Chapter 8 – The Town of Fallen Banners
The road stretched out past the forest like a sigh of relief.
No more branches slapping his face, no more roots conspiring to twist his ankles. Just dirt, rocks, and the promise of something vaguely civilized on the horizon.
Cyrus walked beside Yura in silence for a while, enjoying the breeze. The tension from the bridge confrontation had faded, but it left behind a curious itch—like something had shifted in the air.
"Do you think that Rin guy's gonna report back?" he asked eventually.
"He wasn't dead," Yura replied. "So yes."
"Great," Cyrus said dryly. "I always wanted to be on a martial clan's most wanted list."
Yura gave him a side glance. "Technically, you're aiding a fugitive."
He grinned. "And they say I never try new things."
The sun dipped low by the time the stone walls of a town emerged in the distance—tall, chipped, and vaguely imposing. A battered sign by the gate read:
Gravemarch.
"…Okay," Cyrus muttered. "That name's definitely cursed also what kind of idiot names a town 'Gravemarch,' like thats so edgy."
Yura didn't argue.
Guards at the gate gave them a once-over but didn't stop them. Maybe it was the mask. Maybe it was the way Yura moved—like someone who could break bones with her eyelashes.
They passed through.
The streets were dusty, loud, and crowded. Merchants hawked wares under faded canopies. Kids darted between wooden carts. Drunks bickered outside taverns.
But Cyrus noticed something else too: soldiers.
Too many of them for a place this size.
Armed. Armored. Bored.
And underpaid—he could smell it.
"Feels tense," he muttered.
Yura nodded. "Gravemarch used to be a garrison town. Something happened last year. The banners fell."
"What kind of banners?"
She shrugged. "Royal. Noble. Doesn't matter now. Power vacuum."
"Let me guess," he said, "this place is run by some sketchy temporary authority figure who's corrupt to the bone?"
She gave him the faintest smirk.
"Oh good," he added. "I'm psychic now."
They settled at a modest inn in the middle district—quiet, nothing flashy, and most importantly: no mold in the food.
Cyrus leaned back in the creaky chair after their meal and tapped the table with a rhythm.
"So. New town. New possibilities. Maybe some recruits. Maybe some trouble."
Yura raised a brow. "You're sounding ambitious."
"I'm sounding like a guy with a job now," he replied, gesturing vaguely to the sky. "Cryptic system told me to start an organization. Sooner or later, I need actual people in it. Can't be The Second Oath if it's just me standing around dramatically under trees."
She didn't say anything to that, but he caught the way her expression softened just slightly.
He liked that.
Later that evening, Cyrus wandered out alone.
Yura warned him not to go far—but he needed air. And maybe something else.
The town had life. That's what made it different from the forest.
There were whispers in the market of a masked traveler who downed a bandit chief near the southern path. Some said he controlled shadows. Others claimed he commanded a spirit beast.
Cyrus, listening from a fruit stall, just smirked under his mask.
Let the myth grow.
He rounded a corner toward a small square and paused.
A crowd had formed in front of a makeshift platform. On it stood a man in heavy armor—silver tinged with rust, shoulders broad, eyes dead serious. A knight. No… a former one.
He was arguing with another man—sleeker armor, dressed in crimson and gold, voice oily.
"You are no longer part of the Royal Guard, 'Oh great Sir Calen'," the man sneered. "Stop playing hero in a place that doesn't want you."
"I'm not playing," the knight replied, voice low but clear. "This town still deserves protection."
A few people muttered in agreement. Most stayed silent.
Cyrus watched, interest piqued.
The knight didn't back down, even when the other man spat at his feet and walked off.
Now that's interesting.
Back at the inn, Cyrus returned just as Yura was sharpening her blade by the window.
"Met someone interesting," he said, tossing his mask on the bed. "A disgraced knight still trying to protect a place that hates him. Kinda poetic."
She looked up. "You're thinking about him for the group."
He shrugged. "He's got the vibe. Broken code, haunted eyes, heavy sword. The works."
Yura didn't protest.
"Anyway," he added, "I'll try talking to him tomorrow."
She nodded.
"Unless he tries to kill me," Cyrus said, already half-asleep on the bed. "Then I'll say something dramatic before I die. Make sure someone writes it down."
[System Notification]
[Observation Completed.]
[Candidate Identified – "Calen Veyne."]
[Side Mission: "Cracked Honor"]
[Optional Objective: Aid in uncovering the corruption behind Gravemarch's fallen banners.]
[Reward: ???]
Cyrus didn't open his eyes, but he smirked.
"Yeah," he whispered, "let's make this interesting."