Chapter 69: So what is his name?

“Hurry up, is there anything missing over there?”

At the bottom of the Silent Sun Valley, the air was thick with scorched dust and the peculiar sweet, metallic scent that lingered before the last traces of Malice dissipated.

Karin directed the vanguard soldiers as they combed through the chaotic battlefield, handling the final checks and cleanup.

Shattered rocks and upheaved earth painted a scene of post-destruction, every inch of ground bearing witness to the brutal battle that had just ended.

A bearded warrior approached. His armor was caked with mud, yet his face was still neat and meticulous:

“Lieutenant Karin, we’ve checked already. The source of the Malice has been completely wiped out.”

“Don’t get careless, Old Harker.”

Karin’s gaze never left a patch of shadow in the distance:

“Go over it again with purification agents. Don’t overlook a single corner. I don’t want to come back here in half a month because we missed something.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The warrior straightened his back at once, not a hint of impatience on his face, and turned to relay the order.

The other squad leaders and commanders arriving in succession at the scene had no objections to the orders of this female lieutenant.

In the border army, everyone knew that Captain Lortissa only took charge on the frontlines; when it came to military affairs, she was a hands-off commander,

All matters—big or small—of the vanguard unit under her command were essentially managed by her lieutenant, Karin.

Her orders were as good as Lortissa’s orders.

“Karin, we found some Malice Crystals over here. Should we take them back for analysis?”

Another young squad leader called out.

“Burn them all on the spot. Make sure there isn’t a trace of mana left.”

Karin issued the order without hesitation,

“Keeping those around would just become a hidden danger. If the Prayer Order wants analysis reports, let them come and take their own samples.”

Under her composed and methodical command, the soldiers swiftly and professionally finished the closing procedures, nipping any chance of Malform resurgence in the bud.

At least, that was how it went in principle.

At that moment, a faint ripple of magic pulsed from the mouth of the valley.

Everyone paused in unison, looking in the direction of the sound.

The Count’s secretary had arrived in person.

This slender, tall young man was not of noble birth—his appearance alone was proof of the border army’s merit-based policies.

It was purely by virtue of his outstanding ability and strength that he had climbed to this position so highly valued by the Count; everyone in the military sincerely respected him.

The secretary unclasped the magic cloak at his neck as he landed lightly on the ground, his movements smooth and graceful—a sharp contrast to the burly soldiers around him.

“Salute!”

Someone called out, and all the commanders and soldiers present—including Karin—snapped their feet together and struck their right fists to their left chests.

The secretary waved his hand, signaling that there was no need for such formality, his gaze immediately locking onto the person in charge of the site.

“Lieutenant Karin, what’s the situation?”

Karin stepped forward, her always-tense, severe face betraying no emotion.

“Reporting, Secretary. The main battlefield has been fully investigated and we can confirm: the Malform that triggered this Malice Tide has already been completely eradicated by Captain Lortissa.”

She paused, then added,

“The Captain is currently escorting the only surviving wounded to the rear for treatment.”

“Survivor?”

The secretary’s brow arched almost imperceptibly.

“That mercenary?”

Karin nodded, acknowledging it.

The secretary didn’t dwell on the matter, his gaze slowly sweeping across the battlefield.

Utter chaos.

That was the most immediate impression.

Massive boulders cleaved in two, the cuts smooth as if sliced by an impossibly sharp force.

The ground was covered in web-like cracks, the deepest of which seemed to still hold the chill left behind by a recent howling gale.

The lingering aftermath of magic in the air still stung the skin—just standing here made it easy to imagine how harrowing that battle must have been.

The secretary’s expression grew grave; the intensity of this battle had probably far exceeded their initial estimates.

He withdrew his gaze and turned back to Karin, his voice calm yet carrying an intangible pressure.

“So, has there been any sign of Knight Commander Northen?”

Of course, it still came down to that question.

Karin’s heart skipped a few beats, but her face remained as ironclad as ever.

No need to guess—the secretary must have first checked the forested slopes before coming straight here to the valley bottom.

It wasn’t surprising.

The name Northen Sigriwell carried too much weight.

Not just a knight sent by the Hall of Knights, but also the undisputed heir of House Sigriwell.

A noble scion of both talent and lineage, dispatched to assist in clearing out the Malice Tide at the border, only to disappear here with no explanation.

No matter the reason, there was no way to explain this away.

Karin’s face stayed taut—

Though that was her usual look, so her rigidity at the moment seemed quite natural.

“I’m sorry. We didn’t find anything.”

The secretary’s brows furrowed:

“Not a trace? No dropped belongings, or any related clues at all?”

Karin shook her head, crisp and clear:

“None.”

In truth, there was something.

Northen’s set of Moon Silver Knight Armor, engraved with his family’s crest, was quietly resting in her military supply bag.

As soon as Lortissa and Vis had left with the survivor, she’d hurriedly hidden it before the cleanup teams arrived.

Looking at the secretary’s slightly knit, weary brow, Karin felt a trace of guilt.

(But, sorry—this is all for the Captain’s sake. As for Northen’s death, the burden can only be left to you higher-ups to worry about.)

From another angle, though, perhaps not knowing the truth would be a good thing for the army leadership, and for the Count himself.

That way, when the Hall of Knights and House Sigriwell from the capital came to hold them to account, at least they could righteously say “we don’t know.”

Because, in fact, they truly didn’t.

“That’s all, then.”

The secretary finally let out a long breath, his tone colored with deep resignation.

At the very instant he accepted this worst-case scenario, those keen eyes had already begun to flicker with the rapid light of calculation,

Clearly, he was already thinking about how to draft the necessary documents for the Count, to handle the tough negotiations ahead.

Compared to that, the political storm from the capital might not be any less troublesome than a Malice Tide.

Sometimes, it really seemed as if the battlefield itself was the more merciful place.

Just as they were about to finish the report, a soldier jogged up, shouting his report.

“Reporting, Lieutenant! Secretary! The whole area has been checked, confirmed—all traces of Malice are dissipating!”

Karin nodded, then turned to the secretary, her gaze seeking instruction.

The secretary spread his hands calmly.

“I may hold the post of inspector, but you’re the one in charge here.”

He spoke gently,

“Whether to withdraw or not is your call. No need to check with me.”

His words made his position clear, while also giving Karin full respect.

No longer hesitating, the woman nodded, then turned to face all the soldiers, her voice loud and clear:

“Fall back, everyone!”

With the order given, all the soldiers in the valley began gathering their equipment and lining up to return.

The commotion in the valley gradually faded away.

Yet, just as she was about to turn to leave, an inexplicable sense of unease welled up in Karin’s heart.

A hunch.

As if something important had been left behind in this dead and silent valley.

She instinctively turned her head, her gaze once more sweeping across the shadow-draped battlefield.

Jagged rocks, broken ground—everything just as before.

She carefully recalled every step she’d taken: from the end of the battle, to hiding the armor, to commanding the cleanup. Every link was flawless, with no mistakes.

Maybe she was just too tired.

Karin gave herself that excuse, steadied her mind, then strode away with her colleagues, leaving this troublesome place behind.

When the last soldier’s figure vanished at the mouth of the valley, Silent Sun Valley returned once more to its timeless stillness.

The wind howled, like the whispers of restless souls.

Suddenly, a faint rustle sounded from beneath a heap of shattered rock and earth.

The sound was very soft, like a small animal digging through rubble.

Next, a rag doll slowly crawled out from beneath the pile of stones.

Its movements were stiff and eerie, like a living corpse clawing its way out of a grave.

The doll’s glass eyes flickered with a gloomy glint in the shadows as it looked around, as if trying to get its bearings.

Just as it was about to toddle forward on its stubby legs, a slender, snow-white hand reached out from behind and deftly pinched the cloth at its neck.

“My, my, what a naughty little thing.”

A melodious voice like a lark sang out, tinged with a fond, indulgent amusement,

“Where are you trying to run off to this time?”

The owner of the hand picked up the rag doll and cradled it in her arms.

She wore a lavish, intricate black dress, its hem swaying gently in the breeze.

“You’ve played enough. Time to go home.”

Treating the doll like a wayward child, she reached out and pinched its cotton-stuffed cheek.

But the rag doll shook its head violently.

Its two little stitched hands flailed desperately in the air, gestures urgent and strange.

The woman tilted her head, watching its antics with keen interest. After a moment, she understood.

A hint of surprise flickered in her eyes.

“Oh? You actually made such an interesting discovery?”

Her voice brimmed with delight, as if she’d just opened an egg to find something wondrous inside.

“Well, now, that is quite the surprise…”

She hugged the doll closer, her voice gentle:

“So, what’s his name?”

The rag doll’s body went rigid.

It strained to twist its head, and the mouth sewn with black thread, in the shadows, began to split apart stitch by stitch.

A voice as if torn from the very soul—harrowing and nauseating—squeezed out from the rift:

“Vi…s.”