Across the snowfield, the Great Wall coiled like a dragon, stretching to the horizon. Its stone frame was sheathed in thick frost, gilded by the early winter sun until silver and gold bled together. Leading toward it was the Queen's Highway, wide enough for two carriages to ride side by side. To its left rose rugged snow-capped hills; to its right lay a vast, snow-blanketed plain. This was the United Kingdom's primary overland route, starting in Rune City of the South, cutting through the Royal Capital, then north past Stormhold and Awakening City, finally reaching the Frost Great Wall—a journey of thousands of miles.

Orekl reined his horse to a halt in the middle of the highway, gazing at the imposing wall. A jumble of emotions churned in his chest.

Soon, I'll be leaving here…

Ever since his meeting with the Archbishop, Orekl knew his fate was sealed. A Prophet without the power of the Holy Light is no Prophet at all. The Archbishop hadn't yet issued an order to dismiss him, but it was only a matter of time. He'd likely issue a decree upon returning to the Crystal Temple, appointing a new Prophet to take his place.

"Alas." Orekl let out a long, weary sigh. Regret…

"Are you well, my lord?" the Rat Knight asked, riding up beside him.

The bleakness of his future left Orekl drained. What drained him even more was that, ever since leaving Holy Light Village for Shieldhold, every time he sighed, the Rat Knight asked the same question. Ugh, how annoying! Must he keep pestering me?

Orekl's face was haggard, his eyes crisscrossed with fine bloodshot lines. He stared at the Rat Knight, thinking: If your Golden Knights had never come to the Great Wall, none of this would have happened…

"Only one last stretch left. Let's go." Orekl said heavily.

"My lord, didn't you say we'd stop at the Snowwood to pay our respects at the Shrine of the Divine Folk?"

"I've changed my mind." Orekl remembered mentioning it on the way back—that they'd detour to the Snowwood to honor the spirits of the Great Wall's fallen warriors before returning to Shieldhold. But when they'd reached the woods, he'd completely forgotten. My memory's getting worse and worse lately…

Now that the Rat Knight had brought it up, Orekl still refused to go. He squeezed his horse's flanks and trotted slowly toward their final destination.

Layla! All of this is your fault!

Orekl seethed with anger. The Archbishop had confirmed it: a Prophet who breaks the Code risks losing the Holy Light's power.

Orekl had always thought those rules were just superficial constraints on his character. As long as he wasn't caught breaking them, no real consequences would follow. So after he'd broken his vow, he'd clung to that hope, refusing to link his lost power to his sin. Deep down, he'd suspected the truth, but desire and fear had built a wall between him and the facts. But nothing escaped the Archbishop's divine gaze. Those who turn away from the Light cannot be saved. In the end, all his masks and pretenses had been stripped bare before the Archbishop. That moment had been pure despair.

Orekl vividly remembered that day in the Holy Light Grove. It had been drizzling, and he'd knelt before the Archbishop, confessing his sins.

Half a year ago, Orekl had led the Great Wall Legion to capture the werewolf stronghold of Wolf Fort. Soon after, the Golden Knights, led by Sir Layla, arrived at the wall. Orekl had long heard of the Golden Knights' fame, and he'd been curious about their female leader. When he met her, his first surprise was her stature. He'd never expected the legendary knight to stand half a head shorter than him. She wasn't particularly beautiful, and her figure was… flat… but the graceful curve of her back, and the admiring glint in her eyes, had lingered in his mind ever since. It was the first time he'd ever felt adored by a woman.

For years, the Prophet had lived a life of austere piety, his heart as still as a placid lake. But this was like a boulder crashing into its depths, sending waves roaring across his soul. An irresistible, mysterious force tore at his defenses, leaving his body and mind burning with longing. Finally, after a night feast at the wall, what happened between them had felt inevitable. The Prophet had broken his vow.

Afterward, Orekl's heart had been in turmoil. He'd regretted his weakness, yet craved the thrill of that moment, trapped between panic and excitement. Layla had been willing to cast aside all restraint for love, but Orekl had more to lose. The Great Wall's Commander and a Golden Knight—their affair would send shockwaves through the entire kingdom. The avalanche of gossip would bury the honor of both the Great Wall Legion and the Golden Knights, and he'd fall into an endless, unforeseen abyss.

Orekl had longed for the pleasure, but feared the consequences. So he'd moved from the Oracle Spire to the Bunker—a place where secrets were easy to keep. For half a year, he and Layla had met there repeatedly. It had been a time of decadence and chaos. The Prophet had turned his back on the Light, and the Light would no longer save him. He'd fallen into the abyss after all.

Orekl sighed again, lifting his gaze to see five towering spires peeking out from behind frost-laden treetops. The Five Spires of Shieldhold… Oracle Spire, Scholar Spire, Vigil Spire, Light Spire, and Queen Spire—stood like five resolute warriors, cold and watchful, guarding the Great Wall and the snowfield.

As he neared the place he knew so well, an inexplicable anxiety and dread washed over him. He had to face the cruel thought that had lurked in the back of his mind all this time. The hidden werewolf… could it be her?

Orekl had avoided this question for months. It wasn't trust in Layla that held him back, but a nameless fear deep in his heart: fear that she really was the killer. But didn't it all make sense? Before Layla came to the wall, everything had been peaceful. After her arrival, deaths had piled up one after another. Hunter Hambar's death could be written off as an isolated incident—the Wolf Beauty had seemed to have other motives. But the deaths of Magician Peter, Dreamweaver Shu, and Agency Director Camon were clearly premeditated, serial killings. Especially Peter and Shu—both were Holy Light Grand Mages. No ordinary werewolf could kill them. Only Layla…

On her own, she might not be a match for Peter or Shu. But with the guise of a Golden Knight, a surprise attack could take down a Holy Light Mage. And she had her entire retinue at her disposal…

At the thought, Orekl glanced uneasily at the Rat Knight.