After passing through the entrance of the imperial palace, Graham paused for a moment and glanced around.
Something felt off.
Nothing seemed different from before, yet it was as if dark stains had spread across the surroundings.
Despite the sun hanging high in the sky, the shadows stretched unnaturally long, and the corners were cloaked in deep, black shade.
Blinking in disbelief, he looked again. But the eerie sight remained unchanged. A creeping unease settled over him.
“Is something wrong?” a guard asked.
“No,” Graham shook his head.
“Then go.”
“Yes, sir.”
He had been summoned by the emperor.
Rumors of some incident at the palace had reached him, but the details were unclear. Still, Graham suspected that was why the emperor had called him.
He made his way to the main hall where the emperor resided.
Black-armored royal guards stood watch at the entrance.
“Please enter.”
“Thank you.”
As the doors opened, Graham stepped inside and knelt on one knee, bowing deeply.
“I, Graham, pay my respects to Your Majesty.”
No reply came, so he kept his head lowered.
After a moment, a weary voice called out.
“Come here…”
Graham lifted his eyes.
Emperor Ivar sat on the throne.
He wore a crimson cloak embroidered with golden lions, but even at a glance, his illness was evident. His complexion was ashen.
A court physician stood nearby, tending to him.
Graham concealed his surprise and approached. Ivar smiled faintly.
“Surprised?”
“Not at all.”
“Heh…”
“If you’re unwell, wouldn’t it be better to stay in your chambers?”
“The emperor cannot leave the throne. The entire empire is mine—where else would I go? Isn’t that so?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“The emperor must sit upon the throne. Heh…”
Graham felt a strange dissonance again.
Ivar did not flaunt his imperial status. On the contrary, he usually displayed a humble demeanor that underscored his authority in an unorthodox way.
But now, his words and manner resembled those of a noble drunk on power.
“Heh, heh heh heh…”
Ivar laughed again, then suddenly coughed as if choking.
The physician quickly offered a cup. Ivar spat out a mixture of yellow pus and blood.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Who do you think I am?”
“You were healthy before. How did it come to this…?”
“Curious, are you?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
Ivar’s eyes locked onto Graham’s, burning with a strange intensity.
“If you knew, would you help me, Graham?”
“Pardon?”
“Would you help me?”
“I am Your Majesty’s knight.”
“Indeed. You are a model knight. Sometimes too rigid, but…”
Ivar chuckled.
“Someone tried to poison me.”
Graham’s eyes widened.
Though Ivar spoke casually, this was no trivial matter. Someone had attempted to assassinate the emperor.
“How could that be…?”
“So, there was a fight. They’ll be here soon.”
The doors to the hall opened, and new visitors entered.
They came to stand on either side of Graham and bowed in unison.
“Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty.”
Familiar faces.
Crown Prince Eugen.
And Yalta, the so-called ‘Barbarian of the Empire.’
“How did it go?”
“I smashed their skulls to bits, Your Majesty,” Yalta replied with a grin.
His barbaric cruelty was terrifying to their enemies.
Yalta shifted uncomfortably in his clothes, then continued.
“How could I let those who tried to kill the emperor go unpunished? I crushed their heads with my fists.”
Ivar laughed.
“Oh dear. I told you to get confessions…”
He glanced at Eugen, who shrugged.
“You know Yalta’s temper, Your Majesty.”
“Heh…”
Ivar chuckled softly.
“Yes. Confessions don’t matter. I already know the truth.”
Graham remained silent, unsure how to respond.
“Graham.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Those who dared to poison the emperor—what do you think of going after them? May I send you?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I’ll send Yalta with you. Together, bring those bastards before me. Heh…”
Ivar seemed intent on making an example of them.
Sending Yalta was a clear message: the enemy’s surrender would not be accepted lightly.
Yalta’s face lit up.
“I’m glad to be with you, Sir Graham, Your Majesty.”
“That’s fortunate.”
“I’ll follow your lead.”
“Good, good.”
Only now did Graham understand why he had been summoned.
Few could control Yalta, and Graham was one of them.
Though Yalta often acted on brute force and whim, he respected those who commanded him with genuine authority—and would listen.
He was almost childlike in his simplicity.
Yalta looked at Graham with a sly smile.
“Sir Graham, let’s take revenge for the emperor together. Sound good?”
Graham said nothing, instead turning back to Ivar.
There was still more to hear.
“Your Majesty, who exactly tried to harm you?”
“Oh, I almost forgot.”
Ivar gestured.
“Come closer.”
Graham stepped forward and stopped.
Ivar motioned more insistently, beckoning him near.
They were now close enough that their arms nearly touched. Graham caught a faint, unpleasant odor emanating from the emperor.
“Your ear…”
Following Ivar’s instruction, Graham tilted his head to the side.
Ivar grasped his earlobe and tugged gently. A sharp sting flared, but Graham kept his composure.
The breath from Ivar’s mouth brushed his skin, carrying a pungent, almost suffocating scent.
Then Ivar whispered the name of a country.
“…”
Graham blinked, lowering his head.
He didn’t understand.
But Ivar said no more and released his ear.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Strike them down with Yalta.”
“Is what you said truly the truth?”
“It is.”
“Evidence? Witnesses?”
“Do you doubt me, Graham?”
Ivar struck Graham’s side with a fist. Though it wasn’t a blow that could harm a knight, it was a show of determination.
“Go now and bring them to justice. Aren’t you my knight?”
If they truly had poisoned the emperor, they deserved punishment—but the facts were not yet clear.
“Your Majesty, if it is certain they poisoned you, I will gladly pursue justice—even if I must pile their corpses like mountains.”
“Do so.”
“I am foolish to distrust what I cannot see. Please grant me your trust.”
“Evidence, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t they confess already?”
“Your Majesty…”
“Graham!”
He fell silent.
The angry, sickly face of Ivar was unfamiliar.
The emperor Graham knew wielded generosity as his weapon. Whether sincere or not, he believed that was the dignity befitting the continent’s most noble bloodline.
But now, Ivar showed no restraint.
This was more than just poison—it was as if he had become someone else entirely.
“Sir Graham.”
Eugen, who had been silent, spoke up.
“I know you are a man of honor. But this is no trivial matter. Someone tried to poison the emperor. Must you be so rigid in this situation?”
“It could be a plot. If so, the empire would be a laughingstock for falling for it. We must investigate the culprits thoroughly…”
Ivar shouted.
“Graham!”
The voice was shockingly loud for a man so ill.
He pointed at Graham’s chest like a drawn sword.
“Decide now—will you act or not? There are many who could go. Yalta alone is enough.”
Graham gave the best answer he could.
“Give me time.”
“Time?”
“Yes.”
“Hahaha…”
Ivar let out a dry, strangled laugh.
Then he fell silent, staring blankly into space.
It was a strange sight.
A suffocating silence stretched on.
Suddenly, Ivar nodded.
“Very well.”
Eugen protested.
“But Your Majesty, we must punish those who dared harm you as soon as possible…”
“What’s the rush?”
“Pardon?”
“Today, tomorrow, or a month from now—the fact remains that I am emperor and they are doomed. What matters is how it’s done.”
Suddenly, Ivar’s speech became clear and precise.
“Is there any knight more trustworthy than Graham? Anyone could kill them, but only Graham can handle this in the empire’s true spirit. I respect him enough to grant his wishes.”
“Yes…”
“But I cannot give much time. My patience is nearly gone.”
Watching Ivar’s shifting moods, Graham wondered if the emperor’s mind was faltering.
He glanced briefly at the physician standing nearby, who simply observed Ivar’s condition silently.
“Graham, do you understand?”
“I do.”
“Good. You may withdraw for now. I will send a messenger again.”
Graham bowed his head.
As he stepped out of the hall, he glanced back just before the door closed.
Yugen was waving his hands animatedly, chattering away, and Yalta burst into laughter alongside him. Ivar, looking unmistakably ill, had retreated back inside and was now curled up on the throne. Whenever Yugen spoke, Ivar would occasionally crack a foolish grin.
Seeing that scene, Graham felt a sinking unease settle deep in his chest.
Then the door shut.
It was a dark night with a waning crescent moon hanging low.
A towering pile of firewood, stacked in neat square layers, stood ready.
Suddenly, a tiny spark—no one knew who had thrown it—drifted through the air and landed atop the woodpile.
At first, the logs seemed to smolder slowly, then the flames caught hold, engulfing the entire stack in fire.
As the blaze brightened the surroundings, the landscape hidden in darkness was revealed.
A group of sturdy young men, clad in tattered clothes, sat in a circle.
With each flicker of the flames, dozens of pairs of eyes reflected the red glow, dancing like embers.
“The day we part is almost here,” said a man in a red cap standing behind them.
He was Yuri, Instructor Number One—the very man who had planned all their training.
“I never thought you’d make it through. I expected most of you to give up. But you proved me wrong. Yes, I’m proud of you.”
At his words, someone sniffled.
Memories of the grueling training flashed through their minds.
Harsh, yes—but worth every hardship.
“On a night like this, we can’t be without music. Instructor Number Two.”
“Yes, sir.”
From the opposite side, Instructor Number Two, Gonte, pulled an instrument from his coat.
A whistle.
Pee-lee-lee, pee-lee-lee…
The very sound that had once made the knights want to cover their ears during drills now carried a mournful melody that stirred their hearts.
Pee-lee-lee, pee-lee-lee…
Then, from another spot, Instructor Number Three began to sing.
“No matter how much I insist… there’s no way around it…”
A lonely tune.
“This dung heap… is my home…”
The song that always appeared at moments like this.
As the second verse began, the knights who had been sitting quietly joined in, their voices blending into a single harmonious chorus despite the many voices.
The owls were now one.
Even if I open my heart… there’s no true friend…
The crying birds… hasten their departure…
Don’t go… don’t go… please don’t go…
Sing just one song… with me…
The chorus swelled. Some couldn’t finish the song, breaking down in tears. Farewells were always sorrowful.
At last, the song ended.
Pee-lee-lee… pee-lee-lee…
Even the whistle’s sound faded away, trailing off into silence.
Everyone sat in the lingering quiet, wiping their noses.
Yuri approached Gonte and embraced him.
“Sir Gonte.”
“Your Highness…”
“It’s been good to be together.”
“Likewise. This isn’t goodbye forever, is it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Thank goodness.”
“We’ll meet again.”
They patted each other on the back.
“The training was a success.”
The knights of Johaim had become experts in mountain warfare. Yuri considered the results beyond his expectations.
He had transformed once timid knights into cunning hunters capable of facing any enemy.
Yuri glanced quietly at Ena.
“Instructor Number Three.”
“Yes? Yes?”
“Why so quiet?”
“Ugh…”
Ena was on the verge of tears. After all the grueling drills, she’d grown attached.
“Are you crying?”
“Oh, no.”
“Instructor Number Three is crying! Owls, will you just sit there?”
“No!”
“We have to show our appreciation!”
The knights rose and began tossing Ena into the air in celebration.
She soared high, then fell repeatedly.
Instead of tears, she let out screams.
“Eeeek!”
Watching this, Yuri and Gonte, smiling warmly, were soon pulled into the air by the knights as well.
Laughter echoed against the backdrop of the campfire.
It was a moment so beautiful, one wished it could last forever.
But time kept moving forward.
No one could guess what the days ahead would bring.
Only the moon, buried in the night sky, shed a faint, tear-like glow.