"As I kill you all, I often recall those words."

Yeomyeong muttered as he pushed aside the limp, decapitated horse’s head.

“...Patriotism is the virtue of the wicked.”

Drenched in black blood and emanating faint, blue heat waves, his figure resembled a monster plucked from a nightmare.

“Who said that, again? Some writer, I think... but I can't quite remember.”

His glowing eyes shifted under strands of disheveled hair, focusing beneath the chestnut tree.

“Hmmm... do you happen to know who said that?”

The masked woman, Number 9, lying on the ground and bleeding, panted as she spat out her answer.

“Y-You bastard…”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

Yeomyeong opened his palm and slowly approached her.

Each step left a black, blood-soaked footprint on the ground, his strides echoing with wet, squelching sounds. Number 9’s eyes widened with terror as he drew closer.

When his steps finally halted, she forced herself to lift her head.

Golden eyes gleaming with cold, merciless intent—like a butcher preparing to slaughter livestock.

Suppressing her trembling, Number 9 stammered, “T-The government… won’t f-forgive you…!”

Of course, they shouldn’t. I don’t intend to forgive them either.

Yeomyeong raised his hand, ready to strike her down.

...?

A foreign gaze pierced him from above. Instantly, he twisted his arm and unleashed a blade of energy upward.

Shlick!

The crude energy wave tore through the air, slicing a branch off the chestnut tree. Leaves scattered as the severed branch plummeted to the ground.

Amid the unripe green leaves fluttering down, something black flapped its wings.

‘...A crow?’

What soared above the chestnut tree wasn’t an ordinary crow.

A crow the size of an eagle, exuding mana?

‘...First pigs, then horses, now crows?’

Yeomyeong quickly checked his remaining mana reserves and stepped back from the tree.

‘...This won’t be easy.’

Had he been at full strength, it might’ve been different. But having used the Golden Seal and fought consecutive battles, he was weaponless and drained.

In contrast, his opponent was skilled enough to conceal their presence from his heightened senses.

Still, Yeomyeong never entertained the thought of losing. He had the handle of the Uragan Blade, the Transparent Cloak, and several other tricks hidden up his sleeve.

If worst came to worst, fleeing to the girls’ dormitory remained an option.

The only complication was his promise to meet Seti near the academy’s outskirts.

‘Fight to kill first. If it doesn’t work, retreat then.’

Having decided, Yeomyeong wiped the blood off his face and regulated his breathing. Mana surged through his veins and muscles, empowering him as he prepared himself.

Thud!

The crow landed with such weight that the ground dented beneath it, scattering grass and dirt.

Yeomyeong took a defensive stance, ready to counter any attack. But the crow’s actions defied his expectations.

It neither charged nor cast magic. Instead, it merely shuddered.

Moments passed as Yeomyeong watched the creature, and then it clicked.

‘...Is it transforming?’

Unlike with the horse’s head earlier, he couldn’t afford to wait. Yeomyeong swung his palm, ready to send out a blade of energy.

But he froze mid-swing as he sensed the mana emanating from the transforming crow.

Unlike the twisted mana typical of Shepherds, this was pure and untainted.

The only other time he’d encountered mana this pure was from Midiris or the World Tree crystal he’d consumed in Manju.

‘...What on earth is this?’

While Yeomyeong pondered, furrowing his brow, the crow’s transformation neared completion.

Its spine and pelvis elongated, becoming upright like a human’s. Its wings morphed into arms with fingers at the tips, stretching out.

In the process, its already large frame grew further, until it stood eye-to-eye with Yeomyeong.

And then...

...Was that it?

Yeomyeong tilted his head, perplexed. He’d expected tentacles to sprout or extra wings to emerge, but no more changes came.

A humanoid with two legs and feathered hands—it was the only such creature Yeomyeong knew to exist on Earth.

“...A beastkin?”

Beastkin? At an academy? This wasn’t Africa.

And more importantly, was this beastkin sent by the Korean government? If not…

Yeomyeong’s thoughts spiraled until the crow abruptly spoke.

“Oscar Wilde.”

Its voice was clear and pristine—so much so that Yeomyeong found it hard to believe it came from the crow.

Lacking any hostility, the voice prompted Yeomyeong to narrow his eyes and ask, “...Oscar Wilde?”

“The answer to your earlier question. Patriotism is the virtue of the wicked—those were his words.”

“...”

“Oh, do you not know who Oscar Wilde is? You know, the one who wrote The Picture of Dorian Gray...”

The crow began to elaborate, but Yeomyeong silenced it with a raised hand. Turning, he glanced at Number 9’s bewildered face.

Her mask didn’t fully conceal her expression, which mirrored his own faint confusion.

Proof that the crow wasn’t one of the Shepherds.

Still, Yeomyeong remained cautious as he questioned the crow.

“…Why were you watching me?”

“There was a fight under the moonlight. How could I just pass by?”

Just watching a fight? Yeomyeong pressed his lips together to suppress a twitch of irritation.

Unfazed, the crow nonchalantly critiqued the fight.

“In my opinion, it was an excellent battle! Though your methods were unnecessarily brutal… Well, isn’t that just youthful passion? You’ll refine it in time.”

Its carefree attitude, completely ignoring the blood and corpses, was almost disarming.

Yeomyeong tried to redirect the conversation. “That’s enough—”

But the crow cut him off.

“Before you joined the academy, may I know your teacher’s name? From your killing intent, it seems you follow the Zhugashvili school.”

Killing intent? School? Zhugashvili? The familiarity gnawed at Yeomyeong, but he pushed his questions aside.

“…Enough. Start by explaining who you are.”

“Ah! My apologies. I was so excited to meet someone so promising that I lost myself.”

Clicking its beak as if clearing its throat, the crow introduced itself.

“My name is Corvus! Master of Crows and friend to all who walk crossroads. Does the name sound familiar?”

“...”

“No? Well, that’s fine. I’ve never sought fame.”

Corvus? The name tugged at Yeomyeong’s memory. He recalled his conversation with Morine before arriving at the dormitory and the black feather she’d given him.

“May I propose something? Actually, I came to this academy at the invitation of Headmistress Himena, and—hmm?”

Yeomyeong pulled the black feather from his pocket, cutting Corvus off mid-sentence. Its beak snapped shut.

Silence lingered. As Number 9’s breathing grew fainter, Corvus finally spoke.

“…Where did you get that?”

“From the Blue Rat.”

At Yeomyeong’s reply, Corvus narrowed its eyes.

“…Morine?”

The saintly matriarch and head of the information guild, the Blue Rat. Yeomyeong nodded.

Corvus scratched its beak, seemingly unsettled. After a pause, it asked in a quieter tone.

“What did Morine say when she gave you that feather?”

There was something probing in its tone, suggesting hidden significance.

But Yeomyeong didn’t care. Recalling his promise to Seti, he shook his head.

“…She told me to become your disciple. That’s all.”

“I see… So you really are…”

What? Yeomyeong frowned as Corvus scrutinized him but remained silent. Instead, it turned to survey the battlefield beneath the chestnut tree.

Corpses of horse-headed creatures, pools of black blood, and the dying Number 9.

Corvus appeared deep in thought before suddenly asking Yeomyeong.

“What excuse will you give the academy for these bodies?”

Yeomyeong hesitated before answering honestly.

“…That I encountered terrorists and engaged in combat.”

“Not a bad idea. They clearly weren’t authorized to be here, and the academy has no reason to doubt you... Hmm…”

Corvus seemed to deliberate once again.

Just as Yeomyeong considered rushing to meet Seti, Corvus strode over to Number 9 and grabbed her neck.

Snap!

Number 9 died without a sound.

As Yeomyeong stared in shock, Corvus tossed her corpse beside the horse-head’s body and spoke.

“Tell them I did this.”

“…Suddenly? Why?”

“Judging by these corpses, they weren’t after you specifically. No need to reveal your identity.”

An unexpected offer. Yeomyeong contemplated.

If he claimed credit for the fight, he’d need an excuse for being near the girls’ dormitory at this hour. He’d also be dragged into endless academy interrogations.

And the added hostility from the Korean government was a given.

While defeating terrorists would boost his reputation, Yeomyeong already had plenty of fame. He’d stopped threats far greater than the Shepherds before.

Corvus taking the blame seemed the smarter choice.

But one issue lingered.

“…Why are you suddenly doing me this favor? It can’t just be because of the disciple thing.”

Yeomyeong’s question was met with a gesture toward the black feather in his hand.

“That feather. Eight years ago, I plucked it after I owed my life to the Saintess. I swore on that feather to grant any request tied to it.”

Past events? Now of all times? Yeomyeong frowned, his irritation clear, but Corvus ignored him and continued.

“The Saintess herself didn’t seek repayment, but Morine took the feather on her behalf and told me this:”

“…”

“‘One day, if someone the Saintess loves appears, give the feather to that person. Repay your debt to them instead.’”

“…?”

What’s all this talk about the Saintess’s love…?

Yeomyeong struggled to keep up with the sudden turn of events, his mouth slightly agape. Meanwhile, Corvus opened her beak and declared:

“From this moment forward, until the love between the two of you is fulfilled, I swear to devote everything I have to protecting you!”

“…Huh?”

Yeomyeong was left dumbfounded, his eyes darting between Corvus and the lifeless bodies around him. Was this bird serious?

But Corvus was already brushing aside the corpses with a casual wave of her hand, her attention turning elsewhere.

“Well, then! Shall we move on? I believe there’s still much for you to accomplish tonight. After all, the Saintess entrusted you with something precious, didn’t she?”

Yeomyeong’s gaze darkened as he recalled his promise to Seti. He had no time for whatever absurdity Corvus was spouting.

“…Fine. Just don’t get in my way.”

Corvus chuckled, her towering figure shifting back into the shadows of the chestnut tree.

“Of course, of course. Lead the way, young master.”

And with that, Yeomyeong turned on his heel, leaving the battlefield behind. The Saintess’s mysterious feather, the dying words of the Shepherds, and now this strange crow-woman named Corvus—all of it was just another piece in the convoluted game he was forced to play.

But for now, there was only one thing he could do: keep moving forward.