The letter arrived on a rainy afternoon, delivered by a messenger who collapsed at the mansion’s gates, exhausted from his journey.
The seal was broken, the parchment stained with mud and what might have been blood.
Ram brought it to Roswaal’s study, where Ayanokoji and Emilia were already gathered.
The Margrave read the contents in silence, his expression unreadable.
“It’s from the northern territories,” he said finally.
“The village of Arlam has been attacked.
The Cult has taken hostages.”
Emilia’s face went pale.
“Hostages?
Who?”
Roswaal’s eyes flickered to her.
“The entire village.
Men, women, children.
They’ve barricaded themselves in the village center and are demanding…
something.”
“What do they want?” Ayanokoji asked.
“That’s the strange part.
They’re not asking for money, or power, or even the withdrawal of troops from the area.
They’re asking for a meeting.”
“A meeting?
With whom?”
Roswaal’s gaze settled on Emilia.
“With you, Emilia-sama.
They want to negotiate with the half-elf candidate directly.”
The room fell silent.
Ayanokoji’s mind raced through the implications.
The Cult had taken hostages and was demanding a meeting with Emilia.
It was a trap, obviously.
But it was also an opportunity—a chance to learn more about the Cult’s methods and motivations.
“It’s a trap,” Emilia said, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.
“They want to lure me there so they can kill me.”
“Almost certainly,” Ayanokoji agreed.
“But refusing to go would be equally damaging.
The people of Arlam would die, and the blame would fall on you.
Your reputation would be destroyed.”
“So we’re trapped either way.” Emilia’s hands clenched in her lap.
“What do we do?”
Ayanokoji considered the options.
“We go.
But not blindly.
We need to understand what we’re walking into, and we need to be prepared for any eventuality.”
Roswaal leaned forward.
“What do you propose?”
Ayanokoji’s eyes narrowed.
“We send an advance team to scout the area.
We gather intelligence on the Cult’s numbers, their positions, their weapons.
Once we know what we’re dealing with, we can formulate a plan.”
“And the hostages?”
“We prioritize their safety, but we can’t let them dictate our strategy.
If we rush in without preparation, we’ll all die—including the hostages.”
It was a cold calculation, but a necessary one.
Emilia looked like she wanted to argue, but something in Ayanokoji’s expression stopped her.
“Fine,” she said finally.
“But I want to be part of the rescue mission.
I won’t sit in the mansion while innocent people are dying.”
Ayanokoji studied her for a moment.
“That’s exactly what the Cult wants.
They’re counting on your compassion to make you vulnerable.
If you walk into their trap, you’re playing into their hands.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Let me handle the initial approach.
I’ll go with a small team, assess the situation, and find a way to extract the hostages without putting you at risk.
Once we have a plan, we can decide whether your involvement is necessary.”
Emilia’s jaw tightened, but she nodded.
“Fine.
But I reserve the right to intervene if I think it’s necessary.” Get faster updates on g.com.
“Understood.”
The preparation took two days.
Ayanokoji assembled a team consisting of himself, Rem, and two of Roswaal’s most experienced soldiers.
They traveled light, moving through the forest under cover of darkness to avoid detection.
The journey north took three days.
They encountered no resistance—the Cult had apparently withdrawn into the village, content to wait for their quarry.
But the signs of their passage were everywhere: burned homesteads, slaughtered livestock, and the occasional body left to rot by the roadside.
They’re sending a message, Ayanokoji thought as they passed another grim scene.
They want us to see what they’re capable of.
They want to break our spirit before the fight even begins.
On the fourth day, they reached the outskirts of Arlam.
The village was a small settlement, perhaps fifty buildings clustered around a central square.
Smoke rose from several chimneys, suggesting that the Cult had made themselves comfortable.
Ayanokoji observed from a ridge overlooking the village, his eyes cataloging every detail.
The Cult members were easy to identify—they wore dark robes and moved with the fanatical purpose of true believers.
He counted at least thirty of them, armed with a mix of swords, spears, and what looked like crude magical focuses.
Thirty Cultists, plus whatever Mabeasts they’ve attracted, he thought.
The hostages are likely in the central building—probably the village hall.
The Cult has set up defensive positions around the perimeter, but they’re not expecting a direct assault.
“Ayanokoji-kun,” Rem whispered, appearing at his side.
“I’ve completed my reconnaissance.
The Cult has at least forty members, and they’re holding the hostages in the village hall.
I also detected signs of Mabeast activity—recent tracks leading into the forest.”
“Can you tell what kind?”
Rem’s expression was grim.
“Wolgram.
Beast-type, roughly the size of a horse.
They hunt in packs and are known for their speed and ferocity.
The Cult has likely been feeding them, keeping them close for when they’re needed.”
Ayanokoji nodded, filing away the information.
“And the Cult’s leadership?
Have you seen any of the Archbishops?”
“No.
Just ordinary cultists.
But that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone more powerful hiding among them.”
An Archbishop would be a problem, Ayanokoji thought.
Their abilities are unknown, but they’re said to be capable of terrifying feats of magic.
If one of them is here, our chances of success drop significantly.
“We need more information,” he said.
“I’m going to get closer.
Stay here and be ready to extract me if things go wrong.”
Rem’s eyes widened.
“Ayanokoji-kun, that’s too dangerous!
If they spot you—”
“They won’t.”
He moved before she could argue, slipping down the ridge and into the shadows of the forest.
His movements were silent, his body a blur of controlled motion.
Years of White Room training had taught him how to move unseen, how to become one with the darkness.
He circled the village, approaching from the east where the forest provided the most cover.
The Cult’s sentries were positioned at regular intervals, but they were watching the main roads, not the treeline.
Ayanokoji slipped past them easily, his dark clothing blending with the shadows.
He reached the edge of the village and paused, listening.
The Cult members were talking among themselves, their voices low and urgent.
He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was clear: they were waiting for something.
Or someone.
They’re expecting reinforcements, Ayanokoji realized.
This isn’t just a trap for Emilia.
It’s a staging ground for something larger.
He retreated back to the ridge, his mind racing.
The situation was more complex than he had anticipated.
The Cult wasn’t just holding hostages; they were preparing for something.
If he attacked now, he might disrupt their plans.
But if he waited, the situation could escalate beyond his control. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“We need to move quickly,” he told Rem when he returned.
“But not recklessly.
The Cult is planning something, and I need to know what.”
“What do you suggest?”
“We wait until nightfall.
The Cultists will be less alert, and the darkness will give us cover.
I’ll infiltrate the village and try to gather information.
If I can find out what they’re planning, we can formulate a proper response.”
Rem nodded, though her expression was tense.
“And if you’re caught?”
“I won’t be.”
Night fell, and Ayanokoji moved.
He slipped through the shadows like a phantom, his senses heightened to their absolute limit.
The Cult’s sentries were still at their posts, but they were tired, their attention wandering.
Ayanokoji avoided them easily, moving from shadow to shadow until he reached the village center.
The village hall was a large, sturdy building, its windows boarded up from the inside.
Ayanokoji circled it, looking for a way in.
He found a small gap in the wall near the roof—a ventilation shaft, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through.
He climbed silently, his fingers finding purchase on the rough stone.
The shaft was tight, but he managed to wriggle through, emerging in a dark attic space above the main hall.
Below, he could hear voices.
“…the Archbishop’s orders are clear.
We hold the village until the half-elf arrives.
Then we spring the trap.”
“And if she doesn’t come?”
“She will.
Her compassion is her weakness.
She won’t let innocent people die.”
Ayanokoji listened, his body perfectly still.
The voices were coming from directly below him—two Cultists, discussing their plans with the casual confidence of those who believed victory was assured.
“The Archbishop said to expect reinforcements within the week.
Once they arrive, we’ll have enough Mabeasts to overwhelm any rescue force.”
“And the artifact?
Has it been secured?”
“Not yet.
The ruins are deeper in the forest, protected by ancient wards.
But the Archbishop has a plan to break through.”
Artifact.
Ruins.
Ancient wards.
The pieces were coming together.
The Cult wasn’t just here to trap Emilia—they were here to retrieve something from the ruins, something that could shift the balance of power in the Selection.
Ayanokoji filed the information away and continued listening.
The Cultists discussed their patrol routes, their defensive positions, and their contingency plans.
It was a treasure trove of intelligence.
But then the conversation took a darker turn.
“What about the hostages?
Once the half-elf arrives, do we release them?”
“Release them?” The second Cultist laughed, a harsh, ugly sound.
“They’re not hostages.
They’re bait.
Once the trap is sprung, they’re expendable.”
Ayanokoji felt something cold settle in his chest.
The Cult had no intention of releasing the hostages.
They were just tools, means to an end.
Their lives meant nothing to the Cult.
They’re going to kill them all, he realized.
Whether Emilia comes or not, the hostages are doomed.
He waited until the Cultists moved away, then slipped back through the ventilation shaft and into the night.
His mind was cold, calculating.
The situation was dire, but not hopeless.
He had information now—information that could change the outcome.
But he needed to act quickly.