The Tear Knights' Decline and the Seed

Deep within Tear Knight City stood the Governor's Residence. It looked like a wartime command post hastily carved out of the building.

Maps of defensive lines, large and small, crowded its rough black-stone walls. Parchment was pinned around their edges, covered in tangled marching routes and revisions to the defenses.

On the desk, a mountain of bloodstained battle reports hid the wood grain entirely.

Governor Yasol, supreme commander of the Tear Knight Defense Line, was not wearing the ceremonial robes that symbolized his supreme authority.

He wore only plain leather clothes, slightly frayed at the edges. His collar hung open, fine knife scars covered his face, and deep weariness lingered around his eyes.

If not for those stern, fathomless eyes, he would not have looked like a ruler above all others. He looked more like a battle-hardened old soldier.

Yasol stood beside the desk, drinking potent, fiercely spicy liquor straight from a flask.

The heavy Oak Door swung open, and Bishop Castian strode into the study.

He had taken off his Holy Silver armor, scored all over by Demonic Beast claws, and changed into an unadorned charcoal-gray robe.

Even so, the hard, killing air in every movement he made had not diminished in the slightest.

"Sit." Without turning, Yasol slid a cup filled with liquor to the far side of the long table.

Castian came to the desk, pulled out a hardwood chair, sat down, and raised the cup.

There was no needless small talk between them. They even dispensed with the most basic Church courtesies.

Castian, after all, was an old subordinate Yasol had trained himself.

Years ago, he had served on the Tear Knight Defense Line, fighting more brutal battles than he could count beneath the Blood Moon alongside the governor.

Later, his achievements and seniority had earned