Chapter Seventy-Two: Dawn

Mulan did not reach out to take the letter. Instead, he stepped back twice, staring at the envelope, and let out a deep, guttural sound like a beast's growl—low and trembling with emotion.

"This is impossible, impossible! Aiwen said that place was closest to the God of Holy Light, blessed by the divine. Nothing could happen there—not there!"

Mulan had always presented a calm image before others. Perhaps the intricate noble etiquette was not always perfectly observed, but never had anyone found him lacking in decorum. This was the first time outsiders saw him in such a state.

"Lord Jonst..."

Nishelliel extended her hand, feeling Mulan’s anguish.

"Darkness and evil have always been spreading. They dared to stretch their tendrils toward the Sacred Mountain, I..."

Aiwen’s teacher was also visibly shaken, his words choked and faltering. He paused, then continued.

"I thought I would have another student who could become a bishop. He was so young, so devout, so exceptional... Child, take it. Until the baptism is complete, no contact with the outside world is allowed. This is his first letter after finishing the rite, and to think it has become the last..."

"He’s just missing, he’s not dead, he’s not—"

Mulan roared, his eyes bloodshot, staring at the two archbishops as if they were enemies.

"Child, I could deceive you, but false hope shattered would only bring you pain again. Aiwen was an outstanding young cleric; the sacred flame of his soul left on the Sacred Mountain before baptism has been extinguished... If it hurts, child, let yourself cry!"

Mulan stood frozen for a long time. Eventually, his gaze softened. He staggered forward, hands trembling as he took the letter.

The seal seemed stuck fast, or perhaps Mulan’s fingers were stiff; he struggled several times before finally tearing open the envelope.

The letter was clearly written in several parts, at different times. At first, excitement and curiosity upon reaching the Sacred Mountain, then descriptions of its scenery, then nervousness about the Holy Light baptism, and finally a boast that he would soon surpass Mulan...

One tear, then another...

Tears overflowed from Mulan’s eyes, falling onto the letter.

Nishelliel, nearby, gently covered her mouth and turned away.

"Who was it? Which cult attacked Aiwen?"

"The Dim Hall, the Nobles of the Night, even aberrants and monsters, and demons escaping into reality—all could be involved. There may even be heretics among them. Darkness and evil are ever expanding. Our resistance inevitably brings mad retaliation..."

Mulan put away the tear-stained letter, pressed it to his chest, then calmed his breath and looked up at the archbishops.

"I have memorized these names. Whether or not they took part, each shares a portion of Aiwen’s vengeance. Darkness, evil, and all those cunning schemers—I will spare none. With flame and light, I will burn them!"

The two archbishops offered him comforting smiles, nodding with approval.

"If you had not already embarked upon the path of the Radiant Knight, we would have tried every means to send you to the Sacred Mountain. Even if you did not join the church, we would have made an exception to show you the way of the Holy Knights."

"Thank you, Your Excellencies, but all that can be gained is power; what brings forth the light is the soul and will!"

Saying this, Mulan turned to Nishelliel.

"Your Majesty, I am weary today. I hope you will permit me to leave early."

Mulan’s words carried fatigue. Nishelliel was also pained. She wanted to say there were many rooms in the palace for Mulan to rest, but she knew he wanted solitude.

"Go home, Lord Jonst. You need not attend the ball. If you need anything from me, do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I only need time alone. And to you, Your Excellencies, forgive my manners—I must take my leave!"

With a trace of exhaustion on his face, Mulan bowed and turned to depart.

Nishelliel spoke briefly with the archbishops, asked about details concerning Aiwen, then left alone as well. Despite her heavy heart, as queen she was obliged to attend the banquet and upcoming ball, and to explain Mulan’s early departure to the assembled dignitaries.

...

Not long after leaving the chamber, Mulan’s expression returned to normal. He strode briskly through the palace, passing the banquet hall but not entering, only watching from afar the laughter, revelry, and extravagant indulgence within, and the waste so evident everywhere. Then he quickened his pace and left the venue.

Perhaps someone at the banquet noticed Mulan from a distance, vaguely recognizing his silhouette, but no one would have guessed that tonight’s guest of honor would leave early—until Queen Nishelliel explained it during the later proceedings.

Mulan reached the palace gates. Rain still poured outside. A palace attendant came over, offering an umbrella in a proper tone.

"Sir, shall I arrange a carriage for you?"

"No need. This will suffice."

Mulan opened the umbrella and stepped directly into the heavy rain, walking toward the edge of the palace.

The streets outside were nearly deserted; even rental carriages were few. Mulan walked in the rain, holding the umbrella in one hand, reopening Aiwen’s letter with the other.

The paper fluttered in the wind, but the gloom did not hinder Mulan’s reading.

Aiwen’s letter was clearly unfinished, but there were no signs of anyone adding false content afterward—the handwriting was genuine. It was likely someone from the Sacred Mountain helped send it back, though it was possible a skilled imitator had forged it.

Aiwen’s teacher was an archbishop of the Sanctuary. Many archbishops, to reach such a position, must be strong and seasoned. Mulan had not discerned anything amiss in the archbishop’s demeanor.

But those at the Sacred Mountain surely knew of Aiwen’s aberration—at least the priests overseeing the baptism could not be ignorant.

To let this version spread might be a deliberate cover-up, or perhaps intentional distortion.

‘Sanctuary, oh Sanctuary, are you merely a bunch of pitiable fools, or loyal servants of the evil god?’

"Tch..."

Mulan suddenly laughed. He realized the evil gods cared nothing for such things. Those who worshipped them were but deranged fantasists—no, repulsive worms in their fantasies. To the evil gods, all were insects: ignored, or crushed underfoot in passing.

Endurance is a quality essential to any successful person, and Mulan knew he had only one chance.

Carefully placing the letter back in his chest, Mulan saw a carriage passing ahead. He hailed it; it stopped, and he rode toward the Black Castle—by way of the rear market entrance, for no coachman would approach the gloomy front gate at night.

Leaning against the jostling carriage door, Mulan glanced sideways at the rainy night outside. He had much to do.

Though Mulan had fierce confidence in his own growth, he knew that the strength of one person had its limits. To reach his ultimate goal, he needed an organization.

An organization that, while hidden in the shadows, carried a torch—representing true light and hope. Its members need not know the organization’s real purpose, but they must be able to contribute when the final moment comes.

"What should I call it?"

Mulan murmured, but the answer was already clear in his heart.

"Dusk is coming. Night is deep and endless. Yet there is no need to wander lost—dawn’s first light will surely arrive."