"What's wrong!" Boka caught him. "You're hurt!"

Blood seeped from Baird's lower abdomen, mixing with the rain and staining his trousers crimson.

Hearing the commotion outside, Cynthia rushed out. Seeing her husband collapsed in a pool of blood, she stumbled forward in panic.

"W-what happened! You—you were supposed to be teaching classes!" Cynthia stammered, tears already blurring her vision. "I'll find medicine to stop the bleeding!"

"Don't..." Baird's eyes fluttered open. "It's no use. Just... let me be, Cynthia."

As a seasoned surgeon with decades of experience, Baird knew his own wounds. His words meant rescue was futile.

Cynthia froze, staring at her husband as tears pattered down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, my love. I'm not worth your tears..." He coughed weakly. "I was so unworthy..."

Aisha had already guided the young Dorin away, cradling the child as they slipped upstairs. Dorin was too small for this scene—especially when the dying man was her father.

"They did this," Boka growled. "Trena..."

His jaw clenched. The siblings had promised not to harm Baird's family. They'd broken their word.

"They found me soon after," Baird gasped, breath ragged. "Locked me... in the sewers."

"I won't let them get away with this." Boka pressed his hands over Baird's bleeding wound.

Baird shook his head, sucking in a sharp breath before continuing:

"They didn't hurt me... just imprisoned me... Then the storm hit at dusk. Floodwaters swallowed half the sewers. I slipped into the current when they weren't looking... swept to the harbor... This wound... it's karma."

Boka tried lifting Baird toward a recliner, but the man stopped him.

"No... moving will worsen it. Let me... finish while I can."

"What are you talking about?!" Cynthia collapsed to the floor, sobbing. "Why can't I understand anything? Waaah—"

"Cynthia... don't grieve. Boka will explain later... But there's no time now... Forgive me..."

"Don't die, Baird! Don't leave us! What will Dorin do without a father? Waaah—" She buried her face in Boka's shoulder.

"Boka..." Baird beckoned weakly. "Remember when I confessed my sins from seven years ago?"

Boka hesitated, then nodded.

"I don't know why I told you... Perhaps the guilt festered too long inside me..."

"Stop talking."

"But Boka... I need your help now..."

"Speak." He nodded firmly. "I'll do it."

"Their goal in Albion... isn't just revenge. They aim to overthrow the kingdom. You must stop them. I can only entrust this to you."

"Overthrow..." Boka struggled to grasp it.

"They forced the dying Duke Booz... and me... to sign confessions..."

"Confessions? What for?" Boka pressed.

"About the plague seven years ago. They made us admit the Royal Court and the Institution orchestrated it."

Boka fell silent.

"So what?" He pursed his lips. Signing confessions seemed just to him. However cruel Albert and Trena were, Baird and the others carried undeniable guilt. The truth deserved light. Was Baird still afraid of public shame? And how could this topple a kingdom?

Baird coughed violently, blood flecking his lips.

"Stop talking! Please!" Cynthia wailed.

"...Boka, you're young. You don't understand. During the plague... Albion clawed its way out of hell. So many died. Nearly every family... lost someone. That's why we craved war so fiercely. For revenge alone..."

"I understand."

Boka cradled Baird's head, easing his pain.

"But do you see? If the truth surfaces now... the people's fury will turn on the Court and Institution."

"They'll be overthrown," Boka said flatly. "Good. Shouldn't such demons be destroyed?"

In his heart, the Royal Court and Institution had toyed with lives during the plague. Why should they still rule?

"No... Boka, I know your heart... but you must see what Albion needs. If the monarchy falls... who builds order? Chaos will swallow Albion. The army will fracture. Foreign powers will pounce. No one can guide this ancient kingdom..."

"But—" Boka started to argue.

"...and it will perish. That's the kingdom's core..."

Baird's lips turned blue. His right hand twitched uncontrollably. Time was running out, just as he'd known.

"...This is my last request... I didn't go to the Institution... I entrust it to you..."

Though corrupt, the monarchy held Albion together. Its fall meant shattered peace—Cynthia's hard-won life, her little shop, all gone.

Boka finally understood. This wasn't about grand ideals. Baird was begging him to protect his wife and daughter.

His dying wish.

"I understand..." Boka promised. "I'll stop them. Rest easy."

Baird, older and wiser, had seen the stakes. For Cynthia and Dorin, Boka would pay any price. And he already knew who could help.

"...Hurry... They've taken Percy... the Prince... Time is short..."

"What?!" Boka froze. "Trena kidnapped Percy?!"

Percy should have been confined within the palace walls. How had they reached him? A child couldn't have been involved in the plague! Boka forced his mind to focus.

Wait—if Percy was taken, the capital would be in lockdown. The Institution would scour the city all night.

"When was he taken?!"

Baird tried to answer, but his breath hitched into violent coughs.

"A-afternoon... *cough*!" Thick fluid spilled from his mouth.

*This afternoon...*

Disaster!

With the storm raging, the search would be limited tonight. But by dawn, the entire capital would hunt for Percy. They hadn't killed him—they meant to smuggle him out of Albion. And this storm was their perfect cover.

Boka sprang up, snatching the bow and arrows from the wall. He strode toward the door.

"I'm going out, Cynthia," he said. "Stay inside. Guard the children."

"H-huh?! Where are you—?"

Cynthia choked on her tears, torn between chasing him and staying with her dying husband.

"Boka."

Aisha stood on the stairs.

"Go," she said simply.

He nodded.

The door slammed shut behind him as he plunged into the downpour.