A horse was plunging headlong over the plains under a blue moon.

Along with a vigorously drawn silver thread.

The two shadows, having finally met, brushed past each other in an instant, and all that remained for the one who lagged behind was a fall to the freezing ground.

THUD!

With a loud noise, the white snowflakes on the ground were soaring high into the sky once more.

To the Arnstein knights galloping from behind, it was a scene that looked like a fountain of pure white snow.

"I hate you bastards."

"-...!"

In the spot where a ghost horse had been running, a black horse that had taken its place was now galloping.

It was a horse whose highly raised horn was filled with the cold colors of winter.

"Enough that I want to cut off your non-existent heads all over again."

Worlds that come into contact must make a choice.

Whether to join together, or to trample upon each other's worlds.

And Vlad had already decided what choice he would make.

"-You arrogant bastard!"

"-You foolish child who doesn't know the value of your own life!"

Realizing Vlad's resolve, the headless knights hurriedly thrust their swords forward, but Vlad was already no longer there.

"-No..."

What was there was merely the shadow left behind by the black horse.

This was because he had already slipped out of that spot, riding the movements of Noir, which deceived even the seasoned knights.

NEIGH!

The center of gravity had been leaning to the right just moments ago, but the black horse's shadow had already slipped out to the left.

At that dazzling movement, the tips of the extended swords swayed, having lost their target.

"Where are the children!"

"-Keugh!"

Every time a silver line was drawn, the galloping horses would stagger without fail, and fountains of white snow began to form.

It was the ground the headless knights had tried so hard not to set foot on, but there was no mercy at the tip of Vlad's sword, and the headless knights, who found themselves lying on the floor for the first time in a long while, could not get up for a very long time.

"Where did you take them!"

Trampling over the knights falling one by one, Noir gradually began to accelerate.

The unicorn blood flowing through Noir was blood that did not tolerate any being running ahead of it.

Even if those beings were things that had fled from death.

"-You bastard!"

Slashing one, trampling another, and crushing yet another, he advanced.

Thus, toward the final headless knight they caught up with, Noir began to roughly ram its shoulder.

Although it was an ominous ghost horse that other horses would have hated to even be near, such things did not seem to matter to Noir, the son of the plains.

THUD!

"... I suppose beating up anyone you see is the standard way to find someone, anyway."

"-What?"

Vlad's hands, clinging to the man, were now tightly gripping a set of reins.

However, those reins were not Noir's, but the worn-out reins that the headless knight was supposed to be holding.

"So let's have a little chat!"

"-...!"

CRUNCH!

In an instant, along with the gruesome sound of armor shattering, the headless knight began to stagger heavily.

However, that staggering was not due to the sword piercing its body, but a staggering swayed by the bodily movements of Vlad, who had shifted all his weight onto it.

"-Kueugh!"

Vlad, leaping onto the ghost horse without hesitation, grabbed the headless man and began to shove him outward.

With his Dragon Slaying Sword still thrust in with one hand.

The silver sword piercing through the pitch-black armor seemed to shine even brighter today.

"Uwaaaaah!"

The two knights tumbled down from atop a horse faster than anything else.

It was a dizzying sensation of floating that would make even the dead scream, but unlike the headless knight who helplessly fell, Vlad had sturdy armor he could trust and rely on.

THUD! CRASH! THUD!

The armor crafted by elves and forged by a dwarf.

Although he was tumbling violently, the winter plains rolling along with the worlds that had accompanied him seemed to offer a slightly softer side to Vlad alone.

"... Good heavens."

Rodrigo and the Arnstein knights, who had been following far behind, were also watching the spectacle.

The silver light shining between the two knights tumbling noisily as if a landslide had occurred.

Although it was a messy sight, upon seeing that still-gleaming brilliance, Rodrigo could be certain that he had come looking for the right person.

* * *

"Good work, Sir Vlad Aureo."

The weather outside was cold, but the heat of the fireplace touching his back was satisfyingly warm.

It was an essential warmth for Vlad, who had been rolling in the snowfields just moments ago.

"Thank you, Count."

Wrapped heavily in blankets, Vlad sniffled as he looked at the steam quietly rising from the teacup.

It was tea personally served by Count Arnstein, a leader of the central region, yet a slight trace of disappointment seemed to show on the face of Vlad as he stared down at the tea.

"Have the children been rescued?"

"The children who were there, yes."

"... I see."

It was a night that required hot liquor rather than lukewarm tea.

But Vlad, having no intention of refusing the Count's goodwill, quietly swallowed the tea and furrowed one eyebrow.

"I thought it was a suspicious matter, but I didn't expect such a huge figure to be behind it."

The expression of the Count as he took a sip of his tea was filled with unhideable worry.

And understandably so, for although many headless knights had been knocked down, the only one remaining was the single knight skewered by Vlad's sword.

The other men had already slipped into black circles and vanished without a trace, just like in the fog-filled village from before.

"It is truly a fascinating sword. My mage also suspects that your sword caused this phenomenon."

"Is that so."

Count Arnstein was making an odd expression as he looked at the silver sword Vlad was holding.

Rodrigo hadn't told him yet, but if the Count were to learn the fact that Vlad's sword was presumed to be the silver knight, his attitude would not be as relaxed as it was now.

"By the way, you said something like this happened in the city of Moshiam as well?"

"That is correct, Count."

The tragedy that occurred in a city in the far North was merely a rumor in the central region.

However, Count Arnstein was now in a position where he urgently had to beg for even those passing rumors.

"I don't know what it is, but it seems something extraordinary has descended."

Behind the Count, who was stroking his chin as if troubled, Pablo was quietly making eye contact.

Because of the situation, he couldn't bring himself to show that he was glad to see him, but Pablo was the one who had used his shield as a shovel to personally dig out Vlad, who was buried in the snowfield.

"A wicked existence that devoured an entire city..."

In the long history of the Empire, it was not as if such things had never happened.

At any time and any place, wicked beings hid in the darkness and schemed, and whenever that happened, the ones who had to resolve the situation were the owners of the land—the Emperor and the lords.

"... It has come at a troublesome time. Of all times, it had to be now."

But unlike the past, this was a time when the foundation of power was shaken more than ever.

For Count Arnstein, who already had to pay attention to the movements of other lords bordering his territory, now having to worry about an unidentified wicked existence meant that another burden had been added.

"How about calling the priests of the Vatican? They would certainly be of great help."

"That is also a difficult matter."

Vlad thought that even if he was on awkward terms with the Vatican, he would have to borrow their strength to resolve the situation.

However, the Count's ensuing answer merely contained another complicated circumstance that Vlad was unaware of.

"Why is that?"

"That is because I belong to the Court Duke faction."

The Court Duke or the Dragonblood Duke.

The numerous Territory Wars currently shaking up the central region were ultimately akin to proxy wars fought by the Court Duke and the Dragonblood Duke.

And since Count Arnstein, whom Vlad was currently facing, was someone belonging to the Court Duke faction, it was obvious that the Vatican, which was cooperating with the Dragonblood Duke, would likely not provide proper support.

"... Then what about the Northern Orthodox Church."

"That is even more out of the question."

The Count's eyes, having set down his teacup, gleamed coldly.

It was the true nature of a count, reflecting the blue blood of a noble.

"Reaching out for help to the Northern Alliance, which has declared independence, is no different from giving a justification to the other lords. It would be tantamount to offering my body to a pack of jackals."

"..."

Vlad merely remained silently with his head bowed at the Count's words.

Firewood was blazing in the fireplace behind him, and the rising steam from the teacup filled the space in front of him, but for some reason, Vlad felt as if the room was growing even colder.

"I understand, Count. Since you are someone who has things to protect, your actions must also be prudent."

"I appreciate your understanding."

The Vatican, which refused to lend a hand due to the flow of power, despite a wicked existence running rampant.

Just the same, Count Arnstein had no intention of reaching out to the Northern Orthodox Church.

Taken separately, their respective words might be correct, but ultimately, the ones suffering in between would only be the powerless.

"The tea is bitter."

It was completely bitter.

Vlad merely swallowed his bitter saliva at the thought that the world high above, which he had struggled so hard to climb to, was ultimately nothing more than just another back alley somewhere.

* * *

Beneath the rising dawn, two old men were walking arduously with their heads bowed.

Their clothes were a mess, making them look like beggars, but even among them, the eyes of the exceptionally tall old man still held a brilliant light.

"Is this..."

"It is Valletta. The place you wanted."

As the horizon brightened, the people who had been waiting began to flock toward the city gates, which were slowly opening.

Indeed, fitting for a well-known major city in the central region, it seemed bustling with travelers and peddlers coming and going.

"Thank you for guiding me here. Did you say your name was Sandor?"

"..."

The scar-covered man who had been leading the old men up until now did not seem to feel much of anything as he looked at the old man thanking him.

At the dry and stiff demeanor of the man, which was harder than black bread, even the old man who had spoken to him ended up making an awkward expression.

"I welcome your defection to the Northern Alliance, Bishop Pierre."

A crow was flying in behind the man as he slowly turned around.

"I trust you will act in accordance with the reputation you have built up until now."

The old man and the man were moving away from each other at a spot overlooking the city of Valletta.

Bishop Pierre, who watched until the scar-covered man disappeared from sight, supported the old man who was letting out thin coughs and began walking toward Valletta.

"... I really don't like these northern bastards."

A faithful servant of God who had no regrets about the path he had walked so far, but lacked certainty about the path forward.

Bishop Pierre began to move his exhausted steps, not to follow the Vatican or the Northern Orthodox Church, but simply to pursue the path to God.