Once, Bronya had heard a saying:
“Dying with grace isn’t hard; living with grace is.”
If one wanted posthumous glory, it was as simple as enlisting in the Silvermane Guards. Any soldier who sacrificed themselves in the battle against the Rift would be honored, their comrades preserving their legacy until they, too, became names etched on the cold stones.
But most Silvermane soldiers’ lives were far from graceful. They received little time off, hidden injuries from high-intensity battles rarely healed, and those stationed on the front lines might not even return home once a year.
Under the current Supreme Guardian, the Guards’ casualty rate only climbed, with no sign of decline.
To their families, it was agony.
This bloody honor, this sacrifice, sometimes seemed to lack value.
Bronya deeply mourned the young warriors who perished so soon.
Their first taste of war was against creatures that had trapped humanity in Belobog for seven centuries—merciless, unrelenting monsters that felt no pain and reformed no matter how many times they were slain.
All the soldiers could do was form a wall of flesh, winning bloody battles with their bodies alone.
This was why, at each soldier’s funeral, Bronya found herself filled with a heavy sadness. She could only console the grieving families, telling them that “their sacrifice was essential for humanity’s survival,” words that numbed her as much as them.
And though everyone knew it, they all avoided the truth:
The current Supreme Guardian, with her single-minded drive to win, was behind the increasing loss of life, pushing the Guards to relentless battles at the front.
The Rift had not grown to such an extent that humanity would perish without extreme measures.
If history was any guide, humanity would have been wiped out long ago if that were the case. Replenishing the population took time; training soldiers took generations. But the Rift creatures knew no such limits—the only thing restraining them was the Rift’s own expansion rate.
If Belobog had maintained a cautious defense, lying in wait rather than waging all-out war, the Rift wouldn’t have grown so aggressively, as though “provoked” by human retaliation.
Data showed that the Rift creatures reacted to human activity. Every time the guards engaged in battle, the crystalline elements left behind served as beacons, sometimes forming eerie phantoms.
The former only strengthened the monsters pouring from the Rift, making them more dangerous; the latter meant that once-defeated foes could resurface at any time.
And in the end, the Supreme Guardian’s achievements hardly justified the cost.
The people were still trapped within the walls, resources had become even scarcer, and the guards at the front were pushed to their limits.
Recently, desertions had even started. Despite the Supreme Guardian’s speeches and strict punishment by officers, it was a trend that seemed impossible to stop.
If things continued, the final strategy might be to destroy the frontline transport hubs, trapping the soldiers so they couldn’t escape.
As the Supreme Guardian’s heir, Bronya knew far too much. Each time she tried to convince herself that the Guardian had a hidden plan, but each time, she was met with disappointment.
Gradually, Bronya came to believe that no one could truly live with grace in this city.
Her youthful dreams, too, had withered with age, now nothing but scattered memories.
Only the sight of the thriving upper district, still prosperous under the Supreme Guardian’s rule, brought her any small relief.
But here, in this cold, dark cell, she saw someone who, despite being surrounded by shadows, seemed to live more gracefully than anyone else.
This man, this so-called bard named Venti, appeared to embrace life with a lightness she could scarcely comprehend.
—Why were you so at ease? Why did you feel no shame? Why could you still joke with me?
These questions crowded her mind, but words failed her, leaving her in silent confusion before the cell bars.
Venti, however, was anything but silent. Rising from the floor, he brushed off nonexistent dust and, with a mischievous grin, addressed her.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to answer? After all, it’s not every day you find yourself with such an extraordinary cellmate.”
“…What nonsense are you saying?”
Bronya’s control finally snapped as she rebuked him.
“Do you know you’re tarnishing the Guardian’s heir’s honor? Such disrespect alone is enough to extend your sentence by years.”
In a city ruled by a single leader, defaming the Guardian was an unforgivable crime.
Even if she wasn’t yet the Guardian, to the citizens and her colleagues, it was only a matter of time.
Even if not for herself, she couldn’t allow this bard to continue spouting his nonsense—she had to defend her mother, who had grown distant but remained the Guardian.
“Oh? Is that what you think of me?”
Venti’s eyes held no fear, only a gentle, almost indulgent gaze, as if looking at a curious child.
The feeling unsettled Bronya, though she was surprised not to feel offended.
Instead, she sensed he was sincere, and that his view held no malice.
If he was serious, why did he arrive at answers so different from everyone else’s? Why did he insist on this defiance?
Why persist in a path that would only bring suffering and disdain, a path that could never change anything?
Why did he continue?
Bronya gripped the iron bars, her knuckles white, the sound of creaking metal unnerving in the quiet cell.
Venti took a small step back, pretending to be fearful.
“Whoa, are you planning on roughing me up?”
“…Of course not.”
Exasperated with his antics, Bronya replied coldly.
“In a few days, the Silvermane Guards will release you. After that, you are not to speak of this matter to anyone, nor continue singing those forbidden songs. It will do you no good.”
“Why?”
“Belobog has always been this way.”
“Is tradition always right?”
Silence fell over them, and Bronya’s lips tightened in anger.
“Do you wish to overthrow everything Belobog has always stood for?”
Venti tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, how about ‘everything that’s bad’ instead?”
“Good and bad aren’t for you to decide—”
“But shouldn’t the people who live here at least have a say?”
Bronya faltered, her fleeting look of uncertainty caught by Venti’s sharp gaze.
Leaning in close to the bars, Venti’s voice softened, as though offering a forbidden temptation.
“Don’t you want to see it? To know if all your training could lead the people to the life they actually want?
“To see if those beneath our feet truly live in the peace that’s proclaimed from on high, thriving under the Supreme Guardian’s care?”
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