Knight donned his steel helmet and stood up. His knees ached slightly from sitting too long, but he paid the pain no mind. The warmth of the soup bowl lingered in his palms even after he had placed it back on the grass, and the pitter-patter of Aeta's tiny footsteps as he ran into the camp still echoed in his ears.
All of this was real enough for him.
He walked back toward the villagers' camp with firm strides, heading straight for the village chief's hut without a moment's hesitation.
Inside, everything remained the same. The old man lay on the bed, and the attendant wiping a ceramic vase glanced at Knight briefly before looking away in fear. It was the same look he had seen last night, a fear born not of danger, but of the unknown, the uncertainty of what would happen next.
The atmosphere in the small room was still heavy, but there was a subtle difference, as if everyone inside already knew what the man entering was about to say.
"Have you decided...?" the old man asked, his voice even raspier than the night before, as if the passing hours had claimed another portion of his remaining life force. Yet his eyes remained as sharp as ever, staring directly at Knight through the dim light of the hut.
"...Yes. I will be the one to lead you through the silver mist."
The resolve in Knight's eyes was so intense it was visible even through the visor of his helmet. It wasn't the look of someone who had just made a choice, but of someone who had finally accepted that this was the only path he could take. Not because there were no other options, but because choosing any other way would mean he was no longer himself.
The old man didn't speak immediately. He watched Knight long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable. Finally, the old man rose slowly, leaning on his assistant to walk toward Knight until only a single pace separated them.
Then, the old man smiled.
It was a smile etched with pain and exhaustion, the smile of someone who had carried a burden for too long and had just been allowed to set part of it down. But within it, there was something warm, something resembling a gratitude too deep for words.
Knight thought of Lina smiling at Aeta. A smile that changes an entire face. The old man's smile was the same. They reserved it, but when it emerged, it was profoundly sincere.
"I leave them in your hands..."
The old man spoke before letting go of his assistant's arm. He walked out of the hut slowly on his own, as if Knight's decision had breathed life back into him an energy born not of the body, but of the realization that the long-awaited moment had finally arrived.
He proceeded to gather all thirty-plus villagers in front of the hut.
Only a few hours ago, Knight had been hesitant. After all, this was not his reality. If he were to view this purely as a trial, moving on alone was a perfectly valid choice.
But when he thought that way, the images that came to mind were no longer just the children in the camp or the widows. It was the image of the bland soup still warming his hands. It was the voice of Aeta saying he wasn't afraid, even though he truly was, but fearing the right things instead. It was the smile Lina reserved for that boy alone. And it was the words of the old man in the black robe: This world is woven from the memory fragments of the universe.
If that were so, their pain had once been real.
And if it had once been true, it was a truth that existed right here, right now.
Within a minute, Knight decided without further doubt: even if this wasn't his reality, it was the reality of these innocent villagers. They didn't choose to be born into this world, nor did they choose to be drawn into someone else's trial by the Box.
And he could not stand to see them remain this way.
Besides, he had nothing to lose. Since he was trapped in this trial regardless, he might as well do this.
Emerging from the hut, Knight looked at the thirty-odd villagers gathered together. Every face was filled with anxiety and uncertainty. Children clung to their mothers' hemlines; elderly folk held trembling canes. They all looked at him.
He saw Aeta standing beside Lina. The little boy looked at him with eyes brighter than they had been that morning, as if his assigned mission was a success and he was now ready for the next step. Lina placed a hand gently on Aeta's shoulder, an unconscious, habitual gesture that had become a part of her.
Knight averted his gaze before the feeling swelling in his chest turned into something too heavy to bear.
He drew his greatsword from its sheath, pointed it toward the sky, and unleashed all the golden runes flowing through his body. Simultaneously, he activated the [Eyes of Judgment], erupting in a brilliant golden light amidst the morning sun. Radiant golden patterns spiraled along his armor and skin. His golden eyes shone so brightly they were visible even beneath his steel helm.
A soft murmur and sharp intakes of breath swept through the crowd. Some children even stepped forward to get a better look. Aeta was among them, his eyes wide with a level of awe he hadn't shown all morning.
"O ye who have not lost faith! Follow this man into the silver mist!" the old man proclaimed loudly. His raspy voice rang out with more power than his frail body should have been capable of, as if he had gathered all his remaining strength into that single sentence.
The chief's proclamation echoed across the silent meadow. The thirty villagers looked at Knight with a mixture of terror and hope. The golden light flowing over his armor and the glowing eyes beneath his helmet made him look like a legendary being descended into the midst of despair.
But Knight knew he was no such thing.
He was just a man who had drunk some bland soup and listened to a boy say he wasn't afraid, and decided that was enough.
"Pack only the essentials!" Knight lowered his sword, but the golden aura continued to radiate. His voice was heavy and clear, devoid of hesitation. "Water, food, and blankets for the children. We have no time to carry unnecessary weight. We will move as fast as possible. If anyone lags behind... I might not be able to save you all."
People in the crowd nodded; some hurried back to their huts. The sounds of footsteps and the rustling of packing began to rise within the camp. Everyone hurried as if they knew exactly how precious their time was.
Knight used the waiting time to scan the procession with his [Eyes of Judgment]. He saw the red threads of life billowing from everyone in the camp. Some threads were bright and strong; others were faint and flickering in the morning breeze. He traced Lina's thread; it was vibrant red, steady, and stronger than she appeared outwardly. Then he found Aeta's. The boy's thread was the brightest of them all, fresh and full of the vitality unique to children.
The old village chief's thread was the thinnest, almost transparent, revealing whatever lay behind it.
Knight knew the old man didn't have much time left, and the old man knew it too. That was why he had walked out of the hut on his own this morning.
And there were some in the camp, just a few whose threads were nonexistent. They stood among the crowd but were empty in the eyes of the [Eyes of Judgment]. Their gazes were fixed forward without aim; their hands did as they were told, but there was nothing behind them.
He paused his gaze on one person, a middle-aged woman standing near the chief's hut. She held a bundle of cloth, doing as those around her did, but her eyes were void.
And he remembered Aeta saying his mother was in this camp.
Knight looked away quickly. There was no point in speaking of it now. There was no point in letting the boy know he was traveling with the hollow shell of his mother.
Some things had to wait for the right time.
Before long, the refugee column was ready.
Knight led the way at the front, leading his horse slowly so the children and the elderly could keep up. He didn't mount his horse, knowing that staying at the same level as the others would make them feel safer. He glanced back once, seeing Lina walking in the middle of the column, one hand gripping Aeta's tightly. The boy marched with such solemnity, as if this were the most important mission of his life which, indeed, it was.
Knight's gaze returned to the horizon where the silver mist loomed ahead. The golden patterns on his body continued to glow faintly, as if sensing the destination.
The column had not been moving long. The grass by the path was still damp, and morning dew clung to everyone's shoes and hems. Small children tripped, but were immediately hoisted up by the adults beside them without needing to ask. These were small occurrences, repeated throughout the line, but each time it happened, it told Knight that these people still looked out for one another that there was still something binding them together.
Then, the atmospheric pressure began to shift.
It happened gradually. First, a slight heaviness in the air, as if something invisible were pressing down from above. Then came the scent a smell Knight couldn't quite identify. It wasn't like flowers, earth, or any herb he knew. It was like the scent of impending rain, yet colder, older, and deeper.
And beneath it all, the tang of iron and dust began to prick at his senses.
"They're coming..." Knight muttered to himself.
Before he even turned around, his ears caught the sound. A rhythmic thudding that grew steadily louder from behind. A sound he knew well, for it was the same one that had pursued him since the day he first set foot in this land.
On the horizon behind them, dust billowed alongside the sound of galloping hooves. The Red Cross Army had detected their movement. Blood-colored banners fluttered in the distance, catching the morning sun alongside the glint of weapons. Their numbers were greater than Knight had anticipated; he estimated at least fifty of them, mostly mounted.
Not a patrol, but an extermination unit from the main army.
"Sir Knight! They've caught up!" a villager cried out in panic. The cry sparked a wave of alarm that spread rapidly through the crowd. Children began to wail in terror; some stopped walking, while others turned back to look toward where they had come from.
Knight glanced at Aeta. The boy didn't cry. He didn't stop. He simply gripped Lina's hand tighter and kept marching forward.
"Don't stop!" Knight commanded firmly.
He halted and turned back to face the demoralized line. There was no time for long speeches or explanations. He slammed his greatsword into the ground, sending a short shockwave through the area. Everyone turned to look at him.
"Keep moving! Do not look back!" His voice was resolute and carried an invisible authority. It wasn't loud with anger, but heavy with the weight of someone who knew exactly what they were talking about. "The mist is not far ahead. Those who still have strength... support the weak!"
He saw Lina nod once. She turned to whisper something to Aeta. The boy nodded back, then reached out to pull the hand of another child standing nearby, urging them to keep going.
He pulled his sword from the earth and wiped off the dust with a calmness that seemed irrational given the situation. Then, he turned to face the direction opposite the mist, the direction from which the Red Cross Army was charging.
'If I move forward with the villagers, everyone will be caught before we reach the mist.'
'But if I stop them here for just a minute…'
Knight looked at the villagers who were moving faster now under his command. Children were being carried; the elderly were being supported. The procession was moving quicker than he had expected. Fear had strangely strengthened everyone's legs.
He looked back at the approaching dust cloud, then back at the line, seeing Aeta's back as he walked with grim determination, his small hand clutching Lina's tightly.
'Ten minutes will be enough.'
The golden runes on his body flared once more, brighter than before, radiating outward in visible ripples. Knight gripped his sword tightly, standing alone in the middle of the meadow, facing the charging army while the line of villagers moved away behind him.
He didn't know what these runes could do against fifty armed soldiers. He didn't know if the silver mist would truly let the villagers through if he led them there. He didn't know what state he would be in when this was over.
[Eyes of Judgment: Active!]
[Fragment 63/1000: Boiling...]
But he knew one thing.
This was a trial, and every trial has a way through.
And more importantly, he knew that behind him was a little boy who said he wasn't afraid, walking forward with all his might.
He wasn't standing here for the trial.
He was standing here to give that boy enough time to walk far enough.