On the east side,
In a castle-like structure rising from crumbling stone and iron thorns at the center of the chaos-ridden territory, silence reigned. The air inside was heavy, oppressive—soaked in a quiet menace.
The oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of trembling breaths.
At the heart of the vast hall, a man sat on a throne-like seat carved from obsidian rock and bone fragments, its armrests shaped like coiled serpents. He had streaking beauty that defied logic—cold and ethereal, like the moon's reflection on a blade. Dark blue hair cascaded down his back, and his eyes, the same intense hue, shimmered with a terrifying stillness.
Despite the throne, his attire was crude and primeval, made of rough-woven furs and animal hide, simple—rough, primeval leather and hide stitched together, like a beast who rejected luxury but embodied power, yet on him, it looked like royal regalia.
He exuded authority without ornament, danger without pretense.
Kneeling before him were six figures, all trembling slightly under his penetrating gaze.
He gazed icily at the people kneeling below. His voice was low, deep, and void of warmth.
"Did you find the person?"
"N-no, My lord," one of them stammered, bowing even lower.
A heavy silence fell. Then, like invisible chains tightening, a suffocating coldness pressed down upon them. An invisible weight crashed upon their backs—a wave of oppressive power emanating from the throne. It wasn't physical, but it made their bones groan and their hearts stutter.
They buckled further, some pressing their heads into the ground. "M-my lord. We searched the entire east but couldn't find a person with the descriptions you gave."
His gaze did not shift. It did not soften. It remained fixed, calculating, like a predator studying prey before striking.
One of them, shaking, dared to speak again, "M-maybe the person is someone from the west…"
A snarl broke the tension.
"How can that be? The west is full of useless, worthless ones!" another retorted immediately, scorn dripping from every syllable.
"They hide strange ones among them. It's possible—"
"They're crippled, half-dead scraps. Don't speak nonsense!"
The argument flared, each trying to avoid blame by deflecting suspicion, but none dared to raise their eyes.
Then the man on the throne stood.
Silence dropped like a blade.
No one breathed.
His height was commanding, his presence more so.
His voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Whether or not, go check. Don't come back without any news."
With that, he turned and strode away, the long furs of his cloak sweeping behind him like a dark tide.
Only once the heavy stone doors closed behind him did the kneeling group exhale.
The men collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.
"Why is the lord so persistent about it?" one muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Yeah. What's so special about that person?"
No one answered.
Because none of them had seen the way their lord's expression had flickered—brief, but unmistakable—the night he first described the girl with silver hair and starlit violet eyes.
A phantom that haunted his mind.
———
Back in the west–
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting golden slants of light over the cracked, faded stones of the west side. Here, the wind was cooler, and the people quieter. There were no towering buildings or banners flapping in the wind—just patchwork huts, moss-covered stone walls, and the smell of medicinal herbs clinging to the air.
Nyxaria walked down the winding pathways, her sharp starlit violet eyes taking in everything.
Half-beasts were scattered across the narrow streets and crooked yards. Some sat quietly in corners, tails limp and eyes dull. Others worked diligently. A group of males—most missing a limb or having a scarred back—were attempting to sharpen crude blades against rough stones. The makeshift weapons barely glinted under the light, their edges jagged and chipped.
She paused, her assassin's instinct noting the futility of their work. Those blades wouldn't cut through even bark.
Her hand brushed the hilt of her own dagger, strapped securely against her thigh. Sleek. Balanced. Razor-sharp.
A weapon like hers would be a priceless treasure here.
Her gaze continued across the small courtyards and quiet alleyways, where broken windows were patched with fabric and laughter was rare. Then she caught sight of the elderly healer—the same one who helped her when she was injured.
The woman was bent over a withered patch of earth, plucking herbs with gnarled fingers and stuffing them into a basket.
Nyxaria's sharp eyes narrowed.
Though the woman moved with practiced ease, the herbs she gathered were barely worth their effort—simple wild grass, wilted leaves, mold-covered roots.
Pathetic.
Her assassin training, both in poison and in healing, flared. The knowledge imprinted into her very bones told her everything.
They had no real concept of dosage, properties, or preparation methods. Their medical understanding was crude—effective only by accident or sheer willpower.
Ari's voice pinged into her head just then, chirping with energy.
『Side Mission Update!』
『New Sub-Mission: Teach or provide three viable medical solutions to improve village survivability. Reward: 50 points, increased favorability among west-side residents. Hidden bonus available.』
She blinked.
"Seriously? I'm not here to babysit anyone."
『But you're such a benevolent savior! Surely your cold heart will melt for the pitiful!』
"Keep talking and I'll see if System cores can be exorcised."
『Eep—muting!』
She rolled her eyes but began to make mental notes.
The healer was about to pluck a moldy vine root.
Nyxaria stepped in, grasping her wrist.
The woman froze.
"That one's toxic in this climate," Nyxaria said coolly. "It ferments in the heat. You're feeding poison to your patients."
The old healer's eyes widened in shock and fear.
Nyxaria bent down, quickly sorting through the pile and plucking a small lavender-blue sprig. "This one will help the fever better. Mix it with warm water, no fire."
She stood again, brushing her clothes off.
Behind her, other half-beasts had gathered, watching in silence. Whispers followed her as she walked away.
She ignored them.
Ari's voice unmuted.
『+10 points~! You're a real saint in daggers~』
"Shut up."
She continued her patrol, turning corners and ducking under low roofs. She could feel it—the west was trembling beneath a surface of quiet. Weakness had become its armor, but she doubted that would protect it for long.
And she had a mission to complete.
Her gaze wandered up.
Far above her, unseen by all, a grey-feathered hawk circled once—then disappeared eastward, flying with urgent, determined wings.