The village of Sedri smelled of forest. Positioned at the entrance of Brave's Forest—the vast woodland sprawling across the eastern foothills of the Elda Mountains—the small settlement housed woodcutters and charcoal burners, a community of roughly four hundred souls. The scent of smoke. The smell of damp earth. Dirt paths worn hard by footsteps, not stone-paved streets. Everything was different from Gracesta. Fourth day of flight. Arnoir Sophia had wrapped her pale purple hair carelessly in a hand towel and pulled a hood over her head. The thin scratches etched across her face were barely hidden in the hood's shadow. She wore gloves to conceal the faint sigil mark on the back of her left hand. Cross Rain walked silently beside her. Short black hair streaked with red. His 185-centimeter frame stood out slightly for an ordinary traveler, but with the hood pulled low, there was no way to tell he was an executioner. The diagonal scar on his right cheek showed faintly at the hood's edge. A general store called "Moss-Covered Hall"—that's what the sign read on the tilted wooden building—sat at the corner of the alley. Dried meat, beans, candles, leather cord and other travel necessities lay scattered about. An elderly woman known as Grandmother Mara was sorting soybeans in front of the shop. Beyond her, voices rose. "[whispers]Hey, look. That woman" "[sarcastic]……Doesn't her face look just like the wanted poster? The one who cursed the crown prince?" It was deliberate. Sophia understood immediately. Two village women stood with water buckets in hand, watching them. They were lowering their voices, but not lowering them at all. "[whispers]How can she even walk around with that face? She's a curse-caster, isn't she?" "[cold]Even if she's just a traveler, she'd have to pass through this village before entering the forest. It's frightening. I don't want her coming near us." Two months. Over these two months, Sophia had been bathed again and again in the weight of insults. At court. In the streets of Gracesta. And at the way stations along the roads she'd traveled yesterday and the day before. At first, anger had seared her chest. Gradually it became sorrow. By now—she should have grown accustomed to it. But she hadn't completely grown accustomed. Not entirely. She bit her lip hard. Looked down. Her right hand had unknowingly clenched into a fist. (Surely not. The wanted posters couldn't have reached all the way out here.) That was a lie. The truth was it wasn't "surely not" at all. She'd heard from Rain about the speed of the Iron Crown Brigade's information network—the elite eighty-member organization of the crown prince Vernard's personal pursuit unit. Wanted posters had been delivered to every major checkpoint and way station throughout the kingdom. So she shouldn't be surprised. And yet her chest burned with a dull ache. Then. Rain moved quietly. One step. He stood beside Sophia without a word. That was all. He said nothing. Made no particular gesture. Simply stood beside her and turned his face toward the women. Deep crimson eyes, quiet and cold, directed at them. The eyes of an executioner, Sophia thought. Eyes that had abandoned emotion, that appraised people, that missed nothing. With that gaze alone, the women's mouths snapped shut. Seconds passed. The women exchanged glances and hurried away with their buckets. Sophia couldn't speak. She wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn't come. The back of her throat grew warm. (So this is what it feels like—when someone stands beside you not with words, but with their body.) She had never experienced it before. Her father had never looked up from his desk. The people she'd thought were friends had laughed from the viewing stands. No one had ever stood beside her. Rain had already turned his gaze forward and was walking toward Moss-Covered Hall. ────── Grandmother Mara's mouth moved about seven times more than her appearance suggested it would. As Rain asked about the forest while buying three bundles of dried meat and one bag of beans, the old woman casually said, "Well now, the knights' horses have been coming by since yesterday." "[serious]Since yesterday?" "[serious]That's right. Seems like they're prowling around the forest entrance on the west side of the road. Don't know how many there are, but I've been hearing horse hooves since morning." Rain's expression hardened slightly. Sophia could see the change. A thin crease formed between his brows. His mouth became a straight line. The face he made when thinking. After leaving Moss-Covered Hall, Sophia noticed the village notice board first. A wanted poster. Two faces drawn on white paper. Rain's was apparently the same one that had been circulating before. But Sophia's—was new. Her hair was short. Updated to her current appearance after cutting it during her flight. Next to the bounty amount was written "300 Dinars." (It's been updated. With my latest appearance... it's already reached here.) Her chest grew heavy at the speed of the information network. And at the same time, she remembered something. When she'd cut her hair, Rain had said, "Short suits you better." A blunt remark that could hardly be called a compliment—but remembering it now, of all places, in front of this wanted poster, Sophia was exasperated at her own poor timing. Her face grew slightly warm. Even though the situation was anything but laughable. Rain glanced at the poster once and walked on in silence. She could sense from that silence that he was calculating something in his head. ────── Night fell. They left the village and decided to camp at the forest's edge, where the trees grew slightly denser and the road's line of sight couldn't reach. They kept the campfire small. Smoke that wouldn't draw attention. It was past the third watch of the night. Rain moved first. The sound of a branch breaking—from outside. Not just one. Three directions at once. "[cold]Get down." A short command. Sophia reflexively pressed herself behind a rock. Three men emerged from between the trees. Leather armor, worn swords. Gray feather ornaments on their necks—the "Gray Feather Band," a bandit group that made their base at the southern end of Brave's Forest, Sophia would later learn. One of them held a wanted poster. His eyes said it was for the bounty. "[sarcastic]Three to one. Stay quiet." Rain drew his sword. Sophia watched what happened next with barely time to breathe. The moment the leader lunged, Rain shifted half a step to the right. Just half a step. The leader's sword cut through empty air. Rain grabbed that arm and, not with brute force but rather flowing with it, used the man's own momentum to throw him to the ground. A dull thud. The second man came from the side. Rain turned while blocking with his sword—no, not blocking. He knocked the sword down. A sharp metallic ring. The second man's sword fell to the grass. Rain struck his elbow with the pommel. A dull crack. The second man crumpled. The third man raised his sword from behind. Without turning, Rain moved sideways. The third man's sword cut through empty air. Rain's right elbow struck the third man's jaw. The third man collapsed to his knees. It took less than twenty seconds. Sophia remained frozen behind the rock. One of the three was still trying to escape. On his knees, he crawled away. Sophia tried to say "Stop"—but before she could, Rain sheathed his sword. He didn't pursue. "[cold]I hate killing needlessly." That was all he said, low and brief. He turned his back and walked back toward the campfire. Sophia couldn't move. (An executioner, and yet—) This man had lived his life killing as a profession. A public executioner appointed by the kingdom. He received one hundred eighty Dinars per year for each person he killed. That was supposed to be what the Knight of the Scaffold, Cross Rain, was. And yet he said, "I hate killing needlessly." A contradiction. But somehow that contradiction pierced deep into her chest. There was something inside this man she still didn't know. Something so deep she might never fully understand it, no matter how many months passed. ────── When the campfire had settled, Sophia noticed. There was a black smudge on the back of Rain's left hand. A cut. From the scuffle earlier, the third man's sword must have grazed him. Shallow. But it was bleeding. Sophia tore the edge of her hood to make cloth and walked toward Rain. "[cold]It's fine." "[serious]It's not fine. You're bleeding." "[cold]It's not a serious wound." "[serious]Let me see it." No further words were exchanged. Sophia simply stood silent, hand extended, waiting. After several seconds of silence, Rain slowly held out his left hand. Not broken, not resigned—a strange gesture that could be read as either or neither. Sophia pressed the cloth to the wound and began wrapping it carefully. She had only the campfire's light to work by, and her attention narrowed to her fingertips. Rain's hand was large. There were other scars. Old ones. Marks accumulated over years. As she tried to secure the cloth, her fingertips touched the back of Rain's hand. Both of them stopped. One second, or two. Only the sound of the campfire crackling. Rain slowly withdrew his hand. Not rejection—something like bewilderment. A withdrawal that surprised even himself. Sophia felt a small sadness. But. Sitting across the fire from her, Rain's ears were tinged with a color slightly different from the flame's red. She might have been mistaken in the darkness. But probably not. (Surely not—that can't be.) And yet her heart leaped. Something that couldn't be explained by "escape companions" had quietly accumulated between them. Sophia acknowledged this fact for the first time that night, truly acknowledged it. ────── Dawn came. Bird calls flowed from deep in the forest. The sky whitened, and the outlines of trees emerged hazily. The campfire had completely died. The two shouldered their packs and headed toward the road into Brave's Forest. It should have been about one kilometer to the forest entrance. Rain stopped first, from behind the trees. At the forest entrance ahead on the road, horses were visible. Not just horses. People. Counting them—ten. Lined up neatly in a row, blocking the road. The shape of their armor matched the "knights' horses" Grandmother Mara had mentioned yesterday. The Iron Crown Brigade—the crown prince's personal pursuit unit—their vanguard. "[cold]We can't go straight through." Sophia had no words. Ten people. All armed. A frontal assault was out of the question. To go around, where could they pass without being spotted by the brigade and still reach the forest? The two left the tree cover and began moving sideways along the forest's edge. Searching for an unblocked detour. Grass tangled around their feet. They stepped over tree roots. Quietly, without rushing. After walking for a while, Sophia stopped. From deep in the forest, thin smoke rose. White. Straight and thin. Campfire smoke—that's what it looked like. Someone was there. "[serious]……Someone's there." Rain looked silently in that direction. There was a pause. He was weighing the possibility of a trap against other possibilities, holding both in his mind at once. Sophia had recently begun to read the quality of that silence. "[serious]I think it's worth investigating." "[cold]……Understood." A brief answer. But for Sophia now, it was enough. The two stepped into the trees. The leaves beneath their feet were damp, absorbing sound. Morning light filtered through the branches, and the thin white smoke stretched straight into the sky, drawing gradually closer. The source of the smoke remained unknown.