“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“……”

“This cake is surprisingly good. Must be my age showing—I’ve been craving sweets more often these days. Haha.”

“…Why are you here? No… never mind. That’s a foolish question.”

“Recognizing your own foolishness is a commendable quality.”

“……”

“Your gaze is disrespectful.”

 

At a luxurious café in the capital, frequented by nobles, two men sat face-to-face. The café was known for offering private rooms where patrons could enjoy solitude or avoid prying eyes. Popular among the elite, it was almost always fully booked.

And yet, in one of those private rooms, an unexpected meeting was taking place.

“Let me rephrase: what brings you here, Duke Magnus? What about the North?”

The tension between the pair was palpable. One was a young man with a furrowed brow, the other an older man, outwardly youthful but nearing his sixties. This was Magnus Yulia de Lionel, the Duke of Lionel—a ruler of the vast northern territory, a dominion that could stand as a nation in its own right.

Magnus responded with a smirk, his tone laced with condescension.

“Still so insolent. Calling your father ‘Duke’ and ‘you’—tsk, it seems I failed in raising you properly.”

“Ha! When did you ever raise me?” Roen snapped, uncharacteristically losing his composure.

The typically calm and collected young man was visibly agitated, a clear sign of the resentment and bitterness he harbored toward Magnus.

Magnus, unfazed, continued in a tone of mock disappointment.

“Still whining like a child, I see. As a knight, your skills are exceptional, but as a ruler? Barely passing. You scrape by with a 60 out of 100. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.”

“……”

Magnus’s words were a deliberate provocation, aimed at emphasizing what he saw as Roen’s inadequacies. Despite being hailed as one of the most brilliant talents in Lionel’s history, Roen was judged harshly by Magnus.

But Roen did not react to the barbs as strongly this time. It seemed he had long since come to terms with his perceived shortcomings.

“I’m well aware of my limitations. I lack the qualities of a ruler. That’s why I abandoned any desire for the ducal seat long ago. Wouldn’t it be better to pass it on to one of your other children who actually want it?”

“Unfortunately, the rest of my brood is even worse. If you barely scrape by with a passing grade, the others fail outright. That means it falls to you.”

“……”

“And let’s not forget—you’re the only one among our generation of Lions recognized by the Black King. …Perhaps it has something to do with the ‘secret’ you’re hiding.”

“…!”

Roen stiffened.
How could Magnus possibly know about that?

‘Damn it… does he really know?’

Magnus Lionel was not someone to be underestimated. Even as someone who had defied the flow of time itself, Roen found his father a formidable and unpredictable adversary.

‘…This is infuriating.’

Roen clenched his teeth, struggling to keep his emotions in check. There was something about Magnus that made it nearly impossible for him to stay calm.

Was it the man’s unyielding coldness? His detached cruelty? Or perhaps it was because, despite everything, Magnus was still his father?

Or… was it something else entirely?

 

Clink.

The sharp sound of Magnus placing his coffee cup on the table broke Roen’s thoughts.

“Don’t worry. For now, I have no intention of interfering with you. Do what you need to do. I’ll handle my own tasks.”

“……”

Magnus’s tone was calm but commanding, as though the matter had already been decided.

“This coffee and cake—quite impressive. You’ve done well, creating such a fine establishment.”

“…You knew this was my café?”

“Of course. Do you think I wouldn’t recognize my own son’s business venture?”

“……”

Magnus’s ability to uncover Roen’s involvement, despite his efforts to keep it a secret, only solidified his reputation as a terrifyingly perceptive man.

“I doubt the common rabble would notice, but those who’ve lived as long as I have can easily sense there’s someone pulling the strings here. Be careful. Gathering information from the nobles is fine, but remember—those with long tails often get stepped on.”

“I already know that. You don’t need to tell me.”

“Tch. Such insolence. I wonder if my father felt the same way raising me.”

Magnus smirked, seemingly amused by the thought. After all, he had once dethroned his own father to claim the position of Duke. If this was karma coming back to haunt him, he could only shrug in resignation.

“I came here just to see your face. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the capital, and I realized I hadn’t visited you.”

“…Are you seriously saying you came here just for that?”

“Why not? Can’t a father visit his son?”

“……”

“…Hmm, even I have to admit, that’s not something I’d normally say. In any case, I’m glad to see you’re doing well, my son.”

“Just call me ‘you’ or ‘that boy.’ Hearing you address me like that makes my skin crawl.”

“…I’ll admit, it felt strange coming out of my mouth too.”

 

At that moment, anyone observing the two might have thought they shared some similarities—not in appearance, but in personality and demeanor. Neither seemed comfortable expressing affection, and their relationship was far from warm.

Magnus eventually stood, preparing to leave. It seemed his visit truly had no other purpose than to see Roen.

But as he walked away, Roen spoke up.

“Where’s Uncle Max? I thought he was always by your side, but I don’t see him today.”

“…You call me ‘you’ but refer to Max as ‘uncle’? I see where your loyalties lie.”

“I owe Uncle Max a great deal. You, not so much.”

“Hard to argue with that.”

For the first time, Magnus looked genuinely exasperated.

“…Max is currently engaged in something entirely unsuited to him.”

“Unsuitable?”

“He said he wanted to try his hand at being a spy.”

“…What?”

Roen’s incredulous gaze said it all.

“Uncle Max? A spy?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I tried to talk him out of it.”

“……”

Even Magnus seemed momentarily at a loss for words, his expression betraying his discomfort with the situation.

‘A spy? Uncle Max? That man, who sticks out like a sore thumb?’

Roen struggled to wrap his mind around the idea. Max, the so-called “Black Lion of the North,” was a towering figure among knights, known for his bravery and honor. But subtlety? Stealth?

‘He couldn’t hide his presence if his life depended on it.’

The image of Max attempting to act covertly was so absurd that Roen couldn’t suppress a bitter smile.

‘Whatever situation he’s in, I can already imagine how it’s going.’

As expected...

“There he is!”
“That suspicious man! Capture him immediately!”

A group of men, enraged and determined, was relentlessly pursuing Maximus Iron de Lionel.

To an observer, it looked like a predator-driven hunt, but the man at the center of it all—Maximus—moved with a leisurely, almost lazy gait, dispatching his pursuers with minimal effort.

Even amidst the chaos, he tilted his head in confusion.

“…Why did they notice me?”

He couldn’t understand how his identity had been discovered. After all, all he had done was…

“All I asked was, ‘Is your god an evil god?’ Why does that make them so angry?”

He’d merely questioned their actions, which seemed more aligned with those of an evil god than anything virtuous. But for some reason, that simple query had provoked an explosive response.

Maximus, ever the straightforward man, found their reaction baffling.

From ancient times, religion had been a dominant force. Particularly in eras like the medieval period, before the advent of the internet and newspapers.

Why?

Some argue that it was because many religious leaders were literate and educated, earning respect and reverence. Others claim it was due to the downtrodden masses seeking solace and escape from their harsh lives through faith.

Whatever the reason, religion wielded immense power.

Even in the so-called “information age” of Ihan’s previous world, religion—and particularly cults—remained prevalent. And the influence of such groups often led to extremes, with cults exploiting their followers for power and control.

“When I was a student, at least three out of ten people who approached me on the street were asking, ‘Do you know about the Way?’ And five out of ten were threatening me with hell if I didn’t join their religion,” Ihan remarked dryly.

“Haha, you had it easy. I was approached more often than that.”

“Yeah, cults love targeting gullible types.”

“Wait, are you saying you were gullible, Instructor?”

“I was back then. I was soft. Fragile, even.”

“……”

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, no reason. It’s just… it doesn’t suit you at all, sir.”

“I wasn’t always strong, you know.” Ihan shrugged, brushing off Yord’s incredulous expression.

“Everyone has a time when they’re weak.”

“Haha…”

“But seriously. I never thought I’d be fighting cults in this world, too… What a pain.”

“It’s a nightmare, truly.”

Religious power remained formidable, even in this magical world where knights and wizards—a literal embodiment of the mystical—existed.

In a place where the supernatural was real, cults thrived even more. They wielded genuine power and influence, with leaders who used faith to manipulate and oppress others.

And now, Ihan and his companions were witnessing the horrifying results of such manipulation firsthand.

A loud, impassioned voice echoed through the tunnels.

“The world is corrupt! The powerful exploit the weak, draining their lifeblood! The common folk are forced to suffer and endure—always on the losing side! Is it our fault that we are weak? No! It’s because the elites—the so-called ruling class—hoard everything for themselves! That is why we remain powerless! This is wrong!”

“Look at why Britannia fell! It wasn’t because of the common folk. It was because the elites treated people like pawns! Talented individuals like yourselves were left to rot as mere soldiers—while your homeland was destroyed!”

“Do you desire strength? Do you wish to change the world? Join us! We will give you that power! Our god will grant it to you!!”

[[[WAAAHHH!!]]]

The moment the speech ended, the crowd of prisoners erupted into frenzied cheers.

Some wept openly, while others laughed hysterically, as if possessed.

The sight was sickening—an unsettling spectacle of mass hysteria and blind devotion.

Ihan grimaced, his voice dripping with disgust.

“Did these bastards take something? Or are they just brainwashed? Why is everyone so insane?”

“It could be both,” Yord replied grimly.

“…Yeah. That would explain it.”

There was no other way to describe what they were witnessing.

The gathering resembled an opium den, right in the middle of the tunnels.

The air was thick with tension and fervor, and Ihan felt a deep sense of revulsion just watching the scene unfold.

“Absolutely disgusting,” he muttered, his frown deepening.

 

___________
 

The labyrinthine tunnels were often described by the guards as a "living maze."

Even if maps were drawn, they quickly became obsolete. Monthly disruptions caused by the sandworms blocked existing paths and created new ones. This constant change led the guards, who managed the tunnels, to abandon any hope of understanding the entire network.

But one thing remained constant:

There were only two entrances to the tunnels.

Both entrances were guarded by a force of 300 soldiers, all equipped with spears, armor, and even matchlock guns. With such a formidable defense, the prisoners had no chance of escaping.

Though the guards had given up on mapping the tunnels, their determination to prevent any escape was unshakable.

In the history of the tunnels, there had never been a single successful escape.

This was a point of pride for the guards.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

“What’s with the guards here? Are they all blind? How the hell did they let someone build this here?” Ihan’s voice dripped with incredulity.

“I-It’s definitely not something that could’ve been built with materials from here….” Derek stammered.

Despite the supposed impenetrable security, they had stumbled upon a deep underground structure, at least 15 floors below ground where even oxygen was sparse.

A village had formed there.

“Unbelievable.”
“P-People are living here….”

Scattered groups of people occupied makeshift houses cobbled together from wooden planks and dirt.

What shocked them even more was the illumination.

“Bright, isn’t it? These guys must be filthy rich.”
“Haha…”

The tunnels, at this depth, should have been cloaked in total darkness. But instead, the area was bathed in light.

“Artifacts,” Ihan muttered.

Artifacts, treasures of the magical world with astronomical value, were being used as light sources here.

A crescent moon-shaped artifact, mounted high like a chandelier, illuminated the underground settlement like a second moon.

“Is the kingdom incompetent, or are these people just that skilled?” Ihan mused.
“……”
“Maybe both.”

Derek didn’t have an answer.

As Derek forced an awkward laugh, Ihan couldn’t shake an uneasy feeling.

‘Where have I seen this before?’

Staring at the crescent moon-shaped artifact, Ihan felt a pang of familiarity.

At first, he dismissed it as a coincidence. Crescent moon decorations were common enough in the capital. But this was different.

The artifact’s dark, shadowy hue and the numbers engraved along its edges—from 1 to 12—stirred something in his memory.

It wasn’t a clock, and its purpose was unclear, but he was certain he’d seen this design before.

A memory from his childhood resurfaced.

“From today, you’ll be No. 8. Understand?”

“…Ah.”

Suddenly, Ihan recalled a buried memory from his past.

[The Black Moon].

The artifact’s design was identical to the insignia of the assassin organization he had been abducted into as a child.

Ihan blinked, staring at the artifact.

Could it be?

“So… they weren’t wiped out. They merged.”

Or worse…

“…Maybe they were always the same.”

A chilling realization struck him.

If his old "employers" had been connected to this cult from the start…

‘Wait… does that mean I… I was part of a cult, too?’

No. Surely not.

‘They must have been taken over later! Yeah, that’s it! Definitely!’

Ihan shook his head, trying to rid himself of the unsettling thought.

But deep down, a sliver of doubt lingered.