Astara glanced at Daylan. "You can tell her if you want—but keep in mind, we don't have any solid proof yet. Everything we think we know could be wrong."
Daylan hesitated, unsure about pulling Medora into the mess they were dealing with—but she was persistent. After a few rounds of her insistence, he finally gave in and told her everything.
"So, let me get this straight—you think a secret organization killed Daylan, possibly because of his hatred for the church, and now you're trying to track them down. That's about right?"
Daylan nodded, motioning toward the book. "Things got interesting after I read The Century Lantern. The author was a renowned writer centuries ago—and claimed to have an unbiased perspective on the whole incident."
He locked eyes with Medora.
"The founders of the Anti-Diviners were rebellious members of some powerful families we know today—like the Jireh family. That's Mr. Enzo's bloodline."
Medora shook her head and sighed. "The Anti-Diviners collapsed centuries ago. They were executed in the royal capital. It's a good lead, but I think we're dealing with a different organization entirely."
Medora outstretched her hand, and her sword materialized. She held it out to Daylan and Astara, pointing to a thin, jagged crack along the blade. 'Worth Artifacts' were known to heal themselves over time when given enough rest—but hers remained broken.
"Daylan, I got this crack the same day you told me you didn't remember anything," Medora said, her voice low.
"If you recall, I told you I had a quest to attend to. There was a lone house deep in the forest. The man living there had reported sightings of ghouls near his home. So, I was sent to investigate and eliminate them—just like always."
Her sword disappeared.
"My mind was already preoccupied with your weirdness, so I didn't even quicken my pace. But as I neared the house, I found dozens of ghouls lying lifeless along the street." She took a deep breath.
"I was pissed—I thought the man had handled everything and just wasted my time. I immediately picked up my pace to confront him. But when I reached the house, he was lying lifeless right in front of it. Before I could even process what was happening, someone in a black cloak—just like the one Astara described—attacked me. But for some reason, he fled the moment he saw my face."
Both Astara and Daylan remained quiet, listening attentively. Medora's voice was steady, but the weight behind her words was unmistakable.
"And now, according to my previous captain, my sword must reach the Advanced rank or higher to be able to recover…"
Daylan and Astara exchanged a glance. The room felt quieter like a veil had just been lifted. Daylan propped himself against Astara's desk, staring at Medora. His head began hurting as he reached to massage his head.
"This suggests they're an organization operating within Honor City. While that doesn't rule out a connection to the Anti-Diviners, I doubt they're the same group."
Astara propped her elbows on the desk, seizing the room's aura as her own. With a commanding tone, she declared, "Then it's simple. We start here. We'll visit the forest where you were attacked and gather more information—maybe the Honor Guards can help. But for now, we train and get ourselves in shape for whatever comes next."
Medora punched the air with enthusiastic enthusiasm. "Daylan, I want to spar with you!"
Daylan folded his arms across his chest. He was exhausted, his eyes growing more distant with each passing second. But he knew that if he chose to sleep now, he'd only end up overthinking everything that had happened. Sparring with Medora was something he'd been looking forward to for a while—using it as a way to wear himself out felt like the safest option.
"Let's do it." He smirked.
Medora turned to Astara with a grin. "Care to officiate our duel, Princess?"
Without even glancing at her, Astara gave a dismissive gesture. Medora sneered, then signaled to Daylan as they headed off to the training center.
Astara remained distant, just like she had during the tournament. Daylan's concern deepened—he had expected her to say something by now, especially after she promised to tell him what was wrong once the tournament was over. But it seemed he expected more than he should have.
Daylan led Medora to the training center. Medora shrugged off her uniform, revealing a fitted black vest. Daylan followed suit, stripping down to his bare torso.
"You look ripped—but don't think that's gonna save you." Medora smirked and held her stance.
Daylan raised his guard with a grin. The pounding in his head grew sharper, but he brushed it off, blaming it on lack of sleep.
Without a moment's hesitation, Medora dashed forward and threw a quick jab. He narrowly dodged and countered with a strike aimed at her gut—but she blocked it with ease.
Seizing the moment, Medora raised her leg and drove a kick into Daylan's ribs. Before he could even react to the pain, she followed up with another blow—this time to his chin. But Daylan wasn't going down that easily. Using the force of her strike to fuel his momentum, he launched himself into the air and drove both legs into Medora's gut.
Daylan collapsed to the floor, breathless, while Medora slid backward, her feet skidding against the ground as she clutched her gut tightly.
They dashed toward each other, their movements a blur. Every strike was dodged by a hair's breadth. Daylan's eyes stayed sharp, tracking each of Medora's attacks, while Medora blocked and evaded his strikes with uncanny precision—almost as if she could see them coming before they landed.
In an instant, Medora flipped back, creating distance between herself and Daylan. He smirked—he could see the fatigue in her eyes. Seizing the opening, he dashed forward. With a feinted jab to throw her off, he spun and drove a kick into her neck.
Medora hit the floor but sprang to her feet in an instant, charging straight at Daylan. As soon as she was within reach, she dropped low, sliding across the floor. Her legs coiled around his, yanking him off balance and slamming him down. Daylan's face hit the floor, and Medora landed on his back, twisting his leg with practiced precision.
Daylan gritted his teeth, slamming his fist against the floor in frustration. But he wasn't going down that easily. Shifting his weight, he loosened his joints to dull the pain, then twisted his body with raw force—rolling Medora over and locking her neck between his thighs. Medora let out a sharp cry of agony and tapped out immediately.
They both collapsed onto the floor, breathless and drenched in sweat.
"The tournament's a lie," Daylan muttered between gasps. "How were you fifth?"
"I did well, didn't I?… I got recruited."
Medora laughed. "The tournament wasn't entirely a lie—well, maybe a little. The last phase was basically all luck. Strength barely mattered… and when it comes to luck, of course, the Princess of the Divines would win."
Daylan turned to her, his expression unreadable.
She sat down, shaking out her hands. "Don't get me wrong—she could've won it on her own. She's strong enough." Then she lay back down, staring at the ceiling. "But you know… they had to make sure the citizens went home proud of their future Queen."
Medora turned to find Daylan fast asleep. She watched him quietly for a moment, then smiled and lay back to rest—just for a while. Eventually, she rose, drawing her sword and slipping into her personal training.
She trained for hours, sweat flinging with each movement. The room echoed with the rhythm of her breath, the sharp crack of her strikes, and the steady thud of her boots against the floor.
Before long, Daylan stirred awake, his eyes slowly opening to the sight of Medora immersed in her relentless training. Her body trembled with exhaustion, yet she pushed through without hesitation. Meanwhile, all he felt was a heavy relief settling into his limbs—a quiet contrast to her burning drive.
Daylan shifted and sat upright, his back resting against the wall. He didn't want to break her focus, so he stayed quiet—simply watching her in silence.
As he watched, she finally noticed him. "You sleep like a baby," she teased, suddenly stopping her training. She walked over and sat beside him.
Daylan tilted toward her, wondering why she stopped training.
"Huhh… I am beat, and hungry too."
"What drives you to get stronger?"
She turned to Daylan in disbelief. "It hurts to know you don't remember."
Daylan gave her an awkward grin.
"Well, it's because of my father," she said quietly. "I want to make sure no one ends up the way he did."
Before Daylan could respond, Medora rushed to speak. "Don't feel sorry for me. I've already accepted everything that happened to him."
"What happened to him?" Daylan asked curiously.
"He was murdered…in front of me."
"Do you train for revenge?"
"No, no. Not necessarily," Medora replied.
"But I won't let them go scot-free if I find them. I'm not actively hunting them down, though. I just want to make sure no one faces the same fate. That's why I push myself to get stronger—because most of the oppressors are far beyond me."
Daylan smirked. That's a typical novel hero for you.
"There is someone I can't forgive… my mother."