Arael Tribe (1)

“With this, I’ve taught you everything I can.”

As the brilliant morning sunlight crossed the ridge, the teacher spoke with his back to the light.

“But the Writings of Kazas are destroying your body, Azadine. I made a mistake in my judgment. It’s not suitable for humans.”

“Not suitable?”

“Yes. For us Elves, even severe injuries eventually heal completely. Joints and ligaments regenerate fully, so chronic illnesses like arthritis or back pain, which humans suffer from, are merely temporary injuries for us.”

“That’s enviable.”

“If you continue to use the Writings of Kazas, your body will deteriorate, and the damage will accumulate. You’ll suffer in old age—if you even live to see it.”

The teacher was concerned about Azadine.

“Azadine, the things I taught you may end up betraying you.”

“No, teacher.”

Azadine shook his head firmly.

“The Writings of Kazas cannot betray me.”

He looked at his arm.

The power dwelling within it.

This power had saved him—a scorned outcast of the Messenger Clan. Above all, it was his teacher, who pitied him, that truly saved him.

“I’ve already been saved, so this power cannot betray me. What I fear, however, is…”

“Ugh…”

Azadine opened his eyes. Or rather, his consciousness awoke, and his “sight” activated, for he had no eyes.

The radiant morning light, reminiscent of that day, stirred Azadine’s mind awake. It was a pleasant sensation.

Raising his head, Azadine watched as the morning sun caressed the land.

“Magnificent.”

Though he had seen the morning light countless times, and the scenery seemed similar everywhere, the memories that arose with each view made it all the more beautiful.

Azadine used his breathing to calm his injuries and his memories to steady his spirit before standing up.

“You’re awake. Are you alright?”

Zebec looked at Azadine with concerned eyes.

“Sir Zebec?”

Azadine recalled Zebec helping him last night. He remembered being struck by Ject, his ribs broken, and his chest wounded by the Shadowsteel Arrow—barely escaping with his life.

And yet, his injuries seemed completely healed.

“For now, I’ve cleaned your wounds and applied ointment, but if you move too much, they’ll reopen.”

When they first met, Zebec had treated Azadine like a rogue. From the perspective of the King’s Church, the Messenger Clan were heretics to be killed on sight.

But now, Zebec’s attitude toward Azadine was nothing but polite.

‘He saved my life, yet he’s so serious. You’d think he’d at least gloat a little.’

Thinking this, Azadine expressed his gratitude to Zebec.

“I’ve caused you trouble. But where are we?”

“We’re on the border between Lantarique and Salasma Counties. You can see the Kora River, can’t you?”

“Ugh. My whole body aches. Damn it, I pierced Ject with an arrow, and he still didn’t die. That was definitely crossing the line. He’s not even human anymore.”

“The Inquisitors and Arbiters research black magic, but that was truly excessive. Still, managing to strike Sir Ject with an arrow is impressive.”

In Zebec’s eyes, injuring someone as powerful as Ject was no small feat. Ject, an Arbiter, stood at the pinnacle of the Church, and Azadine, a mere member of the 108 messengers, had managed to wound him.

“Well, it was because he let his guard down, and I used the Shadowsteel Arrow.”

“Even so, if Sir Ject were an ordinary human, you would have defeated him.”

“…”

Azadine felt a tinge of embarrassment. His words sounded like excuses to his own ears, which made him feel ashamed.

“Sir Zebec, what about you? Can you return to the Church?”

“I’ll have to testify that Sir Ject used black magic to win my trial and prove my innocence. However, since both Captain Maya and others saw me rescue you and flee, I’ll likely be labeled a heretic and sentenced to death.”

“Well… I’m sorry about that.”

“I was prepared for this. If anything, this situation has allowed me to solidify my resolve, and for that, I’m grateful.”

“Grateful?”

“Yes. I’ve suspected for a long time that Sir Ject was unusual. But his high position and influence within the Church made it impossible to oppose him or join his faction. This situation has given me clarity, and I feel relieved.”

Zebec had once been a disciple of Ject and admired him. As a member of royal blood who treated all people with respect and carried himself with elegance, Ject’s demeanor was difficult to dislike.

However, the Ject Zebec encountered now was unrecognizable. He was a terrifying slave to power, wielding black magic without hesitation.

“Sir Ject mentioned he was searching for the Heavenly King’s Book of Truth. The Messenger Clan is also searching for the book, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“From the perspective of the Church’s Holy Knights, the very fact that the Heavenly King’s Book has been leaked is unacceptable.”

“But the Messenger Clan cannot give it up. They believe it’s the only way to break the Emperor’s Curse. It’s the longing of our clan—something we cannot abandon. Besides, it was us who leaked the Heavenly King’s Book in the first place.”

Azadine and Arael, two siblings born of a curse, were deeply tied to the incident involving the Heavenly King’s Book of Truth.

“Can the Messenger Clan be trusted? Even if they use the Heavenly King’s Book to break the Emperor’s Curse, what happens when the book remains in their hands afterward? Will they truly be trustworthy with such power?”

“No, they can’t be trusted. It won’t end with just breaking the curse, will it? They’ll undoubtedly seek revenge for the persecution they’ve endured. As someone from the Aragasa, I know how strong our clan’s sense of retribution is.”

Azadine shook his head but grimaced immediately afterward. Even slight movement brought him pain.

“From the way you speak, it seems you’re at least better off than me. Once you’re part of an organization, you inevitably get swept up in its logic and interests. Even when you know your organization is flawed, you rationalize it by saying all groups are like that and keep silent about its faults and mistakes.”

“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself. Most people are like that.”

“How about you? Not everyone in the Messenger Clan is as honorable as you, Azadine. When the time comes, will you be able to speak out against your organization?”

“It’d be a lie to say I’m confident. It’s always easy to see others’ flaws but hard to recognize your own.”

However, as an outcast of the Messenger Clan, Azadine was in a better position than Zebec, who had once been Ject’s apprentice, in this regard.

“Ugh, it hurts.”

Azadine pulled out a needle and thread to stitch his wound, but sharp pain surged through his body when he moved. His ribs were likely fractured.

“I can do it for you, but are you okay with that? We don’t have alcohol.”

Typically, wounds were stitched after drinking strong liquor to dull the pain. However, Azadine steadied his breathing and handed over the needle.

“It’s fine. Just do it.”

“Understood.”

Zebec stitched Azadine’s wound and wrapped his body in bandages to support his fractured ribs.

“There. All done.”

“Not bad.”

“Well, I am a Holy Knight, after all. Treating wounds isn’t a skill exclusive to the Rescue Knights Order. Hmm?”

Zebec turned toward the Kora River, his brow furrowing. Smoke was rising in the distance—Salasma County was burning.

“It seems war has begun.”

Count Garnahaer of Lantarique, a border count, had once invaded the territory of Count Casel of Salasma, only to be defeated and forced into a humiliating peace by marrying his daughter off in a political alliance.

But now, rumors spread that Count Casel of Salasma had betrayed humanity, becoming a Naga, and was ultimately killed. What better opportunity to settle old grudges and satisfy ambitions?

“War it is.”

Azadine frowned as he observed the scene from the high ground.

“They say the bandits here are agents of Count Garnahaer. This must have been in the works for a long time. What do you think? Should we avoid it?”

Getting involved with armies in a war zone would bring no benefit. Especially since Azadine was in no condition to fight, avoiding conflict was the sensible choice.

But then, Azadine noticed something and grimaced.

“Damn it. I see something I wish I hadn’t.”

“What is it?”

“The Kerim Mountain Goat.”

“This goat? Smaller ones are often used by merchants.”

Zebec peered down beside Azadine. From this distance, even distinguishing a goat from a horse was impressive. But to recognize whose goat it was?

“It’s my servants’ goat. I’m sure of it.”

To identify not only the animal but also its owner from such a distance was extraordinary.

“I told them to protect civilians, so they must have gone to a nearby village. But… war broke out. I need to help them.”

“You can’t fight in your current condition. And didn’t your bow break?”

“Which is why I’m asking—can you help?”

Azadine openly requested Zebec’s assistance.

“Heh. You’re asking me, a Holy Knight of the King’s Church, whom you’ve only just met? You’re bold, aren’t you?”

“I may not have known you long, but sometimes that’s enough. Some people can’t prove their worth even after a lifetime, while others can show everything in a brief moment.”

“…”

“What?”

“That’s excessive praise. Get on. Your goat isn’t fit to ride right now.”

Zebec mounted his horse and extended a hand to Azadine.

As Azadine predicted, Mediam and Ismail had arrived at the village to evacuate refugees but were forced to retreat to a fortress when Count Garnahaer’s army suddenly attacked.

The garrison at the fortress was only about twenty men, but the walls were well-built, allowing them to hold out for a while. However…

“So this is why those bandits killed people and ate human flesh.”

Mediam shuddered at the horrifying sight before her.

Count Garnahaer’s army seemed determined to seize the strategic fortress rather than bypassing it. Though the fortress was lightly defended, it threatened the Kora River bridgehead—a crucial position. Since Salasma was now under the King’s Church’s control, taking the area swiftly was politically advantageous.

But the methods employed by Garnahaer’s army were brutal.

They attacked nearby farms and fishing villages indiscriminately, rounding up people. The result was a human barricade of hostages lined up in front of the fortress.

“Advance!”

Tied by ropes to prevent escape, the peasants were forced to batter the fortress gates with tools like plows and sledges, slowly wearing it down.

If left unchecked, the gates would eventually fall, no matter how sturdy the fortress. Yet, the defenders couldn’t bring themselves to kill the hostages.

“What… what do we do?”

“Damn it. That madman. Is Count Garnahaer insane?”

The soldiers and commander inside the fortress were stunned by the barbarity of Garnahaer’s forces, whose tactics bordered on madness.

The air was thick with sweat from panicked soldiers, the scent of blood before a true battle even began, and the metallic clash of weapons. Despair filled the fortress even before the real pain had arrived.

“Step aside.”

A girl climbed to the top of the wall.

“Mediam, we…”

Ismail wanted to stop her.

The Messenger Clan was a persecuted group, and revealing their identities brought no benefit. Even if the civilians were massacred, there was no reason for them to intervene.

But something had changed in Mediam since meeting that infuriating man. She now sought to protect the people of Hubris.

“To protect the people is beautiful.”

All because of a single remark from Azadine.

“Fetch me some arrows.”

Mediam requested arrows from Ismail, drawing her bow atop the fortress wall.