"Then what in Brandt's vaults was that?" one of the dwarves yelled out.

Ryn exhaled slowly.

"Essence," he said. "But corrupted."

"It reacts violently when removed," one of the dwarves said slowly. "Like it can't exist on its own."

Ryn straightened.

"That's because it isn't meant to," he said.

The soot-stained dwarf turned his lenses toward him. "You've seen this before."

It wasn't a question.

Ryn met his gaze for a moment, then looked back at the corpse.

He didn't answer.

Because explaining would only muddy the truth.

Instead, his thoughts moved quickly, flicking through possible options. If this was their solution…

Then it was a bad one.

The crystal couldn't survive outside the host. It shattered when disturbed.

Which meant the process wasn't complete. Whatever method the Cult was using, it wasn't sustainable.

Not yet at least.

Ryn felt something loosen in his chest. At least now he knew that they weren't all powerful.

He had time.

They hadn't solved it.

If they had, the crystal would've remained intact. Should be able to be taken out, and wouldn't decay the moment it was isolated.

Which means there were more flaws to be found.

Ryn exhaled once, steadying himself.

"Move the body," he said calmly, pointing at the other panther's corpse that was still intact.

The dwarves didn't hesitate this time.

Two of them looped iron hooks beneath the panther's limbs and dragged the corpse away from the circle,

Ryn watched the movement carefully.

The moment the corpse crossed a certain distance, black veins beneath its skin bulged.

Then…a sudden crack resounded across the square.

Ryn was already prepared, his hand reached as Cold Essence flowed, expecting the second panther's corpse to explode.

However, that wasn't the case.

Instead, the black liquid this time flowed freely from the panther's mouth and eyelids, like it had a mind of its own.

The substance slid in viscous streams, stretching unnatural as it left the corpse.

Like it was…being pulled with a purpose, a direction.

Ryn's breath stilled.

The liquid didn't fall straight down.

It curved.

Each tendril bent in the same direction, crawling across stone in slow, deliberate lines before hissing softly and evaporating into nothing.

The square fell silent.

One of the dwarves swallowed.

"…It's moving."

Ryn didn't answer.

His eyes followed the path the liquid had strained toward—past the corpses, past the city's walls.

Like iron filings dragged toward a magnet.

Ryn slowly lowered his hand, Cold Essence dissipating as the final wisps vanished.

A sudden realization hit, and Ryn blamed himself for not connecting the pieces sooner.

The first crystal shattered because it was tampered with directly, proving its instability. But the second—

The second had been left fully intact inside the panther's body.

So why did it break?

Ryn's gaze flicked back to the scorched lines etched into the stone. To the direction the black residue had strained toward before stopping as it pooled onto the ground.

There was only one answer Ryn could think of.

Distance.

The manalite crystals had been forced into the beasts' bodies, infused with that black Essence. Not merely as fuel, but as an override.

Essence defined a being.

Its instincts. Its limits. Its place in the world.

So if that Essence collapsed the moment the crystal lost proximity…

Ryn's jaw tightened.

Then the beasts hadn't gone feral on their own.

Someone, or something, was exerting their will over these creatures, using Essence as a leash.

And when that leash was stretched too far—

It snapped.

Ryn exhaled slowly, steadying his thoughts.

Was the Cult really mad enough to tamper with minds using something like this?

The answer didn't matter.

Whether it was insanity or intention, the result was the same.

There was only one thing that mattered now—

Finding the source.

And ending it before the Cult learned how to fix their mistake.

It would solve Moran's problem and put him one step closer to understanding the Cult's true motives.

"Vial," he said, holding out a hand.

One of the dwarves hesitated only a moment before rummaging through his satchel and producing a thick glass container.

That alone said enough.

Ryn crouched near where the last wisps of black residue still clung faintly to the stone, already thinning as they started evaporating.

He tilted the vial carefully, letting a thin film of the liquid slide inside before sealing it with a sharp twist.

The substance writhed once.

Then calmed just as quickly.

Ryn straightened and turned away from the square.

He didn't look back.

…

Amelia noticed the moment he approached.

Not because he called out, but because of his eyes—the very same scowl that he makes when he'd already decided something.

"What did you find?" she asked.

Ryn held up the vial.

Her eyes narrowed immediately. "That's… part of it?"

"Residue," he confirmed. "I don't know how long it'll last."

"I won't get another chance."

Amelia pushed herself up despite her injury, ignoring the protest in her leg. "Then I'm coming with you."

Ryn shook his head. "No."

She stared at him. "Ryn—"

"This isn't a fight," he said quietly. "It's a search. And whatever's anchoring this thing won't stay hidden once it realizes it's been noticed."

"That's exactly why—"

"I'll move faster alone."

The words weren't dismissive.

They were honest.

Amelia held his gaze, frustration flickering across her face—then hesitation. She glanced at the vial again. At the way the black substance inside seemed to press faintly against the glass, as if aware it was being watched.

"…You're not wrong," she admitted.

She sighed, then looked back up at him.

"But don't be stupid," she added flatly.

Ryn raised an eyebrow.

"Don't die," Amelia said. "Or I'll kill you."

For a moment, a soft smile crept up his face.

"Trust me," he replied cheekily. "You know how good I am at sneaking around."

Amelia returned the smile with her own.

"Not something you should be bragging about."

"I'll be quick," he promised.

A part of him hated saying that, giving her false promises as even he doesn't know where this journey is taking him.

Though even through the lens, she could see through his eyes.

Amelia nodded, then reached into her coat.

After rummaging for a moment, she produced a small handkerchief.

It was elegantly embroidered in the bold reds of Grandal, the initials A.G. stitched neatly into the corner, surrounded by delicate rose patterns.

Ryn's eyes widened.

She pressed it into his hand, then turned her face away before he could catch the red creeping into her cheeks.

In Gremory, there was a tradition, one upheld by the nobles that came before.

Of maidens, who often offered their most valuable belonging—the thing that represented them most—to a knight about to go on a dangerous journey.

It signified only one thing.

A message repeated across hero stories and children's fables alike.

One no one ever forgot.

"Come back safe."

Ryn understood at once.

Not because it had been explained, but because the meaning was older than words.

For a heartbeat, he simply stared at the handkerchief in his palm. Then he let out a quiet breath and smiled.

He stepped forward and knelt.

Amelia stiffened in surprise, her breath catching as he gently took her hand. Before she could speak, Ryn bowed his head and pressed a light kiss against her knuckles.

Warm and deliberate.

A seal placed not on cloth—but on skin.

The oath was unspoken, but unmistakable.

A knight's promise.

Amelia's face burned red instantly. "Ryn—!"

He looked up at her, still kneeling, that faint smile lingering.

"I know," he said quietly.

Then he released her hand and rose, already tucking the handkerchief safely into his coat—close to his heart, where it belonged.

"I'll come back," he said.

Not as reassurance.

As a fact.

Amelia swallowed, then nodded sharply, turning away before he could see her smile.

"…You'd better," she muttered.

Ryn turned toward the streets of Moran, the vial's weight pressing against his side and the promise against his chest.

This time, he wasn't walking alone.

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