It began to rain. For Margaret, still in retreat, this was a blessing. The downpour washed away her tracks, making it harder for the assassins of the Armorless Union to sense that she was no longer alone, but traveling with another.
A full day had passed since her encounter with Shining. In that time, a fragile trust had begun to form between them. Now, Shining led Margaret out of the forest. She admitted she was worried about leaving her companions behind for too long—even a single day apart, she considered her own failing.
When Margaret finally saw the open sky again, her feelings were strange. Had she really escaped so quickly? Did this mean the pursuit was over?
They followed the road for half an hour until a small town appeared at the horizon. It looked deserted save for a few Kurantas lounging outside a tavern, mugs in hand. Their gazes lingered on the two strangers, bold and intrusive.
Margaret disliked the naked curiosity in their eyes. She lowered her head and followed Shining into a shabby inn.
Upstairs, inside one of the rooms, she met Shining's companion.
The girl looked like a porcelain doll—delicate, ethereal. Though she was Sarkaz by blood, her presence was the very opposite of what Margaret had imagined. There was no shadow, no malice—only a sense of purity so strong it seemed to wash away all hostility, leaving behind quiet peace.
"She's Liz," Shining said softly, resting her hand on the back of the girl's chair. "She's very important to me."
Margaret studied her. Even without training as a healer, her eye for physique told her the truth: Liz was frail. Sickly, perhaps. The pallor of her face wasn't healthy, her frame carried no strength. Her gaze, clear and unclouded, seemed to look past Margaret into some distant place.
"…It's a pleasure to meet you. You may call me Nearl."
"...Nearl."
For reasons Margaret couldn't explain, a sudden desire welled within her—to protect this girl. Not merely from instinct, but as a knight's duty. To shield the weak.
Yet the irony cut deep. Right now, she could hardly protect herself. A sigh stirred in her heart. Maybe she should have accepted Brother Felix's offer after all. Instead, she was here—wounded, cornered—all because she had feared dragging him into danger.
But in truth, wasn't she already doing exactly that? Her decision to leave alone, after saying farewell to her family, had been born of pride and determination. She thought she could handle everything and meet him again, stronger for it. The reality was proving otherwise.
For Margaret, the question remained: what was knightly virtue now?
It was this—standing firm, blade in hand, to guard those behind her.
She had left Kawalerielki, left her home, determined to travel alone. Would she still cling to that belief? No—people cannot achieve anything in isolation. Encounters, allies, rivals—her battles with the many competitive knights had shaped her, and so too must she walk alongside others, even if their paths diverged.
"…Eh?"
Her thoughts scattered as a gentle hand clasped her own. Soft, cool fingers wrapped carefully around her palms.
"It's alright… it's alright…"
Liz's eyes shone with concern, her voice carrying the soothing lilt one might use with a frightened child.
Margaret smiled. She dropped to one knee and held Liz's hand more firmly. A faint glow shimmered between them.
"Thank you, Liz."
"…Nearl, you're warm. Just like Shining."
Shining's lips curved into a quiet smile at the words. She said nothing, simply turned aside to begin preparing herbs, while Margaret stayed by Liz's side, exchanging small talk.
Margaret soon realized the girl before her, Liz, seemed unaware of her own past. In truth, she remembered nothing but her name. Perhaps she still knew she was Sarkaz, and that Shining was her companion, but beyond that—her history was gone.
Not that Liz was simple-minded—far from it. She had lost her memories, not her awareness of the present.
After a little while of speaking, fatigue crept over Liz. Shining noticed immediately. With quiet care, she lifted the girl into her arms and laid her on the bed, tucking her beneath the blankets.
"You seem curious, Nearl," Shining remarked with a faint smile.
Margaret coughed lightly, a little embarrassed. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but it's rare for me to meet Sarkaz within Kazimierz's borders…"
"This time I only came to gather herbs," Shining explained gently. She poured hot water for both of them before kneeling to check Margaret's wounds again. "At this season, only in Kazimierz's forests does the temperature stay mild enough. Everywhere else, the herbs have already withered in the frost."
Margaret's guilt deepened at Shining's kindness. She asked softly, "Shining… are you and Liz from Kazdel?"
"...Yes."
Shining paused for a long moment, as if weighing her words. A shadow of sorrow crossed her face. "The fires of war burn in Kazdel without end. We've struggled, hoping to find some form of salvation amidst the conflict… but for now, all we can do is keep walking blindly forward."
"The civil war in Kazdel… it still hasn't ended?"
Shock and worry spread across Margaret's face. She remembered hearing of it years ago—she had thought by now it might have subsided. But instead, it had only grown fiercer.
"The three factions of Kazdel… no one knows when their struggle will cease," Shining sighed.
"Three factions?"
"Prince Theresis. Lady Theresa. And… the Undead."
Margaret blinked, stunned into silence. Shining, who had already grown fond of her, didn't mind sharing more about Kazdel's grim state.
Theresis and Theresa's forces remained locked in battle. Theresis commanded superior numbers and equipment, yet Theresa's supporters, though fewer, stood united and unyielding. Through sheer resolve and leadership, they held the line, forcing a stalemate.
Then there were the Undead or Undying. Though many had begun leaving Kazdel's scarred lands, nearly a hundred thousand Sarkaz undead still lingered near the eastern border, close to Yan.
Once, their base had been in the south, but a Catastrophe had destroyed it. After months of migration, they rebuilt a new stronghold in the east.
Unlike the warring factions, the Undying seemed utterly uninterested in the civil war. Battles that might shape Kazdel's destiny for centuries held no appeal for them. They spent their days patrolling their lands, hunting, tending livestock. Rumor even said they traded with merchants from Yan, purchasing animals for their herds.
Though the weakest of Kazdel's three powers, their community drew many Sarkaz to them—those weary of war, those unwilling to be caught in the crossfire. Most were elders and children, joined by mercenaries who had banded together to protect them.
The so-called Undying faction was led, surprisingly, not by some warlord or noble, but by an ordinary female mercenary. Yet once inside their territory, Margaret learned that decisions were rarely made by a single leader. Instead, matters were debated and then settled by open vote among Sarkaz and Undying alike. Such a form of governance was unheard of in Kazdel, and for many Sarkaz it felt utterly foreign.
They deliberately kept their distance from the conflict between Theresis and Theresa. Both sides had sent envoys to test their stance, pressing sharply with questions and demands. The one who received them was a woman named Ulšulah, whose proud reply—that Kazdel belongs to all Sarkaz—won the admiration of everyone present. Even Margaret had to admit: many in the room seemed to become her admirers on the spot. The gifts brought by the envoys piled so high that the chamber could scarcely contain them.
This settlement, though never formally recognized, had become something of a hidden outpost—perhaps second only to Lungmen in the number of Sarkaz who gathered there, all seeking a life outside the endless war.
Shining spoke of this with no attempt to hide her own ties. She had revealed her identity directly to Lady Theresa: a wandering physician who technically served under her banner, though she rarely stayed in the army's camps. Most often she traveled from place to place, tending the wounded wherever she found them, regardless of faction.
The ones she treated most often were the Infected.
Yet Shining herself was not Infected.
"…Miss Liz, however, is Infected, isn't she?" Margaret asked quietly.
It wasn't Liz's body that gave her away—those with lighter cases bore no visible Originium crystals, since the infection remained within their blood. That was why proper diagnosis always required blood tests, not just a glance at the skin.
No, Margaret had read it from Shining's demeanor. The doctor was hiding it, guarding Liz carefully as if fearing prejudice. Perhaps she worried Margaret would recoil as so many others did—fearing, hating the Infected.
Margaret smiled faintly. "Someone I deeply respect once told me that most Infected were once ordinary people. The crushing weight of losing their place in society often drives them to extremes. What we should do is treat them as terran beings, no different than ourselves."
She paused, remembering his voice.
"He also said that Oripathy is feared not because it spreads easily, but because it cannot be cured. In truth, its contagion is far weaker than people believe. Sharing food or shelter with the Infected does not mean you will be infected yourself. We must trust medicine—not condemn by appearances."
Shining's lips curved in a gentle smile. "That sounds… like a remarkable person. Surely a mentor or dear friend of yours, Nearl."
"Mm." Margaret lowered her voice. "Perhaps, in his presence, I'll discover what true knighthood means. Perhaps, by staying close to him, I'll see the light he carries."
Though they had known each other only a handful of days, Margaret already felt an unusual closeness to Shining. There was a peace around the doctor, a warmth that allowed her to quiet her restless thoughts and reflect on her path as a knight.
That night, Margaret was startled awake by noise outside her window. She quickly rose from bed, crossed the room, and peered through the shutters.
A dozen black-clad assassins of the Armorless Union stood silently at the edge of the village. One, clearly their leader, was speaking with the frightened townsfolk.
Seeing the fear etched into the villagers' faces, Margaret bit her lip hard. She could already imagine what would happen next.
And indeed, she soon saw several villagers point toward the inn. The assassins exchanged silent nods and began moving in her direction.
It was the perfect moment to escape. Margaret knew it well—this wasn't their full force. If she slipped away under cover of darkness, she might yet throw them off her trail. Still, she longed to at least say farewell to Shining and Liz before leaving. At this hour, though, they had surely gone to sleep.
Their time together had been brief, yet meeting a Sarkaz doctor so gentle and kind felt like a blessing.
The rumors were lies. Sarkaz were not demons.
She remembered the Sarkaz adventurers who had once fought by her side on that stormy night against bounty hunters, and now Shining and Liz, who had shown her nothing but warmth. Truly, one must never judge by appearances.
Her favored weapon, the Lance, wasn't with her—left behind so it wouldn't hinder her flight. Now she regretted it bitterly. Without it, she couldn't fight at her full strength. A knight's sword alone would not be enough against the assassins.
At the very least, she resolved, she had to lure them away—far from here, far from the innocent.
"Miss Nearl."
Just as Margaret turned to head downstairs, the door beside hers opened. Shining stepped out, sword in hand, with Liz trailing behind her, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Miss Nearl," Shining said softly, "it seems you've run into some trouble."
"Yes," Margaret admitted, her eyes dimming. "This is a battle I must face."
"In that case… please allow me to assist you."
"Nearl is so kind," Liz whispered, reaching out her hand to Margaret again. "I want to help her win."
Shining only smiled quietly at her side.