Part 1
Six days before the attack…
"We've lost contact with Count Laverick… though he's likely safe in the social club," murmured Balliard, his back turned to the others as he stared out the upper window of the Ministry of Defense.
From that height, the city no longer looked like a stronghold.It was a boiling pot.
"That would leave you in full command of Arkenfel," said Harlem, the white-haired elf in ceremonial robes, his voice so calm it bordered on mockery.
Balliard didn't respond right away. He slowly turned toward the war table.
Around it stood the three remaining active heroes, several SSS-rank adventurers, and the Guild Master.
Their faces were heavy: some with fear, others with impatience.None with hope.
"We will endure," Balliard growled. "Arkenfel is the military backbone of Valdheim. If we fall here… the whole kingdom will follow."
Harlem placed a hand on an aged book. Its cover was cracked and worn, its elvish script shimmering faintly in the light—like it didn't want to be read.
"I just hope there's a kingdom left to return to after we endure," he said with quiet resignation, opening the tome for all to see.
"Because according to my ancestors' records… this isn't the first time that dragon has appeared."
The room fell silent. Even the hardened heroes, veterans of countless battles, tensed at his words.
"Can it be defeated?" Balliard asked bluntly.
Harlem flipped to a hand-drawn illustration:
A skeletal dragon, its wings shaped like broken blades, with the symbol of the Void carved into its chest.
"It has been defeated before…" he replied with no emotion.
"Its name is Mortem. One of the Four Apocalyptic Dragons."
"Its existence predates even the War of White Devastation."
"I don't care about its history," Balliard snapped. "I'm asking if we can kill it."
Harlem closed the book softly. His silver eyes scanned the room, one by one.Everyone avoided his gaze.
"Your heroes aren't ready," Harlem finally said, coldly.
"They're far below SSS-rank… let alone worthy of a true Jaggernaught."
The three young warriors stayed silent, swallowing their shame like warm poison.The elf's words weren't cruel. Just honest.
"Fortunately for you," Harlem added, "I'm still in this city. And there are still good adventurers here… though not nearly enough."
He stood with grace and walked to the window beside Balliard.
"But there's something worse than that dragon," he continued, his voice softer. "The people. They're at the breaking point."
"Resources are vanishing. Anger is rising. The nobles… hoard the food like frightened rats."
"And as for the barrier—I'm trying to locate its core, but let me be perfectly clear: there's no way one of your heroes created it."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Yui.Still seated. Still silent. Still in Balliard's shadow.
That was when Yamato—surprisingly quiet until now—rose from his chair.
"I won't be used in your suicidal schemes," he said calmly. "I'm out."
The word hit the room like a silent bomb.All eyes turned to him.
Balliard reacted instantly.
"If you walk out of this room, boy… you'll be branded a traitor."
"Please," Yamato scoffed without losing his cool. "I have an entire life ahead of me. I'm not dying in one of your delusions of grandeur."
Balliard stepped forward, fury in his eyes. He was about to strike him——but Harlem stopped him with a single, effortless gesture.
That was enough.
"If any of you want to be this madman's cannon fodder, go ahead," Yamato said. "But I won't just sit by while I'm accused of treason—or watch this man sacrifice everyone to feed his ego."
"I'm going home. To my girls."
He turned and walked toward the door without a glance back.
"And if I were you…" he added, "I'd keep an eye on that man."
He stopped for just a moment, turning his head just enough for the shadow to cross over his eyes.
"I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to stab you in the back… if that's what it takes to feel in control."
And with that, he opened the door.
No one stopped him.
Yui rose silently and followed.
Nanami too.
No orders. Just intent.
The echo of their fading footsteps was all that remained… Until even that was gone.
Five days before the attack
Lina and Selka walked through the dark alleys, flanked by a growing group of soldiers and citizens wrapped in silent fury.
With every block, the crowd grew—mothers, artisans, aging veterans—each with the same expression: hunger and rage.
When they reached the front of Yoru's church, the sound of chants drifted out through the stained-glass windows.
The cleric inside recited the Prayer of Eternal Night, oblivious to the storm rising beyond the walls.
Lina didn't hesitate.
She kicked the door open with force, the crack of wood echoing like thunder.
"I warned you!" she shouted, her voice rising with theatrical venom, imitating Aira's haughty tone.
"The privileged pray in peace to a god who doesn't listen… while the rest of us are sent to die without bread or names!"
"Who dares blaspheme in the house of the Night God?!"
The cleric stormed down from his pulpit, face red with fury.
Selka stepped forward. Her face was Judith's, but her voice… burned with a different fire.
"The God of the Night has abandoned us! If not, then why does he let his people rot in misery?"
The crowd erupted like fire.
Cheers. Applause. Fury.
No one tried to calm the rage.
No one wanted peace.
They wanted justice.
"This is sacrilege! This is sacred ground!" cried another priest, trembling at the edge of the altar.
A guard burst from a side chamber, holding a basket overflowing with goods.
"You were right, Lady Judith! This place is full of fresh food—hams, bread, fruit… all hidden!"
Lina didn't flinch.
"Take everything."
Her tone wasn't a shout.
It was a command.
"This church has lived off the people. Grown fat while you wept in the streets."
"Burn it all. No more privilege!"
The crowd needed no more.
Within seconds, pews became kindling.
Curtains burned like fallen banners.
Stained glass shattered like broken faith.
The incense no longer blessed—it choked.
The faithful fled, screaming, afraid to end up like the last priest who defied the Void.
The head cleric, frozen before the altar, could only watch as his sanctuary turned to rubble.
He didn't dare move.
He didn't want to burn.
"Yoru has forsaken us!" Lina shouted, raising her fist high. "Long live Celestia!"
"Long live Celestia!" echoed Selka, her voice melodic, like a new liturgy.
"LONG LIVE CELESTIA!!" roared the crowd in unison, fleeing into the streets with stolen provisions.
Lina spun amid the flames, her false hair a halo of fire, her eyes gleaming as if she'd seen the face of true justice.
She wasn't dancing for destruction.
She danced for redemption.
For every blessed lie.
Every ignored prayer.
Every dinnerless night.
And in her smile burned the certainty…
…that this was only the beginning.