The story about Lauma’s nephew—the very topic the Duke of Peleta had requested—had truly come up. And this time, it wasn’t something to speculate about; Lauma himself had said it outright.

Swallowing his tension, Gohum asked with bold composure.

“To move the wing of the Owl, known to be firmer than stone… I’m curious what kind of person could do that.”

Lauma smiled.

“If your ears have caught any rumors, then surely you already know who my nephew is.”

“Yes. I’ve heard that you recently found a nephew you’d lost long ago. But I can’t begin to guess why someone like him would look favorably on us, complete strangers.”

Lauma fell silent for a moment, as if debating how to answer.

Then, as if making up his mind, he slowly spoke.

“He came from north of the desert. Born and raised there. Unfortunately, he can no longer use his power, but he is one of the chosen. I suspect that’s why he showed interest in your affairs.”

“…Forgive me, but… when you say he can no longer use his power…?”

“His body is completely ruined. They say he’ll never be able to use his strength again.”

Gohum’s eyes widened slightly.

“When he first returned to the Owl’s embrace, he was in such a horrific state that it wouldn’t have been strange for him to die on the spot. But thankfully, the chosen who possess the power of healing saved him.”

“I’ve heard that Anman Noon has miraculous people who can bring the dead back to life. So the rumors were true.”

“Not to the extent of raising the dead, no. But it is astonishing. We call them healers. Still, even they could not restore the things he had already lost.”

“……”

“He barely survived, but for a long time he had no will to live. He breathed, but didn’t open his mouth to speak. The very first thing he said to me of his own accord… was about you. If not for that, I might have decided to listen to the wolves’ proposal first.”

A shadow passed over Lauma’s face.

'He said the nephew was born north of the desert, and yet… he seems to genuinely care for him.'

By Southern standards, that was rare. People born north of the desert or of mixed blood were often shunned as not being true children of the moon.

If not for the famously tolerant Anman Noon tribe, that so-called nephew might not have survived at all.

'Well… I don’t know the full story of someone else’s family. But I can at least understand the desire to protect a loved one.'

After a moment of thought, Gohum opened his mouth.

“I’ve never heard of chosen ones becoming so injured they lose their «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» powers. But if he came from north of the desert, perhaps we can find more information. If I learn of any way to help your nephew recover, I’ll make sure to tell you.”

“Even just saying so—I thank you.”

Lauma’s tone noticeably softened. Gohum, sensing the shift with a merchant’s instinct, thought to himself:

'Now is the best time to talk about what Ansuma Mehret has done.'

He had intended to bring it up anyway, but when you say something was a crucial part of negotiation. With Lauma’s mood softened, now was the right moment to broach the darkest matter.

“Wing of the Owl atop the highest tree, may I ask—are you aware of the recent ‘Southern merchant fraud case’ causing a stir in the nations north of the desert?”

Like other tribes, the Anman Noon also had their own trading group. So they must have heard about the incidents in the Empire of Orr.

As Gohum expected, Lauma wasn’t surprised. He nodded.

“You mean the story about that Duke Ta-in of the Empire, who nearly ruined his house after being incited by children of the moon. The culprits are still at large, and the duke is still on trial, I heard.”

An impressive depth of information. But—did he know this, too?

“Did you also know that the ones responsible were people from Ansuma Mehret?”

“…Is that true? Do you have proof?”

“I heard it directly from a high-ranking official of Orr who was closely involved in the case.”

“There’s a chance they lied to you.”

“Recently, while on a trade route, I received a request for help from an allied foreign caravan. Someone had been using their name to sell cursed goods. When we finally caught and brought in the culprits, some of them turned out to be kin of Ansuma Mehret.”

In fact, they were directly related to the chieftain. The shock of that moment still lingered vividly in his memory.

“And what were these ‘cursed goods’?”

Lauma struck at the core of it. Gohum pulled out another item he had brought specifically for today. It had been handed to him by Mick, head of the Shuden caravan, just before he left Peleta to return home.

“One of the items we confiscated. At a glance, it seems like an ordinary cooking tool, but if you split it open like this…”

Gohum grabbed the meat mallet and applied pressure. The already weakened seam split open, revealing an empty hollow inside.

“…It’s hollow.”

“Yes. But if you look closely, you’ll see dark red stains.”

Lauma narrowed his eyes slightly.

“…Yes, I see them. What are they?”

“Monster blood. They filled it with corrupted mana.”

“Corrupted mana…?”

The Southern Nation had no real mages to speak of. Their knowledge of mana was vastly inferior to that of the northern lands. And yet, Lauma’s expression showed that he immediately understood the implication.

“…Good gods. What in the world are those wolves doing…”

“What I saw firsthand was only the tip of the iceberg. Similar incidents are likely happening elsewhere. There are even rumors that a suspicious Southern merchant was involved in several recent incidents in southern Orr. Doesn’t it seem like too many coincidences are repeating themselves?”

The Duke of Peleta had told Gohum, Think for yourself based on what you’ve seen. So he did. He revisited old rumors he’d once ignored, investigated Ansuma Mehret after returning home…

And the result was shocking.

He didn’t know everything. But he had enough to make a judgment.

Ansuma Mehret—the Tribe of the Wolf’s Eye—had long since moved beyond talk of ambition. This time, they truly seemed set on overturning the northern nations and advancing their conquest. No matter how many innocents died in the process.

“Ever since the stones fell from the sky and the chosen ones began to appear, the Temple of the Black Moon and Ansuma Mehret have insisted ‘This is the will of the gods for us.’ I’m sure you remember.”

“Yes. Always dredging up that old prophecy.”

“What do you personally think of it, Chief?”

“…To be honest, I’ve never found it convincing. If it were truly divine will for us, as they claim, then the Red Stone would have fallen in the South—and the chosen would only have emerged among us.”

But the Red Stone fell in the Empire of Orr. And the largest number of chosen appeared there.

“I didn’t take it seriously either. But while traveling to sell this medicine, I heard troubling things—smaller tribes that once resisted Ansuma Mehret’s teachings are now facing intense pressure to ‘obey the will of the gods.’”

“Happens once every century or so.”

It was common for aggressive tribes to try unifying the region by pressuring weaker ones. But this time, the scale and severity were on another level. Gohum needed Lauma to understand that.

“Previously, those who dreamed of unification believed they must gather the children of the moon first before heading north. But now it’s the reverse. They’ve already stirred chaos in the north and are gathering strength in the south. And to that, they’ve added the terrifying powers of the Temple of the Black Moon and the chosen.”

“……”

“The northern nations don’t differentiate between star-born and moon-born. To them, the South is just one block. And to their eyes, the wolves’ actions are the same as ours, aren’t they?”

Lauma’s gaze darkened.

“…It’s hard to disagree. So—what do you want us to do?”

“As I said, all we want is an environment where we can sell this medicine peacefully for a long time. There are people north of the desert who share that goal. So before it becomes too late to stop Ansuma Mehret, I hope Anman Noon will make a decision. That is all I have to say.”

Lauma remained silent for a long while.

“…To be honest, I wondered whether you were merely using the north’s power to stir up more trouble.”

“I understand your suspicion. But we are proud children of the moon, with nothing to be ashamed of.”

“…Yes. Having spoken to you in person today, I realize I may have worried too much. Without you, we might never have learned what Ansuma Mehret was doing in the north.”

Lauma stood up.

“We will investigate further on our side. I’ll contact you again afterward. Tell that to the one who made the medicine as well.”

The meaning was clear.

Lauma Asan Roel had made his decision—to stand against Ansuma Mehret.

Gohum rose, releasing a breath of relief.

“Understood. Thank you for your time today.”

“The gratitude is mine. Thanks to you, I’ve remembered—there are things one cannot see, even when flying highest.”

Gohum stepped outside. Aym, who had been waiting nervously, rushed over.

“How did it go? Did it go well?”

“Yeah.”

Let’s talk when we get back, he was about to say. But then, suddenly—he felt a gaze.

He turned his head—and saw someone standing not far away.

In the shadow between buildings, a figure stood silently, like a shadow himself. He wore an owl mask no different from the ones the marshas guiding them had worn, yet something about him felt chillingly cold.

It was the kind of feeling one might get when staring into a bottomless void.

'…Is he sick? He’s wrapped in bandages all over.'

Just as Gohum’s eyes moved to the man’s bandaged body, Aym spoke again.

“What’s with you? Did something happen in there?”

“No… it’s just, over there—”

He meant to say, There’s someone strange. Be careful. But when he turned back, the person was gone. As if no one had been there at all.

'…Was I seeing things?'

“We’ll escort you back to your lodging.”

The marshas reappeared. Gohum followed them, and once they reached the guesthouse, he asked casually.

“By the way… among the marshas wearing the same masks as you—there’s someone who seems badly injured. Who is that?”

“Injured?”

“I saw someone completely wrapped in bandages.”

The marshas exchanged glances, falling silent for a moment. Then one of them answered, cautiously.

“…Ah. You must have seen Lord Asajan.”

“…Huh? The chieftain’s nephew?”

“Yes. He’s only recently been able to walk again, so he sometimes comes out like that. He’s not a marsha like us. He wears the mask just to cover his face.”

“I see. I should have greeted him, then.”

But the marshas shook their heads with troubled expressions.

“He doesn’t respond, no matter who speaks to him. And we’ve been ordered not to provoke him. So if you see him again… please just pass by as if you didn’t.”

Gohum nodded.

'So that’s Asajan… Seems I’ll have a lot to report to the Duke of Peleta this time.'

They’d said Asajan was born in one of the northern nations.

So then—had the Duke of Peleta asked about him because he already knew who Asajan really was?

It was hard to say. For now.

***

Morning at the Cavalry training grounds.

Yuder found himself surrounded by an absurdly large crowd.

“Yuder! You really made this?! Is it true?!”

“Yuder-sunbae! Why on earth did you just leave something this amazing outside the classroom?! I almost stepped on it—!”

“Yuder! How can you pull something like that and then act like it’s totally normal to start training right away?! Are you serious?!”

“Yuder!”

“Yuder-sunbae!”

“Sir Aile!”

“Baron!”

“……”

They all seemed to be shouting both protests and thanks at once, but it was so noisy he couldn’t make sense of a single word. As his head began to throb, he turned—and spotted Steber, smiling broadly in the distance.

'See? I told you this would happen.'

That’s what that look in his eyes seemed to say.