Chapter 66

Deepening darkness stained the evening sky.

Third floor of the security headquarters. Bant had just stepped into his office. He pulled off his cap and dropped heavily into the chair behind his desk.

Between gathering information on the sleeping sickness and scouting the hill they'd be patrolling tomorrow, it had already gotten this late.

"Hah… I'm beat. Absolutely beat."

Bant sank into the chair and groaned.

It was true that catching the pickpocket had taken one burden off his shoulders.

But the situation had shifted fast. The moment he'd cleared that small hurdle, a much larger one had closed the distance.

Hadn't the reports said the number of new sleeping sickness cases had surged in just the past two days?

And the symptoms seemed to be progressing deeper than before…

"Nnngh."

Bant raised a hand and pressed hard against the bridge of his nose. Another groan seeped through his teeth.

Still… one way or another, I've got to find a way through this.

Bant thought back to the places he'd visited in search of clues to solving the sleeping sickness.

The doctor at the clinic saying it didn't appear to be a simple physical ailment.

The magic tool shop owner insisting that casting magic over such a vast area was absolutely impossible for anything short of a monster.

The old man at the request office—who doubled as an information broker—confirming there were no external cases that matched the sleeping sickness exactly.

And then…

[I'm going to solve the sleeping sickness problem.]

The voice rang in his ears as though he'd just heard it.

Just the other day. Bant recalled the dark-haired boy who'd spoken with such quiet weight behind every word.

Right. The Salvator student… Mikhail said that.

Bant furrowed his brow and stroked his chin.

Then he straightened from where he'd been leaning back in the chair and turned his eyes to the desk.

Reports left by his men were stacked high across the wooden surface.

[Report: Civilian Complaint Intake and Resolution Status]

[Report: Criminal Activity Confirmation and Processing Details]

[Report: Security Force Recruitment and Training Progress]

The familiar titles contained the same standardized information he always reviewed.

But one document on the far right was different. Its format and contents broke from the usual pattern.

[Patrol Route Adjustment Proposal]

Bant eyed the title written in bold lettering, then reached out and picked up the document.

He flipped past the cover page and scanned what was inside.

Flutter.

Three pages in total. The introduction was padded out with lengthy justifications, but the core point was clear.

Cancel tomorrow's scheduled patrol and draft a new plan focused on containing the spread of the sleeping sickness.

"……."

Bant soon closed the last page.

He let out a long, contemplative hum and set the document back where it had been.

Well… under normal circumstances, I'd have agreed with this.

But not right now. He intended to carry out tomorrow's patrol as planned.

He'd already arranged for Mikhail's group to join the patrol. He had no intention of going back on his word.

Besides, he'd seen Mikhail's abilities with his own two eyes. It was hard not to feel a spark of hope at the assurances the boy had given him.

That's exactly why I went out to check the Guardian Tree's Hill. Wanted to make sure conditions were decent for surveying the area on the way through….

Grrrrumble.

That was when his stomach let out a thunderous growl, and hunger hit him all at once.

"Tch."

Bant smacked his lips, feeling sheepish, and scratched his head as he rose from the chair.

Come to think of it, he'd skipped dinner entirely while running around from place to place. Better to find something to eat before the hunger got worse. There was still work left to do…

Too late to hit the mess hall. Guess I'll grab some jerky or something from the snack stores.

Bant was heading for the door when he stopped short.

On the small table beside the bookshelf sat a basket draped with a white cloth.

It appeared on nights he worked late—always in the same spot. No doubt Nelia had left it for him.

Bant cracked a grin and lifted the cloth.

"Oh… not bad at all."

Inside the basket were five pieces of bread.

The selection ranged from sweet to savory, a nice variety.

Bant looked them over, weighing which one to start with.

…Then, a sandwich tucked into the corner caught his eye.

A ground olive sandwich?

Bant stared at its dark-edged cross section and let out a quiet chuckle.

The image of a young outsider sitting alone, forcing down a ground olive sandwich bite by miserable bite, was still fresh in his mind.

It felt like just yesterday that he'd sat beside her, cracking jokes about his own terrible taste buds while eating one right alongside her…

Grit and guts—that kid had both in spades. The locals gave her grief, saying you weren't a real villager if you couldn't handle ground olives, and she choked down that wretched stuff day after day. And in the end, she earned their respect through sheer ability and walked away with the title of deputy captain.

Bant smiled at the memory.

Then he covered the basket again and walked toward the window.

For some reason, tonight he felt like throwing the window wide open and eating his sandwich in the breeze.

Click.

The moment the window opened, a rush of air—cooler than anywhere else—poured inside.

It seemed to be mountain wind rolling down from the Guardian Tree's Hill nearby.

Bant gazed out at the quiet night scenery, then turned to retrieve the ground olive sandwich from behind him—

"Huh?"

But his gaze stayed locked on the night sky. Something strange had seized his attention.

Bant stared up at the tall hill, his mouth falling open.

Teal fragments radiating from the massive tree trunk pulsed with erratic light, blanketing the night sky.

"What… what is that? Why are the Guardian Tree's leaves scattering everywhere like—"

Bant was still stammering in bewilderment when it struck.

His vision rippled. Every ounce of strength drained from his body in one wave. His eyelids turned to lead and his whole frame sagged.

"Gkh…."

Bant clutched the desk and forced out a ragged breath.

The scene that had just appeared before his eyes. The cause behind it. Even his own condition changing so violently—

None of it made a shred of sense.

But one gut-deep certainty slammed through his mind.

Dammit… this is… don't tell me… the sleeping sickness.

Bant bit down hard on his lip and clung to consciousness by his fingernails. Groaning, he flailed his arms in every direction.

CRASH. CLATTER.

Objects toppled off the desk and hit the floor. Then, in one frantic sweep, his groping fingers brushed against something long and thin.

The familiar feel told him it was a pen.

Bant gripped it and stretched his hand toward the paper on the desk. One final thought surfaced in his fading mind.

Mikhail… that boy… knew about the hill.

Then what he needed to do was clear.

Bant wrestled his stiffening hand into motion and scratched out words on the paper, each letter more crooked than the last.

[Carry out the pat rol as sche duled. No mat ter wh at.]

The instant the last letter was finished, the pen slipped from Bant's hand.

His vision blurred to nothing. The strength left his limbs. His body listed sharply and crashed to the floor.

Thud.

His fingers twitched once, twice—and that was the last of it. Bant lost his battle against the tide of sleep and slipped from consciousness.

---

Meanwhile, at that very same hour.

Mikhail emerged cautiously from behind the row of trees lining the front of the security headquarters.

His eyes were fixed on the wide-open window above. He'd watched everything that had just unfolded.

From the Guardian Tree's leaves scattering across the hilltop to Bant collapsing from the sleeping sickness.

The story's progressing exactly as it should. Which means the solution stays the same.

Before long, Mikhail pulled his gaze from the window.

The Guardian Tree leaves that had scattered in every direction had vanished in an instant, and a faint tremor pulsed beneath his feet.

The entity tied to Colton Winery's village legend. The root cause of the sleeping sickness was stirring.

And it's the same thing we'll be fighting tomorrow.

While he was tracing the flow of the mission, the ground fell silent again as though nothing had happened.

Mikhail let out a quiet breath and bent toward the ground.

What his hand closed around was a single stone.

"……."

Mikhail tossed it lightly and caught it. Good enough to reach a decent height.

He raised his head toward Bant's office once more.

Without a moment's hesitation, he hurled the stone at the open window.

—CRASH!

"What the—! Who's there!"

A sharp crack of breaking glass touched off an instant commotion.

Footsteps pounding up toward Bant's office and others rushing outside tangled together in a rising clamor.

Mikhail spun on his heel and ducked behind the row of trees.

Getting caught would only create problems—he needed to leave as fast as possible.

Crunch. Crunch.

Mikhail left the security quarters behind and retraced his steps.

All that remained now was to cure the sleeping sickness and complete Colton Winery's mission.

---

Evening passed, and a new day arrived.

The morning sun rose from the eastern sky.

"Hey, did you hear? Captain Bant collapsed last night and won't open his eyes."

"They're saying it might be overwork, but come on—it's obviously the sleeping sickness! Everything about the circumstances points to it, doesn't it?"

News of Bant falling unconscious to the sleeping sickness tore through the security force in an instant.

The guards couldn't hide their anxiety and unease. Voices began demanding, in no uncertain terms, that the schedule be reviewed.

"……."

But Nelia Hindel, deputy captain of Colton Winery's security force, offered no opinion of her own.

Instead, she stood before Bant's desk.

Her eyes—deaf to the commotion around her—swept across the cluttered surface strewn with toppled objects.

"……."

At last, her gaze locked onto a single point.

A note sitting in one corner of the desk. Across its half-crumpled surface, Bant's unsteady handwriting remained.

Nelia looked down at the scrawled words for a long moment, then exhaled softly. She reached out and picked up the paper.

Crinkle.

Nelia tucked the note into her inner pocket and turned around.

She swept her gaze across the guards watching her, then spoke in a voice that left no room for argument.

"No. There will be no schedule changes. Prepare for patrol."