Clang— The greatsword thrummed, biting into the earth, missing Gill’s skull by a hair’s breadth.

Medith stepped in front of him and offered her right hand. Enough. I’ve already killed you once. Stop. We’ve lost more than enough.

Gill’s eyes were a storm—confusion, shock, grief, and a startled warmth flickering like embers.

He raised his only remaining hand, the right.

Their hands met. The war’s curtain fell. Two armies arrived like twin tides, then froze, tongues tied, unsure how to breathe in that quiet.

Medith supported Gill’s battered body; she herself looked like a candle guttering. Cecilia sprinted in, catching him. Medith’s eyes flicked; the Lita Sisters understood and brought healing light to his wounds.

Your Highness… the Young Master… he was framed. It was Andrew. They trapped him. We were wrong. Cecilia’s tears ran hot, grief clawing at Gill’s missing left arm.

Is that so… Gill’s voice was cool ash, as if the world had already burned out.

The sky was a flawless blue, yet the city lay in ruin—streets cracked like dry riverbeds, houses torn open, wealth scattered, a thousand lives bruised or broken.

But with Medith’s compromise, the chain of hate that would have forged a war finally snapped.

…

March 2. Both sides began to gather the shattered pieces. In the castle at the Kuso Guild’s headquarters, they found Gus and Haywood barely breathing; Medith had spared them.

Lina poured her strength into healing for Gill and the others. Lita’s anger smoldered and flared—again and again she tried to strike down Kuso members. Medith knocked her out, and Nameless kept watch.

That same day, Jade arrived with Sais. They met and wept with joy, clinging like vines. Once they learned the whole story, Sais broke apart, clutching Melia’s hyacinth as she collapsed in tears.

…

March 9.

A week later, both sides finished their count of the fallen. A thousand-strong legion led by Iling arrived, armor like a rolling wave. Paper can’t hide fire; they spurred their horses the moment the rumor reached them.

Inside the city, Nora’s people and Olivya held the line together.

They crossed mountains and rivers, lives rubbed raw by the road, and reached Misty Gorge. One glance at the battle scars, and it felt like walking into an ice cellar.

Days later they reached the Sanctuary of Freedom—Shezdan.

Faced with the wreckage, they could only stand and breathe, unsure how to step.

Medith sketched the truth in clean strokes. Iling reeled as if struck by lightning; her eyes widened, seeking a lie that would not come.

Only when the hyacinth was set before her did she collapse, sobbing until the sky seemed to weep with her.

…

March 10. Queen Emerald Hawk arrived. Medith hesitated, then chose silence for now, and set next month to return to the capital to hold Melia’s funeral herself.

March 11, 7:30 a.m.

Woooo—

Woooo—

The mournful horns swelled through Shezdan, a long cry that opened the wake like a gray dawn.

The Kuso Guild wore black cloth, faces set, laying flowers with careful hands.

Cecilia put away the bright colors of her youth; the black of her mourning dress clung to a trembling frame.

At the lonely tombstone, she broke, crying with the rawness of torn silk.

Medith held back tears as she scattered sunflower seeds at the graves of the Crimson Sun. Give it time. This cemetery would bloom into a field of gold, fulfilling the dream they had when they joined her guild—one day, watch the rising sun from across the sea.

Lita had grown gaunt these days. Now she wept openly. But when she saw the Kuso Guild’s grief spill like rain, the bedrock of her hatred cracked and fell away.

In the end, both sides were only victims.

War, from the moment the horn blows, writes one word—loss.

…

O’Neil ran. The day we sent him to the healer, he was already fleeing. The healer said he’d been poisoned. He went out for materials, came back, and O’Neil was gone. Gill wore a black-and-red tunic, stern as a young Herbert.

Is that so? Medith looked at his severed left arm, calm as winter water, as if she’d expected this frost.

We… both sides have lost too much. Gill watched Cecilia crying in Haywood’s arms, and Herbert and Melia’s faces rose in his mind. His eyes went red.

Outrageous! Damn Andrew— Nameless cursed outside the circle, jaw clenched, fury pacing like a caged wolf.

About Melia… I’m sorry. You may hate me for saying it. If you want to kill me, I won’t resist. A blood debt for a blood debt— I don’t expect—

Just as you said, we’ve lost enough. The dead are gone; the living still carry them. Because of that, we have to move forward. As long as their will burns in us, they never truly die. Medith lifted the hyacinth, nestled in its pot, soaking in sunlight and the weight of every gaze.

They looked at the hyacinth and, at last, a thin smile found them.

You’re right. Blood debt for blood debt. You and I have paid in blood. Neither of us owes the other. But someone still owes us much—so much the graves here won’t cover the debt. Lina’s face was set like iron in a storm.

Gill, Cecilia, and Haywood heard and their eyes kindled, hot enough to spark flame.

Medith, say no more. This operation is yours to command. We’ll empty our coffers to avenge this ocean of blood! Gill’s hatred rose like a black tide. Andrew had framed them, turned both sides in circles, poked a small wound until it bled into war.

Now he would pay.

Medith braced a hand on the stone table and stood, rising slow, her gaze deep and fearsome, eyes like a devil’s arrow aimed south.

I won’t command you. Not long ago, we were enemies fed by blood; I killed many of you. And we lost many of our own. The war is over. The true culprit is Duke Andrew at the Southern Kingdom’s border. This isn’t a revenge war, nor a mourning war. This is a war of faith. He ground our belief under his heel. That’s not just a provocation. It’s contempt. It’s a declaration of war. The Southern Kingdom is strong. You know it; the whole continent knows it. But this time, you’ll see the truth—so-called gods are only people wrapped in halos. Strip the halo, and we’re the same. Andrew must die. Even if the Southern Kingdom’s Emperor marches, he won’t save him. Because—blood debt for blood debt.

Medith raised her arm. Voices rose like a single wave.

Together, they reached a vow.