That day, snow had been falling since morning.
The northern wind, which rarely reached the capital, swept through in every direction, and thick flakes soon blanketed the entire city. After a long winter dominated by fierce, cutting winds, a moment of stillness finally arrived—as if offering the briefest breath of respite.
Even last night, a brutal battle had raged.
Fighting the Devil drained the mind more than anything else. Just when it seemed the unending tide of Nir’a had finally faded, the Devil found another way to survive the crisis. It burrowed into the minds of ordinary humans, manipulating them to its will.
Those who could be trusted were now dangerously few. No matter how strong their will, not even the most resolute knights could withstand the power of such an overwhelming force. Comrades who once guarded each other’s backs suddenly lost themselves and drove blades into their allies. Even knights who had long upheld unwavering loyalty began to fall.
It was likely because they were so fiercely loyal that they had endured this far.
Seiyad had lost a cherished knight the day before.
It had been the night he waited within the castle for the knight who had promised to draw their sword. Rigda, who had been talking with him as usual, was suddenly attacked by Mona. Though she had witnessed others before her die trying to save their comrades, Rigda still tried to subdue Mona somehow.
But the curse that stole one’s reason would not end until it claimed a life.
In the end, it was Vine who killed Mona. Vine, who had long harbored feelings for his childhood friend, stepped forward to protect her—and just as he finally subdued Mona, Rigda, who lost her mind at that exact moment, beheaded him.
His severed head flew through the air and landed before Seiyad.
Seiyad, who had just barely subdued the other knights, witnessed the scene as he arrived. The knight who had been so oblivious, so simple, yet always cheerful and kind enough to make people laugh—remained that way even in death. The face that had fallen with a soft thud still wore the expression of someone gently trying to comfort Rigda, as if to say, it’s okay.
The Devil was truly cunning—it knew exactly how to shatter a person’s mind.
When Rigda came back to her senses, she stood frozen, staring at what she had done. Blood dripped from the sword that had taken the life of her one and only friend.
Staring blankly at the weapon, Rigda began to tremble violently and let out a piercing scream.
“Viiiiiine—!”
A blood-curdling wail tore through the air.
Before Seiyad could reach her, Rigda lost her senses entirely and stabbed the blade into her own abdomen.
In mere moments, several people had died.
Of all the beloved knights whose names Seiyad cried out with a hoarse voice, only Ressas remained by his side.
Ressas had cut down the knights who continued to pour in before returning, only to find Seiyad gazing down at the fallen bodies.
His back—once broad and strong—looked achingly small and unbearably lonely that day. Seiyad did not cry, but he remained silent for a very long time.
Blood from the knights soaked the ground in deep crimson.
Only when the stench of iron was scattered far into the wind did Seiyad finally lower himself and slowly begin to gather their keepsakes.
Ressas silently dug the earth to bury them.
Without words, they recovered the corpses and returned to the tent.
When Seiyad reunited with Tithers who had been waiting, he wore an exhausted expression and simply said they had failed.
That had been the night before.
Ressas spent the entire night guarding the area near Seiyad’s tent, where the light never went out.
As he quietly listened to the faint sound of muffled sobs seeping through the tent floor, Ressas gazed up at the dark night sky.
When he exhaled a deep breath, it broke apart in a cloud of white.
His hands and feet were frozen, but the pain in his heart hurt far worse.
It was as though shards of glass were flowing through his veins, making every part of his body ache with anguish.
‘Don’t cry, my moon.’
His beautiful one had only ever brought him joy.
And yet, knowing that he could not bring Seiyad happiness in return made this night feel mercilessly long.
While waiting for the sun that refused to rise, Ressas returned to the empty, childish fantasies he used to have—dreams in which he possessed enough power to slay the Devil who tormented Seiyad and bring him peace.
But in the end, it was nothing more than delusion.
The only thing Ressas could truly do was die in someone else’s place.
But tragically, he had only one life to give, and it wasn’t enough to save everyone Seiyad loved.
So he couldn’t throw it away carelessly.
He had to preserve it—hold it back—for when it truly mattered.
At last, dawn broke, and snow began to fall again.
Around that time, Aster arrived at the tent.
His eyes met Ressas’, who had been standing guard.
Masking his discomfort with a polite expression, Aster issued an order to his half-brother.
“Go and get some rest. If you linger here like this, Eid will only worry.”
“…If Your Highness permits, I would prefer to keep watch. We never know when we’ll be attacked.”
Whenever Ressas stood before Aster, he felt pitifully small.
With his flawless appearance and unmatched skill, Aster bore the mark of the sun and served as Seiyad’s guide—helping him endure this horrific winter.
The two had never even called each other brother, and the distance between them was vast.
To Ressas, Aster was like a holy being perched in a place forever out of reach.
“In that case, keep your distance. I don’t want to share the moment of purification with anyone.”
At the word purification, Ressas could say no more.
Right now, Seiyad and Aster were the most critical assets they had—everything hinged on their condition.
Ressas’ own father, the guide of Grand Duke Axid, was trapped inside the castle.
The guides for Duke Bridehit and Duke Vetria had died just days prior.
The young Tithers had no guides from the start and were already at their limits.
As for the Duke of Shildras, though he did have a guide, both were too worn down to be of use.
In the end, everything now depended on Aster and Seiyad.
“…Yes, Your Highness.”
Ressas lowered his head, avoiding Aster’s piercing blue gaze—eyes that seemed to demand he know his place.
Aster was somewhat arrogant and imperious, but he held Seiyad in great esteem.
He never did anything to sadden Seiyad, so it was likely better for him to stay by his side.
Even so, Ressas’ feet dragged with reluctant weight.
As he finally turned away, forcing himself to leave, he looked back one last time.
The tent flap Aster had entered fluttered in the wind.
Through the small opening, he caught a glimpse of Seiyad, buried in Aster’s embrace.
Aster’s hand gently swept back his moon’s hair, then cupped his cheek.
Following that tender touch, Seiyad raised his head.
It was an intimate, heartrending sight that left no space for anyone else to intrude.
‘I, too…’
‘If I could bring you joy…’
Ressas stood frozen, gazing into another world, until the sound of movement nearby made him turn. His expression was blank, devoid of emotion or warmth, as he scanned his surroundings. He watched the knights approaching from a distance, noted their eyes had turned pitch-black, their irises vanished—and immediately drew his sword. A sharp, slicing sound ripped through the air, and blood spilled across the snow.
The attackers were knights of House Shildras.
Ressas had tried to spare them, but in the end, he had no choice but to kill. Even if they came back to their senses, the odds of them relapsing were too high. Perhaps it was a mercy. In the process, he suffered a deep gash to his arm and returned to his tent alone, wrapping the wound himself. With so many already injured, he couldn’t bring himself to ask for a healer just for his sake.
He was wiping the blood from his skin, shirtless, when Seiyad called out from the entrance of the tent.
“Ressas, the meeting will start soon. Come with me.”
“Yes, Eid. Please wait a moment.”
Ressas walked to the entrance and pulled back the flap, wanting Seiyad to wait inside where it was warmer.
“It’s cold—come in, Eid.”
He’d forgotten he was bare from the waist up. As he lifted the cloth, Seiyad blinked in surprise. The gray eyes darkened with flustered confusion before quickly darting away. He raised a hand to cover his mouth and whispered under his breath.
“Get inside. Now, Ressas.”
The young man never disobeyed Seiyad. Without question, he followed the order, still clueless as to why. Seiyad entered after him, speaking with his back turned.
“A royal’s body shouldn’t be shown so freely.”
Seiyad must have hated the sight—he didn’t even glance at him, just kept his back to him. Wanting to see his face, Ressas quickly picked up a shirt and apologized.
“Ah, I forgot. It must’ve been unpleasant. I’m sorry.”
When they were younger, Seiyad used to help him bathe sometimes. They’d even gone swimming together. But since last year, that had stopped. Ressas knew his body, scarred and unsightly, wasn’t a pleasant sight. He felt guilty. That was when Seiyad suddenly turned around.
His beautifully shaped brow furrowed slightly, and he fixed his thick brows sternly.
“Don’t say things like that. You are more beautiful than anyone. There’s no need to belittle or degrade yourself.”
It felt like a scolding, but instead of fear or shame, a strange happiness bubbled up inside. Ressas’ heart fluttered, his body flushed with warmth, and before he knew it, he lowered his head. His cheeks burned—so hot it felt strange. Clutching his bloodstained clothes awkwardly, he didn’t know what to do, and Seiyad stepped closer.
“…You’re hurt again.”
Seiyad’s hand gently reached out and brushed the bandaged wound on Ressas’ arm. That tender touch felt too precious, and Ressas looked up at him with reddened eyes. Seiyad treated someone as insignificant as him with such care—it was unbearably kind. A bittersweet ache flooded his chest.
“Please… treasure yourself.”
“It’s not a serious injury, so don’t worry. More importantly, I failed to save the Duke of Shildras’ knights. I’m sorry… I know you hate seeing people die.”
As he apologized, a gray sadness spread across Seiyad’s face. Ressas knew how agonizing it was for him whenever he heard someone had died. In that moment, Ressas wanted to kill himself for being the bearer of that pain.
A desperate desire to do something for him—anything—spread like a wound inside. He wanted to end this war and show Seiyad a world where he could be happy.
Anything. Anything to make that happen.
“Fighting to survive is the instinct of life. There are deaths we can’t avoid. What pains me is… becoming indifferent to it. Life has no rank or worth, but people start to forget that, and that terrifies me.”
With a voice carefully composed, Seiyad murmured, then met Ressas’ gaze.
Those calm gray eyes stared straight into him, sharp as if piercing the soul.
“So Ressas—be careful that your kindness doesn’t pull you down into the Devil’s grasp. Never cross that line.”
Ressas listened quietly. He didn’t think of himself as kind, and unlike Seiyad, he believed that life did have value based on who it belonged to—but even so, he nodded.
Because Seiyad was his world, his law. Even if Seiyad ordered his death, Ressas would obey with joy. If his moon wished it, Ressas would gladly descend into hell.
“Yes, I will.”
If it’s what my beloved wishes, then anything.
Though Nir’a had been pushed out of the capital, it had already been ten days of staring down the great serpent coiled before the royal palace. Just when the war had seemed near its end, it stalled.
Thanks to the past obsessions of Duke Shildras and Duke Bridehit with Tither history, they’d discovered the Devil’s true nature. With the help of the scholar Asella—brought by Bridehit’s guide—they’d even learned how to kill it. Everyone had been jubilant, thinking all that was left was to deliver the holy relic.
But the Devil had used every means to stop them.
The power of Raman Solias surrounding the royal palace had kept the Devil at bay beyond the walls, but it bewitched the people within. Every time a knight tried to deliver the sword, they were brainwashed and turned on one another. Even when a Tither went personally, the result was the same. The moment someone left their post, the Devil would strike—swift and unrelenting. No one could be spared.
And behind the final defense held by the Tithers were countless civilians. If this line broke, the damage would be catastrophic.
They had even sent guides, whose minds were immune to the Devil’s influence. The result was disastrous. Bridehit’s and Vetria’s guides—Yousef and Parma—were killed by a passing servant. In an instant, they’d lost vital combat assets.
“…It seems I’ll have to go in.”
The moment the meeting began, Seiyad spoke up.
The dukes, visibly drained from the aftereffects of their powers, looked toward him. Serena, her face pale, interrupted her son.
“You and I must remain here, even if only to ensure one of us survives. Did you not hear Asella say that only a Brosius can kill the Devil?”
Her strict tone lacked the strength it once held. After a month of fighting without a guide, Grand Duke Axid was using every last shred of willpower just to restrain himself.
“But I’m the only one who can move without alerting that thing. All other methods of delivering the sword have been blocked. If someone has to go, it has to be me.”
Seiyad’s calm rebuttal rang with an eerie composure, like one who had already accepted his death. The steadiness of his resolve made dread shoot through Ressas.
Snapping his head up, he—who had always been nearly invisible—openly opposed the plan for the first time.
“No. Absolutely not. The Grand Duke is right. In your current state, he has little strength left. The person with the highest chance of killing the Devil is you, Seiyad. Send someone else into the citadel.”
At that, the Duke of Vetria turned her downcast face toward him and asked, “And who exactly do you propose we send, Your Highness Ressas?”
Though she addressed him with reluctant courtesy, her voice was laced with scolding—Do you even understand what you’re saying?
All eyes turned to Ressas.
Their gazes were cold, devoid of any expectation—as if looking at a useless royal who couldn’t even purify.
If Ressas had possessed even a sliver of power that could help, he might’ve been useful in this situation. But no matter how hard he prayed, no sign of purification ever awakened within him.
At the end of those apathetic stares was the weary face of his older brother.
Aster’s blue eyes, usually filled with pride and fire, now looked lifeless. Even the ever-proud prince now showed traces of despair, and Ressas swallowed dryly. Then he finally said what he had been mulling over since dawn.
“I’ll go.”
Silence blanketed the tent.
Duke Vetria raised an eyebrow in surprise, while Seiyad’s expression hardened and he rose to his feet. Before he could speak, Grand Duke Axid dismissed the idea.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but every knight who’s gone in so far has lost their mind to the Devil. I see no reason it would be any different for you.”
Ressas flinched—being spoken of no differently than any ordinary knight stung, but it wasn’t untrue.
Even so, there was one thing he believed in.
“I may have no power to speak of, but I carry the blood of Solias. While countless others have lost their sense of self, I remain standing. That must mean I have at least some level of resistance. I can’t purify, but I know how to wield a sword. I can subdue the knights and return.”
His reasoning was solid. Even the Grand Duke, who had been poised to object, fell into silence, apparently considering it. That was when Seiyad interrupted.
“No. It’s too dangerous for Your Highness to go alone. You can’t possibly take on that many knights by yourself.”
“Then I’ll go with him!”
Zion raised his hand and stepped forward. His face was worn from fighting without a guide, yet he managed a cheerful smile.
“My ability lets me conceal myself like my brother does, so I can sneak in with His Highness. I can’t handle a big fight without a guide, so it’s better I go than him. What do you think?”
He was right.
Zion had inherited the light attribute from House Shildras, just like Seiyad, and could shroud himself in light to hide his presence. It had proven useful in forest reconnaissance before, and there was no one who could reasonably argue against him.
But he was too young.
Both of them had only just come of age this year. The idea of sending two barely-adults into that cursed fortress made the room hesitate.
Then Duke Shildras stepped forward.
“Go ahead, Zion. This is why we exist.”
“Yes, Father.”
Duke Shildras, who had always been strict with Zion, remained just as dutiful now. The young man, desperate for his father’s recognition, nodded brightly in response.
Seiyad’s expression stiffened with concern, but when Grand Duke Axid shook his head, he said nothing more.
And so it was decided—those who would enter the citadel.
Even now, long after that day, Ressas constantly regretted his decision.
If only he had gone in alone, and Zion had remained outside, maybe all the Tithers would have survived and the Devil could have been defeated.
If so, perhaps Duke Shildras wouldn’t have… twisted in that way Ressas could never have predicted.
Perhaps Eid, too, would have continued to live a life filled with love, just as before.
No—He should have simply died, and let everyone else live.
That is NOT your fault, darling.