The darkness before dawn carries a weight different from the exhaustion of day. Aria kept her eyes open, staring at the crumbling ceiling of the abandoned house. Through gaps in the wooden boards, a sky still dotted with stars was visible. Each time the wind blew, something creaked somewhere in the walls. Three days had passed since she made the contract with Ivan. ——Three days. In that time, the Kingdom of Aldia had fallen. More precisely, three days since the capital Farnese had been captured. If counting from the day that white-walled city was swallowed by flames, it might be slightly longer. But in Aria's sense of time, everything had been compressed into the unit of "three days." Two years from coronation to collapse, three days from collapse to flight. She still could not fully digest the cruelty of this contrast. "Wake up." Ivan's voice cut through the silence. It fell like a mere fact, not narration. Without embellishment. Without emotion. Yet the moment it reached her ears, her body responded automatically. Aria reflexively sat up. (When did I start moving at the sound of that man's voice?) She immediately suppressed that thought. This was not the time to think about such things. Corin had already gone out to check the surroundings, and Beatrice was organizing their supplies. In the dimly lit abandoned house before dawn, each person moved in silence. It was a habit of silence born for efficiency over three days. The sound of Ivan spreading a map reached her ears. Thin parchment was placed on the stone floor. "Corin confirmed it last night. Pastureland continues on the east side of the main road. We'll pass through there and make a northern detour. The southern route has Selvadian patrol units running every four hours," Ivan said. There was no emotion at the edge of his words. It was not a report but a decided matter. Aria's eyes fell on the map. There was still half a day until the crossing point "Old Bridge" over the Volna River. On the map it looked like simple westward progress, but the actual route was not so simple. Checkpoints, patrols, overgrown paths to avoid villages——for three days, they had repeated this. Aria pointed to a spot on the map. "If we go north, there's a small settlement here. Even if we detour——" "There's no reason to avoid villages," Ivan interrupted. Ivan did not wait for Aria to finish speaking, merely glancing at the map. His gaze was like that of someone instantly calculating the difference between a precise map placed in a royal study and one covered in mud and creases. "The villagers know the situation on the main road. We can get information and supplies," Ivan said. There was no room for objection. Aria closed her lips. (That was my oversight.) She could acknowledge that. But acknowledgment and acceptance were different things. Corin returned from outside. The young soldier's face was reddened by frost. The cold air before dawn was particularly harsh around the Volna River at this time of year. "The northern farm road is clear. However——" Corin said. Corin paused for a moment, choosing his words. "There's a stable on the north side of the village. Two horses," Corin said. Ivan said nothing. He simply folded the map and stood. That sequence of movements was already the answer: "We're going." The four left the abandoned house. Morning mist hung low. The grass at their feet was heavy with dew, clinging to their shoe soles. The sound of the Volna River could be heard in the distance. The breath of the great river that pierced the continent east to west did not stop even before dawn. That sound alone had remained in Aria's ears for these three days. 　　　　　＊ The village was small. About ten houses clustered in a depression away from the main road. Smoke was beginning to rise from some chimneys. It was the morning of an eastern continental village where farm work began with the dawn. Ivan approached one farmhouse without hesitation and knocked on the door. The farmer who emerged was a man in his fifties with thinning hair and large hands. His build was hardened by fieldwork, but his eyes held exhaustion. Since Selvadia's occupation began, every village in the east had developed similar eyes, Corin had said. Without saying anything, Ivan held three silver coins before the man's eyes. Faltz silver coins——one was enough for a night's lodging at an inn. Three coins amounted to three nights' wages for a farmer in this village. The farmer's eyes fell on the coins. Ivan spoke only one phrase. "Two horses." The farmer looked at Ivan for a long time. And he looked at Ivan's silver-gray eyes——the deep vertical scar running down his left cheek and the hollow stillness beyond it. He nodded. Aria watched the entire exchange from about four meters away. There was no violence. No words of threat. Only money, silence, and a gaze. That alone had rewritten the farmer's will. Aria felt how this man's presence silently erased the other's choices. (This is coercion.) That conviction did not waver. It was just that it took no verbal form; its essence was compulsion. After receiving the horses, Ivan headed further to a small shed at the edge of the village. According to Corin, an information dealer——or more precisely, a traveling merchant who dealt in information as a side business——was staying there. Ivan entered the shed and emerged a few minutes later. He held nothing in his hands, but the sound of silver coins was absent when he left. "The patrol gap is two hours around midday. The checkpoint at Old Bridge increases personnel in the afternoon," Ivan said. He seemed to be speaking to Beatrice, but his words were audible to everyone. Aria could not move, gripping the horse's reins. "That is——" Aria began. "We move," Ivan said. "Wait," Aria said. Her voice, unexpectedly, had turned sharp. Three days of exhaustion and something that had accumulated since this morning pressed weight into her words. Ivan looked at Aria directly for the first time. There was no surprise in his eyes. Only waiting. "That farmer didn't willingly sell his horses. He was overwhelmed by your gaze——" Aria said. "I paid the price," Ivan replied. "That's not the issue——" "What is the issue then," Ivan said. His voice had no inflection. It was impossible to tell whether he was questioning or cutting her off. Aria tried to construct her words. The words her father, King Ferdinand III, had taught her came to mind. Respect for the people, respect for free will, the need for justification in the exercise of power—— "You're treating people as tools. Your methods are——" Aria said. She finished speaking. Ivan looked at Aria for a moment. His gaze had no temperature. Neither calculation nor contempt, merely observation. And he spoke. "Your justice fell in three days. My methods have kept me alive for twenty years." That was all. Words would not come from Aria's mouth. The structure of her rebuttal existed in her mind. The ethical problems of treating people as tools, the legitimacy of long-term governance, the limits of rule by force——everything her father had taught existed as language. But the moment she voiced it, the image of flames from three days ago would return. Rodrigues's face. The sky above the white-walled city dyed crimson. The words that justice and loyalty were the armor of rulers, and their hollowness as sound. The words caught in her throat. Aria stepped back to avert her gaze from Ivan. In that moment, her eyes naturally drifted to Ivan's profile. It was not intentional. In the residual heat of anger, her eyes followed of their own accord. The vertical scar on his left cheek——deep, long, a fact carved by someone's blade passing through it. Fine scratch marks overlapped on skin bronzed by sun. The shoulder of his black leather armor bore the marks of re-stitching. He had accumulated that much time. Aria realized her eyes had already fallen to the ground. She should not have looked. That sensation chased her from a place separate from anger. 　　　　　＊ By the time the four settled into the ruins of an abandoned house, avoiding Old Bridge and taking a detour route, the sun was beginning to set. Ruins——more precisely, the remains of what had once been a farm tool shed. Half the roof had collapsed, but three walls remained, providing some shelter from the western wind. Remnants of old straw lay accumulated on the stone floor. They would spend the night here, Ivan had decided. The fire was kept small. Smoke visible from a distance would be dangerous. Ivan decided who would tend the fire, decided the watch rotation, decided the food distribution. Aria was on the receiving end of orders. Three days ago she had been at the apex of the nation; now she moved at a mercenary's command——she became aware of this fact for the first time. The moment she realized it, something heavy fell to the pit of her stomach. But she did not voice it. Corin and Beatrice fell asleep first. By the time their breathing became audible, Aria lay down as well. She could not sleep. Cold air crept up from the stone floor. A single cloth could not fully block it. Aria refused to speak out of stubbornness. She drew the blanket closer, but the cold still seeped in from her shoulders. She closed her eyes for a while, then opened them. The fire had become embers. Orange light weakened, illuminating only the faint outlines of the stone floor. In that light, Ivan sat alone. Not leaning against a wall, not with knees raised, simply sitting as if present. Both hands rested on his knees. He held something——something small, its shape indiscernible from Aria's position——gripped tightly. Not in prayer. Not in confirmation. Simply holding it. Aria could not avert her gaze. This was not the Ivan of daytime. Not the machine-like man who made rational judgments, not the one whose silent pressure moved a farmer with a single look. The expression illuminated by the dying fire was vacant. But not hollow. As if something deep within quietly held onto something—— Would a person who moved only for reward wear such a face? That question was born in Aria's chest. As a conviction without basis. A mercenary who moved only for contracts, who was motivated by money. That was what Corin had said. That was what Aria had understood. But that face exceeded that explanation. Where, she did not know. Why, she did not know. Only that it exceeded, quietly, certainly accumulating. Aria became aware that something nameless had caught in the center of her chest. The awareness itself left her bewildered. Cold air crept up from the stone floor, and her shoulders trembled finely. Stubbornness stopped her from crying out. When that trembling reached him, she did not know. Ivan did not turn around. He did not speak. Only his posture changed for a moment——his arm moved, grasping the outer coat he had set beside him. Then, without turning, he threw it carelessly in Aria's direction. The coat fell on Aria's arms. The moment she drew it close, a smell reached her. Dried blood and dust and grass——grass of some kind she could not identify. And the residual warmth of a human body, trapped within the fabric. Aria could not move for a while, holding the coat. This was not included in any clause of their contract. She had confirmed it. She repeated the confirmation in her mind. It was not within the scope of her protection duties, not within the conditions of their alliance. There was no single line defining this action. There was no condescension. No display of kindness. Simply an action that existed. That, for reasons entirely separate from yesterday's anger and today's humiliation, made the back of Aria's eyes hot. She did not cry. Only something moved. Aria drew the coat to her shoulders and closed her eyes. She did not sleep. This time not from cold, but for another reason. 　　　　　＊ When she surfaced from shallow sleep before dawn, the coat had been folded and returne