South of the Crimson Garden lay the Valley of Bloody Winds.
Years ago, the troll tribe ruling this land fractured into civil war. Three clans slaughtered one another—until the Bloodaxe Clan, having claimed the "Lait Magic Crystal" from the Nightmare Queen, emerged victorious.
The bloodshed stained the valley’s winds with a lingering metallic scent of blood—hence its name.
Time had faded the stench… yet in recent days, the breeze flowing from the valley once again carried a thick, cloying reek of fresh blood.
*Crack! Squelch—*
The shattered blade pierced Troll Chieftain Urthos’s neck. Yanked free, blood gushed like a spring, staining the cloak of the beautiful female knight before him.
With a heavy thud, the chieftain’s massive body collapsed. The battle was over.
“Hah… hah… hah…”
Holyflame Knight Plamia finally buckled, sinking to one knee. She braced herself on the broken sword, barely keeping upright.
Her gaze swept the valley—comrades and trolls littered the ground, blood pooling into crimson streams. A scene of utter devastation.
Though her expedition had failed to purge the Crimson Garden, only Plamia had been wounded. Her robust constitution and swift treatment saw her recover quickly.
Eliminating this troll tribe would shield them from the Nightmare Maid’s wrath. Armed for the Crimson Garden campaign, forces intact—they’d assumed this task would be simple.
They never knew the tribe was empowered by a potent magic crystal.
After three days and nights of brutal combat, victory came at the cost of near-total annihilation.
“…So this was the source of your power.”
Catching her breath, Plamia reached for the chieftain’s fallen axe and pried loose the embedded crystal.
A violent pulse of magic energy vibrated through her palm.
Returning this crystal to the capital might soften the sting of failure—a small consolation.
Yet Plamia felt no relief.
Only Suran could sense the Lait Magic Crystal’s aura directly; others felt its power only on contact.
As leader, she knew: even blind to the crystal’s presence, she could have fought smarter.
She’d charged in confidently, without probing their strength—a critical misstep.
A little caution. A sooner discovery. Fewer lives might have been lost.
“C-Captain…”
Wounded squad members hobbled over, leaning on each other.
“Only… us left alive… Sigh…”
Plamia’s heart clenched. She exhaled deeply; tears welled in her sapphire eyes.
Five remained: Plamia, one other knight, a priest, two assassins.
Supplies gone. Injuries severe—the priest too gravely wounded to chant healing spells. Reaching the distant capital was impossible.
Harmon Forest held hope: comrades from the Solflare Legion.
But could they survive the journey?
“Captain… what if… we go to the Crimson Garden?”
The male knight glanced at the frail priestess he supported.
“She won’t last. The Nightmare Maid *did* say she’d spare us if we wiped out the tribe… Asking for healing supplies should be…”
“No. Too dangerous,” Plamia cut in. “I won’t gamble everyone’s lives.”
True—the Maid had promised mercy. But they’d already offended the Crimson Garden. Returning meant wrath, not aid.
To Plamia, it was walking straight into the tiger’s den. Suicide.
After a long silence, the knight said softly, “Then… let me go alone with her.”
Plamia pondered, then gave a solemn nod.
As leader, she couldn’t risk the rest—but she wouldn’t deny their chance to live.
Splitting up was the only path.
The knight departed, supporting the priestess. Plamia watched their backs, closed her eyes, hands clasped:
“May the Sacred Flame bless you.”
“C-Captain!”
Moments later, his voice rang out ahead. “Reinforcements! They’re here!!”
Hoofbeats and footsteps thundered closer.
A Solflare expeditionary force emerged—led by a short-haired female knight, older than Plamia.
Confusion tightened Plamia’s chest. “Senior Elsa… How are you here?”
Elsa belonged to Auster Kingdom’s Holy Flame Order—Plamia’s senior.
Their expedition routes never crossed. This meeting defied logic.
*Even if someone predicted our failure… it couldn’t be her.*
Just then, the male knight rushed toward Elsa like a drowning man spotting land.
“Lady Elsa! Please—have your priest heal her! She’s fading!”
“Oh? Indeed gravely wounded.”
Elsa glanced at the priestess… then reached behind her back.
They expected a healer.
Instead—*shing!*—her sword flashed. Both fell, blood spraying.
Plamia’s eyes flew wide. “Senior Elsa, you—”
“Plamia,” Elsa announced, a sly smile curling her lips, “I arrest you for consorting with darkness, harming comrades, and betraying the kingdom.”
“What!?”
Plamia spun to flee—
A hand clamped over her mouth from behind.
“Sorry, Captain.”
Two daggers plunged into her back.
“Ugh—you… all traitors?!”
She shot the assassins a furious glare. Consciousness drifted. Her body crashed down.
The Lait Magic Crystal tumbled from her grasp—catching Elsa’s sharp gaze.
