Peter sat quietly in silence, gazing at the wooden box in front of him.
An awkward wooden box.
It was carved with designs that could be described as ornate or peculiar.
"The House of... Ravnoma was the only family in the west that could honor its oath."
"I understand."
Many of the priests, including Andreas, clasped their hands in front of Peter.
They knew they carried a heavy burden for the Lord of the Land.
"I will give you... the knights, and I will honor my oath as best I can."
Peter stood up and addressed the priests.
He would provide the best support he could.
He would do everything possible to erase the traces of the dragon, the proof of his oath.
"Thank you, Count."
"Please, feel like a guest until you are ready."
As the priests bowed and departed, Peter sighed softly.
"He was right after all."
"I guess it was his only choice."
Ravnoma, and its ruler of the West and guardian of the Alliance, had fallen.
And the priests were bringing out the old Oaths from his now-ruined mansion and directing them to those who deserved them.
"..."
Feeling frustrated and powerless, Peter took a few steps and glanced out the window for a moment.
Fortunately, there he found something comforting, different from the heavy air of this place.
The carriage was moving.
"It's a flag I haven't seen in a long time."
A small flag fluttered on it.
It was a flag Peter used to see frequently when he was younger.
"You can rest a bit if you want."
"Your body must be warming up."
Peter nodded at Ragmus's response.
Even he would have done the same.
He could fully understand the young man's feelings.
A young man holding a flag that only the Knights of Bayezid could bear, was leaving the mansion.
Returning.
To his home.
To do what he must.
***
Today, as usual, a young man wandered through the dark streets of Soara.
Most people in the dark alleys struggled to grab some bread, but the boy was born with conditions even worse than theirs.
Dark skin like the night.
Being a person with dark skin, subject to contempt and discrimination, Ned, born in the darkest corner of Soara, was even ignored.
"What the hell? There isn't even a place to work."
Ned, with dark skin, opened his eyes, so he had to get up, and now that he had gotten up, supposedly, he had to eat something, but the situation in Soara didn't even allow for a decent meal.
"It wasn't this bad before..."
Ned silently rolled his eyes, exploring every corner of the back alley.
The kids who used to stay afloat with mischief were now completely exhausted, only rolling their eyes without strength, and those who had work all night, despite their work, only had thin cheeks as they sighed.
Everyone was bleeding.
In favor of the golden beetle that craved money.
"The old times were better..."
Sighing out of place, Ned's gaze naturally turned to a particular building.
They used to reminisce about the good times when people were in trouble.
"Now, if I steal there, I won't even be able to find the bones."
The building Ned was looking at was the Smile of Rose.
A place with a rough boss and a friendly madam.
But now, all the people who used to be there were dead or missing.
What used to be full of pleasant music and laughter from the women was now just a place full of heartbreaking moans and the shouts of thugs.
Now, if Ned were caught stealing there, there would be no blond boy to save him.
'Hmm?'
Ned, lamenting the reality while remembering the old times, saw unusual people for the alley.
A plump man who seemed to have some money and another man with a sharp appearance, like a mercenary.
Seeing them heading straight for the inn street, apparently to relieve their pent-up desires, Ned stuck out his tongue slightly.
"...This might work well."
The man who looked like a mercenary seemed to be a bodyguard, but in this situation, Ned was willing to take the risk.
It didn't matter if he got caught as long as he didn't die.
He couldn't depend on his brother forever.
‘.....’
He was full of hunger and desperation, clouding the judgment of the young man.
Slowly trailing the two men, Ned skillfully approached, hiding his body among the scattered debris. The way he approached slowly was praiseworthy enough.
"Now."
However, Ned didn't feel when someone pointed at him.
"..."
The mercenary, who noticed the approaching black youth, naturally brought his hand to the sword handle from behind.
Although tension gradually increased, Ned didn't notice.
His lack of judgment was due to his concentration but lack of a broad view.
Ned, trying to get close to the fat man.
The mercenary, trying to draw his sword upon seeing Ned.
In the moment of approach, about to be another fallen person in the back alley today.
"You still act like an idiot."
Bam!
At that moment, someone stepped between them.
A man who appeared so nonchalantly from an angle the mercenary couldn't foresee.
"Ugh!"
Ned grabbed his numb neck and saw the man swiftly moving past him.
A blond boy he had seen somewhere before.
And his familiar steps too.
"What's going on?"
But Ned couldn't associate that image with the boy who once sold seconds at the Smile of Rose.
It was too confident and grand for that.
"Oh, I lost it."
The boy, who had lost his prey of the day but had gained the sunshine of tomorrow, simply cursed without knowing anything.
Toward the blond man who had just passed after turning in his neck.
As the evening fell and darkness set in, there were shops that only then illuminated their dim lights.
One of them.
Among the shops selling colorful flowers, there was one in particular that attracted men.
Rose used to smile at them, but now her attention was drawn to another shop window.
"Hey, over here!"
"Next time, it's me! Come play with me!"
"You're the one with the money, Marcella! Pour me a drink!"
"..."
At the back of the bar, where men shouted with wide-open eyes, a woman touched up her makeup.
She used to have jet-black hair that would have been the envy of anyone, but over time, her hair was losing its shine.
It had already withered beyond the point where any amount of makeup or jewelry could cover it, but maybe she didn't mind.
It didn't matter because men kept throwing gold coins of lust at the woman who had once been a symbol of the alleys.
"Marcella, are you ready to go out?"
The woman with the long cigarette stood behind Marcella.
The smoke she exhaled was unbearably acrid.
"I need one more person to settle my debt. If not, you won't leave here until your body is in pieces."
The middle-aged woman smoking the cigarette mocked her with a smile that seemed to have poison etched into every wrinkle.
"..."
It was a mockery disguised as advice, but Marcella didn't respond.
Anger, sorrow, or fear.
She knew that all the negative emotions emanating from herself were like sweet wine to the woman behind her.
"...Let's see how long you can keep yourself so dignified."
Since she didn't like Marcella's lack of response, the middle-aged woman caressed Marcella's chin from behind her back and growled.
But Marcella just returned the smile.
"Long life, Madame."
“…”
Marcella didn't let herself be intimidated.
She was just trampled on.
While watching Madame leave the dressing room with a furrowed brow, Marcella resumed her makeup session.
Her reflection in the mirror was pitiful, but instead of bursting into tears, she preferred to apply another handful of powder.
Marcella acknowledged that she had risen too high above the matter of a simple prostitute.
And here, in the alleys of Soara, there was always someone who applauded eagerly for those who fell.
"...Still, this is good enough."
She sadly smiled to herself in a space reserved only for Marcella.
She was one of the victors here in the alleys, even if the pain of the fall had shattered her body.
At least she had chosen her own destiny.
Even the method of her destruction.
"It's coming out!"
At Madame Ancalzin's exclamation, Marcella forced a smile and stood up from her seat.
Instead of the charm that naturally emanated from her, she displayed the forced glamour of makeup.
"Marcella!"
"Here! Here's my gold coin!"
When she appeared under the bright lights, the men began to shout.
Marcella stood still in her assigned seat and observed the men in front of her.
Men dominated by desire, like pitiful beasts.
"..."
In front of her were countless bottles and glasses because she knew how to cook but not how to drink.
None of them really mattered.
She would prepare a drink for the man who paid the most.
And the man who held his cup would be the winner of the day, free to smell the withered flowers at his leisure.
Because that was all.
"Here! Take it. I have a gold coin!"
"Gold! I have two gold coins!"
"Can we pool our money here? I'll pay 3 gold coins between the two of us!"
Marcella closed her eyes as she listened to the men shouting at her.
The men in front of her were throwing gold coins, but none reached her feet.
The chains of debt that Jack the Maimed had imposed on her bound her.
The Madame by the window, who had just mocked Marcella, smiled.
How wonderful it was to see how a withered flower produced golden honey.
"Then..."
Madame picked up a long cigarette and prepared to auction off Marcella to the highest bidder.
"One hundred gold."
The voice resonated lowly through the deserted stairs.
It was a voice so clear and powerful that everyone present turned their heads.
"...What?"
"I'll pay 100 gold."
.….
To Madame's surprise, someone was ascending the worn-out steps.
"...!"
Marcella involuntarily shuddered upon hearing the creaking and closed her eyes tightly.
She let out a muffled cry upon hearing the man's footsteps who had brought destruction to the Rose's Smile.
Creak-.
He had taken it all in stride, but the memory of that day still struck deep into Marcella's soul, tearing open her wounds.
"...Sir, did you say 100 gold coins?"
Madame asked from the window to the man ascending the stairs to make sure she hadn't misheard.
The men, who had just gasped with desire, also stared at the sudden entrant with open mouths at the enormous sum.
But the man who had climbed the stairs with imposing steps said nothing more, only moved briskly toward where Marcella was sitting.
"May I request here?"
"...Yes."
I shouted an outrageous amount, but Madame was unable to dissuade him.
On one hand, his aura was fierce enough to kill.
"It seems you have the money."
The man's black cloak and leather armor looked very luxurious.
He was hooded, so I couldn't distinguish his face, but it was clear that he was at least a young noble from somewhere or a knight of certain renown.
He looked like a man who could easily pay at least ten gold coins, if not a hundred.
If so, he would be more than worthy to hold the withered flower.
"Would you like a menu board for...?"
"No, thank you."
The young man, who had already grasped the atmosphere of the place and restrained Madame with a skillful touch, looked at the woman in front of him, with his eyes still closed.
Madame was momentarily perplexed.
There was no sign of desire in the man's smile.
It was just a smile of sadness.
"I always missed these things, even after I left..."
Unintelligible words began to flow from the man whose sudden appearance had everyone's attention.
"Grilled sausage and blood sausage and hash browns on white wheat bread..."
Everyone stood bewildered, looking at the man who was ordering breakfast in a place where drinks were supposed to be ordered.
"Is he crazy?"
Even Madame, the owner of the establishment, shook her head in disbelief.
"...!"
Marcella, however, could understand clearly.
The words uttered by the man in front of her were nostalgic.
They were foods that had always appeared in the landscapes of her dreams.
"I want the one... that Jorge always ate, please, Lady Marcella."
It was the food that she had always prepared for Jorge.
Marcella didn't want to open her eyes.
The boy's voice was familiar, almost dreamlike.
If she opened her eyes and saw the reality in front of her, and it wasn't what she expected, she didn't think she could bear it.
"Ah....."
Marcella slowly opened her eyes with tears streaming down her face.
A sigh of relief escaped from her lips.
Through her blurry vision, she saw a blond boy.
"I told you I would come back, Lady Marcella."
A bright golden glow emanated from the man as he took off his hood.
It wasn't the tarnished gold that the men in this place exhaled with lust.
It was the color of the daytime child that Jorge had picked up, and Marcella had washed.
Peter sat quietly in silence, gazing at the wooden box in front of him.
An awkward wooden box.
It was carved with designs that could be described as ornate or peculiar.
"The House of... Ravnoma was the only family in the west that could honor its oath."
"I understand."
Many of the priests, including Andreas, clasped their hands in front of Peter.
They knew they carried a heavy burden for the Lord of the Land.
"I will give you... the knights, and I will honor my oath as best I can."
Peter stood up and addressed the priests.
He would provide the best support he could.
He would do everything possible to erase the traces of the dragon, the proof of his oath.
"Thank you, Count."
"Please, feel like a guest until you are ready."
As the priests bowed and departed, Peter sighed softly.
"He was right after all."
"I guess it was his only choice."
Ravnoma, and its ruler of the West and guardian of the Alliance, had fallen.
And the priests were bringing out the old Oaths from his now-ruined mansion and directing them to those who deserved them.
"..."
Feeling frustrated and powerless, Peter took a few steps and glanced out the window for a moment.
Fortunately, there he found something comforting, different from the heavy air of this place.
The carriage was moving.
"It's a flag I haven't seen in a long time."
A small flag fluttered on it.
It was a flag Peter used to see frequently when he was younger.
"You can rest a bit if you want."
"Your body must be warming up."
Peter nodded at Ragmus's response.
Even he would have done the same.
He could fully understand the young man's feelings.
A young man holding a flag that only the Knights of Bayezid could bear, was leaving the mansion.
Returning.
To his home.
To do what he must.
***
Today, as usual, a young man wandered through the dark streets of Soara.
Most people in the dark alleys struggled to grab some bread, but the boy was born with conditions even worse than theirs.
Dark skin like the night.
Being a person with dark skin, subject to contempt and discrimination, Ned, born in the darkest corner of Soara, was even ignored.
"What the hell? There isn't even a place to work."
Ned, with dark skin, opened his eyes, so he had to get up, and now that he had gotten up, supposedly, he had to eat something, but the situation in Soara didn't even allow for a decent meal.
"It wasn't this bad before..."
Ned silently rolled his eyes, exploring every corner of the back alley.
The kids who used to stay afloat with mischief were now completely exhausted, only rolling their eyes without strength, and those who had work all night, despite their work, only had thin cheeks as they sighed.
Everyone was bleeding.
In favor of the golden beetle that craved money.
"The old times were better..."
Sighing out of place, Ned's gaze naturally turned to a particular building.
They used to reminisce about the good times when people were in trouble.
"Now, if I steal there, I won't even be able to find the bones."
The building Ned was looking at was the Smile of Rose.
A place with a rough boss and a friendly madam.
But now, all the people who used to be there were dead or missing.
What used to be full of pleasant music and laughter from the women was now just a place full of heartbreaking moans and the shouts of thugs.
Now, if Ned were caught stealing there, there would be no blond boy to save him.
'Hmm?'
Ned, lamenting the reality while remembering the old times, saw unusual people for the alley.
A plump man who seemed to have some money and another man with a sharp appearance, like a mercenary.
Seeing them heading straight for the inn street, apparently to relieve their pent-up desires, Ned stuck out his tongue slightly.
"...This might work well."
The man who looked like a mercenary seemed to be a bodyguard, but in this situation, Ned was willing to take the risk.
It didn't matter if he got caught as long as he didn't die.
He couldn't depend on his brother forever.
‘.....’
He was full of hunger and desperation, clouding the judgment of the young man.
Slowly trailing the two men, Ned skillfully approached, hiding his body among the scattered debris. The way he approached slowly was praiseworthy enough.
"Now."
However, Ned didn't feel when someone pointed at him.
"..."
The mercenary, who noticed the approaching black youth, naturally brought his hand to the sword handle from behind.
Although tension gradually increased, Ned didn't notice.
His lack of judgment was due to his concentration but lack of a broad view.
Ned, trying to get close to the fat man.
The mercenary, trying to draw his sword upon seeing Ned.
In the moment of approach, about to be another fallen person in the back alley today.
"You still act like an idiot."
Bam!
At that moment, someone stepped between them.
A man who appeared so nonchalantly from an angle the mercenary couldn't foresee.
"Ugh!"
Ned grabbed his numb neck and saw the man swiftly moving past him.
A blond boy he had seen somewhere before.
And his familiar steps too.
"What's going on?"
But Ned couldn't associate that image with the boy who once sold seconds at the Smile of Rose.
It was too confident and grand for that.
"Oh, I lost it."
The boy, who had lost his prey of the day but had gained the sunshine of tomorrow, simply cursed without knowing anything.
Toward the blond man who had just passed after turning in his neck.
As the evening fell and darkness set in, there were shops that only then illuminated their dim lights.
One of them.
Among the shops selling colorful flowers, there was one in particular that attracted men.
Rose used to smile at them, but now her attention was drawn to another shop window.
"Hey, over here!"
"Next time, it's me! Come play with me!"
"You're the one with the money, Marcella! Pour me a drink!"
"..."
At the back of the bar, where men shouted with wide-open eyes, a woman touched up her makeup.
She used to have jet-black hair that would have been the envy of anyone, but over time, her hair was losing its shine.
It had already withered beyond the point where any amount of makeup or jewelry could cover it, but maybe she didn't mind.
It didn't matter because men kept throwing gold coins of lust at the woman who had once been a symbol of the alleys.
"Marcella, are you ready to go out?"
The woman with the long cigarette stood behind Marcella.
The smoke she exhaled was unbearably acrid.
"I need one more person to settle my debt. If not, you won't leave here until your body is in pieces."
The middle-aged woman smoking the cigarette mocked her with a smile that seemed to have poison etched into every wrinkle.
"..."
It was a mockery disguised as advice, but Marcella didn't respond.
Anger, sorrow, or fear.
She knew that all the negative emotions emanating from herself were like sweet wine to the woman behind her.
"...Let's see how long you can keep yourself so dignified."
Since she didn't like Marcella's lack of response, the middle-aged woman caressed Marcella's chin from behind her back and growled.
But Marcella just returned the smile.
"Long life, Madame."
“…”
Marcella didn't let herself be intimidated.
She was just trampled on.
While watching Madame leave the dressing room with a furrowed brow, Marcella resumed her makeup session.
Her reflection in the mirror was pitiful, but instead of bursting into tears, she preferred to apply another handful of powder.
Marcella acknowledged that she had risen too high above the matter of a simple prostitute.
And here, in the alleys of Soara, there was always someone who applauded eagerly for those who fell.
"...Still, this is good enough."
She sadly smiled to herself in a space reserved only for Marcella.
She was one of the victors here in the alleys, even if the pain of the fall had shattered her body.
At least she had chosen her own destiny.
Even the method of her destruction.
"It's coming out!"
At Madame Ancalzin's exclamation, Marcella forced a smile and stood up from her seat.
Instead of the charm that naturally emanated from her, she displayed the forced glamour of makeup.
"Marcella!"
"Here! Here's my gold coin!"
When she appeared under the bright lights, the men began to shout.
Marcella stood still in her assigned seat and observed the men in front of her.
Men dominated by desire, like pitiful beasts.
"..."
In front of her were countless bottles and glasses because she knew how to cook but not how to drink.
None of them really mattered.
She would prepare a drink for the man who paid the most.
And the man who held his cup would be the winner of the day, free to smell the withered flowers at his leisure.
Because that was all.
"Here! Take it. I have a gold coin!"
"Gold! I have two gold coins!"
"Can we pool our money here? I'll pay 3 gold coins between the two of us!"
Marcella closed her eyes as she listened to the men shouting at her.
The men in front of her were throwing gold coins, but none reached her feet.
The chains of debt that Jack the Maimed had imposed on her bound her.
The Madame by the window, who had just mocked Marcella, smiled.
How wonderful it was to see how a withered flower produced golden honey.
"Then..."
Madame picked up a long cigarette and prepared to auction off Marcella to the highest bidder.
"One hundred gold."
The voice resonated lowly through the deserted stairs.
It was a voice so clear and powerful that everyone present turned their heads.
"...What?"
"I'll pay 100 gold."
.….
To Madame's surprise, someone was ascending the worn-out steps.
"...!"
Marcella involuntarily shuddered upon hearing the creaking and closed her eyes tightly.
She let out a muffled cry upon hearing the man's footsteps who had brought destruction to the Rose's Smile.
Creak-.
He had taken it all in stride, but the memory of that day still struck deep into Marcella's soul, tearing open her wounds.
"...Sir, did you say 100 gold coins?"
Madame asked from the window to the man ascending the stairs to make sure she hadn't misheard.
The men, who had just gasped with desire, also stared at the sudden entrant with open mouths at the enormous sum.
But the man who had climbed the stairs with imposing steps said nothing more, only moved briskly toward where Marcella was sitting.
"May I request here?"
"...Yes."
I shouted an outrageous amount, but Madame was unable to dissuade him.
On one hand, his aura was fierce enough to kill.
"It seems you have the money."
The man's black cloak and leather armor looked very luxurious.
He was hooded, so I couldn't distinguish his face, but it was clear that he was at least a young noble from somewhere or a knight of certain renown.
He looked like a man who could easily pay at least ten gold coins, if not a hundred.
If so, he would be more than worthy to hold the withered flower.
"Would you like a menu board for...?"
"No, thank you."
The young man, who had already grasped the atmosphere of the place and restrained Madame with a skillful touch, looked at the woman in front of him, with his eyes still closed.
Madame was momentarily perplexed.
There was no sign of desire in the man's smile.
It was just a smile of sadness.
"I always missed these things, even after I left..."
Unintelligible words began to flow from the man whose sudden appearance had everyone's attention.
"Grilled sausage and blood sausage and hash browns on white wheat bread..."
Everyone stood bewildered, looking at the man who was ordering breakfast in a place where drinks were supposed to be ordered.
"Is he crazy?"
Even Madame, the owner of the establishment, shook her head in disbelief.
"...!"
Marcella, however, could understand clearly.
The words uttered by the man in front of her were nostalgic.
They were foods that had always appeared in the landscapes of her dreams.
"I want the one... that Jorge always ate, please, Lady Marcella."
It was the food that she had always prepared for Jorge.
Marcella didn't want to open her eyes.
The boy's voice was familiar, almost dreamlike.
If she opened her eyes and saw the reality in front of her, and it wasn't what she expected, she didn't think she could bear it.
"Ah....."
Marcella slowly opened her eyes with tears streaming down her face.
A sigh of relief escaped from her lips.
Through her blurry vision, she saw a blond boy.
"I told you I would come back, Lady Marcella."
A bright golden glow emanated from the man as he took off his hood.
It wasn't the tarnished gold that the men in this place exhaled with lust.
It was the color of the daytime child that Jorge had picked up, and Marcella had washed.
