Ahead, a large window framed a breathtaking scene—the schoolhouse's backyard, its ancient tiled roof glowing under the sunlight, stretched seamlessly into a golden beach beyond.
'The beach… it's connected right here.'
Surprise tightened Jade's chest as he took in the unexpected structure and isolated location of the schoolhouse. The cold weight of the Queen on his back was a constant reminder of his urgency. Without hesitation, he hurried toward the large window, his eyes scanning frantically.
'Where's the exit door?'
But all he saw was the vast pane of glass—no sign of a door, no obvious escape route. His heart pounded harder as the silence pressed in around him.
Then, a flicker of hope caught his eye—a wooden plank, slightly askew, jutting out from the wall as if it didn't belong.
'No way…'
Jade pressed his palm against the plank, expecting resistance, but to his shock, it shifted under his touch. With a slow, deliberate creak, the entire section of the wooden wall began to pivot open like a secret door.
"So this kind of door existed…" Jade muttered, a mix of relief and awe flooding him.
"Your Majesty, please hold on just a little longer!" he urged, his voice steady but fierce with determination.
Without wasting another second, Jade burst out of the building, the Queen securely strapped to his back. The fresh air hit him like a surge of adrenaline as he sprinted across the expansive yard, eyes fixed on the shimmering beach beyond.
Suddenly—
Whoosh!
An arrow sliced through the air, its deadly tip grazing the left side of his face. A sharp sting flared, but Jade didn't falter.
'Too close…'
Behind him, the back door of the schoolhouse slammed open with a deafening screech and thud. Five warriors spilled out, each wielding long, gleaming swords, their faces set with grim determination.
"Damn...!"
Jade spun around in an instant, muscles coiled and ready to react.
There, standing imposingly in the shadowed threshold of the tiled schoolhouse's back door, was the technologist teacher. His lips curled into a cold, calculating smile that sent a chill deeper than the icy weight pressing against Jade's back.
"I didn't realize you were such an impressive person," the technologist said smoothly, his voice dripping with icy amusement.
Flanking him on both sides were six warriors, their long swords gleaming ominously in the fading light. They moved with deadly precision, forming a perfect barrier that hemmed Jade in from every direction.
Jade's eyes darted over the warriors—silent, lethal, poised to strike at any moment. His breath hitched as he became painfully aware of the Queen's frozen body against his back, the bitter cold seeping through his clothes like an unrelenting frost.
A sharp urgency clenched at his chest.
Armed only with the small, pointed object nestled in his pocket, and burdened with the Queen's fragile life, Jade faced an impossible battle.
Moonsen stepped into the coastal village's marketplace, the hem of his sapphire-blue long coat brushing against the cobbled ground as sea mist clung to the air like a thin veil. The sunlight reflected off his garment like the surface of still water, but there was nothing still about the energy that met him.
The moment he crossed the threshold of the marketplace, an eerie sensation gripped him.
'Why do all the villagers have the same strange look in their eyes…?'
Men, women, even the children drifting through the dusty stalls moved with a robotic sluggishness, their eyes glassy and unfocused. Their expressions bore no trace of thought or emotion—as if something had hollowed them out from the inside.
Moonsen's hand instinctively hovered near the inner fold of his coat, brushing against the dagger strapped beneath. A chill slid down his spine. The sea breeze carried no scent of salt, only the stillness of something unnatural.
'Something's wrong here. Deeply wrong.'
With quiet deliberation, he walked deeper into the market street. Though he seemed alone, ten elite warriors of the Hana Kingdom followed at a distance. Dressed as fishermen, merchants, and travelers, they blended seamlessly into the surroundings, eyes trained on Moonsen, awaiting his signal.
Then, just ahead—amid the dazed crowd—he noticed someone out of place.
A middle-aged woman was approaching with a woven basket cradled in her arms. But unlike the others, her eyes were clear—sharp, even. Alert. Alive.
'There…'
Moonsen adjusted his gait and stepped directly into her path.
Startled, the woman stopped, clutching her basket tighter. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to assess whether he was friend or foe.
Moonsen offered her a disarming smile, his tone light but precise.
"Pardon me. I'm just a traveler passing through your village. Would you happen to know where the tavern is located?"
The woman hesitated. Her lips parted, then closed again. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a note of reluctant truth.
"I… I'm the owner of the tavern."
Moonsen's eyes sparkled.
'Of all people… what fortune.'
He took a half step closer, lowering his voice slightly, as though asking a casual favor.
"Then… is there another tavern in this coastal village besides yours?"
The woman's brows drew together, and she shifted uneasily, taking a subtle step back. Her eyes flicked briefly toward one of the shadowed alleys.
"No," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "There's only one tavern in this village…"
Moonsen's smile deepened, slow and serene.
'So Her Majesty must be staying there…'
Carefully masking the spark of triumph in his chest, he nodded with polite enthusiasm.
"I was just on my way to find a tavern, so this is quite fortunate. Would you be able to guide me to yours?"
The tavern owner bit her lip.
"But right now…" she said cautiously, "all the rooms are full…"
"Even if it's not a guest room, that's fine," Moonsen said, his voice calm but insistent. "Is there perhaps an empty storeroom where I could lie down for the night?"
The woman hesitated. Her eyes flickered with unease, and she gripped her basket tighter, as though shielding herself from something unseen. The polite smile on Moonsen's face didn't falter, but his gaze was sharp—too sharp to ignore.
"There is an empty storeroom," she finally admitted, her voice quiet and hesitant. "But… you can only stay one night. It's not meant for guests…"
Moonsen nodded immediately, his expression lighting up with gratitude.
"Thank you," he said with a warm smile. "Just one night will be more than enough. And if you're still shopping, I could help you carry—"
Before he could finish, the woman's demeanor shifted like a gust of wind had blown through her.
"No!"
The sharpness in her voice cut through the air like a knife. Moonsen blinked, momentarily stunned. Her entire face had tensed, her earlier wariness now bloomed into visible alarm.
"There's no room available," she repeated, more firmly this time. Her voice trembled slightly beneath the surface.
Something was wrong.
Moonsen didn't move. His smile slowly faded, and his brows furrowed. The woman was no longer looking at him—her gaze had slipped past his shoulder, and her lips pressed into a thin, anxious line.
'What is she looking at…?'
He turned around.
Through the drifting veil of sea breeze, an elderly man was approaching. His long white hair flowed behind him like tattered silk, dancing in the coastal wind. His steps were slow, deliberate.
The tavern owner, now visibly trembling, dropped into a deep bow the moment the old man came near. Her hands, still clutched tightly around the basket, shook as though chilled to the bone despite the warmth of the midday sun.
Moonsen didn't need her reaction to know who the man was.
'This man… he's the center of power here. The villagers orbit him like shadows to a flame.'
The elder stopped a short distance away, his weathered face carved with time and silence. His skin was tanned and wrinkled from years under the sun, and yet the cold authority in his eyes belied frailty. He was not a leader by title—he was a ruler by presence.
His voice, cracked and dry like brittle parchment, rasped out in the heavy silence.
"You're a face I've never seen in our village…" he said, each word drawn out like a slow test. "What brings you here?"
Moonsen stepped forward and offered a low, respectful bow, one hand lightly across his chest.
"I'm merely a traveler, making my way along the coast," he replied, tone smooth and composed. "I happened upon this lady while searching for a place to rest. She mentioned she owned the tavern, and I inquired if she might have a spare space for the night."
The elder's eyes narrowed. He ran a gaze over Moonsen from head to toe, not just measuring him, but peeling him apart in his mind—layer by layer.
Yet Moonsen stood unflinching, his posture relaxed, his expression one of courteous humility. The smile on his lips was calm, but behind it was a blade held quietly in reserve.
At last, the old man spoke again.
"There are no vacant rooms in our tavern," he said, voice like the creak of an ancient floorboard. "You'd best continue on your way."
Moonsen didn't reply immediately. Instead, he slowly turned to look at the tavern owner, his gaze quiet and unreadable.
The woman flinched as if caught in a lie.
She lowered her eyes and clutched her basket tighter. Her voice came out as a desperate stammer.
"Sir… I-I told him there were no rooms, but he…"
Her eyes drifted upward and met Moonsen's once more.
There was something in them—something more than fear. Regret, perhaps. Sorrow. The flicker of a silent apology, buried beneath years of learned obedience.