Winter Has Come (1)

While Grylls and Ludwig were thoroughly preparing for the impending winter, the outside world was swept up in a flurry of chaos and upheavals.

And nowhere was more tumultuous than El Dorado.

Contrary to widespread predictions that a civil war would erupt following Ludwig's revelations, the citizens concentrated solely on peaceful protests. Two primary factors explained this restraint.

First, the absence of a central figure. Without a decisive leader to guide the movement, a gathering crowd naturally tends to waver. Charismatic leadership was paramount during times of such political volatility, yet no figure of that caliber had emerged. Furthermore, the people of El Dorado possessed fierce patriotism and immense pride in their homeland. For centuries, they had served as the sword and shield of Aris, waging war against the Demon King and his demonic legions. Driven by a righteous calling to battle absolute evil, El Dorado had forged itself into a continental power. Under such circumstances, would they ignite a civil war that tore their own nation apart? It was a line no one dared to cross lightly.

Second, the absence of military force. In truth, this was the deciding factor. The El Dorado military was held firmly in the iron grip of the Pope, Louis II. Following the sweeping purge of Ludwig and his faction, virtually nothing remained among the ranks except papal puppets. No matter how deeply rooted the citizens' pride and patriotism were, righteous passion did not equate to combat strength; ordinary civilians were hopelessly outmatched against a professionally trained standing army.

Above all, the people held fast to their conviction that their army existed to fell foreign enemies, not butcher its own citizens. Unless branded as enemies of the state, surely their soldiers would never turn their spears and blades upon them.

Around the time the situation in El Dorado was turning increasingly ominous, the Hero, Asella, was quietly making her way toward the capital alongside Reina. Tending to her admin duties on the Gallery while assessing the unfolding crisis was an added bonus.

When they finally approached their intermediate destination, Reina, riding ahead, glanced over her shoulder.

"What's on your mind?"

"...Is this really all right?"

Currently, both of them were mounted on sturdy horses. Naturally, they had not acquired them through legal channels. How, then, had they obtained them?

"Who cares? It's not like anything I said was a lie."

"I'm not a wanted criminal..."

"I know that, but their side begs to differ. Or would you rather I call you a traitor?"

"T-That's even worse!"

The backstory went roughly like this. Back when pursuers had been hounding their heels, Reina had suggested that rather than fleeing like prey, they might as well turn around and strike first. Naturally, Asella, with her upright principles, had objected, but Reina had pushed forward regardless.

The pursuit party had arrived mostly on horseback. Which meant there had to be squires or stable hands tending to the mounts in the rear. Tracking them down and threatening them would easily secure their transport.

'Hey, fellas. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Any of your buddies heavily armed or wanted by the Holy Kingdom?'

'N-No, ma'am...?'

'Well, we're both.'

'...'

'So you get the picture, right?'

After that brisk display of intimidation, the stable hands had obediently handed over two horses. A silver tongue capable of getting what she wanted without spilling a single drop of blood. Asella couldn't fathom Reina's methods, but she let it slide. Her beloved homeland was in mortal peril; this was hardly the time to be picky about propriety.

"How much farther to the capital, do you think?"

"At a relaxed pace, two days? If we're lucky, maybe tonight."

Despite being hunted, Asella had never fled abroad. Fleeing across international borders required illegal routes, about which Asella knew nothing. Consequently, she had merely been circling around El Dorado, staying relatively close to the capital. There was a reason Reina had tracked her down so quickly.

"I wish we could go faster..."

"Can't. The horses will drop dead from exhaustion. We don't even have feed for them as it is."

"Could we go on foot?"

"Maybe you could, but my knees are killing me."

She's only two years older than me, Asella grumbled inwardly. Still, Reina was right. Without fodder to feed the horses, sustained high-speed travel was out of the question. Better to conserve their own stamina in the saddle, reserving their legs for when push came to shove.

"Are you that worried?"

"...Yes." At Reina's question, Asella nodded heavily.

Unlike the Gallery, which constantly drifted between various topics and controversies, the physical newspapers remained fixated on the protests. No matter how vital the Gallery was, reality took precedence. For Asella, that held doubly true. Her failure to properly fulfill her duties as Head Mod lately was entirely due to the crisis brewing in El Dorado.

"Don't be so anxious. Once the pressure gets to him, the Pope will step down on his own."

"Will he... really?"

Despite Reina's optimistic words, Asella couldn't shake the foreboding knot in her chest. Would that Pope truly step down of his own accord? A man who had spearheaded such a ruthless purge?

Moreover, whispers had been surfacing in the Gallery: the Pope was currently mobilizing the military. What role could the army possibly play in a domestic protest...? Before she could stop herself, Asella envisioned the absolute worst-case scenario.

Paladins are the sword and shield of Lady Aris. To turn that sword and shield against our own citizens...?

It was unthinkable. Lady Aris would be beside herself with righteous fury if she ever bore witness to such a thing.

And yet, if that really came to pass...

What should she do? Asella agonized over the thought. It was an internal dilemma that would not resolve itself before they reached El Dorado.

As Reina and Asella drew closer to El Dorado step by step, the Papal Palace was formulating a massive operational strategy.

Organizations that used the term ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠'operation' were exceedingly few. The foremost among them was the pinnacle of national military might: the army.

"As you have all been briefed, the current crowd of protesters has fallen under the vile curse of the Undying King."

The commander began with plausible-sounding bullshit. The problem was that the ranks consisted solely of soldiers who swallowed that bullshit whole. Listening to the operational orders, the paladins wore grim, resolute expressions. They unequivocally perceived the civilian demonstrators outside as people 'afflicted by an evil curse.'

Constant indoctrination and layered fabrications had done their work. Above all, a military is an insular society. When people are confined to an isolated environment and feed only on internal narratives, a dogmatic reality inevitably sets in.

"We must stop them. As the sword and shield of Lady Aris, it is our sacred duty to protect El Dorado."

Protect the motherland. Hearing those words alone was enough to stir righteous purpose in any knight's chest. But the tragic crux was that 'the citizens' were not included in that motherland. And the paladins were completely blind to it.

Could the leadership ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠truly blindfold and deafen their soldiers when the Gallery existed right in front of them? The Gallery, from the outset, was infamous for its lack of credibility. The commanders claimed that the Gallery itself had been corrupted by the Undying King's foul sorcery, that the clamor within was nothing but wicked deceit. And because the catastrophe of the Undead King Incident thirty years ago had been so horrific, the soldiers found it entirely plausible.

As these overlapping layers of deceit piled higher, the military came to view the protesters as their mortal enemy.

"First, we shall issue repeated warnings to the demonstrators. Our clerics will continuously perform purification rites."

The protesters were not cursed. They were merely consumed by righteous anger and betrayal. Natural human emotions that anyone ought to feel—yet the Holy See dismissed them as an unholy curse.

"If the curse remains unbroken..." The commander paused, releasing a heavy, theatrical sigh of deep remorse before continuing. "Then we will have no choice but to purge it ourselves."

A sweltering summer was creeping over El Dorado.

"You are the heroes who will save El Dorado. Understood?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!!!"

Yet this summer threatened to be a season colder than ice.

Meanwhile, in the Forest of the Four Seasons.

"...What are you?"

Snort.

Grylls, who was likewise bracing for a bitterly freezing winter, found himself face-to-face with an unexpected guest. Outwardly, it appeared to be an ordinary deer, but the cynical look in its eyes was distinctly familiar; they had crossed paths before.

Clutched in the stag's mouth was an apple—one glowing with an astonishing golden brilliance. It wasn't glistening from reflected sunlight or snow; the skin itself was radiating a true, luminous gold. Resembling something pulled straight out of mythology: a Golden Apple. Naturally, Grylls was thoroughly baffled.

"Mwoo. Mwo-ong."

"Cold days. Coming. Give fire. Like before. Then gives this."

"...You want me to build you a fire?"

"Mwoo."

Thanks to his animal translator, Ggobongi, Grylls could decipher what the stag was grunting. Grylls mulled over the request for a moment, then turned his gaze. Standing in that direction was the brick house he had painstakingly constructed.

"...Want to crash in there for the winter?"

"Mwoo."

Thump.

The moment Grylls gave his approval, the stag casually dropped the golden apple onto the ground.

A strange winter was drawing near.