"Well, I think we have a long way to go to figure out what this script is trying to tell us," Tolentino said, breaking the tense silence.
G6's mind flashed back to Daunt's story about the Outcasts and the Great War. "I think I have an idea about the first two lines."
Every head turned toward her. "What could it be, Captain?" Zen asked.
"Well, the first line—'we are the debt the soil remembers'—I've heard a story that might… just a hunch. Someone told me about the gre—"
A wave of frozen chill washed over her.
Her lips, a moment ago pressed into a line of fury, went bone-white. The healthy rose hue of her skin drained to a parchment grey. A fine tremor, distinct from her earlier anger, wracked her frame. She didn't clutch her chest, but her right hand instinctively curled into a fist against her sternum, knuckles blanching.
'REISE! Do not speak. Do not even think it!' Daunt's voice was a silent roar in her mind, laced with a panic she had never felt from him before. 'Your heartbeat—it's fading. Whatever that is, it's forbidden. It is censored.'
The pain wasn't sharp. It was a profound, invasive stillness, as if a core of absolute zero had crystallized in the center of her chest, leaching the warmth and rhythm from her heart. It wasn't attacking her body; it was severing the connection between a thought and her ability to voice it.
We are the debt… the price… The concepts swirled, linked to Daunt's history lesson. But the moment she tried to form the connection into words for the others—to say "This could be about the Outcasts… the Great War…"—the cold surged. A warning. A metaphysical gag order written in frost.
"Captain?" Zen's voice cut through the static in her ears. He was no longer looking at the poem; he was a step toward her, his scholar's detachment shattered into pure alarm.
Edmund was already moving, a blur of controlled urgency. He didn't touch her—he knew better—but his body positioned itself between her and the priests, his gaze sweeping the room for a threat he couldn't see.
Tolentino slowly rose from his chair, his scholarly fervor replaced by pastoral concern. "Lady—Captain G6. You are unwell."
G6 forced a breath. It misted faintly in the warm room. She uncurled her fist from her chest, the movement stiff. "I'm fine," she gritted out, but the words were thin, airless. The usual blade-edge of her voice was dulled.
"You are not," Priestess Kalia insisted, stepping forward despite Edmund's blocking posture. "Your lips are white! You must be exhausted. Please, you need to rest."
"The translation is complete. The verses are recorded," Tolentino said, his tone decisive as he closed the ancient tome with a soft thud. He recognized a crisis he could not comprehend. "Further analysis can wait. You have pushed yourselves too far, too quickly after a battle. We are bound by pact; this investigation is now a shared burden. There is no need to collapse upon the first clue."
He looked at G6, his blue eyes piercing. "Rest. That is not a suggestion from your host. Consider it a tactical recommendation from an… ally. A weapon pushed to breaking is useless."
G6's grey eyes, dulled with pain, locked onto his. For a second, the old defiance flickered—I am not a weapon—but the lingering cold in her chest mocked the thought. She was. And the weapon's safety was currently locked.
She gave a single, shallow nod. It was the closest to surrender any of them had ever seen.
"Eddie. Zero. We're done here," she managed, turning toward the door. Her steps were measured, too controlled, betraying the effort it took to simply walk.
The three of them left the archive without another word, a silent procession of tension. Tolentino watched them go, then looked down at the transcribed poem.
"We are the debt the soil remembers, The price the sky refused to pay…"
He had decoded a message. But he had also witnessed a reaction. The secret wasn't just in the words. The people bound to it seemed to know, and yet not know. However, one thing was certain—he could feel it radiating from the script: anger, fury, sorrow, and vengeance.
"Your Holiness?" Priest Dane whispered. "What… what was that?"
Tolentino folded the transcription carefully. "That," he said quietly, "was the sound of a door slamming shut. And a much darker one cracking open." He looked at his retainers. "We will speak of this to no one. The pact binds us, but it seems we are also bound to something far more ancient and terrifying. We must tread lightly. Our new allies are walking a razor's edge, and we are now walking it with them."
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏
"It is three in the afternoon, Captain. You should rest," Edmund said as they arrived back in the wing housing their rooms. His tone was that of a butler reporting to his superior, but his expression betrayed a deeper, more personal worry.
"What about reporting to the Mayor of this town?" G6 asked, leaning slightly against her doorframe.
"We'll handle it, Captain," Zen interjected. "And since the temple sent their priests with us, the Archbishop could provide his own confirmation as well. We'll simply need to stop by the Mayor's office to finalize the completion."
G6 looked at them both, taking in the exhaustion etched into their faces, the subtle tension in their shoulders. "Alright. You should rest too, after. It'd be a hassle to travel back with dead weight." She turned and entered her room without another word, the door clicking shut behind her.
The two men stood in the silent corridor.
"Do you think she'd die if she just once said she was concerned about us without wrapping it in an insult?" Zen mused aloud.
Edmund sighed, a weary but genuine smile touching his lips. "The Captain is simply… herself." He straightened. "Shall we go and finish the business with the Mayor? Having dual signatures—his and the Archbishop's—will solidify our guild submission."
As they walked back through the temple halls:
"Right," Zen said. "Are we going to present the pairs of thirteen-foot legs as proof?"
"Yes. Last time, with the hobgoblin, we nearly exposed ourselves. Besides, Her Majesty would prefer this… disturbance… to remain contained. There are far too many vultures watching."
"Couldn't agree more. The Mayor of this town is one of their lackeys."
"Viscount Tesco," Edmund supplied, his voice dropping. "A puppet of Marquess Sertiz, the Coordinator of the Upper House."
"That snake. He's also the Upper House Treasurer."
"A Viscount holding such influence in the Upper House?" Edmund's eyes glinted with cold calculation. "Should we trouble such an 'honorable' man for his signature?"
They exchanged a look, and identical, humorless smiles touched their lips. The understanding was instant and complete.
"Ah, but you'll need a better disguise. That cap won't hide your face," Zen noted.
"I have a pair of thick spectacles. They obscure my features quite effectively," Edmund replied. "You should be more concerned about yourself."
"My hair is lighter now, and I'm not exactly a public figure. People rarely recognize me without my usual glasses."
They stepped out of the temple into the late afternoon light, two weary but resolved figures melting into the bustling streets of Grain Town, their next move not merely administrative, but a subtle strike in a much larger, hidden war.
「GRAIN TOWN—MAYOR'S OFFICE」
The two cloaked figures appeared before the ornate building, its facade a statement of wealth and authority amidst the simpler town structures.
They shared a final, silent nod and entered. Inside, a woman at the reception desk startled at their sudden, shadowy presence.
"I-I'm sorry, who are you?" she managed, her voice a mixture of professional courtesy and unease.
They were like fragments of the dark itself, their faces lost within their deep hoods.
In response, Edmund wordlessly raised the guild task poster. The woman's eyes darted to the edge, where a single, elegant signature was clearly visible: Archbishop Tolentino X.
Her eyes widened in recognition and disbelief.
"Oh! You're the adventurers! Please, wait right here. I'll inform His Lordship at once!"
She hurried upstairs, her footsteps a rapid tap-tap-tap on the wooden steps.
She entered the mayor's study without knocking, finding Viscount Telesco, a man in his fifties, lounging behind a broad desk, a pipe of tobacco in hand.
"My Lord… the adventurers assigned to the Venomous Spider task are here," she announced.
Viscount Telesco turned, a condescending smirk on his lips. "Are they here to forfeit? It's about time."
"Actually, My Lord… they are here for your signature. To certify the task's completion."
The statement hung in the air, so absurd it felt like a poor joke.
A loud THUD echoed through the study as Telesco slammed his free hand onto the desk. "What did you say? Are they trying to make fools of us?!"
The woman flinched, bowing her head. "I-I don't think so, My Lord. The poster… it's already signed by His Holiness himself."
"His Holiness? That goddamn upstart Archbishop?" Telesco's face contorted, fury and confusion warring in his expression. "What in the hells is going on?!"
He took a long, steadying drag from his pipe, massaging his temple with his other hand as he forced his temper down. The involvement of the temple changed things. It demanded a different kind of scrutiny.
"Fine," he bit out, the word sharp. "Let them in."
The woman bowed and scurried back down the stairs to where Edmund and Zen waited, two patient, ominous pillars of shadow in her sunlit lobby.
✎﹏﹏﹏﹏
"My Lord, they are here," the woman said, stepping aside to reveal the two cloaked figures behind her.
Viscount Telesco's eyes narrowed. "You may leave us." He dismissed her with a wave.
The woman bowed and hurried out, closing the door softly behind her. Zen and Edmund stood before the Viscount's expansive desk, silent as statues.
"My, are you two just going to stand there? Haven't you been taught to bow in the presence of nobility?" Viscount Telesco's tone was thick with mockery and unearned pride.
Zen's head tilted up just enough for his pink-red eyes to gleam from the shadow of his hood. The gaze was a physical pressure, piercing and cold, forcing the Viscount to look away first.
"Forgive our tactlessness, my lord," Zen said, offering a shallow, perfunctory bow. "We are the adventurers who handled the monster disturbance. We are here to collect your signature of completion."
Edmund held up the poster once more. The Viscount's eyes locked onto Tolentino's elegant signature, and his expression turned vicious.
"It's quite alright. Why don't you take a seat?" Telesco offered, the false hospitality brittle.
"We appreciate the hospitality, but we are pressed for time," Edmund declined smoothly.
Viscount Telesco's gaze raked over them from head to toe. "How can I be certain you aren't lying about exterminating those pests?"
They both lifted their heads slightly, allowing a better—though still vague—view of their faces. "Are you doubting the legitimacy of His Holiness's endorsement, my lord?" Zen asked, his voice dangerously calm.
"I understand your skepticism," Edmund interjected. "But His Holiness sent two of his own priests to accompany us."
"I don't doubt the Archbishop's legitimacy," Telesco sneered. "Just… those monsters are notoriously vicious and fast-breeding. Even with priestly support, clearing them in a matter of hours is impossible. And you appear to be a two-man party."
"I understand the concern. However, we are not a two-man party, our captain's absent. She is resting at the temple. We are an A-Rank team," Zen stated.
"Three, then? Still, how am I to confirm the task is truly complete?" The Viscount kept probing, his disappointment at their apparent success thinly veiled.
Zen gritted his teeth, a flash of annoyance breaking through his composure. "You can send a man to the deep western tract of the forest to verify. Though, we don't actually require your signature, my lord. It is merely a formality for the town's records. His Holiness's endorsement is more than sufficient. If your doubts remain unsettled, we will take our leave."
Viscount Telesco harshly stubbed out his tobacco in the ashtray. "You have remarkably shallow patience, young man." He looked up, a false, oily smile on his face. "I would be delighted if you have truly removed the pests hindering my people's livelihood."
His tone and expression said otherwise. He looked… disappointed. The observation clicked simultaneously in Edmund and Zen's minds.
"Please, hand over the poster," Telesco said, his voice tight.
Edmund slid the parchment across the polished desk. The Viscount took it, stared at it for a long moment as if trying to burn a hole through the Archbishop's signature, then scrawled his own name beside it.
"May I have your names, brave young men?"
"My name is Zero."
"Eddie."
"I shall have to remember these… remarkable names," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. He slid the poster back. "And your captain? You referred to 'she.' The leader of this exceptional party is a woman?"
"Our Captain's name is G6 Arcadia," Edmund said, taking the poster. "Please remember hers as well."
"I will. You can be sure of that," Viscount Telesco replied, his voice dripping with unspoken threat.
"Thank you for your time, my lord. We will take our leave." Edmund gave another curt bow. They both turned to go.
Viscount Telesco watched their retreating backs, his face a mask of simmering irritation. Just before they reached the door, Zen turned, glancing over his shoulder.
"You might wish to launch a reforestation initiative, my lord," he said flatly, then followed Edmund out.
The moment the door clicked shut, the Viscount's façade vanished. He snapped his fingers.
A hired mercenary, previously concealed, dropped silently into the room from the window ledge. "Check the forest tract they mentioned. Verify the extermination yourself," Telesco ordered.
The man nodded and vanished as quickly as he had appeared.
Alone again, Telesco slumped back into his chair, massaging his temples. "His nagging will be a pain in the neck if this reaches him…" he muttered to the empty room, already calculating the political fallout and his next move.
「G6's Room」
When she entered her room and lay down, exhaustion overcame her. She fell into a deep, uneasy sleep almost instantly.
She tossed and turned, a fine sheen of sweat beading at her temples and neck, darkening the pillow. Daunt, materialized beside the bed, nudged her shoulder with his muzzle, a low whine of concern in his throat. She didn't stir.
In her dreams, she was a spectator in her own mind, watching through a gauzy veil.
She saw herself—no, not herself. It was Reise. The true Reise. Young, perhaps twelve, seated in the grand, sun-dappled library of the Worthon manor. Her rose-gold hair was bright, her face alight with a vibrant, curious smile as she pored over an illustrated tome of magical flora.
A figure stood behind her chair, a kindly-faced bookkeeper with shiny brown hair and round spectacles. He leaned over, pointing to a passage, his voice a warm, indistinct murmur. The scene was one of quiet, peaceful scholarship.
Then, the bookkeeper straightened. He looked up from the book—not at young Reise, but directly through the veil of the dream. Directly at G6, the interloper watching from within.
And he smiled.
It was not a kind smile. It was a slow, deliberate curl of the lips that did not touch his eyes, which held a cold, ancient knowing. His mouth moved, and the words bypassed the dream's soft sounds, drilling directly into the core of her consciousness:
"Let her build a dream… then shatter it. Kill her slowly… so you can reclaim your body."
The words were not heard; they were implanted, icy hooks snagging in the fabric of her mind.
As the last word echoed, the young Reise in the dream, still smiling at her book, unconsciously reached up and tucked a strand of her rose-gold hair behind her ear—a gesture G6 herself used when thinking, one she had never learned, simply did.
The scene fractured.
A violent flash: an older Reise, face hollowed by despair, clutching a small, delicate vial of shimmering poison. Her eyes—those same grey eyes—were pools of utter hopelessness. The image held for a single, gut-wrenching second, charged with a final, terrible decision.
Then—
Gasp!
Her eyes snapped open. She lunged upright as if drowning, a ragged, desperate breath tearing into her lungs. One hand flew to her throbbing forehead, the other clenched in the damp sheets.
"REISE! I have been trying to wake you!" Daunt's growl was sharp with alarm. "What in the heavens were you dreaming?"
G6's face was ghostly pale, her breathing uneven. She stared straight ahead, the after-image of the vial and that cruel smile seared against her vision.
"I don't…" she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I don't fucking know either."
The questions hammered against the inside of her skull like frantic prisoners.
What the fuck was that?
Who was that guy?
Was he talking to me?
What the hell does he mean?
"What time is it?" G6 asked, her voice still rough from sleep and panic.
"You've been out for hours. The young priestess came by earlier to call you for dinner, but she decided to let you sleep." Daunt's muzzle was close, his breath warm against her arm. "Are you alright, Reise? Your heart is still racing. This is… not like you."
G6 closed her eyes and slumped back onto the pillow, the fight leaching out of her for a moment. "Yeah. Those eyes… they scared the hell out of me," she admitted in a low murmur.
Then, cutting through the residual dread, a clear, cold thought surfaced: The Witherby Book.
That's right.
The paralysis of the nightmare shattered, replaced by a razor-sharp imperative. She sat back up, the ghostly pallor hardening into resolve.
"We have to go back," G6 said, throwing off the sheet. "Now."
「MAYOR'S STUDY—Viscount Telesco」
The hired mercenary returned long after night had fallen, slipping back into the study through the window as silently as he had left. He knelt before Viscount Telesco's desk, the smell of char and damp dirt clinging to him.
"Well? Were they telling the truth?" Viscount Telesco asked, the ember of his pipe glowing in the dim room like a malevolent eye.
"Y…yes, my lord." The mercenary's voice was tight with awe and residual fear. "The western tract… it's a wasteland. The trees are scorched to ash across a huge area. There's a massive crater in the ground. And the spider den… it's completely collapsed, like something caved it in from the inside."
Viscount Telesco snatched the heavy pencil holder from his desk and hurled it against the wall. It shattered with a crash. "WHAT? SO THEY WERE TELLING THE TRUTH?" Spittle flew from his lips, his face contorted with furious disbelief.
"Fire… a crater… the nest destroyed… Who are they? Do you think they used some kind of artifact?" he demanded, trying to rationalize the impossibility.
"I don't believe so, my lord," the man replied, his head bowed. "The flames… they weren't normal fire. They were blue. And they're still burning in places, consuming the last of the spider remains."
"Blue flame?" Telesco whispered, the anger in his gut chilling into something sharper—avarice. "That's the highest grade of incendiary magic. No one has that affinity… even the royal bloodline's level of fire is yellow." He paced behind his desk, his mind racing. "They're not just adventurers, they may be a bastards of some nobles."
He stopped, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "Find out where they are. Track them. I want them taken—alive. They might be the same ones who cleaned up that mess in Oak Village."
"Understood, my lord. My men are ready. They're currently lodging at the temple."
Telesco waved a dismissive hand. The mercenary vanished back into the night as silently as he'd come.
Alone, Telesco sank into his chair, the pipe trembling slightly in his hand. Blue flame… and a crater. A bastard of Nocturne? Or something else entirely? A vicious smile spread across his face. If I can bring them under our control… Marquess Sertiz would be delighted.
Then his smile widened, turning cruel. No… why stop there? Why not take them directly to Marquess Vinesthorne? The man is seething since he lost his precious test subject. Delivering him a new, powerful tool… He chuckled, a low, grating sound in the quiet study. I could leapfrog right over Sertiz. A direct line to the most ambitious pillar of them all. My position in the Upper House would be secured.
He laughed again, the sound full of venom and greed. The adventurers were no longer just a nuisance. They had just become his most valuable ticket to the top.
—To Be Continued…—