If Nia kept digging, she’d risk Beatrice’s suspicion—and Fate might be traced through her. So she had to stop. Besides, pushing further would yield nothing anyway.

After all, Empress Beatrice was swamped with state affairs and had no time for trivialities. Nia was here on a special mission; Beatrice likely didn’t want her meddling elsewhere. More critically—if Nia reported this, would the Empress’s inquiry lead straight to Fate?

Nia had pressed the military officials: “The Empire’s enjoyed peace for years. Why did cultist riots erupt suddenly? And why was I kept completely in the dark?”

They dodged her questions. “We haven’t figured it out either,” they claimed. “Cultists’ logic defies reason. When they strike, why, what they do—it’s all unpredictable, motiveless. No one understands it.”

A convenient excuse. As for the recruits’ deaths? Equally “convenient.”

“The cultists just happened to riot in their sector. Those greenhorns lacked experience—it’s only natural they fell.”

In the end, bad luck. Wrong place, wrong time.

Anything else? “Sorry, I don’t know. Need to consult higher-ups.”

Though Nia served as the Empress’s personal guard with real authority, that power came from Beatrice. Abuse it, and if the military checked with the Empress and found no record… suspicion would fall on Nia for sure.

So Nia demanded the pensions and delayed compensation. Surprisingly, the officials agreed readily, expressed sympathy for the families, and even offered extra coin.

Just like that, the matter seemed closed.

Fate stared silently at the money bags on the table.

He opened one. Heavy, gleaming gold coins filled it to the brim.

To him, it felt like buying lives with tainted coin.

*Was this really how it ended?*

Becoming a soldier meant accepting the risk of dying for the Empire. Tragedies could happen—but after years of peace, such threats were rare. Yet these recruits met cultist violence head-on.

Fate’s gut whispered something was off. But he was no longer a knight, no public official. He had zero right to access military files or Inquisition Tribunal records.

Besides, cultist riots weren’t entirely unforeseeable. Shadows still lingered on the continent—remnants not yet eradicated.

He lowered his head. Beneath the helmet, his expression stayed hidden.

Just days ago, he’d promised Lide his father would return safely within a week.

Now…

Truth was, Fate had doubts. Why had suppressed cultists resurfaced? Why target *exactly* where temporary recruits were stationed?

Could this be no accident?

If not, it went beyond the local Inquisition Tribunal. A minor tribunal couldn’t conscript civilians without higher orders.

Meaning—if not coincidence—the military itself might be involved.

A local tribunal acting alone? Plausible. The Imperial Military tangled in it? Far less likely.

After all, the Empire’s strength rested on noble house guards and the Imperial Military—commanded by the Grand Knight Commander.

After Fate stepped down and left, command passed to his most trusted disciple: Alins.

Among all his students, Fate trusted Alins most. An upright, exemplary knight—so much so Fate often saw his own reflection in him.

That’s why Fate returned court authority to Beatrice but entrusted military command—and his position—solely to Alins.

He believed with Alins’s support and Beatrice’s diligent rule, the Empire would surely prosper.

*Hmm. Must’ve been coincidence.*

Still, the incident demanded attention. Years later, cultist threats remained—and had now claimed many lives.

“Were those cultists given the punishment they deserved?” Fate asked after a long silence.

“The military report states they were executed for endangering citizens, killing soldiers, and destroying state property,” Nia replied.

“Does Alins know?”

“Lord Alins is aware. He held a solemn memorial and posthumously honored them as ‘Imperial Heroes.’”

Fate frowned.

If he cared, why weren’t pensions arranged? Why require chasing?

*Could Alins be so swamped he overlooked this?*

Human lives outweigh all else. Busyness never excuses negligence.

A flicker of disappointment stirred in Fate.

“…After this, one must reflect. No more carelessness. Prevent before it happens.” Fate knew he had no right to comment—but he spoke anyway.

His words carried clear disapproval.

“Moreover, the military bears responsibility for the unpreparedness. Delayed pensions? Both military and local Inquisition Tribunal knew yet stayed silent. Families deserve higher compensation—lifelong support.” He spoke for Nia’s ears. She understood perfectly.

“In peacetime, the Empire isn’t short of coin, is it?”

“I understand, Master. I’ll speak with Lord Alins upon my return.”

“Mm.”

After Nia left, Fate exhaled deeply, face unreadable.

He stood, gathered the clinking money bags, and walked toward the church exit, weighing every word for what came next.

How to face Lide? How to face families who’d lost their pillars?

Retired. No longer a knight. He owed no duty. Yet faced with these tangled “trivialities,” he had no choice but to step in.

“…What a hassle.” He shook his head, thoughts knotted. “Alins, you brat—can’t you be a little more reliable?”

“Even ‘dead,’ I have to climb out of the grave to clean up your mess.”