"The Archbishop of the Church of Nightfall, Wang Yu, should be in Aleisterre right now. I'll help you locate him. What you need to do... is try to kill him."

The white-haired youth spoke calmly, naming his target and promising to pinpoint the man's whereabouts.

"...Fine."

Ethan paused for only a breath before answering decisively. Then, without another word, he drew from a box a longsword sheathed in a plain scabbard and began to wipe it down with measured care. From its appearance and the subdued energy radiating from it, one would never guess its true nature.

"If even you can't kill him," the youth went on, "then we don't have many other options. So don't hold back. In the past you only fought seriously when your opponent was your equal. That's a terrible habit."

Ethan gave a faint, dismissive hum. "I'll try."

His words were curt, almost careless. Yet his fingers, cloaked in fighting spirit, lingered on the blade as he unsheathed it. He stroked the metal as if it were a beloved pet.

The white-haired youth sighed. "I'd feel much better if you sounded more convicted. Wait a moment. I need to narrow down his location first. Once I do, I'll take you there."

Ethan said nothing. He slipped the sword back into its scabbard, tidied the photo on the cabinet and stored it away in the drawer, then rose to his feet.

"You'd use up that promise," he asked quietly, "without even knowing his exact position?"

"Sometimes you don't need to know exactly where someone is," the youth replied. "You just need to know how to make them come out. Suppose I went after Gloria. What would you do?"

He didn't need to finish. The air thickened instantly with sound: the drip, drip, drip of countless raindrops striking the earth. He could feel sharp, invisible blades locking on him from every direction. One more word, and they would fall.

"..."

Ethan said nothing. He didn't even turn. The sword remained sheathed, yet fighting spirit surged through him.

"Alright," the youth murmured, pretending not to notice the threat. "That's close enough. Tracing the God of Night's lingering marks in the material world isn't that hard. When you arrive, destroy everything in sight. You should see him soon enough."

He mixed his mana with the power of the void and wove a door of light before Ethan, gesturing toward it.

"And if he's not there?"

"Next time, then. As for any collateral damage, my apologies in advance."

"..."

Without a word, Ethan stepped through the gate. Space folded; distance vanished. When he emerged, a vast plain stretched before him. He drew his blade, held it at the ready, and let his fighting spirit rise.

Rain began to fall. Lightly at first, then faster and heavier.

Meanwhile, by the gates of Aleisterre's royal capital, a platform had been set up days in advance. Several city guards and members of the Nightblades sat behind a desk, while a long line of people stretched out before them.

"No problem with the spell. Now send me a message through the Prayer Network."

The crowd was a patchwork of races: dark elves, dwarves, gnomes, flower-spirits, and even a few intelligent magical beasts. One such creature, a hulking brown bear, now stepped forward for registration and verification.

All of them had come for the same reason: to make Aleisterre their new home and to earn legal citizenship in the kingdom.

For those of special standing, the process was simpler.

As the guard explained, "Members of the Church of Nightfall only need to pray to the Lady of the Night, cast a divine spell, and send us a message through the Prayer Network."

For those without such ties, the process was far more tedious.

Most were stopped at the borders for screening, required to produce proof of identity, and undergo long checks before receiving a temporary visa. It could only be upgraded to full citizenship after a probationary period.

Aleisterre was deliberately drawing in new blood to bolster its strength, a plan Charles himself had laid well in advance. But the kingdom wanted citizens, not troublemakers, so the screening remained strict.

Members of the Church of Nightfall were, in fact, ideal candidates. To believe in the Lady of the Night was to be woven into a vast, luminous web; nothing stayed hidden under that sky. The Tree of the Night, powered by algorithms refined by Wang Yu and Avia, allowed the Church to glimpse much of what its faithful did.

Aleisterre couldn't guarantee that every believer was lawful or kind, but at least if one of them started scheming, the rest would likely beat them senseless before the guards ever had to intervene. That was far safer than admitting those of unknown origin.

"So," the guard said, checking the bear's documents, "where do you want to settle? The capital requires certain qualifications. If you've lived here before, you can stay, but otherwise, you'll need to pick one of these locations."

He handed over a map. For the moment, the capital was the exclusive domain of those members of the Church of Nightfall who had once dwelled in the capital's shadow. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

"I want to go to Winterhold."

The bear tapped the northernmost region on the parchment immediately, the former capital of Selwyn.

The guard raised a brow. "Didn't expect that. I should warn you, the environment there's rough. Freezing cold, scarce trade and resources. Mining's good, but..."

The guard raised an eyebrow. He had no idea what faculties allowed this bear to speak, and in the common tongue no less. Still, Winterhold wasn't an attractive option for most.

Before he could finish, the bear fished around in his thick fur and pulled out a blacksmith's hammer, perfectly forged.

"For a bear," he said, "the cold's just right. I'm too warm here already. Give me icy air, a blazing forge, cake, and beer. That's all I need."

The guard chuckled, impressed, and fetched a metal tag inlaid with a magitech circuit: a proof of identity. The quality was ordinary, but there were plenty to go around.

"Oh? So you're a blacksmith? Then Winterhold is indeed the right place for you. Once you arrive, you can collect basic supplies from the camp outside the city gates. There's a carriage waiting to take you north, and a house will be prepared for you in Winterhold. Live there for three years, and it'll be yours. I wish you the best of luck."

After the brown bear clamped the metal tag between its teeth, the city guard pointed toward a camp outside the walls. There, piles of supplies were stacked high beneath makeshift tents, and several horse-drawn carriages waited along the road between the camp and the city.

This had all been arranged for Aleisterre's newest citizens, those bound for the old lands of Selwyn in the far north, a harsh and frozen region where few willingly chose to settle. Without inhabitants, those towns could never thrive, so the kingdom actively encouraged people to migrate northward.

"Thank you," the bear said politely. Then, after a pause, it asked, "One more thing. Once I get there, will I be able to see a dragon?"

The guard blinked, caught off guard. It seemed this bear truly wanted to meet a dragon. But...

"I really don't know," he admitted with a laugh. "I've never seen one myself. But there have been sightings in that region. From what I've heard, the dragons are considered our allies now. So if you're lucky, you might get the chance."

He spoke uncertainly. Truth be told, even within Aleisterre and the Church of Nightfall, information about the Isle of Dragons was still classified. The bear's yearning to behold the mightiest of all "beasts" was something the poor guard could only respond to with a shrug.

"I see..."

A tinge of disappointment colored the bear's tone, but it soon lumbered off toward the camp to collect its supplies and await the carriage's departure.

By dusk, there were still long lines stretching out of the city, but the first northbound carriage had already departed for the former lands of Selwyn at the northern frontier. The route wound east before curving upward through the plains toward its final destination.

The bear was far too large for a seat in the carriage and had to curl up in the cargo hold among crates and luggage. But he didn't mind; he used his own paw as a pillow and drifted contentedly to sleep.

The carriage rolled steadily along the paved path, eight horses running in alternating pairs, never stopping. By day's end, they had covered a great distance and had reached the wide plains of the eastern kingdom.

"Is it... raining?"

"Seems like it. Strange, I hadn't noticed clouds earlier."

"Well, we're inside the carriage anyway. It doesn't matter much. Though the coachman's probably having a rough time of it. Maybe someone should bring him a cloak?"

Drowsy, the bear twitched at the passengers' chatter. He listened to the patter of rain outside, sniffed the air—and caught the faintest trace of something sharp and metallic. Blood. So faint it was almost imperceptible, yet enough to jolt him awake.

The carriage lurched violently to a halt. The wheels locked and skidded, the heavy body sliding forward with brutal inertia. Inside, the passengers were thrown about as they tumbled over one another.

"What happened?!"

"Why'd we stop? What's happening outside?"

"I—what the—?!"

The passengers were no amateurs. At once, their fighting spirit, mana, and void energy stirred. One by one, they stepped out warily to see what had gone wrong.

"Don't go into the rain!"

The coachman's shout cut through the downpour. Everyone turned toward him. He was pale-faced, sprawled on the ground, and trembling. The four horses that had been pulling the carriage were gone. Only torn reins remained, swaying limply before the curtain of rain.

The rain kept falling, soft and steady.

And the bear finally understood what that faint scent had been: blood, horse blood.