Chapter 38: Silent Reasoning

King Duraniel.

The name surfaced in her mind almost instinctively.

To this fat and greedy man, she—a Divine Chosen wielding military power and growing in public prestige—was undoubtedly a thorn in his side.

He had every reason to be a traitor.

Eliminating her through the hands of monsters was his simplest and most direct choice.

He could then rightfully reclaim command of the Magical Girl Corps, seizing the kingdom’s most elite force once more.

He might even believe that, if the troops fell into despair, he could appear as a savior and make even more outrageous demands.

But… did he have the guts to collude directly with monsters?

Faruhel drew a question mark beside Duraniel’s name.

This fat pig was greedy and foolish, but equally cowardly.

Faruhel’s thoughts paused for a moment.

The pen slipped downward, writing a second name.

Pope Feink.

If the king’s malice was blatant, then the supreme leader of the Rishen Church was like a deep, bottomless well—dark and cold, hiding secrets impossible to fathom.

It was he who had personally handed her the Scepter of the Divine Chosen, granting her the blessing from the gods.

The pope always treated her kindly, his words filled with expectation and praise.

If it was the pope… then his motive was control.

The title of Divine Chosen was both an honor and a shackle, binding her firmly to the church.

As her reputation grew, and she began establishing independent alliances with players, this very independence might have already crossed the pope’s forbidden line.

A devastating defeat—a crisis that nearly cost her life—was enough to make her realize that without the church’s protection, she was nothing.

Perhaps it was a warning, a chastisement, meant to make her more obedient.

Pope Feink commanded a vast intelligence network, with followers spread across the continent.

For him, passing information in silence was effortless.

Thinking this, Faruhel marked a highlight beside Feink’s name.

The pen continued downward.

The third name appeared with a trace of hesitation.

First Prince Doros.

Faruhel’s feelings toward this young prince were far more complicated.

She could see in Doros’s eyes his hope for the future of the kingdom, an idealism not yet fully corrupted by the court.

What motive could he have?

Though he appeared upright, as royalty, the thirst for power was innate.

Perhaps, in his eyes, her existence as a commoner hero stood in the way of uniting the kingdom and fulfilling his own political ambitions.

And as one of the initiators of the Doros’s Gate Project, he received action intelligence earlier than the king or pope, giving him more time to act.

The human heart is hard to fathom.

In the face of overwhelming temptation, even so-called integrity could shatter.

She couldn’t entirely rule out the possibility.

On the parchment, three names stood side by side.

Each represented the highest echelon of power in the Kingdom of Arslan.

Faruhel felt a wave of fatigue.

The mental strain from wrestling with the hearts of men weighed heavier than swinging a blade on the battlefield.

She paused for a long time, until the ink nearly dried at her pen’s tip.

Then, she took a deep breath and wrote a fourth name.

Nilo.

Senior at Pasca Military Academy, youngest professor of military theory.

The golden-haired man who always stood quietly in the distance, watching her with gentle, calm eyes.

He was always so reliable, always appearing at just the right moment when she needed help.

He had fully researched the prophecy stone’s function and use, handing it to her.

The monsters’ ambush perfectly evaded the prophecy stone’s prediction, proving they had considerable knowledge of its abilities and weaknesses.

If anyone in Arslan understood the prophecy stone better than Faruhel, it was Nilo.

But… what motive could Senior Nilo have?

Jealousy? Possessiveness?

Faruhel strained to build such a possibility in her mind.

After years together, Faruhel could sense Nilo’s subtle feelings toward her.

Maybe he couldn’t stand seeing her get close to anyone else—especially the powerful players surrounding her.

He wanted her isolated and abandoned by all, so he could become her only support.

The thought alone made Faruhel physically uncomfortable.

It was too twisted—nothing like the Nilo she knew.

Yet, who could truly know another’s heart?

Behind gentleness could hide the deepest obsession.

Weighing her thoughts, Faruhel wrote “extremely unlikely” in small script beside Nilo’s name.

He was on the list simply because… he knew too much.

Anyone else…?

No.

There were only these four among the natives who knew the action plan in advance.

Faruhel set down the pen, rubbing her temples softly as she fell into thought.

Each of these four held considerable power and tactical knowledge; any one of them being a traitor would bring irreparable disaster to Arslan.

Yet none of them could be entirely exonerated.

Suddenly, Faruhel’s hand stilled.

…No, there was one more.

With a near self-tormenting resolve, Faruhel picked up the pen and wrote the final name.

Eileen.

Her most loyal adjutant, the girl who regarded the Divine Chosen as her entire faith.

Eileen’s devotion bordered on obsession—she would give everything for her.

On the battlefield, Eileen was always the first to stand before her.

Faruhel could find no motive for Eileen to betray her.

Such a betrayal would be like destroying her own faith.

But… she had the means.

As her adjutant, Eileen knew the entire plan inside out, even better than Faruhel herself.

What if someone had extracted information from her?

Eileen was loyal, but somewhat naive and impulsive.

Could someone have exploited this innocence to obtain information through deception?

Or, perhaps by accident, Eileen had revealed a few words to someone she shouldn’t have trusted?

Even… could that loyalty itself be shaken?

Five names now lay quietly on the parchment: king, pope, prince, professor, adjutant.

They formed the entire web of power that she relied upon in this nation.

Yet now, the web was shrouded in suspicion—each person appeared suspect, yet none had definitive evidence against them.

A suffocating loneliness seized her.

After Zhao Yingyue left, Faruhel looked around and was horrified to realize she had become utterly surrounded on all sides.

Those she should have trusted now wore masks she could no longer see behind.

She let out a bitter laugh—soft and filled with endless irony.

She remembered [Sage of the Clear and Muddy Waters].

That player who always wore a hood, his eyes sharp as a merchant’s.

He’d said, “We players seek maximum profit. Internal chaos doesn’t benefit us at all. A stable Arslan Kingdom that can keep posting quests is our best source of returns.”

She remembered [Shadowfang, Breaker of Armies], the dual-blade warrior who charged toward the Abyss Lord like a madman—whose motives were purely battle and becoming stronger.

And that girl called [Can I Eat This Cute Bunny], seemingly indifferent to everything except collecting exotic pets from this world.

Their motives were varied, but none had anything to do with internal power struggles.

They were outsiders—“Visitors from Beyond the Sky”.

Because of their detachment, their behavior was strangely easier to predict.

Their positions, in this twisted world, seemed more trustworthy than any of her own people.

It was almost laughable.

She—the Divine Chosen of the Arslan Kingdom—after being betrayed by her own, found that the only ones she could truly rely on were a group of players who saw this world as nothing more than a game.