Back home, I spent some time just watching Levinas, feeling uneasy about the awful experience she’d just gone through.

'...I promised to protect her if things got dangerous.'

But instead of protecting her, I’d only ended up showing her my own helplessness.

For anyone else, it would’ve been disappointing, a complete letdown. Embarrassed, I watched her from a distance, unable to approach.

If I had been stronger, today wouldn’t have turned out this way. Just as I was lowering my head in defeat, I saw Levinas suddenly start hopping by the campfire with excitement.

“Amazing! The King is amazing!”

“W-What…?”

“This is the first time Levinas ever fought a grown-up! Being with the King gave me all kinds of courage!”

Levinas swung her fists in the air, proudly recounting her own battle tale. Her little punches were adorable, but her confidence was towering.

“You fought with an adult in the dungeon?”

“Yes! But the King went easy on him, right?!”

“Easy on him?”

Sofia and I both echoed in surprise.

“Yes! The King didn’t even use a weapon! He tried to solve things with words instead of violence!”

“Oh… I see.”

Sofia glanced at me with a smile, her eyes brimming with pride.

It wasn’t that I wanted to avoid fighting; I just didn’t like fighting people. But with their admiring looks, I felt like I’d been caught showing off. My face flushed.

“Gyeoul, you won this fight. Cheer up.”

“W-Won…?”

“Yes! Levinas thinks the King won too! The King is truly merciful!”

I wondered what exactly Levinas thought of me. Even if it felt odd, her words lifted my spirits a bit. I scratched my cheek and gave an awkward smile.

My tail swayed along with the cheerful mood.

---

In the Dawn Guild’s meeting room, Master Kang Jin-ho, Yeoreum, Jung Yu-na, and Choi Jin-hyuk sat around the table.

“So, Han Seok-jun from the Legion Guild gave you this video?”

“Yes…”

“Hmm…”

Kang Jin-ho leaned his chin on his hand, gazing down at the camera. After a moment, Yeoreum spoke up cautiously.

“He handed over the camera without any concern for his fellow guild member’s presence.”

“He probably figured it would be revealed soon anyway. Instead, he decided it was better to announce his alignment with Dawn.”

“...Is he trying to turn the guild upside down?”

“Maybe he wants to restore it to its former glory.”

Everyone in the room nodded in agreement at Kang Jin-ho’s statement. Back when the former guild master was alive, the Legion Guild held a status close to that of the Dawn Guild.

The day the Legion Guild master passed away from old age, a questionable person took over as guild master.

He had disregarded talent and results, filling the executive ranks with those close to him. The Legion Guild’s reputation plummeted, leaving many long-standing guild members feeling dissatisfied.

“What would he have done if I’d refused his offer?”

“He remembers the guild’s glory days. That desperation must have driven him.”

“Oh…”

A gamble, one that seemed highly likely to pay off. Yeoreum, who had once given Winter the *Blessing of the Beast Spirit*, understood such desperation. In dire situations, people tended to rely on odds.

“Let’s put the Legion Guild matter aside and watch the video.”

“Oh, yes.”@@novelbin@@

When Yeoreum nodded, Jung Yu-na moved the mouse, revealing a well-organized folder of videos projected on one wall.

“There’s so many.”

“Not all of them are of Gyeoul. There’s a folder just for her…”

Winter.

Jung Yu-na clicked on the folder labeled with Gyeoul’s name, opening a lineup of dozens of video files.

They hadn’t watched the videos yet, but the intros, which showed Gyeoul, had allowed them to sort the videos.

“This… is a lot.”

“…”

As Kang Jin-ho repeated his comment, Jung Yu-na remained silent. Even just the videos involving Gyeoul were overwhelming.

“Let’s be clear before we start watching.”

“About what?”

“We’re not watching this just to feel guilty, are we?”

“No…”

He’d hit the mark. Yeoreum lowered her head, fiddling with her fingers. The master was right; maybe she did want to feel guilty by watching these videos.

She’d been foolish enough to think that feeling guilt might give her peace of mind.

“You don’t need to watch a video to feel guilty or to console a child.”

“Yes… You’re right.”

“Then, why insist on watching it?”

He was asking for a solid reason. She could have come up with a clever excuse, but Yeoreum decided to be honest about her feelings.

“I want to understand Gyeoul better.”

“To understand.”

“Yes. She’s my family.”

This was something Yeoreum had resolved to do when she gave Gyeoul her name. She’d intended to treat the child as family. What started out of guilt had now transformed; Winter felt like a younger sibling to her.

“How sentimental…”

Kang Jin-ho shrugged, signaling to Jung Yu-na with a nod. It was permission to start the video.

“I’ll play it…”

Click—

With a soft sound, the first video appeared on the large screen.

The Winter in the video looked very different from now.

Around 160 centimeters tall. About average for a young girl.

Her face was hidden by a hooded cloak, but Yeoreum knew her true form beneath the dust—sweet and angelic.

“Please… give it back…”

In the video, Gyeoul reached out toward the air, her voice sounding almost boyish, like a youthful, gender-neutral hero.

Did Gyeoul pretend to be a boy on purpose? As Yeoreum pondered this, she saw a familiar man in the video wave a water bottle.

“I told you, if you promise not to come back to the hunting ground, I’ll give it back.”

“I… I can’t do that…”

“Damn, you’re one stubborn little beggar.”

Thunk—

Park Min-gyu pushed Gyeoul’s forehead with the base of the water bottle. Though the impact wasn’t particularly strong, Gyeoul stumbled back five steps, falling onto her backside.

“Ugh…”

“This kid loves to overreact.”

Park Min-gyu sneered down at Gyeoul, his gaze filled with contempt. The camera moved around, capturing every detail.

“If you don’t leave in five seconds, you’re dead meat.”

“But… the water bottle…”

In the video, Gyeoul’s gaze stayed fixed on the bottle. Everyone watching knew that the yellow corn water inside was her only source of sustenance.

Gyeoul it, she would have to go hungry. For a child struggling to survive day by day, that bottle was a lifeline. But Park Min-gyu, oblivious and uncaring, only smiled smugly.

“Five.”

“There’s… really nothing else…”

“Four.”

“This is the only one…”

Despite her desperate pleas, Park Min-gyu kept counting, as if he really intended to do something awful.

“Three.”

When he reached the middle of his count, Gyeoul seemed to realize he wouldn’t let her go and froze in place.

But only for a moment. She began scooting back, then scrambled to her feet and ran.

“Two.”

Even as Gyeoul fled, Park Min-gyu continued counting. And just as he reached the last number—

Thunk!

Park Min-gyu hurled the water bottle at Winter’s head. He threw it so hard that the Tritan bottle shattered.

Fragments scattered mid-air, and the yellow liquid inside splashed out like a water balloon. Gyeoul couldn’t even scream before she collapsed, face-first, onto the ground.

“She’s pretending to pass out again. What a drama queen.”

The video ended with Park Min-gyu laughing heartily. There were still about fifty videos left.

Yeoreum clenched her fists on the table, so hard that the large office table trembled.

'She wasn’t pretending to pass out; she actually fainted.'

What must it have been like to be a child born without any magic? Yeoreum placed her hand on her chest, her heartbeat raging more intensely than during any battle.

“I-I’m sorry. I… I can’t watch any more.”

Jung Yu-na, her face pale, looked down at the floor. She usually could handle seeing brutal things without flinching, but when it involved Winter, her resolve crumbled.

As Yeoreum took the laptop from Jung Yu-na, she thought grimly. The fifty remaining videos probably weren’t all the suffering Gyeoul had endured. Park Min-gyu hadn’t been the only one who tormented her.

Could this really have been what a child so new to the world had to endure?

Even the seasoned Kang Jin-ho, who had endured countless hardships, sat with his arms crossed, eyes shut tightly.

“…Since this is the first day, let’s stop here for now.”

“Yes, it seems like this has been overwhelming for everyone.”

Yeoreum didn’t want to make excuses. She knew that it was entirely her fault for ignoring Gyeoul’s suffering.

Click.

Yeoreum closed the laptop, but no one moved to leave the room. The truth they’d seen in the video had left them all in stunned silence.