"Lord Orek, you defeated the Wolf King with courage and outwitted the last hidden wolf, leading the righteous to victory! What a cause for celebration!" Count Wilder of Awakening City spread his arms and strode toward the Seer.

The two exchanged a perfunctory hug. Fito shrugged and chuckled to himself: This hug is three times emptier than the bellows at the south city blacksmith's.

"Why not behead all the werewolves?" Orek skipped the pleasantries.

"The werewolves have surrendered. We can't execute them now." Wilder smiled. "That would violate prisoner of war rights."

"They're werewolves! They don't qualify for POW protections!"

"But they surrendered voluntarily. Killing them would tarnish Awakening City's reputation." Wilder's grin remained unshaken. "And if word gets out, who'll surrender to us in the future? You see my point, heh heh heh—"

"So you'd rather sell them to the Academy for their vile live experiments?"

"Heh heh heh—" Wilder rubbed his hands, crafty wrinkles crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "My Lord, if you truly want rid of these wolves but can't dirty your own hands, handing them over to the Academy is the perfect solution. It preserves your reputation and earns you a tidy sum. It's a profitable deal."

"Again, it's about money..." Orek's Adam's apple bobbed, as if swallowing a surge of rage. "Will you abandon all your principles just for profit?"

Wilder blinked in feigned confusion. "My Lord, what are you talking about?"

"The Free Trade Laws of Golden Harbor set a bottom line for merchants, banning deals that harm human interests."

"My actions don't violate Golden Harbor's rules."

"Is that so? Half a year ago, during the Battle of Wolfhold, you took bribes from the White Wolf King and deliberately let Wolf King Wil escape. Does that not violate the rules?" Orek's voice turned cold as ice.

Wilder's body jolted. "My Lord... where on earth did you hear that!"

"You knew the Wolf King planned to attack the Frostwall, yet you secretly funded his army and helped him recruit wolf soldiers. Does that violate the rules?"

"That's... that's not true..."

"You knew the wolf army would attack on the Blood Moon Night, yet you pulled the Golden Knights away before the battle, helping the Wolf King breach the Frostwall! Does that violate the rules!"

"None of this happened!" Wilder shouted, his face flushing. "You're slandering the honor of the Count of Awakening City! Do you have proof? Any proof!"

Orek ran a finger along the weathered stone wall, sighing. "You grew up in the slums, and the mark of poverty is etched deep in your bones. It's made you crave money to a near-sickly degree. I can understand that. But you should never have betrayed your own side, broken your oath to your Frostwall comrades, and turned your blade on them."

Wilder's face paled. "What... what are you getting at? I don't understand a word of this!"

"You are the one who killed Dreamweaver Shu!" Orek's gaze cut like a sharp blade as he stared at Wilder, enunciating each word clearly.

What! Fito's eyes widened in shock, staring at Wilder in disbelief.

The black market merchant stumbled back a step. "Are you joking? Dreamweaver was killed by the Hidden Wolf! How does that have anything to do with me?"

Orek turned to Fito. "As you asked earlier—Magician Peter and Dreamweaver Shu were both Holy Light-tier mages. Could a Hidden Wolf have the strength to kill them?"

Fito jolted: That's exactly what I was wondering!

Wilder threw up his hands. "If a Hidden Wolf couldn't do it, do you think I could? Where's the logic?"

"Of course you could! Because you're a Holy Light-tier mage!" the Seer roared. "You're no black market merchant—you're Magician Peter!"

What! That can't be!

Fito was stunned again, wondering if he'd misheard every word.

"Y-Y-You're talking nonsense! Peter's dead!"

"Over the past six months, four members of the Frostwall Legion have been killed: Peter, Shu, Kammon, and Hantu. Only Magician Peter's body was incomplete—his head was never found."

"H-His head was cut off and given to the Wolf King..."

"The head given to the Wolf King wasn't Peter's. It was a disguised corpse. Perhaps that was the real black market merchant, Wilder."

"You're lying..."

"You faked your death, then reinvented yourself as a black market merchant. You've been stirring up trouble between the wolves and humans, fanning the flames of war."

"Shut up! You're spouting absurd lies to ruin my reputation! Do you have proof?" Wilder protested loudly.

Orek held up one finger. "Simple. As a Seer of the Crystal Temple, I've regained my Holy Light power at Holy Light Village. If you think you're being wronged, take one step forward and submit to the Holy Light's test."

Wilder stepped back again, his face twisted with terror. "D-Don't scare me! Holy Light is for purging demons—you can't use it on a human!"

"If you don't believe me, try it. If the Holy Light can't strip away your mask, then everything I've said is a lie." Orek's voice was calm, unyielding.

Wilder's pupils shrank to pinpricks. The morning light split his face into stark light and shadow, and beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks. He shifted his feet in the sand at his feet, but never dared take a step forward.

He's afraid to take the test! He's definitely guilty!

Fito noticed Wilder's unease. The seasoned guard moved cautiously to the Seer's left front, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready to intercept any sudden attack.

"Thud thud thud—"

Rapid footsteps echoed up the stone stairs. A dozen Golden Knights climbed toward the battlements, their armor glinting in the sun.

"Heh heh heh—!"

A guttural, menacing laugh burst from Wilder's throat. Before the laughter faded, a flash of silver sliced through the air—he drew a short sword from his waist and stabbed at Orek.

"Boss, watch out!" Fito, already prepared, stepped in front of the Seer.

"Clang!"

Sword met shield with a deafening crash.

Fito's vision blurred for a moment, but he saw Wilder use the recoil from the clash to leap off the battlements.

No! He's escaping!

Fito sprinted to the edge of the wall. Below, a cloud of white mist erupted, followed by a dull thud, obscuring his view.

"After him!" Orek shouted.

"Yes!"

Fito leaped into the air, his toes tapping the cracks in the wall bricks as he descended like a falcon.

The white mist, thick with lime, hit his face. Fito covered his nose and mouth, never slowing his pace.

I can't let him get away!

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Fito swung his arms like wind, dispersing the mist.

"Stop, thief!"

Through the fog, he heard the witch's voice.

It's Shana!

Fito caught a glimpse of a figure moving ahead and ran toward it, his boots pounding the cobblestones.