It felt as though she were trying to scream through her silence—her eyes, wide and trembling, locked onto his with desperate intensity. There was no mistaking the message in them: Don't say anything. Don't ask. Just go.
Then, as if something within her snapped, she suddenly cried out, her voice strained and trembling, "P-Please leave, now! Our tavern… it has no space left!"
The words rang out unnaturally loud in the dim, tense air. Without waiting for his response, she turned sharply and hurried past him, nearly brushing his shoulder in her haste. Her footsteps echoed like a warning across the wooden floor as she vanished into the shadows behind the bar.
Moonsen remained still, his breath barely leaving his lips. A soft shuffling sound turned his attention to the elder, who was still seated, his expression now far more at ease than moments ago. The sharp edge in his gaze had dulled—no longer probing, but knowing.
"If you understand now," the elder said, voice gravelly and low, "then go on."
Moonsen gave a shallow nod, forcing a faint smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Yes. I understand… I'll take my leave, then."
The elder cleared his throat and walked past him with the unhurried pace of someone who knew every creak in the floorboards—and knew they all belonged to him. Moonsen turned and watched the old man's back fade into the shadowed corridor, the soft thud of his cane against the floor growing quieter with each step.
'That man… He has this village under his thumb.'
Moonsen clenched his jaw. He'd seen it in the tavern owner's trembling eyes, in the villagers' vacant stares, and now, in the quiet authority the elder wore like a crown. This village was caught in the grip of something invisible—something silent, but suffocating.
Yet the root of it still eluded him.
His eyes flicked toward the entrance, where two warriors of the Hana Kingdom stood watchfully among the shadows, pretending to blend in with the weary travelers outside. Catching their attention with the slightest motion of his gaze, Moonsen gave them a subtle signal.
They understood.
The game had just begun.
Moonsen approached the tavern in silence, the dying light of dusk brushing over the edges of its slanted roof. A faint sea breeze stirred the heavy air, carrying with it a strange stillness that clung to the walls like cobwebs. The building looked older now, more fragile than it had that morning, as though time itself moved differently within the village boundaries.
He reached for the low wooden gate and eased it open with care.
Creeaakk…
The subtle groan of the gate echoed louder than expected in the hushed air, and at once, a figure stirred within the dim tavern.
The owner turned toward the sound, her shawl slipping slightly from her shoulder. The moment her eyes landed on him, she froze. Her breath caught audibly in her throat. Wide-eyed and pale, she stared at him as if he were an omen rather than a guest.
Moonsen dipped his head in a respectful bow and stepped across the threshold, his voice soft but steady. "I'm sorry to return like this, ma'am."
But her reaction wasn't that of mild surprise—it was alarm. Urgency bled through her voice like a crack in a dam. "P-Please, leave this village immediately!" she whispered hoarsely. "You mustn't stay here… Not another moment…"
'This village?'
The phrase snagged in his mind like a fishhook.
Something in the way she emphasized it made his instincts bristle. Not the tavern, not the inn—not even the street.
The entire village.
"What do you mean by 'leave this village,' ma'am?" he asked, his tone calm but probing.
Her hands clutched the edge of the counter. Her eyes—already glassy—trembled violently now, as though she were standing on the edge of a truth she dared not speak.
"P-Please…" she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Please don't ask any more questions…"
But Moonsen didn't flinch. He took a step forward, not out of defiance, but quiet determination.
His eyes searched hers—not forcefully, but with the kind of sincerity that made it impossible to lie.
"Then may I ask just one more thing?" he asked gently, as though asking permission to enter someone's grief.
She hesitated. Her lips parted, then closed again. Something within her cracked—just slightly—beneath the weight of his desperate restraint.
"…How many guests are currently staying here?"
The room felt colder as silence drew out the space between them. Finally, her voice emerged in a whisper, so thin it might've disappeared if not for the stillness around them.
"Two… only two…"
"I see," Moonsen said softly, his smile calm, almost gentle—but his words were measured, deliberate. "My companions who came to this coastal village… haven't returned. I came to find them."
The tavern owner froze.
For a moment, it was as if the breath had been knocked from her lungs. Her eyes widened, and something behind them shifted—shock, yes, but deeper still, there was pain… and fear. The kind of fear that had been festering in silence.
Moonsen saw it all in that brief flash: the anguish, the warning she couldn't voice, the truth she was too afraid to speak.
His chest tightened.
'She knows something.'
In that moment, a terrible understanding struck him like lightning behind the eyes.
'Her Majesty… is in danger.'
The tavern keeper turned away abruptly, her head lowering as she avoided his gaze, as if the mere sight of his eyes might unravel the fragile silence she'd been clinging to.
"Th-They already left our tavern…" she murmured, her voice low, trembling—unconvincing.
But Moonsen's expression had already turned to ice. The warmth drained from his features, replaced by a sharpened alertness. He didn't need to hear more to recognize a lie born of desperation.
Then, calmly—too calmly—he asked, "Did they perhaps go to the academy… and haven't returned since?"
That word—academy—landed like a stone in still water.
A flicker of sheer terror flashed across the woman's face, brief but unmistakable. Her eyes snapped to his for a second, wide with panic, before she turned away again, her lips pressing into a thin line. Her hands clutched her apron as though to keep them from trembling.
Whoosh!
A razor-sharp arrow sliced through the air, grazing the left side of Jade's face with a searing sting.
He didn't flinch.
Creak—Thud!
The back door of the old house slammed open, and ten warriors surged in, their longswords gleaming under the fading light.
Jade, with Queen Genie limp on his back, spun around to face the now-exposed exit—the very one he had just escaped through.
And there, standing at its threshold with an unsettling calm, was the technical instructor—the man Jade had once thought of as a mere civil servant.
"I didn't realize you were such a formidable opponent," the instructor said smoothly, a cold smile playing on his lips. Six warriors flanked him on each side, forming a wall of steel and muscle.
Jade's eyes darted around.
They were surrounded.
Blades glinted both in front and behind him, drawing closer with every breath.
The weight of Queen Genie pressed against his back—cold, fragile, fading.
'I must get Her Majesty to a physician… Now!'
Every second counted.
The instructor raised his arms casually, as if welcoming a spectacle.
"There's nowhere left to run."
Swords lifted, poised to strike.
Jade's muscles screamed in protest—his shoulders and legs still aching from the battle and the burden he carried. But his mind surged with desperation, searching for an escape, a sliver of hope.
'Think, Jade. You have to get her out. No matter what.'
Noticing the flicker in Jade's eyes, the instructor's smirk deepened.
"There's no point resisting. It's over. Put the woman down."
Silence.
Then Jade straightened his spine.
"I will never put her down." His voice cutting through the tension like steel through silk.
A sly smile curled along the lips of the technical instructor, his eyes glinting with quiet malice.
"You're quite determined," he said, his voice like silk laced with poison. "Let's see if you can truly protect her."
The wind shifted slightly, carrying the cold scent of steel and soil.
Then—suddenly—Jade felt it.
A faint twitch.
A subtle, unmistakable movement on his back.
His breath hitched.
She's waking up.
Queen Genie's long lashes trembled, and at last, her eyes fluttered open. Her vision swam in shades of grey and light, and the world around her spun like a wheel barely grasping its axis.
'What is this…?'
Her brow furrowed.
Through the haze, she could just barely make out the shape of Jade's head turned toward her, and beyond him—the outlines of drawn swords, looming men, and one figure who stood too still, too calm.
The technical instructor.
Jade leaned his head close and whispered, barely above a breath. "Your Majesty…"
Even half-conscious, Genie's mind sharpened in an instant. Her memories rushed back in fragments—the bitter sting of betrayal, the suffocating darkness that followed, and now, this… Jade's broad shoulders trembling under her weight, surrounded by enemies.
It didn't take long to piece it together.
She understood. Everything.
And so, her voice came, steady despite the weakness in her limbs.
"You may put me down."
Jade blinked.
"Are you sure, Your Majesty?" His tone was gentle, but the question carried the weight of a man who would defy the world if she asked him to.
Genie nodded.
"Yes."
Carefully, as if setting down the last flame in a world of ash, Jade knelt and lowered her to the ground.