Three days after the peace treaty was signed, Albert left Vallenwood City.
That morning was cold. A thin mist shrouded the city that had just survived the siege. At the eastern gate—where the walls still bore holes here and there, where the stones were still blackened by fire and blood—troops gathered to see him off.
Lord Harald shook his hand. A firm grip. Not many words, just "Take care of yourself." Lady Mirelle embraced him—a surprise to everyone, including Albert. She simply whispered, "You're an extraordinary young man. Never forget that."
Even Earl William nodded at him. A small nod, almost imperceptible.
Hilda saluted. Sir Varin clapped his shoulder. Leo—the young man now stood taller, his eyes no longer wild—only said, "I'll wait for you to return, Commander. There's still much you need to teach me."
Albert looked at him for a moment. Then nodded.
Two hundred cavalry escorted him—not the entire Special Regiment, just one platoon as an honor guard. Duke Leopold led at the front, a large man in his fifties with silver hair at his temples and calm grey eyes. He didn't speak much, but every word that left his mouth carried weight.
Luise rode beside Albert, as always. Throughout the journey, she remained mostly silent.
They left Vallenwood as the sun began to rise. Behind them, the city slowly shrank, transforming from a massive fortress into a small dot on the horizon, then vanishing entirely.
***
Two days of travel carried them across green plains that were beginning to dry. Grass turned yellow, earth cracked here and there. The dry season was approaching.
Albert spent his time on horseback with half-closed eyes, listening to the rhythm of hoofbeats, the clatter of metal equipment, the occasional whispers of soldiers behind him. In his head, those voices remained—even louder, if anything.
On the third day, they encountered a caravan.
From a distance, Albert saw a cloud of dust to the south. Duke Leopold raised his hand, signaling caution. Soldiers began tightening formation, hands on sword hilts.
But from that dust, a banner emerged. Not a war banner. A long black cloth bearing a crescent moon.
"A merchant caravan," Duke Leopold said, his hand lowering.
They met at a crossroads. The caravan was large—perhaps thirty camels, fifteen supply wagons, and dozens of people.
But what made Albert react was their skin. Dark brown, like earth after rain. Their eyes—black or dark brown—gleamed beneath white turbans wrapped around their heads.
An old man separated from the group, approaching on a small grey horse. At his waist hung not a sword, but a leather satchel and rolled-up papers. His white turban was clean, contrasting with his worn brown cloak covered in travel dust.
"May the moon's blessing be upon you," he greeted. His voice was deep, calm. "Forgive us for disturbing your journey. We are from the Nil Empire, traveling to the Helvetian capital for trade. May we join your company? These roads are quiet, and we prefer traveling with larger groups."
Duke Leopold glanced at Albert. "You command the escort. What do you think?"
Albert studied the old man. His eyes—not fearful, not cunning. Just calm, like a lake in the morning.
"Proceed," he said. "But follow our rules."
The old man smiled. "Of course, My Lord. Thank you."
That night, they camped together.
A large bonfire was lit at the center of the encampment. Helvetian soldiers on one side, merchants on the other. At first, there was distance—suspicious glances, hands on weapons. But as the night wore on, that distance began to dissolve.
A young merchant brought dried meat and fruit, offering them to the nearest soldier. The soldier hesitated, then accepted. A few minutes later, they were laughing together—about what, Albert didn't know.
He sat a fair distance from the main bonfire, beneath a withered tree. Luise beside him. Duke Leopold across the way, speaking with the old man.
"You don't want to join them?" Luise asked.
Albert shook his head. "Here is fine."
But the old man came to them on his own.
His steps were slow, unobtrusive. He sat beside Albert without asking permission—but the way he sat, calm and respectful, made Albert not mind.
"My Lord," he greeted. His eyes—black, deep—looked at Albert with unusual intensity. "I see something in your eyes."
Albert looked at him. "What? Don't tell me nonsense."
"A burden." The old man smiled faintly. "A heavy burden... perhaps too heavy for someone your age."
Luise tensed, her hand reaching for her sword hilt. But Albert shook his head slightly.
"I'm old." The old man shrugged. "Old enough to have seen many kinds of people. Soldiers, farmers, nobles, slaves. They all carry burdens. But rarely have I seen as much burden in someone as young as you."
Albert was silent.
"We're from the Nil Empire," the old man continued. "Perhaps you've heard of it? On the eastern continent, where the sea of sand lies."
"I have." Albert remembered the maps in Lanser's library. The Nil Empire, an ancient civilization in the eastern continent's desert. "You worship the moon, correct?"
The old man smiled. Broad, genuine. "You know of it? Here, few know that. They only see our skin and call us 'desert people.'"
"I've read many books."
"Good..." The old man nodded. "Yes, we revere the moon. But not worship like you worship statues or gods. We call it the Temple Mensista, the Path to Light."
He picked up a twig and drew in the dirt. A circle. Inside it, a curved line—a crescent moon.
"The moon," he said, "is a symbol. Not God itself. It's a reminder that in darkness, there is always light. Perhaps not bright, perhaps just a sliver. But enough to show the way."
Albert stared at the drawing.
"Your religion... what are its teachings?"
The old man set down the twig. "Many things, but the essence is one: seek knowledge. Because through knowledge, you come to know yourself. Through knowing yourself, you come to know your Creator."
"Seek knowledge?"
"Yes. Our prophet—Mensista—taught that pursuing knowledge is an obligation for every person, male or female. From birth until death, one must seek and learn something." His eyes sparkled. "You enjoy reading books? That's a good start."
Albert was silent. In his head, those voices were still there. But for the first time, something else stirred—not voices, but a strange silence in their gaps.
"Tell me more," he said.
The old man smiled.
***
Several hours passed. They talked until late into the night.
The old man—his name was Rashid—spoke of the Nil Empire. Of great cities along riverbanks, of libraries housing thousands of manuscripts, of scholars who calculated the movements of stars, of physicians who concocted medicines from desert plants.
Of the Temple Mensista. Of the belief that God is One—unbegotten, not begotten. Of the day when all humanity will return to Him.
Of heaven and hell—but the heaven he described wasn't a garden with maidens, but a place where knowledge opened without limits, where every question found its answer.
"Mensista taught that this life is a test," Rashid said. "Every hardship, every suffering, every tear—all are recorded. And in the afterlife, you will see the results."
"And if someone does evil?" Albert asked.
"Then they will face the consequences." Rashid looked at him. "But our Lord is Most Forgiving. As long as they live, the door to forgiveness is always open."
Albert exhaled. In his head, the faces of Klaus, Stefan, Lukas, Gerold, Gerda—all who had died under his command—were saying something. But now, Rashid's words seemed to answer them.
"Even for a sinner like me?"
Rashid looked at him for a long moment. Then he said, "You killed in war?"
"Yes."
"Did you kill because you had to, not because you enjoyed it?"
Albert wanted to say 'yes'. But the words caught in his throat. Did he kill because he had to? Or at some point, had he begun to enjoy it?
"I... don't know," he admitted honestly.
Rashid nodded. "Honesty is rare." He stood, adjusting his cloak. "My Lord... tomorrow morning, if you wish, I'll show you something. But now, sleep. Even the strongest warrior needs rest."
He left, leaving Albert alone beneath the tree.
Luise, who had been silent, said, "You like him?"
Albert turned. "Who?"
"That old man and his talk."
Albert thought. "I'm... interested. I know this isn't like me, but..."
"Interested in a foreign religion?"
"Not the religion." Albert shook his head. "But its teachings. About knowledge and burdens, as they see them." He stared at the bonfire in the distance.
"What is it?" Luise asked.
"The voices in my head haven't gone away... they're still there." Albert touched his temple. "But they feel like... like they're farther away. Like they're speaking from the next room, not inside the same room."
Luise didn't answer. But her hand reached for Albert's, gripping it briefly.
"Do you think this is real?" Albert asked suddenly. "Or just... the effect of an old man who's good with words?"
"I don't know." Luise shrugged. "But you look calmer. That's enough for me."
Albert was silent. Inside him, that skeptical voice remained—critical, cold, as always. This is too easy. A stranger comes, tells beautiful stories, and you believe immediately?
But beside that skepticism, something else stirred. Something small, almost invisible. Like a seed.
Perhaps this is what I've been searching for.
His own thoughts felt absurd. Searching for the meaning of life from a desert merchant who happened to pass by? But on the other hand—what was more reasonable than that? All this time, he'd searched on battlefields, in victories, in recognition. And all of that had only given him more voices in his head.
Perhaps the answer is precisely where you least expect it.
"It's late." Luise stood, pulling his hand. "You need sleep. We still have a journey tomorrow."
Albert nodded. But his eyes remained on the bonfire.
"One more thing," he said.
"Hmm?"
"I've already sent a letter to my father, asking him to send cigars to the capital."
Luise blinked. "Cigars? Those strange things? What for?"
"I can't face the king in a state of chaos." Albert smiled faintly. "If I'm going to talk about war, about casualties, about anything—I need to be in my best condition. And the king should be in his best condition too."
"You think cigars can put the king in his best condition? I doubt His Majesty would want to inhale smoke from that strange thing..."
"No." Albert shook his head. "But don't worry, I already have a plan."
Luise looked at him for a long moment. Then she laughed softly. "You're truly strange, Albert."
"Perhaps."
Don't get your hopes up, he thought. This could all be nonsense.
But beside that, another voice whispered. But what if it's real?
***
The next morning, Rashid kept his promise.
He led Albert to his tent—a small tent of thick fabric, decorated with geometric patterns. Inside, the scent of unfamiliar incense. Rashid sat cross-legged, gesturing for Albert to do the same.
"I want you to see this," he said.
He brought out a small wooden box. Inside, a silver pendant in the shape of a crescent moon. Simple, without intricate carvings, without precious stones. But on its surface, the morning sunlight filtering through the tent's opening reflected in a strange way—like water, like silk.
"This is not an ordinary pendant," Rashid said. "It's a marker for those who wish to begin the journey. The journey of seeking knowledge and the journey of seeking one's true self."
He also produced a small clay bottle. "Holy water from the well at our sacred land. Some feel different afterward, some don't. But all who are sincere... change, sooner or later."
Albert looked at these objects. The crescent pendant and the holy water.
"I don't need you to fully join the Temple Mensista," Rashid said. "But if you wish, you can take the first step. Drink this water, accept this pendant, and utter two sentences in your heart."
"What two sentences?"
"That there is no god but the One God. And that Mensista is His messenger." Rashid smiled. "But you can say it in your own language. What matters is the intention of your heart."
Albert thought. In his head, those voices began to stir again—but this time not voices of terror, but a fierce debate between skepticism and hope.
This is foolish, the skeptical voice said. You're going to drink water from a stranger? Accept a pendant from a religion you don't know? This could be a trap, a trick, or just the ramblings of a lonely old man.
But another voice—smaller, weaker, yet somehow more convincing—spoke. But what if it's not? What if this is the answer you've been searching for?
Albert took a deep breath.
"I will," he said.
Rashid nodded. He poured the holy water into a small cup, handed it to Albert. The water was clear, cold.
This is foolish, Albert thought. But his hand still accepted the cup.
He drank it.
It tasted... strange. Like something flowing inside him—not in his body, but in something deeper. Or perhaps that was just suggestion? Albert didn't know. He was too skeptical to believe immediately, yet too exhausted to ignore it.
"I've drunk it," he said.
Rashid smiled broadly. "Now, this pendant." He hung the pendant around Albert's neck. The silver was cool against his skin. "It will remind you. That wherever you are, in whatever condition, light is always present. Perhaps you don't see it now, but it's there."
Albert held the pendant. A small crescent moon in his palm.
It's just metal, just an inanimate object. But on the other hand—why did he feel slightly different? Or was that only because he wanted to feel different?
"Am I now part of the Temple Mensista?" he asked.
Rashid laughed. "Not yet. This is only the beginning of a long journey. But you've taken a step. And that's already more than most people ever do."
"Those who never take a step?"
"Those who are afraid to take a step."
Albert was silent. Against his chest, the pendant felt warm—perhaps from his body heat, perhaps from something else. He didn't know.
Perhaps this is what I've been searching for. Or perhaps it's just a false hope.
***
They continued their journey that afternoon.
The caravan stayed with them, sharing the road to the capital. Rashid occasionally approached Albert, telling him more—about prophets, about sacred scriptures, about the Day of Judgment. Albert listened seriously, occasionally asking questions.
The voices in his head... were still there. But quieter. Like a radio whose volume had been turned down. Or like voices from the next room, no longer inside the same chamber.
Perhaps this is just a psychological effect because I'm doing something different.
That evening, as they camped, he sat beneath a starry black sky. Luise beside him.
"Do you feel different?" Luise asked.
Do I truly feel different? Or do I just want to feel different? I don't know.
"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "Perhaps it's just suggestion. But... the voices in my head have subsided a little. Or perhaps I'm just tired and need sleep."
Luise smiled. "You're always too hard on yourself."
"Perhaps." Albert held the pendant. "But I can't just believe so easily. That's not like me."
"But you drank the water, and you accepted the pendant."
"Because I'm desperate." Albert stared at the crescent moon in the sky. "Desperate people do foolish things. But lucky fools sometimes find something."
"What do you hope to find?"
Albert was silent for a long time. When he answered, his voice was soft.
"I don't know. But... every step I've taken since leaving Lanser, every battle I've fought, every person who died under my command—all of it must lead somewhere. I don't believe this is all coincidence." He looked at the pendant. "Perhaps this is the answer. Or perhaps this is just a stepping stone to the next answer. But at least... at least I'm moving. Not standing still."
"If it makes you feel better, that's good. But remember, all the nobles in the western continent follow the Church of Solisia. It could become a problem if anyone finds out you've converted—or have ties to another faith."
"I know... I'll be careful." Albert replied quietly.
Luise didn't answer. But she shifted closer, her shoulder touching Albert's.
That night, Albert slept with the pendant on his chest. In his head, the debate between skepticism and hope continued.