The dawn over Korvath was pale and thin, a faint breath of light that barely cut through the smoke of the city's forges. Inside the war hall, that same dim glow crawled across the round table where last night's shouting had ended. The maps were still there—creases sharp, corners curled—but the mood had changed.
No one dared raise their voice.
Kouki Nozomi stood near the edge of the table, expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the fading embers in the braziers. The Guildmaster's quiet authority still hung heavy in the air. After the confrontation with Dargath, silence had become its own form of respect.
Dargath himself remained standing, his armor newly mended, his pride less so. "The orders are clear," Kouki said. "Nogare and Zentake will lead the Giggleburg sabotage. The rest will consolidate near Hollow Ridge for the Bustleburg strike. No deviations."
The gathered commanders nodded in agreement, though no one looked fully content. Politics wrapped around every word like smoke.
Tamaki folded her arms, glancing at Yaguro and Rick Kaiser across the table. "We're letting criminals lead a critical operation. That alone tells me how desperate this alliance has become."
"Desperate," Yaguro muttered, "but efficient. Kouki's not one to gamble without knowing the odds."
Kouki didn't answer. He didn't need to. His gaze drifted toward Nogare and Zentake, who stood at ease near the hall's entrance—the Guildmaster's silent storm and shadow.
Nogare's eyes were half-closed, unreadable. Zentake leaned against the wall, twirling a small knife with the ease of a man who treated life and death as interchangeable toys.
Then Nogare spoke.
"Guildmaster," he said, voice steady as steel. "Do we depart now?"
The question broke through the still air. A few officers blinked, startled by the bluntness.
One of Dargath's men stepped forward. "Now? You'd march without provisions? Without coordination? We haven't even distributed field rations—"
Zentake's laugh interrupted him, quiet but sharp enough to slice through the man's protest. "Then prepare while walking," he said, slipping the knife back into his sleeve. "Plenty of time to think about what you'll eat when you're too dead to care."
A few nervous chuckles followed, but no one truly found it funny.
Nogare didn't flinch. "The longer we wait, the more eyes turn toward us. Giggleburg's spies are not blind. Every day of delay is an invitation to be seen."
Dargath's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue this time.
Then Nogare added, "If Giggleburg is our target, I will make one request."
Kouki turned toward him. "Request?"
"I need a white mage," Nogare said. "Male. Preferably one with significant mana reserves."
A wave of murmurs swept the hall. The commanders exchanged confused glances. Even Kouki raised an eyebrow, not in doubt, but curiosity.
Yaguro leaned forward. "A white mage? Why? Giggleburg's defenses are physical. Their barrier runes are maintained by artificers, not priests. What use would a healer have on a sabotage mission?"
Nogare's gaze remained calm, unwavering. "I can't explain it. But I know we'll need one. That's all."
Silence followed—thick, skeptical silence.
"Intuition?" Tamaki asked, her tone edged but measured.
"Call it that," Nogare said. "But I've learned not to ignore my instincts. Every time I do, someone dies who shouldn't."
Zentake's grin widened beneath his scarf. "And every time he follows them, someone dies who should."
The line hung between humor and threat, and no one quite dared to laugh.
Kouki studied the two men for a long moment. He understood Nogare's cryptic nature better than most; the samurai spoke little, but his instincts rarely lied. Still, it was the way he said need—quietly, but with absolute certainty—that pulled Kouki's attention.
Finally, Kouki nodded once. "Fine. If a white mage is required, we'll assign one from the guild's auxiliary ranks."
Nogare's head tilted slightly. "Not just any white mage," he said, and his tone softened into something almost reflective. "We need someone… like him."
The hall followed his gaze.
His hand rose slowly, pointing toward the row of observers near the back.
Straight at Yoshiya.