"Here is your order, sir."

Yory sat in Pirogovo Town, a day’s travel west of the capital. The town was thriving, renowned for its love of cakes, which were consumed more here than in any other part of the region.

In stark contrast to the locals, who were mostly plump or at least chubby, Yory’s slim, sickly appearance made him stand out. Even the town knights, riding their short, stout horses, shared the town’s indulgent physique, as did the guards who patrolled the streets.

Every evening, the guards would change shifts, strolling to the bakeries and cake shops to enjoy the sweet treats and carry boxes of them home for their families.

Yory sat on a large chair in a garden, his gaze following Boris, who was tearing into a piece of meat while entertaining a group of children. Glancing at his half-eaten slice of cake, Yory grimaced.

"I can’t… this stuff will kill me," he muttered under his breath.

A small boy approached, dressed neatly in a blue and white outfit. A breadcrumb clung to his cheek as he smiled brightly up at Yory.

"Are you going to finish that, sir?" the boy asked, his eyes darting toward the cake.

Yory looked at him for a moment before handing over the plate. "Con, aren’t you working today?"

Con took a bite of the cake, his face lighting up with delight as the cream and sugar melted in his mouth. "Mmm, Heaven bless the baker!" he exclaimed, then quickly added, "Ah, sorry, Yory. I’m on a break today. I’ve been working hard all month, so I took some time off. I earned it, don’t you think?"

Yory gave him a small nod. "You’re a good kid, Con. I hope you have a good life."

Con bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Yory. And I wish you a safe and pleasant journey."

Yory rose from his seat and began walking toward the gate when Con called out after him.

"Tomorrow, the whole town is going to the temple to pray. Will you join us?"

Without stopping, Yory shook his head. "No. I’m not a religious person," he said simply, his steps steady as he left.

"God will save you, as He always does," Con said with a playful smile.

Yory stopped in his tracks, turned back, and asked, "If He’s so kind and great, why didn’t He save His beloved?"

Con’s smile lingered as Yory continued, "They’re usually the ones who die the most senseless deaths, aren’t they?"

“It’s not senseless, Yory,” Con replied, his smile unwavering. He gazed up at the sky. “It was their time to go, and now they’re in heaven—unlike those who took their lives. Life is hard, but it wasn’t meant to be this way. God didn’t create the pain; we did. We corrupted His world. Good people die because of our sins, but justice will come, whether tomorrow or years from now. God never forgets.”

Yory scoffed, his tone mocking. "Tell that to them. Have a good vacation, kid."

Con waved as Yory walked away, then settled back into the chair and continued eating his cake in peace.

Pirogovo Town wasn’t like other places. Its defining feature wasn’t just its chubby citizens but the wealth that made their indulgences possible. The town operated under a "common political system," with no nobles ruling over it. Everyone belonged to the same hardworking class, what nobles and aristocrats often dismissed as the "middle" or "not-quite-poor" class.

Even the knights came from common backgrounds, a rarity in kingdoms like Renolva or Arguand, where knighthood was reserved for those of noble blood. Beyond the town’s walls, Pirogovo knights received little respect, but within the town, they were beloved and respected.

The town thrived on professions like baking, confectionery, gold trading, and restaurant work, with merchants and traders adding to its bustling economy. Friendly and welcoming, the town was too small to house a proper guild but large enough to thrive independently.

Yory spent his days buying and selling bread and cakes, earning a decent sum while enjoying the peace the town offered. Though he wasn’t much of a talker, he found conversations with old merchants and seasoned adventurers oddly enjoyable.

The next morning, the entire town—save for a few guards at the gates—gathered at the small, Light Temple. They sat quietly as the priest congratulated them on a prosperous year.

Among the attendees was Rory, her hood pulled low to obscure her face. She carried nothing but a small dagger concealed within her light clothing, ensuring her mission would draw as little attention as possible.

Yory, however, stayed behind in his room at the inn. He sat in silence, his thoughts heavy. *They died… just like that.*

The memories came rushing back: kind souls lost to the witches' attacks, the brutal war 300 years ago, families tortured and slaughtered by humans, their only crime being their existence.

*They prayed. They begged. And for what? To be impaled by spears? To be burned alive with their children and loved ones? And how did Father respond? By killing those on the other side.*

Yory let out a bitter sigh and stood, shaking off the memories. He left his room, descending the creaking stairs to the inn’s reception area. Finding it empty, he muttered, "Might as well get ready for the day."

As he moved toward the door, an old memory surfaced—Mahin standing amidst a field of corpses, his blade dripping with blood.

Mahin looked at the carnage and said, "A waste, don’t you think?"

Yory’s voice was hollow as he responded, "What killed them?"

Aurelius joined the conversation, his tone cold. "We pushed back Renolva’s army. This was revenge for what the humans did to us."

"Typical, narrow-minded stupidity," Yory muttered under his breath.

Aurelius shot him a sharp glance. "It’s understandable. They celebrated our losses, held feasts for their soldiers after slaughtering our villages. I don’t feel guilty seeing them slaughtered in turn." He spat on the bodies.

Mahin sighed and turned away, his steps heavy. He looked more exhausted and hollow than usual, but no one had the time—or the will—to check on him.

Yory, his gaze fixed on the fallen, finally spoke. "Kids shouldn’t die… on either side. They should be playing, living peacefully—not becoming meals for wolves and crows."

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Aurelius sneered. "You’ve got a soft spot for kids. I hope that won’t get you killed."

Yory nodded faintly. "If that happens, I know you’ll bury me in a beautiful place, brother."

Aurelius let out a heavy sigh. "And leave us behind? No. We survive this together as a family, or we die together."

"Don’t," Yory said softly. "Live for yourself and let me rot in peace."

With that, Yory walked away. As he approached the village, the stench hit him—a sickening blend of decay and blood. The corpses had been there for days, the putrid smell a grim reminder of the massacre. Grabbing a shovel, Yory began digging graves for the children.

Half an hour later, Nerf and Kunvy arrived. Yory looked up, his face smeared with dirt, and offered them a small, tired smile. They returned the gesture and silently picked up shovels, joining him. Together, they dug side by side, working in solemn silence.

In the present, Yory was seated at his cart, finishing a sale with a couple. He tossed the silver coins into his pouch and leaned back, waiting for the next customer while he rested.

In the garden, a long distance from the cart, Rory sat in quiet solitude. She nibbled on a slice of cake while her eyes skimmed the pages of a tome. Yet, her attention wasn’t entirely on the book.

Her focus was Yory. Using her finely honed detection magic, she tracked his aura, faint wisps of demonic energy leaking from him. He wasn’t dangerous—barely more than an average person in terms of magic. Still, her mission required vigilance.

Rory remained hidden, positioned where Yory couldn’t see or sense her presence. She had done the same with other demon merchants assigned to her watch.

Hours later, Yory headed to the inn for his meal, but Rory stayed in place, her detection magic keeping tabs on him from a distance. Her training—painstaking and relentless—allowed her to track him without effort even from afar.

As she sat, a child passed by, holding his father’s hand as they walked toward a candy shop. The mother followed closely behind. Rory smiled softly, her thoughts drifting to a man from long ago, one who now lingered only in her memories.

A tall man with green eyes and a clean-shaven face—a rarity at that time—stood before Rory. His small, confident smile highlighted his green eyes, while his red hair gleamed under the sunlight. He gently kissed Rory’s hand and said, "Lady Rory."

Rory frowned in irritation. "Sebastian, what do you want this time? Haven’t I told you to leave me alone?"

Sebastian grinned and playfully blew her a kiss. "We’re at war with demons. Death could come at any moment. Let me at least express my love and admiration for you, Milady."

Rory laughed mockingly. "Just another human charmer."

The soldiers around them burst into laughter, some patting Sebastian on the back. One of them shouted, "She’s too sharp for you, leave her alone!"

A female soldier stepped forward, smacking Sebastian on the head. "You’re as annoying as ever, Sebastian. Give it up already!"

The laughter grew louder, and Rory shook her head. "You see the problem? A womanizer is just a man for the ladies. Go talk to someone else—I’ve no time for short-lived fools like you."

Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the female soldier winked at Rory and walked off. Rory smirked and called out, "Boys!"

The soldiers instantly fell silent and turned toward her. From behind them, the female soldier yelled, "Hey, look at that beautiful lady over there!"

The soldiers shouted, "Where!?" and scrambled to look in every direction, scanning for the mysterious lady.

Rory fell silent, noticing Sebastian watching her with a smile. She returned the smile and said, “You knew what happened—that’s why you didn’t turn around.”

But her expression shifted to surprise when Sebastian shook his head and replied, “I’m looking at her now.”

In the present, Rory smiled softly as she kissed her ring. A single tear fell as she stood, pacing to shake off the rust and numbness while keeping her watch.

The next morning in the capital, Foty and Lana crouched behind a jewellery shop, hiding from a group of wealthy kids passing by. Lana stared at the ground while Foty peeked out to check if they had gone. After a moment, Foty sat down and said, “They’ve left. We can go now.”

Lana nodded sadly and tried to stand, but Foty extended a hand to her. Lana looked at her, a small smile forming as she took Foty’s hand and got to her feet. “Sister.”

Foty said warmly. Lana smiled back, gripping Foty’s hand, and together they hurried off toward school, avoiding any chance of running into other children.

Meanwhile, in Eldoria City, within the noble family’s residence in Gostave’s region, Joe was locked in a tense conversation with Urien and Jeffrey. The discussion was heated, as both men opposed Joe’s stance on dealing with the thieves’ guild—a group targeted by every guild, noble house, knight, and soldier.

Jeffrey sighed heavily and said, “Are you serious, Joe? This won’t work. Remember what we did to this region from the start—we’ve never needed them, nor even acknowledged their existence.”

Urien nodded in agreement. “They’re criminals, first and foremost. And even after everything you’ve said, didn’t they betray you in Cerulea City?”

Joe sat quietly, deep in thought, as Urien pressed further. “Joe…”

“Wait,” Urien was interrupted by Evangeline and Agatha, who had entered the room. “I want to hear what he has to say,” Evangeline remarked. “He’s no fool, after all.”

All eyes turned to Joe. Looking directly at Urien, he finally spoke. “I’m not asking you to join them, but don’t fight them. They’re like any other guild—they have money, resources, connections, and, most importantly, manpower.”

Urien slowly took a seat, and Joe continued. “They didn’t rise out of nowhere. They gained power because they had the support of people in authority, including nobles. You can’t just attack them outright—they function like any other guild.”

“But they’re criminals,” Jeffrey interrupted sharply. “You’re comparing them to legitimate guilds, but that’s wrong. They’re outlaws, thieves. They don’t have the legitimacy of the Adventurers’ or Sorcerers’ Guilds. Even the herbalists and merchants have more standing than them.”

Joe shook his head firmly. “No. Every guild’s power and influence come from the same elements I just mentioned. Thieves’ guilds have all those—and more. If you fight them, you’ll inevitably face resistance from the nobles protecting their interests.”

“To protect thieves?” Urien asked, skeptical.

“No,” Joe replied. “To protect their own interests. Whether we like it or not, thieves serve a purpose. They’re hired when needed and won’t simply disappear. They’ve become a necessity.”

A tense silence settled over the room as Joe pressed on. “I’ve had to rely on them in the past—to protect me, to get me out of a wrongful imprisonment if it ever came to that. Even now, though I’ve left the guild since the Cerulea incident, I still know I may need them again someday—for information, if no legal avenue can assist me.”

Jeffrey sighed deeply, reaching for his tea to steady his nerves, while Urien rose and walked to the window, seeking fresh air.

Joe leaned forward. “Even in the capital, there’s a small guild—it may not seem like much, but it’s still there. How many times have the knights raided it?”

Agatha, breaking the silence, replied, “Many.”

"Exactly," Joe replied. "They’ll fight back and kill if the opportunity presents itself."

Evangeline tilted her head, curious. “Then why, if they know which nobles support them and which don’t, haven’t they just eliminated all their opposition? Wouldn’t that be safer?”

“Because of profits,” Joe answered. “Even if Father despises them and wants to fight them, they need him alive for their own gain. Every guild has priorities and goals, updated regularly, while some remain unchanged because they’re already effective. The thieves’ guild in our region is content—they won’t kill or even insult Father, even if he confronts them directly. But,” Joe added cautiously, “priorities can always change.”

Jeffrey gazed out the window, his expression contemplative. “So, what if we kill their guild master?”

Joe shrugged. “There’s always another. Killing a guild master is like killing a rat—it accomplishes nothing of significance.”

Jeffrey glanced at Urien, who nodded in agreement. “Understood, sir,” Urien said before walking toward the door. He paused, turning back to Joe. “But what happens if we go to war with them? If we burn down every guild we find?”

The room fell silent as Jeffrey, Evangeline, and Agatha turned their attention to Joe. Calmly, Joe raised his hand and lifted one finger. “First scenario, the nobles will retaliate. They’ll fight to strip Father of his status and install a noble of their choosing who will protect the thieves’ guild and their interests.”

He raised a second finger. “Second scenario, the guild won’t fight back directly—they’ll simply scatter and operate as they’ve done for years in the capital. It’ll drain our resources and exhaust us financially.”

Finally, he raised a third finger. “Third scenario, an all-out war would break out between the guilds, the nobles, and even some aristocratic families. In the end, we will win, and the thieves’ guild will fall down.”

Urien muttered under his breath, “And hundreds, if not thousands, would lose their lives.”

“Exactly,” Joe confirmed. “So follow Father’s orders and call off the attack. As Father said earlier, you’ve managed this region without relying on them, and we’re thriving. Keep it that way.”

Urien nodded, his expression resolute, and left the room.

Jeffrey sighed, turning back to Joe. “Where did you learn to be so convincing?”

Joe smiled faintly. “Along the way.”