“Nia.”

“At your service.”

Back in the palace, Beatrice planted her feet firmly and addressed her personal knight.

“What are your orders, Your Majesty?”

“Investigate all recent transactions in the Imperial Capital’s black market. Trace the seller of this goblet.” She handed the goblet to Nia.

“Also, scan every listed item. Compile all sellers offering cat’s-eye gems and uncover their true identities.”

“Understood.” Nia had no idea what her empress was up to—but as a Royal Knight and personal guard, she never questioned orders.

“However, Your Majesty… probing the black market is dozens of times harder than the legitimate one. Results may be scarce.”

“Not your concern. Mobilize every hidden scout.” Beatrice spoke lightly, yet a quiet obsession gleamed in her eyes.

“…I see.” A flicker of confusion crossed Nia’s face, but she bowed.

Deploying all scouts would expose the empress’s reach—but she demanded a full excavation.

What crisis could make the unshakable Empress Beatrice wield such power?

————

Noon sun warmed the church steps. A fully armored figure leaned against the door—distantly watchful, up close revealing a tiny drool bubble puffing in and out through his helmet gap.

Another clear day. Fate, the church guard, remained “diligent,” as always.

Sister Loraine had long grown used to it.

*Slack off? Fine.* As long as he held firm when it mattered.

Perhaps thanks to Fate, since the petty thief’s arrest, peace had settled over the district.

Some worshippers entering the gate would glance at the armored sentinel—then quickly look away.

Fate had become less guard, more door god.

*Pop!* The bubble burst. Fate adjusted his helmet, scanned the empty courtyard, stretched lazily, and ambled inside.

*Since retiring… I’ve grown soft.*

Daily drills abandoned. Strength? “Good enough” sufficed. Training faded with time and circumstance.

Unfamiliar, yet… not unpleasant. Slacking *was* kind of fun.

That young noble was right—this *was* a cushy post.

Bubble popped on schedule. *Lunchtime.*

Full meal, then a nap on the pew—retirement bliss.

No drills. No troops. No missions. No command. Just… watching the door.

*So this is the weightlessness of shedding duty?*

Post-lunch yawn cut short by hurried footsteps.

“Sorry, kid. Church opens at two. Rest hour now. Come back later.” Fate glanced at the rushing boy, then flopped back onto the pew.

*Retired. Off-duty. No overtime.*

The boy spared Fate a hopeless look and ran straight to Sister Loraine, polishing the deity’s statue.

“Sister! I need the Dawnbreak Knight-Captain! Can you summon the Grand Knight Commander? Please!”

“Um…” Loraine knelt, voice gentle. “Child, what troubles you?” She avoided mentioning this was just a church—or that the dead don’t answer prayers.

“Help me! Save my family! My mother’s gravely ill! My father’s conscripted—I need him home… Can the Dawnbreak Knight-Captain help?”

Loraine faltered as the boy spilled his story in a rushed tumble.

“I wish I could help… but shouldn’t you go to the local Inquisition Tribunal knights?”

“But… it was *their* knights who promised—if Father enlisted, they’d cure Mother!”

“…” Fate shifted on the pew.

“What exactly did they promise?” Loraine asked softly.

“They said enlist Father, and they’d heal her. But three years… Father vanished. Mother’s worsening—she cries daily, says she’d rather die…”

“Your father’s still missing?”

“Huh? Mr. Fate?” Loraine blinked. The armored figure stood before them—awake.

“Yes! They said two years, Mother healed. Two years passed—nothing. I went to the Tribunal; they brushed me off: ‘He’s busy.’ Another year… still nothing.” Despair flooded the boy’s eyes. “My home is crumbling. I see no hope… Please… let me see the Dawnbreak Knight-Captain!”

Loraine’s heart ached, helpless.

“Why ask *him*?” Fate’s voice was muffled, steady.

“B-because… only the Grand Knight Commander can save us!” The boy sobbed. “Father always said how great and selfless he was… Now I have no one else!”

“Great? Debatable.”

“Mr. Fate…”

“Pin hope on a distant legend? Focus on what’s real.”

“Then… who do I trust?” The boy trembled.

“Trust yourself first. If *you* believe you’re beyond saving… no one else can.” Fate patted his shoulder.

“So instead of begging the Dawnbreaker Knight—ask *me*.” He rolled his shoulders, turned toward the door.

“Lead the way. Show me that contract you signed with the Inquisition Tribunal.”