Sais listened in stillness, like a lake at dawn, as Medith spoke of a former life. When it ended, emotions surged like spring tides—who’d think a “god” could stumble so low.

Yet that eased her, like a warm brazier in winter. It proved Medith was human—blood-warm, heart-soft, a feeling life—not some cold, unblinking engine of war.

...

“Are they willing to cooperate?” Medith walked to the three young men in shackles; their eyes were knives, captives yet unbowed.

“Release them.” Medith crossed her arms, chin lifted like a proud crane. The guards frowned, then keys chattered like rain and the locks came off.

They pushed the men before Medith. She had stools brought, with dried fruits, rations, and fruit milk set down like offerings before them.

The three traded confused looks; resentment smoldered, but hunger howled like wolves, and in moments the food vanished.

Sais and Gill sat beside Medith, saying nothing, watching like quiet lanterns as the men ate.

“You green-haired demons! Lord Andrew only killed a dozen of you, and you repay us with a storm like this! You should be thrown to hell! You ugly, vicious bit— oh—”

Sais’s gaze turned winter-cold; the Dark Blade slid free like a strip of night. Killing intent thundered, and Medith caught her, drawing her back.

“A dozen? That’s your math?” Medith snorted, frost-sharp. “So if I kill your Emperor, we’ll just pick any life back—one for one.”

The three scholars froze like statues. Brilliant in their halls, but in war even a city of scholars couldn’t match Medith’s lone insight.

“Blood for blood. My great hate is answered.” Gill’s voice rang like an iron bell. “Ten times over, I’d still kill Andrew, at any cost.”

A brown-haired man with a faint beard spoke like sleet: “Even at the price of countless lives? Did you ask them? What if some never wanted this?!”

“People like you will never grasp why we fight,” Sais said, words like drumbeats. “No one dares touch you; you’ve only ever killed, with no one coming for you, right?

No wonder your thoughts are childish and foolish.” Sheathing the Dark Blade, she shook her head with a tea-bitter smile; the gap between them was a canyon no bridge could span.

“Enough. Those two Fleshgrinder Chariots—did you build them?” Starlight flashed in Medith’s eyes; her gut wind whispered that if they could wake those iron beasts, they’d strike from nowhere.

“No,” said a crew-cut youth of twenty-two, voice dry as dust. “We only tune and maintain them, but I know their base frame.”

He looked plain, ash-gray hair and deep cave-like sockets, a reed of a man, sickly in the wind.

“Pers, you—”

“I’m loyal to scholarship, nothing else,” he said, face a calm mask. “Southern Kingdom or Eastern Nation, even other races—I can accept them like compass points.

What grips me is your Lawbreaking Ability, Commander. That blazing mushroom cloud I’ll never forget.

What shocked me most: your Magic Breaker phenomenon comes in stages, power fading like terraces in mist, its range unlike anything I’ve seen...

I’ll tell you everything I know—if you let me stay by your side for real-time study.”