CHAPTER 186: REASON

"Can you describe once more how you felt after being attacked by those suicidal assassins from Selwyn and falling into a coma? If I understand correctly, you were trapped in your own nightmare at that time. Is that accurate?"

At a military camp by the Aleisterre frontlines, within the battlefield infirmary, the healer who had previously treated Kevan sat by his bedside, inquiring about his experience while unconscious after having been affected by the corruption.

The healer removed the sanitary mask and head covering she had worn for hygiene purposes to reveal moderately short brown hair. She was a woman with heavy dark circles under her eyes, and who looked quite exhausted.

"You don't mind if I smoke, do you?" she asked, pulling a cigar-like item from her pocket and waving it in front of Kevan.

"No problem, Miss Jenny. Give me a moment to consider my memories... To be honest, it's not a pleasant recollection."

Kevan, lying on the hospital bed with his shoulder still bandaged, waved his hand dismissively and then fell into deep thought.

Dreams tended to fade quickly upon waking, but for the clear-minded Nightblades, piecing together a rough account wasn't difficult.

"I apologize." Jenny snapped her fingers, igniting a small flame with her nails to light the cigar-like object in her hand. She took a deep drag.

Faint white smoke curled into the air. It didn't have the sharp sting of traditional tobacco but instead carried a refreshing herbal scent, one likely designed to invigorate the mind.

Jenny sighed, visibly less fatigued after taking a puff of her specialized stimulant.

She exhaled lightly, then turned her gaze to Kevan, who remained lost in thought. Her free hand idly tapped the nearby table, producing a rhythmic sound.

"This herbal smoke and steady tapping rhythm—both meant to relax the mind—are useful for patients, but I doubt they'll have much effect on the Nightblades, whose willpower far surpasses that of ordinary people.

"So what exactly was that corruption? Even though this supposed Prayer Network cleansed it, it still managed to create a nightmare strong enough to trap their consciousness within. If Selwyn manages to use this in large-scale warfare, it'll surely become a major problem," Jenny thought to herself. She had deliberately created an environment designed to soothe the mind: dim amber lighting, the calming scent of her scented cigars, and a steady, relaxing rhythm.

Even her own presence—the fatigued, dark-eyed, perpetually drowsy-looking doctor—was part of this carefully constructed atmosphere.

Yet Kevan, a member of the Nightblades, remained completely unaffected. He was fully engrossed in reconstructing his nightmare, and showed no reaction to his surroundings.

This was a testament to the Nightblades' superior mental resilience.

"...I think I've recalled most of it. The nightmare created by the corruption seemed to latch onto my deepest fears and most painful memories, then recreated those scenes to trap me inside."

Kevan opened his eyes. His body trembled slightly. It was evident that recalling that experience was deeply unsettling.

"Your deepest fears... the memories you least wanted to face?" Jenny asked.

"Yes. That's also the reason I joined the Nightblades. I wasn't originally from the capital. I was just an ordinary kid from a small town not too far from here.

"One year, a priest from a plague cult passed through. He took a liking to my childhood friend next door and wanted to make him a Plaguebearer.

"To us villagers, a plague was nothing but a curse. It killed people, livestock, and crops. Who in their right mind would worship a Plague God?"

Kevan spoke without being particularly emotional, as if recounting an old story he had told many times before.

But if he could have eased his trauma by simply speaking about it, this memory would never have become a nightmare, a prison, in which his will was shackled.

"My friend's parents naturally refused, as did my friend. But that plague cultist—a high-ranking priest, I suppose, comparable to an advanced magician—had already set his sights on my friend's supposed unique constitution. I didn't understand what that meant at the time...

"That night, my parents and I woke to the sound of heavy crashes outside, followed by screams. We went out to investigate, and there they were: two figures with flesh and skin melting into pus, dissolving even as they moved. Were they even ‘corpses' anymore? They were my friend's parents.

"As for my friend... that plague cultist was holding him by the collar, forcing some vile substance down his throat. A thick, green, writhing liquid—it looked a bit like slime, but it reeked of something far worse. The priest called it a gift of the Plague God."

Kevan shuddered. He shook his head helplessly, his tone scornful.

"I watched my friend rot. As he was dissolving, he turned his gaze toward me and my parents. I can never forget the look in his eyes—pure despair. That was the nightmare that haunted my childhood."

"...Rot? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Jenny shook her head rapidly. Her question was thoughtless, inappropriate.

"He rotted into that green sludge, just like what he had ingested. I could still see his skull floating inside. Maybe he wasn't dead yet... but at that point, I think death would have been kinder."

Kevan didn't mind her blunt question. He continued speaking in his calm tone, but Jenny noticed the faint tremor in his body—he was suppressing the emotions resurfacing from his memories.

"The priest absorbed my friend into his own body—it could shift and flow at will. Then he turned to me and my parents. We were paralyzed with fear.

"He smiled, flicked two drops of that cursed fluid at my parents, and then pointed at me."

Kevan's voice finally wavered with anger, resentment, and an overwhelming sense of oppression. He was still suppressing his emotions, but couldn't stop them from leaking out.

Though Jenny could guess what happened next, she still clenched her fists involuntarily.

Kevan paused for the space of a few long breaths as he steeled himself to continue.

"Those two things that used to be my parents chased me through the streets. No one heard my screams. Most of the townspeople had already died in their sleep as the plague spread."

"...Silfast," Jenny murmured. A name surfaced in her memory—Silfast, a town mentioned in her medical studies. "The town swallowed by plague."

"I ran for a long time. Maybe the priest enjoyed toying with me because, unlike the others, I was never infected. But I was endlessly pursued by those tireless monsters in the dead-silent streets, running until I could no longer run.

"...That night left its marks on me—fear and cowardice. Even my potential is probably connected to that past. I wished for an avatar, something that could die in my place while I escaped."

Kevan let out a self-deprecating laugh, mocking the cowardice of his potential.

"I was cornered in an alley, crying, begging my parents—those monsters—not to kill me. There was no response. They weren't my parents anymore. They raised their hands, ready to dissolve me with their corrosive fluids.

"But as you can see, I'm still alive. A sword cleaved through them at the last moment. The Nightblades' special ops team had arrived. The one who saved me turned into my mentor. That's how I became a Nightblade."

Kevan exhaled slowly as he regained his composure.

"My nightmare was that final moment in the alley—but this time, no one came to save me.

"As for how I broke free? I'm not entirely sure. I just stopped crying and screaming in despair. I wanted to live. I wanted revenge. I wanted change.

"So I picked up a sword and swung with all my might... and then I woke up."

Kevan spread his hands, indicating that was all he had to say. "I don't know why I woke up either. That nightmare felt incredibly real—I could hardly tell the difference. I don't even have memories beyond that point in time.

"The only difference might be that I became a little braver. But even then, what use would my weak little sword have been against those two creatures that even a knight-in-training was hard-pressed to handle?"

Kevan smiled wryly.

"Maybe it was meaningless, but I admire those who, in moments of despair, don't break down and cry but instead roar in defiance and swing what weapons they have in their hands," Jenny replied.

"Is that so? That experience was what led me to join the Nightblades. One reason was that I lost my parents and was raised by my mentor, who was a member of the Nightblades. The other... I simply don't want anyone to go through what I did."

Jenny put away the tablet she had been using to record details about the nightmares brought about by the corruption.

"Thank you for sharing. This is very helpful for my research into the corruption. And also, about the Prayer Network..."

Jenny's tone carried a hint of hesitation.

"You mean telling Black Benn, known royalist, about the Prayer Network? It's fine. It's not like it would have been a secret for long. Heaven's Gloom is just a means for the royal family to keep us Nightblades in check, after all.

"It ensures that we're turned into fools before mental corruption can fully erode our will. Corruption alone would be enough to deal with us. It's simply an insurance policy for the royal family—but for us, it's necessary. We have no choice but to accept it.

"My mentor survived mental corruption only because of Heaven's Gloom. I believe he's still in a border sanatorium. Though the chances of him regaining his sanity are slim, there have been exceptions. And they're all under your care, aren't they, Miss Jenny?"

"Ah?" Jenny was momentarily stunned—both because she hadn't expected Kevan to know that her primary focus had been the Prayer Network, nor that she had transferred from a border sanatorium to the frontlines.

"Haha, Doctor, do you know what we Nightblades call you? The living goddess of life. The only old Nightblades who recovered after being sent to the border sanatorium—it was all your doing. To be honest, everyone admires you. That's why I was more than happy to share my past with you."

"Is that so?" Jenny was momentarily at a loss. What she had originally intended to be a controlled inquiry had somehow turned into a casual conversation.

"Everything you've done for our comrades who were sent to the sanatorium because of mental corruption—I sincerely admire you for it.

"As for the Prayer Network, I doubt the royal family will tolerate it. It frees the Nightblades from reliance on Heaven's Gloom, stripping them of a means to control us.

"I imagine they'll take action—against the Church of the Lady of the Night, who generously granted this miracle, most likely. Perhaps against the creator of the Prayer Network, or something else—this secret won't last long."

Kevan's words were nonchalant, but he saw things much more clearly than Jenny had anticipated.

"Who is the creator of this Prayer Network?" Jenny was genuinely curious. This miracle—this Prayer Network that countered mental corruption—who could have crafted such a thing?

"I don't know. But it doesn't matter. No matter who they are, we Nightblades will never let someone so noble suffer injustice—whether from the royal family or anyone else."

Kevan's tone was firm and resolute.

"Are you disappointed in this kingdom?" Jenny suddenly asked.

"Because of the royal family, or a handful of troublesome nobles? No. After so many years, we've long seen them for what they are. I—or rather, we Nightblades—never fought for their sake in the first place.

"Rather, we fight for simple things. Bread for tomorrow, and wages for the day after. And of course, for good people—like you, Doctor Jenny," Kevan replied with a smile, his voice lighthearted yet utterly sincere.

Outside the viscount's ruined manor, Hugin was discussing matters with some Nightblade members while negotiating with several representatives from the noble investigation commission.

Just then, a carriage approached from a distance. Hugin glanced back and, seeing the royal insignia on it, quickly lost interest and turned away.

The carriage sped down the street and came to a stop. A middle-aged royal official stepped out, surveyed the surroundings, then confirmed his target—the man sitting by the roadside with Edward, waiting for Hugin to finish his business: Wang Yu.

The official briskly approached Wang Yu and, in a respectful tone, addressed him. Wang Yu had sensed him approach well in advance.

"Lord Wang Yu, greetings."

"Hello," Wang Yu replied, maintaining a polite but distant demeanor.

"Might I ask if the Prayer Network currently being used by the Nightblades has anything to do with you, Lord Wang Yu, in your capacity as the Archbishop of the Lady of the Night?" The official's tone remained courteous, but there was no mistaking his underlying aggression.

Wang Yu's expression remained calm. Being addressed as an archbishop—a title that was, to some extent, classified—did not seem to faze him in the slightest.

"It has nothing to do with me. It was probably developed by some of the other followers," he denied casually, without the slightest hint of hesitation.

"Is that so? By the way, Royal Astrologer Selene wishes to meet with you. She may be paying you a visit in the coming days."

The official scrutinized Wang Yu's face, as if trying to discern something from his expression, but Wang Yu's facial muscles didn't so much as twitch. Left with no choice, the official simply relayed a parting message.

"The royal astrologer? She's most welcome," Wang Yu replied, his tone bright and seemingly natural.

"Understood. I'll inform Lady Selene that you've accepted her visit." The official said nothing more. He boarded the carriage, which was quickly pulled away by purebred horses and disappeared down the street.

"Ha, I knew this was only a matter of time." Wang Yu clicked his tongue, watching the carriage disappear, looking slightly exasperated.