By the time the convoy reached field 03B, the sun was already sinking.
The camp sat in a strange place—caught between two worlds.
On one side, the desert stretched wide and dry, its sands glowing faintly under the fading orange light. On the other, dark mountains rose like silent walls, their shadows creeping across the ground. And cutting between them, a narrow river flowed, its surface reflecting the sky in streaks of gold and violet.
It should have been beautiful and peaceful.
But the moment the wagons stopped—
The calm broke.
Soldiers jumped down, hauling crates and hammering stakes into the ground. Subjugators spread out, claiming space, arguing over spots like it was a market instead of a war camp. The sound of metal, wood, and voices filled the air.
Near the riverbank—
Maddy and Petra were already working on their tent.
Maddy pulled a rope tight, bracing her foot against the ground.
"Petra, hold that straight—no, straight, not 'almost straight'!"
Petra adjusted quickly, careful with her movements as the evening breeze brushed against her armor.
"I—I am holding it straight," she said softly.
"…You're holding it kind of straight," Maddy muttered, fixing it herself. "If this falls on me tonight, I'm blaming you."
Petra nodded seriously.
"That is fair."
**
Not far from them—
"Pull it tighter!"
"I am pulling it tighter!"
Kiel and Shalotte were struggling with their own tent.
The cloth sagged in the middle like a defeated flag.
Shalotte stepped back carefully, trying to judge the angle.
"I think the pole is not aligned—"
"It's aligned!" Kiel insisted, yanking the rope again.
The entire structure tilted.
"…See? It moved," Shalotte said nervously.
"That's because you let go!"
"I did not let go!"
"You totally did!"
From the nearby fire pit, Ulon watched them with a flat look while stirring a pot.
"…This damn kid can't build a tent without starting a war," he said. "They've been doing this for years but still didn't improve."
The stew bubbled as he shook his head.
Beside him, Priest Maynard sat calmly, hands resting on his knees, watching the chaos with quiet amusement.
"I see a familiar pattern," Maynard said. "You and Brother Julius were much the same."
Ulon snorted.
"Don't compare me to that guy," he said.
Maynard smiled faintly.
"Time passes quickly," he said softly. "Perhaps… after this battle, we should visit him."
Ulon stared at the fire for a second.
"…If we survive."
"We will," Shane said.
He stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the camp come together with a calm, measured gaze.
Then he looked at Maynard.
"Thank you for coming," he added. "We need healers."
Maynard glanced at Ulon.
"If certain individuals valued healing more than swinging their mace and fist," he said lightly, "my presence might not have been required."
Ulon scoffed.
"I hate kneeling," he said. "Not my style."
He stirred the pot again, then suddenly glanced around.
"…Did you notice that hooded thing earlier?" he asked.
Shane raised a brow.
"What about it?"
Ulon frowned slightly.
"It felt… familiar," he said. "I don't know why."
Maynard tilted his head.
"We have encountered many people," he said. "Perhaps it is someone we met before."
"Maybe," Ulon said. "But this one… felt close."
Shane shrugged.
"Maybe your eyes are failing," he said. "You're getting old."
Ulon snapped his head toward him.
"I'm only forty-six!"
"Forty-seven," Maynard corrected calmly.
Ulon pointed at him.
"Honor your vow and stay quiet."
"That was not a confession," Maynard replied. "It was a fact."
"…Whatever," Ulon muttered. "Can't win against a man of god."
"You were one as well," Maynard said.
"I prefer fists of god," Ulon shot back.
He then looked toward Shane again.
"So, boss—everything ready?"
Shane shook his head.
"Not yet. We wait for the rest of the Keepers. Then we plan."
"When?" Ulon asked.
"Tomorrow. Earliest."
Ulon groaned.
"So I'm stuck with those idiots for another day."
He pointed at Kiel and Shalotte, whose tent had now collapsed completely.
"I told you it would fall!" Shalotte cried.
"You let go again!" Kiel argued.
"I did not!"
Shane glanced at Ulon.
"You've been with them every mission," he said. "What's different now?"
Ulon smirked.
"No Slouch," he said. "Nothing entertains me now."
Maynard looked at him knowingly.
"So… you miss Mr. Shaw?"
Ulon paused.
"…Maybe."
—
A soft voice cut through the noise.
"Good evening, Priest Maynard. Mr. Shane."
They turned.
A woman approached with steady, elegant steps.
It was Elaine Rosehood, the leader of the Silksword.
Her attire was refined yet practical—form-fitting jacket beneath a thin chest plate, breeches, and at her waist, a slender sword rested in its sheath. Every movement she made was controlled, precise.
"I wished to greet you both," she said, voice smooth and composed. "It is an honor to stand alongside you in this campaign."
Ulon coughed.
Loudly.
Shane ignored him.
"The honor is mine," Shane said. "A paladin of your experience should not humble yourself for a mere merchant like me."
Elaine gave a faint smile.
"How curious," she said. "You diminish yourself while commanding an entire operation."
Ulon coughed again.
Louder.
"KOFF—KOFF."
Elaine's expression twitched.
"What is it?" she asked sharply.
Ulon pointed at himself.
"You forgot someone," he said.
Elaine looked at him.
Then away.
"I greet those of distinction," she said calmly. "Not drunken man who collapse on roads."
Ulon frowned.
"…You're still mad at me dumping you?"
Elaine's eyes narrowed.
"Mad?" she said. "You presume too much."
She folded her arms.
"If memory serves, I was the one who ended that unfortunate association."
Ulon blinked.
"…You dumped me?"
"I dismissed you," Elaine corrected.
She turned slightly toward Shane and Maynard.
"If you would excuse me," she said, "I find prolonged exposure to certain individuals… unpleasant."
She shot Ulon a brief look.
"Good evening."
Then she walked away quickly, posture still elegant—but her pace just a little faster than before.
Ulon watched her go.
"…She hasn't moved on," he said.
Maynard smiled.
"She is a remarkable woman," he said. "Fortunate for her, she did not remain with you."
"Hey," Ulon protested.
Shane let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.
Behind them—
"IT FELL AGAIN!"
"Because you tied it wrong!"
"I DID NOT—!"
The camp buzzed with noise, laughter, and arguments.
And above it all—
The last light of the sun disappeared.