A hall resplendent in gold and jade.

White lights flickered atop the pillars, beads of glow stitched into a line that ran toward the far wall. On that wall, facing the doors, hung the crest of the Crimson Blossom: a blood-red rose with only one petal left—withered, yet defiantly in bloom. It held the beauty of something broken.

Beneath the crest stood a dark red chair, precise and dignified. The material was costly, the lines exquisite—made for the chieftain, for Crimson Blossom herself.

But in that seat sat an uninvited guest.

A knight dressed in absolute black. A body hewn like granite, sealed inside midnight plate; no skin showed. Only a dark red ponytail spilled from the back of his helm. On the side table rested his sheathed black greatsword.

He sat with broad strokes of ease, the chair taking him as if it had waited, and he felt no awkwardness. When the master returned, he didn’t rise. He poured himself tea, calm as dusk.

Facing the famed Crimson Blossom, a name that shook the continent, the knight remained serene, at home in his skin. The poise alone pressed on the heart, like a mountain shadow at noon.

As if—he were the true owner of this house.

And Crimson Blossom, for once, didn’t explode at the hint of provocation, didn’t storm forward as usual.

The opposite. She stepped in, saw the man, and a thunderbolt hit her chest. She froze at the threshold, eyes locked on him, not blinking, trying to tear away the veil and see the shape beneath the mirage. As her gaze tracked each quiet motion of the black knight, memory welled up like a tide and overlaid the present. The pupil behind her helm narrowed, little by little, like a tightening aperture.

Until the man spoke—and her pupils pinpricked to dots and trembled violently, like leaves in a winter gust.

“Sakura.”

The black knight’s voice carried a thin age, yet held the polished grace of a noble. Warm, like greeting an old friend after a long winter. “Long time no see.”

Crack.

Her jaw clenched. Crimson Blossom gripped her spear. An unseen gale burst from her ribs and tore out around her.

She didn’t let him finish. Her right foot snapped the haft; the butt kicked up; her right hand flicked the shaft. The spear reared like a dragon and howled forth. The floor exploded under her feet. She became a red cyclone, chasing her own spear like a storm’s heart.

It wasn’t impatience. It was necessity.

Fear first—if she didn’t move, she wouldn’t dare to move. Then she’d run.

Her speed was brutal. Red light flashed like lightning across the void. Only in the next breath did the wind catch up. It surged down the hall and made the white lamps sway and dance, bright then dim.

In a blink, red shadow swallowed the black knight. A scarlet edge aimed straight at his throat. The knight kept pouring black tea. Steam curled like mist as he spoke, slow and soft—

“You changed my crest, Sakura.”

...

...

It never truly trusted anyone.

Do you ever trust an ant to do anything at all?

It simply pins some people as “useful,” like labels on a map.

Like Xiu Ze.

A thousand years ago, in one Cycle, It sensed the Demon King was too strong, and the Hero King too weak. Unlike Aerin, that era’s Hero King was a sluggard, careless about the World’s ruin. He only tended his three little fields; if apocalypse wouldn’t disturb his sleep, he wouldn’t have set out.

Even with the blade drawn, years without training had left him hollow. So weak he might die just by nearing the Demon King—crushed by the aura alone.

The Hero King’s companions existed to prevent exactly that. Yet his weakness had sunk too deep; a few companions couldn’t patch that void.

But if It rashly added new companions, the Cycle itself might destabilize.

So It devised a method. Thought became law, and the World moved at once.

Outside the Cycle, within the World, rumors rose like mist. The Church of the Divine took form, bearing the voice of the Deity. Then came a Pope who listened to that voice. And the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse, who would slay sinners in the Deity’s name.

With Pope Xiu Ze and the Horsemen led by Yilong lending all their strength, even a feeble Hero King clawed and bled his way through. In the end, he killed the Demon King and closed that Cycle.

And scrubbing away impurities for It, keeping the Cycle turning smooth, became Xiu Ze and Yilong’s lifelong task. In Church words, it was Divine Revelation.

Back then, when Xiu Ze became Pope, he invited his junior brother Qi to join the Church. Vice Pope, Archbishop, whatever would keep him alive—the title didn’t matter.

Qi refused.

Cleanly. Without a ripple.

To It, Qi was the wrong kind—useless. Xiu Ze was the right kind—useful.

Useful for thousands of years, until habit sets into bone.

Yet this time, Xiu Ze’s move made It frown.

It could understand Xiu Ze sending Yilong to fight Aerin. To provoke her strength, let it flare enough to match the Demon King—Ye Weibai, terror distilled.

But why send the Horsemen to visit the other companions one by one?

Warrior, Knight, Priest, Assassin—these are the four companions in the Hero King’s legend. There was also the Imperial Tutor—and he is already dead.

These five roles map to Crimson Blossom, Silver, Lustrous, Stardust, and the late Augustine.

In the Hymn of Heroes, the companions usually serve by sacrificing themselves for the larger good. In every tale, the Hero King walks over their corpses, drenched in their blood and tears, to reach the Demon King.

With the shock of a companion’s death, the Hero King then truly grows—reborn, cosmos blazing—burning life to kill the Demon King. Justice triumphs over evil, but paid in blood and breath. That’s the shape of the story.

So the companions’ strength isn’t the point. Their sacrifice is.

Thus It didn’t grasp Xiu Ze’s intent. It had meant to calculate again, but right now all Its attention lay on Ye Weibai. So It chose a simpler path.

It asked.

So, in the great hall of the Church.

Pope Xiu Ze received an oracle.

...

...

Under the crystal dome.

He removed the sacred crown; silver hair spilled free like moonlit threads.

He unfastened his robe and cloak and bowed low, reverent.

“That is the plan.”

Cold stone kissed skin. Xiu Ze prostrated in the mercury moonlight and bared his design to It, piece by meticulous piece.

“Make the Four Horsemen forever the Hero King’s companions—”

“With Yilong and the rest.”

“No matter how strong the Demon King grows, there will be a balance.”

“And the Cycle will hold steadier.”

...

...