; there's no way out, even if you wanted to leave... all we can do is pray they don't drag the common folk into this..."
The cacophony of voices rose and fell, drifting in from the street. Mingled with terror and unrest, they seeped into the tavern like a draft of cold air, chilling the room's former warmth bit by bit.
The group inside fell into an involuntary silence.
For a moment, even the candle flame on the table seemed to shiver.
Karl tightened his grip, his brow deeply furrowed. His gaze drifted past the window frame, through the dancing shadows of the lamplight, and out toward the street swallowed by the night.
The darkness in the distance was silent and mute, yet it felt as though it harbored some approaching tempest.
His intuition was whispering—tomorrow would be anything but peaceful.