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What I know... is that Kjerag would never let an apostate take the helm. And, I have never been one to 'philosophize from my armchair'.

You are not the first apostate I've dealt with.

What memories come to mind when you hear the names, Olafur and Elizabeth Silverash?

What...?

This bloody weather again... Damn it, why's there a traffic jam in a place like this?

Hey, you in the back. The road's about to get real bumpy.

If you want to be able to stand after getting out of the truck, I'd recommend taking a nap now and conserving your energy.

Inside the rear compartment, the lights flicker as the truck sways. The passengers trying to escape sit upright on their haystacks, eyes tightly shut.

Shit, what's that thing in front of me?!

Urgh...

An oil slick spills across the middle of the road, and in front of the stopped truck is a line of fully-armed men.

The engine emits a strange, strained noise, and the windows are splattered with paint.

Inside the driver's seat, the Victorian tightly grips the steering wheel.

I've never tried to hide where I come from, even though it's something that others have long forgotten.

...Luca Browntail. Ratatos and Sciurus's grandfather. My cousin.

In order to achieve the same goal, we accepted different fates—to safeguard Kjerag's order through the Tri-Clan Council and the Vine-Bead Court.

Though known for his ruthlessness, he still harbored fantasies about the Silverashes until the very end.

He said: 'A peaceful resolution is never impossible, as long as the couple are willing to make concessions.'

...But, I have never lived in fantasy.

That train accident...

Hahaha... Is that what you believe? Or, did Ratatos make you believe it?

How many clergymen and devotees do you think are out there among the commoners?

If the masses wish for Kjeragandr to punish the apostates, then I, serving the Vine-Bead Court, shall deliver on those wishes.

...Sir Enciodes!

The man who killed your parents is right in front of you.

Those who commit murder will be punished twice over by Kjeragandr. This crippled body has lost any meaning for me long ago!

I grant you permission to dispose of me as you wish for reasons private and public, not for treason, but for murder. Arrest me here and put me on trial!

Let the people of Kjerag see just how sinful it is to kill an apostate!

The old man wobbles to his feet, his withered fingers clenching into fists as if using all his strength. Suddenly, he stretches his arms out before Enciodes.

Like a sinner waiting to have his confession heard, his cloudy eyes shine with a glimmer of light, as if seeking to quench decades of old grudges with another's anger.

Enciodes slowly closes his eyes, his fingertips wrapping tightly around his cane.

If you're trying to provoke me into acting out of line, I'm afraid your efforts are in vain.

I won't lay a finger on you here...

All I can do is ensure that you receive a fair trial...

Hurry it up! You in the back, keep up!

Our intel indicates that the target should be around here. Search carefully, and leave no stone unturned!

After that woman left the room, an unknown amount of time passed, to the point that time itself seemed alien to Monch.

Only the stinging pain of the ropes tightly binding her reminds her that she has not yet lost consciousness.

Finally, a hopeful sound comes from beyond the door, and Monch musters what might she has left to shout out.

I'm... over here...

I'm—

But try as she might, her parched throat can hardly produce a sound.

She laboriously crawls towards the door.

It opens.

Monch!

Madam... Why are you here...?

We've been searching for you ever since the Catastrophe hit! That damned Silverash, pretentious bastard. Thought they actually had some useful intel... but in the end, I still ended up having to do all the legwork myself to find you!

How're you doing? You hurt anywhere?

Wait, your leg—

I'm... fine...

Madam, listen to me...

The researcher I'm tracking... She's from Victoria, but more important... she's got ties, to Columbia...

What they're really after is...

Monch! MONCH!

Along the narrow mountain path, the convoy slowly plods onward.

After the incident's sudden outbreak, no shortage of people left their cars to observe the conflict's epicenter.

Turn off the engine. Get out.

What do you think you're doing? Who the hell are you people?

I... I'm an industrial investigator dispatched from Victoria! This is illegal obstruction of official business!

You've damaged our property, endangered Victorian lives, and almost even caused an accident! Mark my words, the Vine-Bead Court will hear of this!

Never should've come to this bloody shithole...

...Are you done?

Did you get all the pictures?

Yessir!

This is no time for you to try to twist the narrative, Victorian. Just cooperate.

Open up the rear compartment.

I...

Unwilling to cooperate? Fine by me. You're more than welcome to conserve your energy to fend for yourselves before the court–if you're cold, I can offer you a blanket.

Matterhorn waves his hand, and the guard pries open the rear compartment without a word.

Seated upright upon a haystack there is an old cleric.

He brushes the dust off his body and walks out.

It is an emotionless affair, hardly amounting to courage.

The old cleric gazes upon the blinding brightness before him, and recollects the scenes from before.

Some ten minutes ago...

Why'd the truck stop?

Have we arrived?

Carolin lowers her voice.

...Did something happen?

Stay calm, young lady.

...Did they find us?

I didn't expect to find you here, Cleric of the Vine-Bead Court.

Let's continue this conversation elsewhere. This place is less than ideal.

You are as hasty as always, young master of Clan Edelweiss.

Honorable friends of Clan Silverash, I apologize for disturbing your work during this inclement weather.

I am more than glad to go along with your arrangements.

Looks like the one we're after isn't here.

I do believe this is where we part ways, young lady from Victoria.

Are you getting off?

No, I'll stay here. Just keep walking forward, and don't look back.

The entrance isn't far off. Silverash's people will surely notice this truck. Get out of here before they find you.

By Kjeragandr... trust me.

The old cleric helps Carolin up.

I'll do as you said.

But, you'll also be exposed.

That, too, is Kjeragandr's will. What I cannot change, I shall therefore accept.

I ask only for Her forgiveness.

I can't say I understand what your beliefs truly are—but maybe some day, I will.

I respect your beliefs, so I will also try to find a way to live in peace. Best of luck to you, sir.

Carolin gets out of the truck and runs without stopping, in a direction leading far, far from Kjerag.

Shedding her stained cleric's robes, she shivers from the cold.