Night descended far more swiftly than élise had anticipated. The mystical orange glow of twilight gradually yielded to a deep indigo darkness sprinkled with glittering stars. The moon hung suspended, casting its gentle jade-green light upon the earth and transforming everything into a hazy, enigmatic painting. élise lifted her head, studying the countless stars scattered across the vast sky—they were breathtakingly beautiful, yet profoundly inscrutable and distant, much like the entities that the scholar Augustatus had once described in his weathered journal.

  Unlike most historians she had encountered, who readily assumed the entire world had been fashioned by the hand of the Almighty—Lord Filium of the Holy Milishial Empire—élise harbored no objection to their personal faith. What she found laughable was their unquestioning acceptance, devoid of verification. Rather than using ancient records as reference material and combining them with tangible ruins to construct robust hypotheses, they treated a single book authored by a prominent figure as irrefutable “absolute truth.”

  Such an approach constituted, in her view, an insult to the truth still awaiting discovery. It was precisely this mindset that had allowed Filiumist churches to proliferate like mushrooms over the past several centuries. The phenomenon brought both benefit and harm. On the positive side, beyond conducting memorial rites and bestowing blessings, a small number of priests were capable of employing healing magic—capable of mending wounds that were not excessively severe. This was genuinely valuable, although élise had not yet investigated deeply enough to discern how their magical mechanism differed from that of conventional mages.

  The harm, however, was far more evident in the peripheral regions of Milishial: faith had ceased to be pure and had instead become an instrument for funneling coin into collection boxes. Regardless of where that money ultimately flowed, élise despised it intensely. As an adherent of the rationalism introduced to the world by Theodore Rosaliza—the fifth president of the Mu Federation—she regarded such practices as a direct challenge to the Holy Milishial Empire and the entire edifice of belief they had erected.

  élise sat beside a small mound of earth. Moonlight bathed her disheveled brown hair in pale green, while the flickering orange campfire illuminated her face, lending her the appearance of a witch resting beside an ancient array of talismans. In her hands lay a thick notebook crammed with chaotic annotations, fragmented maps, and a multitude of unanswered questions. She set her pen down and gazed upward. The stars appeared to be falling—innumerable luminous streaks of every vivid hue streaked across the firmament, resembling the descending angels of Filiumist legend.

  “Is this natural, I wonder?”

  She narrowed her eyes for a closer look. A dozen shimmering trails passed overhead, all heading westward—perhaps crashing somewhere within the Milishial Empire or its neighboring kingdoms. The spectacle was too extraordinary to ignore.

  “Right…”

  She hurriedly recorded everything: a description of the phenomenon, the direction of fall, and hypotheses regarding the origin of the meteors. She resolved to seek out astronomers in Estaurant for further inquiry—perhaps this was a harbinger of monumental change. As recorded in chapter 142, line 4 of the Vita Filii within the Codex Filii: “When the heavens blaze with the dead, that shall be the turning point that alters the entirety of our Rodina Nova…”

  If that were truly the case, had everything not already begun long ago? Or was this merely the appetizer, preparation for the main course yet to be served?

  The thought had scarcely formed when a faint sound emerged from the forest, startling her. It was neither the cry of a wild beast nor the rustle of wind—it was the deliberate, rhythmic clink of metal against metal, a silent warning. She laid her pen aside and listened intently. The noise originated from the east, where the trees formed an impenetrable black wall that moonlight could scarcely penetrate.

  She glanced sidelong, minimizing her movements. Though the night was bright, the depths of that woodland remained shrouded in profound shadow. The sound persisted for a moment in the stillness, then abruptly ceased, leaving her mind filled with questions about its source.

  She could not help but wonder: did this entire commission truly carry an aura of the arcane? The mission brief was excessively vague. élise retrieved the paper and reread it once more—the details were scant, barely sufficient to outline the sequence of events:

  “22 August: A merchant caravan ambushed near the hill; only destroyed wagons remained.

  24 August: Another merchant group vanished mysteriously at the same location. First recorded sighting of green flame, reported by an adventurer party.

  25 August: Latest report—yet another merchant group, accompanied by green flame. Additionally, distant growling sounds from the north, suspected magical beast or Blight…

  Cause: a pungent odor emitted whenever the green flame appeared—characteristic of rotten eggs and thick, acrid smoke…”

  These particulars offered few concrete leads, merely suggesting several elusive characteristics. At this juncture, formulating hypotheses would only erode morale if they veered toward the ominous. She tucked the notebook back into her coat, leaned against the mound, and resolved to rest briefly before resuming the journey at dawn.

  élise endeavored to remain alert even in sleep—a technique known as “lucid sleep,” devised by a Mu scholar to meet heightened national defense requirements. The explosive industrial revolution in Mu had propelled them into fierce competition for regional supremacy, providing Milishial—an empire intolerant of atheism—with ample pretext to designate Mu as a dangerous heretical state. To the people of Milishial, Mu represented an ancestral foe; to scholars such as élise, however, Mu stood as living proof that knowledge could flourish splendidly without divine sanction.

  She closed her eyes; her breathing gradually slowed. Night wind stirred the dry grass, carrying the musty scent of damp soil and decaying leaves mingled with an indefinable acrid tang. For an instant, she imagined the very “rotten-egg” odor mentioned in the reports seeping into her lungs.

  Yet the surroundings remained silent. After a few more breaths, the smell dissipated, though her mind retained a slender thread of vigilance toward the external world. The slightest unfamiliar footfall or faint sound would suffice to rouse the sleeper who remained “awake.”

  “Lucid sleep” was not natural rest—it constituted a half-sleep, half-waking state in which the body recuperated while the auditory channels stayed perpetually open. The principle exploited the brain’s natural selective filtering: familiar noises were ignored, while novel stimuli triggered immediate response. Mu scholars had merely refined this innate reflex into a trainable technique.

  In early experiments, subjects were placed in environments saturated with noise—roaring machinery, ceaseless hammering—yet concealed target sounds such as footsteps or metallic clinks were embedded. Through repetition, the brain learned to disregard ambient clamor and awaken instantly to the designated cue. After months of training, Mu soldiers could doze amid factory din yet snap awake at the merest anomalous rustle.

  The method was swiftly adopted for national defense. In a world of perpetual war and surveillance, the capacity to rest while remaining vigilant constituted a vital survival advantage.

  Nevertheless, lucid sleep was imperfect. Internal Mu documents acknowledged it as a double-edged sword: risks lying outside trained patterns (a needle piercing fabric, a silent shadow gliding past) could be overlooked. The brain never fully rested, resulting in chronic headaches, impaired short-term memory, and emotional instability. Long-term practitioners exhibited elevated cardiovascular disease rates and reduced average lifespan.

  To mitigate these effects, Mu employed neuro-sedatives that preserved auditory vigilance or devices that forced the brain into slow-wave states without sacrificing alertness. Even so, no solution was entirely safe. Lucid sleep represented a trade-off: diminished rest in exchange for heightened survival probability.

  It was precisely this harshness that furnished Milishial with further justification for branding Mu’s atheism as extreme—a civilization willing to sacrifice human health and longevity merely to fuel its race for dominance.

  *****

  élise opened her eyes hazily as dawn’s first light traced soft yet weary contours across her face. She felt the dull ache in her shoulders and the stiffness in her hips—her entire body seemed to have relied upon the ground for support throughout the night. The surroundings were quiet, disturbed only by the gentle stirring of morning breeze among the grass, a reminder that no matter how natural or secure the setting, the body still required release and repositioning.

  “Oh… my back…”

  The spreading numbness provoked silent protests from her shoulders and spine. élise struggled to her feet—not an easy task. Spending an entire night in one position had always been a poor idea, obvious to anyone who had ever sought momentary comfort at the expense of future well-being.

  She stood erect and surveyed the area—nothing appeared altered, or at least her eyes detected no change. Yesterday’s campfire had burned to ash. She needed to depart promptly if she hoped to conclude the mission early. Exceptional performance might even yield additional compensation for unraveling the mystery.

  Assuming a mystery awaited her at all.

  She pressed onward toward the northern hill. élise checked her supplies: four milk buns remained, weapons intact, nothing lost. Water was the sole concern—a small river lay along the trail, roughly a day’s walk from the city. She hoped to avoid magical beasts and, worse still, Blight.

  Speaking of Blight, their numbers appeared to have swelled following Papaldia’s western campaigns—far beyond her earlier estimates. Rumor held that the imperial forces had lost an entire Cuirassier squadron (heavy cavalry) on the Kazan plain. The alarming aspect was that Blight strength varied according to the infected host. No one knew whether they carried Blackrot until death claimed them. Unlike Undead, Blight were not ambulatory corpses: their flesh cracked and bulged grotesquely, resembling rotting vegetation whose roots nevertheless remained anchored in the soil. Those afflicted with Blackrot perished and became Blight, yet prior to death, no outward sign revealed whether the body had already been marked.

  élise lightly touched her left wrist—the scratch from the previous day still itched and burned. For a fleeting moment she wondered whether the seed of infection was already threading through her veins, smoldering like embers awaiting a gust of wind.

  The notion sent a shiver through her. She adjusted her coat, drew a deep breath, and resumed her northward march. The sky had brightened fully; thin mist clung to the grass, and the interplay of light and moisture lent the landscape an air of deceptive serenity. élise placed no faith in prolonged peace—especially not in borderlands where shadow and plague frequently arrived ahead of news.

  A hoarse crow called from the distant wasteland—an ill omen, or at the very least a reminder not to linger. Her boots followed the dusty trail while she mentally inventoried rations and calculated water consumption with each step. Every footfall carried an intangible weight: something was watching—perhaps Blight, or merely the fatigue of a night spent sleeping beneath an indifferent sky.

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  “I really should take better care of myself… Uncle Boulanger was right.” She murmured, patting her back lightly as she walked.

  This region was scarcely fertile. Were it not for the bag of tropical wheat seeds she had purchased from an Astaerial Continent trader (from some kingdom near Milishial whose precise location eluded her memory), the land would never have gained renown three years earlier for its superior wheat. The local governor doubtless appreciated the steady influx of coin. élise hoped he would refrain from interference—fortunately, the villagers had kept her whereabouts confidential; otherwise, her days would now be filled with unwelcome encounters with petty opportunists.

  Papaldia’s viceroys offered little genuine goodwill: outwardly benevolent toward natives, they manipulated sentiment to enforce low wages. Had the progressive movement among the intelligentsia not emerged earlier that year, conditions might have reverted to the excesses of the previous emperor’s reign. Was the rapid ascent of Mu instilling fear in Estaurant, prompting drastic policies merely to counter a fundamentally different system?

  The thought was unsurprising. The more Mu citizens ventured abroad, the greater the disruption caused by the dissemination of their “supremely advanced” institutions—or, as their detractors termed it, revolution. To have wrought such profound upheaval within a single century was difficult to fathom; one could only wonder what manner of man the federation’s inaugural president had been to lay such foundations.

  A subject worthy of investigation, indeed.

  Lost in thought, élise failed to notice she had entered another town—one far larger than she remembered. The population had evidently swelled. Rectangular buildings blended neoclassical motifs with imperial stylings—likely the work of migrants from elsewhere, though their precise origin remained unclear yet intriguing.

  Upon entering, she noted the brick-paved streets that enhanced the town’s charm. The residents’ expressions differed markedly from her expectations. Civilian shops had proliferated, and the marketplace had undergone significant transformation. Such sweeping change suggested either a progressive movement or a deliberate effort by locals to distance themselves from Papaldia’s political machinations.

  “My goodness… this place is far more prosperous than before.”

  élise widened her eyes, surprised by the bustling new square. A shiver ran along her spine as the sun climbed higher, sweat tracing lines down her skin. Heat pressed against her flesh; sight and hearing operated at full capacity.

  The throng surged like a swift river, impeding her progress. The Adventurers’ Guild stood behind the central fountain—the liveliest section of stalls.

  “Terribly crowded—no wonder so much foot traffic.”

  élise suddenly became aware of several gazes fixed upon her—her unconventional appearance naturally drew curiosity. Understandable: a mage who bore scant resemblance to traditional mages. The wide-brimmed pointed hat swayed with each step, rendering her simultaneously conspicuous and enigmatic. To outsiders it appeared merely an antiquated witch’s hat; none suspected the Kettle Hat of tempered steel concealed beneath. Occasionally an adventurer’s stare lingered, attempting to determine whether she was a genuine mage or an eccentric impostor.

  élise paid them no mind, subtly lowering the brim until shadow veiled her features. The weight of steel pressed upon her neck, yet it brought a subtle sense of security. Amid a crowd, a sudden blade from behind would struggle to pierce thick fabric and hardened metal. More than her cloak, it was this peculiar headgear that marked her as a mage whom others hesitated to provoke casually.

  She shouldered through the press; the clamor of the square gradually gave way to roadside vendors’ cries. The aroma of baked bread and skewered meat mingled with the metallic tang of displayed weaponry, creating a chaotic yet vital atmosphere. élise veered toward the fountain—where a wooden sign bearing the crossed sword-and-shield emblem swung gently in the breeze.

  “I wonder what manner of trouble awaits here…”

  élise sighed and pushed open the large oak door. Inside, the hall was airy, lined with benches and dominated by a reception counter buried beneath layers of mission postings.

  The crowd made her slightly uneasy. Several pairs of eyes flicked toward the entrance, though none lingered. élise proceeded directly to the counter, intent on gathering additional information—the brief from Madalène had been woefully sparse, containing only vague reports of unidentified attacks.

  “Welcome to the Guild. How may I… assist you?” The receptionist’s voice was somewhat muffled; her appearance was unusual, yet élise disregarded it and placed the yellow mission sheet on the desk.

  “I require clarification regarding this assignment. Briefly. First: how many merchants traversing this area have survived according to reports? Second: any recorded anomalous phenomena or entities? Third: have magical beasts been confirmed in the northern hills?”

  The receptionist glanced at the paper, frowned slightly, then nodded. “Northern hills… most merchants passing through remain unharmed, but two recent caravans vanished. Anomalous phenomena: locals report flashing green light at night; no explanation. Magical beasts… yes, several sightings of strange silhouettes, though unconfirmed. People fear Blight.” Her tone dropped noticeably on the final word.

  élise furrowed her brow and inhaled deeply. “Green light… magical beasts… Blight… And Blackrot? Is there risk of contact with infected individuals?”

  The receptionist shook her head. “Uncertain. Of the three caravans attacked in your mission log, survivors subsequently chose alternate routes, yet some unknown parties may still have passed through. Those three incidents all mention green light. No firm conclusion yet. How did you obtain this commission? It hasn’t been stamped for public posting…”

  “I was granted discretionary selection…” élise produced her Bronze-rank tag. “This is the investigative portion…”

  “Where was it issued?”

  “Dune City… and please provide any additional information you possess.”

  “I see. One moment, please.” The receptionist nodded and disappeared into the back to retrieve documents.

  élise inclined her head in acknowledgment and waited at the counter—unwilling to sit among individuals she privately deemed dubious. She might err in judging by appearances, yet she preferred suspicion followed by apology over irreversible miscalculation. This was a matter of self-preservation.

  While waiting, she retrieved one of the remaining buns—four had sustained her through yesterday’s march; only one remained for the morning.

  “I should purchase more provisions.”

  She chewed the dry, slightly sour bread when several individuals approached the counter. Steel-rank tags; a party of more than five—reasonably competent. She, too, sometimes wished for companions, but…

  Damnable self-doubt!

  élise clenched her teeth. She conversed naturally with countless people, yet struggled to form friendships. Over the years she had counted fewer than the fingers of one hand. Still, those few had been good people—much like herself, or so she believed.

  An all-male group was unremarkable, as was the presence of a bookish mage among them. She failed to comprehend how ordinary academies produced graduates who commanded such high regard and compensation. élise did not consider herself successful—six fruitless years at Edinburg, followed by three years of unremarkable existence.

  As she finished the last bite, she observed the Steel-rank party clustered at the counter. Their animated conversation and occasional laughter infused the hall with vitality. Yet she remained detached—everything resembled a vividly colored painting in which she had no place. Their confidence inspired envy and admiration, yet above all caution. In this world, assurance and competence were inseparable from peril—a single misstep could end one’s journey, whether through Blight or common thugs.

  “Hey, miss!” A clear voice drew her attention. Several figures rose from the benches and approached; their expressions lacked friendliness and carried an air of suspicion.

  “Saw you enter alone. Eating like that—newcomer, right?” The leader spoke without meeting her eyes; several behind him chuckled softly in mockery.

  “I travel alone, but I am no newcomer. Thank you.” élise turned away, uninterested.

  “Not sure about you, but we think you look like a capable mage. That staff must have cost a fortune, eh? Aren’t you hot in all that gear?”

  “I’ve crossed the Metro Desert. This is nothing.”

  The leader’s grin widened with interest. “Impressive. Not many mages could manage that. You must be quite experienced, then?”

  élise frowned and continued eating in silence. “Speak plainly. I have no intention of joining your party.”

  The group stiffened; curiosity mingled with disappointment in their eyes. One scratched his neck. “Ah… pity. Saw you crossing the square and thought you might be looking for adventure.”

  élise’s lip curled slightly. “I prioritize missions over ostentatious adventure. It is not that I refuse companionship—merely that it will not be with you.” She finished the bun, set the remainder down, and regarded them with cool appraisal.

  Another stepped forward. “Touchy, aren’t we… But if you want information, we can help a little.” He glanced at his companions, then back at élise with unmistakable intent.

  élise raised an eyebrow. “What information?”

  “About the green light. We’ve been to the northern hills. Not much, but you should know before heading in.”

  “I prefer accurate information. I can distinguish truth from fabrication.”

  “Come now… nothing’s free, but we could—”

  “Declined. I do not play ‘games of chance’ with you.”

  Several frowned; a few subtly revealed weapons in intimidation. élise narrowed her eyes in disdain. The leader noticed and waved a conciliatory hand.

  “Now, now—first meeting. Let’s keep things civil for future cooperation, shall we, miss?”

  “Not with you.”

  She closed her eyes briefly and turned back to the counter. One man, offended by the dismissal, drew his sword and laid it across her shoulder.

  élise exhaled softly. One hand steadied her staff against the counter for balance; the other slipped inside her coat. As he tightened his grip, she pivoted at the hip, swept her leg lightly to disrupt his balance, seized his sword wrist with her left hand, and drew a dagger with her right, pressing its edge to his temple. He froze in shock, attempting to pull free, but her leg maintained pressure, rendering resistance futile.

  The hall fell silent. Several of his companions drew weapons, poised to act. élise spoke in a low, firm voice:

  “You initiated the threat. I therefore possess the right of self-defense, correct?”

  “This…” The leader struggled for words, clearly unaccustomed to encountering a mage of her caliber.

  Before anyone could respond further, élise rose, sheathed the dagger at her belt, and adjusted her coat to conceal it. She stepped back, maintaining vigilance.

  “I dislike causing trouble. Kindly respect boundaries.”

  The leader regained composure, though hostility burned in his gaze. He assisted his comrade to his feet while élise watched impassively. She recognized that her demeanor was uncooperative, yet she had no intention of feigning naive innocence.

  The group exchanged glances, weighing their options in silence. Several frowned in uncertainty, but none advanced. élise sensed the shift—her warning had sufficed. Strength need not always inflict injury; sometimes its mere manifestation compelled retreat.

  She returned to the counter, exhaling in quiet relief that escalation had been avoided. The receptionist emerged with a stack of papers. “Here is the information you requested—green light, magical beasts, Blight in the northern hills. We have marked recent disappearance sites.”

  élise accepted the documents and scanned the hand-drawn map, noting details meticulously: victim counts, descriptions of the light, traces of magical beasts… a web of intelligence. She calculated safe routes, avoidance points, and vigilance zones. Every datum mattered—a single error could transform tomorrow into nightmare.

  She set the papers down and surveyed the hall. The chamber had grown noisier, yet within her mind all was stillness. Only a clear mind and prepared body ensured survival. She adjusted her coat, confirming that weapons remained accessible. Staff, daggers, segmented armor… everything readied, though she moved without haste. Slow progress, keen observation—each step held purpose.

  Before departing, she glanced back at the Steel-rank group. They remained standing, expressions a mixture of curiosity and resentment, yet they made no further move. élise offered a faint, confident, cold smile: they had just realized she was not to be trifled with. Without another word, she turned and stepped outside, merging into the crowd and heading toward the northern hill.

  She left the town after purchasing several plain black loaves, then followed the trail beside the stream. It would be midday before she reached her destination. Were it not for the endurance forged through hardship—from academic trials to the school of life—she would not now be here, savoring a solitary existence.

  The streamside scenery evoked memories of family. She slowed her pace, lips moving silently to the words of a renowned Papaldian folk song celebrating familial love and the preciousness of time:

  “Music resounds beneath the lofty sky,

  Remembering family, remembering days gone by.

  Though far away, still etched within,

  Laughter and tears follow every step I take.”

  élise paused, pressing a hand to her chest—her heartbeat seemed to align with the imagined melody. A bite of plain black bread entered her mouth; its simple flavor stirred nostalgia akin to hearing an old tune. The trail stretched onward; midday sun sparkled on the water’s surface, dancing in rhythm with her silent song.

  She reflected inwardly: without enduring hardship, without cultivating perseverance and patience, how could she walk alone through such remote lands, humming the music of her own life? Those difficult years had taught her to cherish every moment—now each step rang like a note, testament to an unyielding will.

  élise continued onward. Wind played through her hair; nature’s rhythm merged with melody; memories and emotion fused into one, drifting along the tranquil yet vibrant stream.

  After some time, she drew near the hill—only a short distance remained. Yet an unfamiliar sound reached her from afar, from the right, roughly two o’clock beyond the rise. The realization sharpened her attention—someone, or something, had arrived ahead of her.

  élise slowed her pace, weighing her options. If living beings, the situation remained manageable; if magical beasts, caution was imperative. Curiosity, however, prevailed. Grasping her staff firmly, she veered toward the source, behind her primary objective.