SN Chapter 1

Of all those who vanished, only Rosaline of Redvielle remained unfound—not even a corpse to account for her absence.

The warming season brought its annual plague of complications: wild beasts and monsters breeding in exponential profusion, a headache for anyone responsible for maintaining order in civilized territories. Subjugation forces deployed several times yearly to cull the population, but the County of Iron-Bramble—Vista, as it was known colloquially—required these interventions with unusual frequency. The mountainous terrain defeated even well-trained knights within days, the peaks simply ate stamina, and worse still, the landscape offered countless places for monsters to conceal themselves between cullings. A thorough sweep would seem to clear the threat, only for the creatures to emerge again weeks later and wreak havoc again.

The day after hunters and a subjugation force had passed through Iron-Bramble territory, a monster resembling a three-horned wild boar descended upon a village at the mountain's base, reducing it to rubble. The creature had been driven down by the culling, its usual prey depleted. It was in the process of consuming an emaciated boy when a knight under the Count of Iron-Bramble's command put it down with three crossbow bolts and a spear through the spine.

This, then, was why the Imperial hunting competition came to be held in such an inhospitable location. The event was organized to calm restless public sentiment and demonstrate the Imperial family's strength. Many nobles, Imperial princes, and Imperial knight orders participated.

The Second Prince's White Night Order. The Imperial Second Knight Order, DeForet, assigned to protect the Fifth Prince. Additionally, the Fourth Imperial Knight Order, Spindrift. The Iron-Bramble Knight Order. The Ironhoff Knight Order. The military presence suggested preparation for war rather than sport—a small army migrating through mountain passes with banners and supply trains.

For the first four days, the hunt proceeded smoothly. Apart from a handful of servants who twisted ankles on the treacherous terrain, there were no noteworthy casualties.

Day five of the hunting competition. The incident occurred.

The Kingdom of Balta—a vast realm neighboring the Empire of Illavénia. An assassination unit based in Balta infiltrated the mountain where Illavénia's power was concentrated. In the deeply dark night, torches multiplied one by one, and the battle began. Though momentarily scattered by the ambush, the formations quickly reformed and the tide reversed in an instant. The difference in numbers aside, their military strength was incomparable to a mere assassination unit.

By the time dawn approached, the disturbance had subsided. All attackers had been eliminated. The princes remained uninjured, without so much as a scratch to complicate the political situation.

Yet the victory came at a cost too substantial for celebration. When morning light illuminated the ground, blood painted the earth without discriminating between ally and enemy. The assassins—numbering only in the dozens—had employed poison and hidden weapons to inflict maximum damage before their inevitable defeat.

The hunting competition could not continue. The princes withdrew to the capital with undignified haste. Each knight order turned toward the capital city of Tigaard to maintain proper escort, though portions of each force remained behind to attend to the wounded and process the dead.

The Vice-Captain of the White Night Order had fallen. His adjutant drew lines through the order's roster one by one. Fifteen injured, seven dead. No—fourteen injured and eight dead. The physician had just pronounced that one member receiving treatment had died. Unable to fully conceal his devastation, he found the fallen member's name and drew a line through it.

After half a day of sorting, the roster had been divided into three categories: those who had departed to escort the princes, those injured, those dead. The adjutant studied the names, and a wrongness presented itself—a name that belonged in none of these categories.

Rosaline of Redvielle. The eldest daughter of Count Redvielle, a woman whose skill had earned her a position in the White Night Order despite her gender. Her martial capability fell short of the male knights' standards, but her diligent attitude and consistent performance had made her a favorite of the now-deceased Vice-Captain.

The adjutant made inquiries in all directions, wondering if her body had been incorrectly sorted among another order's casualties. But her black hair could not be found anywhere.

Six days after the battle, a search party dispatched by House Redvielle located her deep in the forest, at the bottom of a cliff, gravely injured.

The white mourning cloths that had been hung throughout the estate came down after days of heavy silence. The Count of Redvielle's eldest daughter, presumed dead in the hunting competition battle, had returned alive. The white fabric remained half-draped on the castle walls in awkward abandonment, as if the servants had been interrupted mid-task—which they had been, more urgent matters demanding attention than proper cloth removal.

The external commotion settled. The gates of House Redvielle opened. A black-haired man entered with his expression clenched tight.

"Where is my sister?"

"Welcome home, Young Master. The Young Lady is in her room. The heavens must have been watching over her."

They said that despite falling from that towering cliff, not a single bone had broken. Instead, numerous wounds both large and small had caused significant blood loss, and she had been suffering from a high fever.

When first discovered, physicians had been unwilling to guarantee her survival. Her condition had been too critical to transport immediately to the Redvielle estate—she'd required treatment in Vista first. The wounds had gradually closed, but she had remained unconscious throughout.

Count Redvielle, desperate to prevent his daughter from dying away from home, had ordered her moved to the family estate despite the risk. The journey had strained her weakened body, but miraculously, the following morning, she had regained consciousness. The Young Lady must have wished to come home, the butler explained, producing a handkerchief to dab at his eyes.

Kallix ascended the stairs rapidly. Several servants hurried after him in a cluster. Upon reaching the upper floor, he encountered the corpulent family physician emerging from Rosaline's room. The doctor's frown deepened at the sight of Kallix's hurried approach, and he bowed hastily in greeting.

"How is my sister?"

"Ah, Young Master Kallix. The Young Lady's fever has broken and... she appears to be out of danger..."

The way the words stretched and hesitated struck Kallix as odd. He regarded the physician through narrowed eyes. The silence pressed down with weight. Unable to withstand it further, the doctor forced out one additional word.

"Probably..."

What kind of answer is that? Safe or not safe—which was it? At Kallix's increasingly hostile expression, Physician Basio's eyes rolled in their sockets like nervous animals seeking escape. The man perspired excessively under normal circumstances, but now he appeared drenched, as if caught in a downpour.

Bad signs. Kallix wrestled his churning anxiety back under control.

"Is there some problem with my sister?"

"It's... that is..."

Kallix didn't wait for him to finish. He pushed the door open.

Even between siblings, entering without permission is improper, Kallix. He'd been scolded often for this behavior in childhood, but his current state couldn't accommodate the luxury of waiting for the room's occupant to grant entry. His vision filled with his sister, seated on the bed. She was staring toward the door where the sudden commotion had erupted.

Bandages wrapped her arms. Small scratches marked her face. Her features looked gaunt, but for someone who had supposedly been hovering between life and death for days, she appeared remarkably well. Kallix released a breath of relief. Physician Basio's strange behavior had created unnecessary anxiety.

He smoothed the furrow from his brow and approached Rosaline. Even as he pulled over a small chair beside the bed and sat, she continued staring at Kallix's face with wide, unblinking eyes. He knew his sister's characteristically calm demeanor well enough, but this seemed oddly... off for someone who had barely survived such a brutal battle. Even if she wasn't throwing herself into his arms in relief, surely she shouldn't be quite this serene...

"Are you feeling all right? Is anything causing you discomfort?"

The clock's ticking filled the space. Despite his question, she only blinked. Her mouth remained compressed in a flat line, showing no signs of opening. The strange atmosphere prompted Kallix to repeat his inquiry: "Sister?"

Beautiful peridot-colored eyes held his reflection. Rosaline's eyelids lowered slowly, then rose again. When she finally spoke, her voice emerged rough and sunken, as if testifying to recent suffering.

"Feeling... alright. Anything... causing dis...comfort?"

Kallix jerked back. His body had responded instinctively to the sudden wrongness flooding through him. He frowned at his own startled reaction, his pupils shaking.

Rosaline continued watching him quietly. Not a particle of emotion resided in those eyes—they were cooler than usual, almost cold. Kallix dragged his hand down his face several times and forced a smile. Anyone could see his obvious discomfort, though he managed to keep his voice gentle and calm.

"Rest a little, Sister. I have matters requiring attention, so I'll take my leave now."

"Little... rest..."

"Yes. I'll visit again later."

Kallix turned and fixed Physician Basio with a glare. The doctor followed him out of the room, sweating profusely. The door closed. A terrible silence descended upon the corridor. Kallix pressed his fingers against his eyes as if exhausted.

"What... what in the world is this?"

Basio heard the young master's teeth grinding together. He couldn't bring himself to meet Kallix's eyes, staring instead at his feet with an apologetic air.

"I asked you a question."

Basio's body jerked. He steadied his trembling voice with difficulty and delivered his diagnosis.

She had struck her head severely when falling from the cliff. The blood loss had been substantial. Her mind and body were weakened—she appeared to have temporarily lost her memory. Elderly people with dementia sometimes experienced language degradation. This seemed similar to that condition.

"Dementia?"

Kallix's expression twisted sharply. He clearly disliked having such a term applied to the brilliant eldest daughter of House Redvielle.

Basio hurried to respond.

"The brain is an extremely delicate organ, difficult to assess. I merely wished to explain that brain injuries can cause a breakdown in the language center—I'm not suggesting the Young Lady has developed dementia."