Seraph Estin was relentless.

He was known among the knights for that very trait.
Several times, he had tracked down traces missed during surprise operations, piercing through enemy lines.

Even the commander, a senior knight at the time, once told him:

“Sir Estin, you are more terrifying when tracking than when wielding a sword.”

That had been him.
But this time was different.

He could neither draw his sword nor ride out on horseback.
Before he could reach the place where the truth lay, it had already been emptied.
Documents were gone, people had left, and the locations were sealed.

At first, he thought it coincidence.
Twice, he considered it misfortune.
From the third time onward—it was a plan.

‘Someone is moving ahead of me.’

The moment Seraph realized this, he felt a chill in his chest.

Strange silences wherever he tracked those around Lisa.
When he tried to access records, the officer in charge had been replaced or excluded from duty.
When he sought training logs, the only reply was, “They’ve been lost.”

“How many times have they been lost? For what reason… was Lisa’s existence so frightening?”

Seraph quietly exhaled and closed his eyes in front of the empty vault once again.
As if someone had predicted his visit precisely, everything was erased just before he could touch it.

Even some maids who remembered Lisa’s past
left the village, saying, “I don’t know that name.”
A few stammered in fear the moment they faced Seraph.

At some point, he realized:

‘My movements… are being read by someone.’

From that moment, Seraph limited his actions.
No riding, no sending servants to prepare his outings,
moving only on foot at night without a carriage,
taking paths known only to himself to continue the investigation.

Yet still, he was late.

Wherever he arrived, someone had always been there before him.
The vault holding secret documents lay open, without a trace.

“Transparent eyes… watching me. Quite the pressure from someone high up.”

He whispered.
The secretary across the desk looked up.

“What did you say, Sir Estin?”

Seraph shook his head.
“Nothing. Close the door and leave.”

After the secretary bowed and left, Seraph stared long at the shadows of trees outside.

Even a single leaf swaying in the wind drew suspicion.
He could trust no one.

The ‘transparent something’ was now infecting those around him.
People he met, the documents he received, even the silence of a room—all felt contaminated.

“Perhaps even among those closest to me, there’s a spy.”

He thought it, yet did not speak it aloud.
Even suspicion itself now seemed detectable.

Still, Seraph did not stop.

Lisa was not merely a friend.
She symbolized the justice he wished to prove, the unwavering ideals he held.

Losing Lisa meant his own values would be denied.
If the future count, responsible for his lands, could not protect even a close friend, who could he protect?

And the pride tied to the Estin name would not allow it.

He remained calm.
Systematically, he organized his nightly investigation notes,
mentally mapping out the networks of newly emerging figures.

And he waited.

For the transparent shadow to reach out first,
for it to slip up,
for the moment it would miss something.

Time passed, and noble society gradually forgot Lisa.

But Seraph did not.
He remembered, more clearly than anyone, her last gaze, her talent, effort, and brilliance.

“When I become a knight, I’ll protect those around me first.”

At the time, he had not understood the meaning of that statement.
Now, he almost did.

After that word, Lisa disappeared.
And now, Seraph could trust no one.

Months had passed since Lisa’s news went completely silent.
Seraph did not confront the Drenold Marquess directly.
The political climate was sensitive, and the Marquess family’s influence remained significant.

Instead, he moved quietly. Silently, without leaving a trace. And persistently.

His gaze always lingered over shoulders,
tracking the movements of those around the Drenold family like a seasoned strategist anticipating the next move.

Then, from
an unnamed servant’s mistake, a faint mark on an old map,
and a drunken merchant’s tale,
the words ‘hidden villa’ emerged.
Even better, it was relatively close to the capital.

“The darkest place is right under the lamp… mocking me, it seems.”

A place that had never appeared in any record.
Not on any map, not in any document.
But if it truly existed—

Seraph moved immediately.

Night. His black cloak rippled in the moonlight.
Alone, he ascended the mountain.
The horse breathed heavily, yet Seraph’s gaze grew calmer.

‘It might all be an illusion.
But even so, I must go.’

It was no longer mere investigation.
His instinct had surpassed deduction, approaching pure intuition.

After several false leads and misinformation,
one night,
he discovered a workshop radiating unfamiliar presence.

A small, shabby shack.
Yet, through the window gaps, faint light leaked out with an oddly refined quality.

‘Someone in a place like this…? A wood artisan?’

As Seraph halted to grasp the reins—

“You’re here.”

A short, low voice.
Behind him, shadows flickered and five figures emerged from the trees.

Five.
Five men moving silently like shadows.
Their attire varied, but the movements of their blades were those of trained soldiers.

Seraph calmly drew his sword.

“So this is the right place after all.”

The black jacket rustled as it swung aside.
The steel glinted in the moonlight.

His eyes narrowed sharply.
A tense silence followed.
Seraph asked quietly:

“Who sent you? The Drenold Marquess… or someone behind them?”

No answer.

Instead—
the first attacker lunged.

Seraph did not flinch.
He twisted his left foot and lowered his body, letting the incoming blade slide past.

At the same time, a short downward strike pierced the attacker’s side.

“Ugh…!”

A brief groan.
No time to pause.
Two more attacked simultaneously from left and right—one thrust high, the other slashed low.
A coordinated strike.

Seraph flicked his right shoulder, deflecting the high blade,
twisted his waist, dodging the low strike, and rolled across the ground.

Turning, he whispered with sharp eyes:

“They’ve come to kill me.”

The words barely left his lips when another blade came flying.
He instinctively blocked it with his sword.
The clang of steel cut through the darkness.

These were no ordinary assassins.
Intentional, trained, battle-hardened.
Someone had prepared for this moment long ago.

He gritted his teeth.
His body felt heavier. No bleeding yet,
but the pressure was a clear intent to kill.

‘Lisa’s traces must be near.
That’s why… they’re trying to kill me.’

He tightened his grip on the sword.
Sweat ran down his back, breath ragged.
Yet his eyes remained icy and calm.

He had to break through this attack.
Only by leaving this place could he reach Lisa’s true trace.

And that night,
a small battle unfolded in the forest.

Blood spattered under the moonlight, shadows collapsed.
None revealed their identities, and no clue came from their words.
Yet Seraph knew.

The dim moonlight barely reached through thick branches.
The enemy moved unpredictably like a black shadow, attacking relentlessly.
Seraph’s gaze burned with intensity, all casual ease gone, replaced by perfect, cold focus.

After several harrowing clashes,
the clash of steel and heavy breathing brushed against his ears.
Blood ran down his side and arms.
Yet he had dealt damage as well.

Four of the five attackers were already beneath his feet.

“Haa… haa…”

His breath came ragged.
His fingers trembled slightly. Hair matted with sweat and blood stuck to his forehead. Fatigue gnawed at his muscles.

‘At this rate… I won’t last long.’

But Seraph gritted his teeth.
The moment his cold silver-gray eyes flickered, the leader struck.

The blade moved fast, cutting deep into Seraph’s shoulder.

“Ugh…!”

Searing pain tore through him. Vision blurred. Knees buckled, he fell to the ground, but he never let go of his sword.

The last one whispered low behind him.

“Sir Estin, the reason a secret remains secret… is because you mustn’t know it.”

An unseen face, identity hidden. Only certainty—this was someone sent by those obstructing him.
Even as consciousness dimmed, Seraph gripped his sword tightly.

The forest fell into quiet again.
Seraph steadied his breath, lying against a tree.
He faintly heard the last assassin catching his breath.

Then—

The faint sound of small footsteps cutting through the silence.

‘Who…? Another enemy?’

At that tiny sound, the opponent momentarily hesitated, turning.
They did not seem to be on the same side. Even the enemy seemed startled.

Seraph summoned his final strength, rose, and with his sword, pierced the opponent’s side with swift precision.

“Ugh…!”

A short scream, then the opponent fell.
The last one tumbled to the ground.

Seraph staggered back. No strength remained.
Breathing heavily, he slumped against a tree trunk.

‘At this rate… moving is impossible.’

Hot blood poured from his wounds. Just as his eyes grew heavy, a gentle voice sounded in his ear:

“Are you… okay?”

Seraph forced his gaze up.
Beneath faint moonlight stood a figure.
Black long hair swayed, and her remarkably clear, deep violet eyes looked at him with concern.

‘Who is she…?’

Through his blurred vision, he observed the girl.
Youthful yet exuding determination.
Wearing a maid’s outfit, yet an inexplicable nobility radiated from her.

Seeing his wavering eyes, she sighed softly:

“Haa… this villa is such a nuisance. It seems something troublesome happens every day.”

She spoke casually, hiding her concern while carefully assessing his condition.

“Your wounds are serious. Don’t move. If you endure a bit, I’ll tend to them.”

Seraph looked at her weakly.

“Who… are you…?”

“I’m Cicily. But what matters isn’t who I am—it’s why you’re here, bleeding from a sword wound.”

“Cicily…? Never heard that name before…”

His eyes snapped open.
‘A maid’s uniform… could it be nearby…’

His heartbeat quickened—pain, or a faint thread of information. He groaned softly at the shoulder pain.

“Ugh.”

Cicily shook her head.

“Oh dear… you’re pale enough already, and bleeding makes you look worse. Hold on a little. I’ll support you.”

Such a casual tone… or had she blocked out other emotions due to the dire situation?
Seraph stared, bewildered.

‘Even in this situation, making me laugh… strange girl.’

Despite fatigue and pain, Seraph faintly smiled.

Cicily rose, fingertips trembling slightly at the grim surroundings.

“…If anyone knew, they’d surely complain again… headache. I don’t know if you’re evil or good… but saving you seems right.”

Still, she quickly moved to support him.

Muttering in the forest, Seraph rested his head against a tree and closed his eyes.

Perhaps tonight, he had finally found a clue to Lisa’s whereabouts.
Or perhaps, he already had.

Even in his blurred state, he whispered in a deep, subdued voice:

“Heavy as hell!!!”

With Cicily’s unfiltered remark, Seraph’s consciousness faded.

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