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I leisurely played chess with Sirien when we heard movement from inside.

The timing was perfect. I was on the verge of losing my seventh game in a row, but thanks to the interruption, I only lost six.

A saintess should be merciful, after all.

But Sirien still showed no mercy in competition.

It felt like I might win if I tried just a little harder…

After a light knock, we entered the room to find Isha sitting quietly on the bed.

The loose bindings were still intact, so she untied them herself.

Sirien, who had followed, sat down next to Isha.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m better, thanks to you.”

“That’s good to hear. But don’t overdo it just yet. You’re not fully healed. The god I serve isn’t particularly skilled in healing.”

“So you really are a priest?”

Isha touched the side where she was injured yesterday and stood up.

The girl standing solemnly before us bowed deeply.

“I didn’t have the chance to properly thank you yesterday. Thank you so much for saving my life.”

It wasn’t just out of the goodness of our hearts. We had our own reasons for helping.

“I know. What do you need me to do?”

Sirien and I exchanged a glance.

What we wanted from Isha was already decided.

“Let’s start by hearing your side of the story. Can you eat?”

There was no need for her to answer.

The moment I finished speaking, Isha’s stomach growled loudly.

Sirien chuckled, and Isha’s face flushed red as she looked down at the floor.

“Looks like you can. Let’s go.”

“Yes…”

Crescent Moon was a guild that dealt in information throughout the empire.

But how did this guild gather its information?

Unlike in modern times, where technology was advanced, almost everything in this world was done by people.

No matter how powerful a noble or the imperial family might be, they still needed people to survive.

The larger the household, the more servants they employed. The information Crescent Moon dealt in came from the mouths of these people.

Even the smallest, most trivial information was valuable if it was interesting or seemed important, and they paid well for it.

The common folk, always buried in work, wanted money, and the wealthy nobles needed information.

Crescent Moon had branches all over the empire and made money by selling information or keeping secrets.

“It makes sense. I’ve heard that some servants are like that. They sell information as soon as they learn something.”

“But it would be risky if they got caught.”

“If they could catch them, they’d be kicked out, but that’s easier said than done. Just in our castle alone, there were hundreds of people coming and going. You can’t keep track of everyone.”

Isha glanced at Sirien.

There weren’t many families in the empire that employed hundreds of servants.

She seemed curious about Sirien’s identity, but that question never made it to her lips.

Sirien rested her chin on the table.

With a small jab, she speared a piece of cheese with her fork.

She seemed quite satisfied, commenting that it had been a while since she’d had food worth eating.

“I wouldn’t try to keep tabs on every servant either. That’s impossible. But breaking down the information buyers, that’s something you can do.”

“…Yes, you’re right. Most of our clients were nobles, but the ones who attacked us were also nobles.”

“You were just too good at what you did. It’s easier to use a greedy rat than Crescent Moon, which knows too much.”

That was the crux of the matter.

Ever since nobles had existed in this world, they had always stuck their noses into anything profitable.

The ecosystem of Requitas was no different. There were definitely nobles who had backed Requitas in exchange for money.

Or rather, it wasn’t just possible—they likely used Requitas as a proxy war at some point.

Crescent Moon, which once held equal power in Requitas, was no exception.

Though they grew under the patronage of nobles, they had grown too big and become a thorn in their sides.

And there were always those who would make a more convenient replacement for Crescent Moon.

“So, who were the nobles that supported you?”

“I’m afraid I can’t share that…”

“But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? The support has been cut off, and that’s why you’re in this situation.”

“Still, there’s a matter of trust.”

Sirien’s brow furrowed.

“They didn’t lift a finger to help you while you were cornered like that?”

“But that’s not betrayal, is it? I’ve learned what true betrayal feels like. It was an absolutely horrendous experience. So, I don’t want to become the kind of person who betrays others first.”

“Sounds noble enough.”

Come to think of it, Isha had kept her word until the very end.

She hadn’t died instantly when she was struck down. The tenacity of a Swordmaster’s vitality became her curse.

And then there was the heroine, Elise, the Saintess of Light. The Inquisitors hunted down anyone guilty of trying to kill a saintess with a vengeance.

Isha endured terrible, brutal torture—so much so that the Swordmaster eventually succumbed to the aftereffects and died.

To die from torture in a temple where healing arts were practiced meant that her mind, not her body, had been shattered.

Even so, Isha had remained silent.

It was clear that she wouldn’t open her mouth easily now, either.

“Think about it. Are you really sure you weren’t betrayed?”

“What?”

“You might not be able to turn traitor, but the noble who supported you is different. If they decide you’re no longer useful, they could switch sides at any moment. Are you absolutely certain you weren’t betrayed?”

“I’m not sure… But I don’t have any proof that I was betrayed, either.”

“Fine, if that’s how it is, we’ll leave it for now.”

Sirien didn’t press Isha any further.

Seeing her trembling hands was pitiful, and having been betrayed herself, Sirien didn’t want to force her.

The next question Sirien posed was one I hadn’t considered.

“Why are the rats so desperate to find you?”

“Huh? Isn’t it because my father was the leader of Crescent Moon?”

“That can’t be the only reason. They’re not like the royal family, who are obsessed with bloodlines. You’re on the run without any protection, so you’re hardly a threat.”

“Could it be out of revenge? To set an example?”

“But they’ve already wiped out their enemies in Requitas. They’ve won so completely that it would make more sense to appear as merciful rulers.”

Isha had been betrayed by her childhood friend.

Betraying someone isn’t easy. Whether through coercion or persuasion, it’s a tedious and labor-intensive task.

Despite going through that trouble, the rats had still sent people after Isha.

This was obsession—a fixation on finding Isha at all costs.

There had to be a compelling reason for going so far as to manipulate her childhood friend to capture her.

But it seemed Isha couldn’t guess what that reason might be.

Then it was up to us to find out.

“Crescent Moon was a guild that dealt in information.”

Sirien fell into deep thought.

I decided to wait for her to think it through.

When it came to brain work, Sirien was much better at it than I was.

The villainess who had served as the final boss alongside me in the original story.

My saintess had not let me down.

“Since it was information from all over the empire, there’s no way they could remember everything. They must have recorded and stored it somewhere, and they would’ve categorized the important stuff separately. Who knows the location of the archive?”

“Only my father and a few select employees knew. I doubt any of the employees survived.”

“That must be it.”

* * *

When the sewer rats first emerged as a group, they weren’t even aware they were one.

The name was nothing more than a derogatory term people used for them, a name they ironically adopted while acknowledging the grim reality of their existence in the filth.

At that time, their base was indeed near the old sewers. Though now it’s a place of indulgence and pleasure, back then, it was a breeding ground for rats and insects.

In a dimly lit, dark room, only the red glow of the lights cast a faint, sensual hue, mingling with the curling tendrils of cigarette smoke. A woman’s whining voice echoed from near someone’s feet.

A man, Milrun, lit his cigarette, exhaling a short sigh.

“Ha.”

His hand absentmindedly stroked the woman’s head, but his gaze was elsewhere.

Where his cold eyes settled, a man knelt, battered and bruised. His voice dripped with anger.

“Did I give you a difficult order?”

“N-No.”

“Or was my support insufficient?”

“No, not that either.”

“Right. So, isn’t it strange? It wasn’t a difficult order, and I gave you plenty of support, yet you let that defeated woman escape. And three of the men I sent after her are dead?”

A cloud of white smoke billowed from his mouth, a pungent aroma wafting through the air, swirling like a dream.

The women in the den seemed entranced by the haze. When the man stood, the bare bodies on the floor squirmed in response.

“Phew. Any idea where she might be?”

“I’m sorry. She vanished without a trace. We searched the entire city, but we couldn’t find her.”

“You searched everywhere?”

“Yes, absolutely. We searched everywhere except the south, but there was no sign of her.”

“Then you didn’t search everywhere, did you?”

The man smirked.

Milrun reached out with his thick, scarred hand and shoved something into his subordinate’s mouth.

“Useless fool. I’ll find her myself now.”

“Aaack! Gurg—kyaaaaaah!”

That day, a headless corpse was tossed into the sewers.

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