“The traitor’s memories have been completely sealed. All qualifications as a mage are hereby revoked, and the use or study of magic is strictly forbidden. Furthermore, all records of the criminal shall be erased.”

When the judge announced that all the punishments had been carried out, the woman in the dock showed no reaction.

Her memories had been completely sealed away.

She knew nothing: not the crime she had committed, nor her own name or age. According to the ruling, she would never find out.

Perhaps it was easier that way.

Absentmindedly, she toyed with the torn fabric of her clothes, and her cuffed hands trembled faintly. Only then did she notice her nails — broken and peeling, with some almost completely torn off. Dried blood clung to their edges, and a dull, persistent ache throbbed along her neck and jaw.

‘What happened to me?’

She didn’t know.

And because she didn’t know, she felt neither fear nor dread.

It was as though she were reading someone else’s story.

“Hey, come here.”

The magistrate stepped down from the bench and called to her brusquely. At the impatient gesture urging her forward, she rose from the cold seat and followed.

“Take it. It’s yours.”

A large cloth sack was thrown at her. The magistrate removed the white mask that had been worn during the sentencing.

She was a broad-faced woman dressed in a red robe. Underneath, she wore a gaudy scarf and skirt in an array of colors. A pendant in shades of blue that didn’t quite match the rest of her attire hung awkwardly against the fluorescent scarf. Overall, her appearance was strange — loud and mismatched.

“Let’s go.”

At her words, the rusted iron gate creaked open with a harsh groan.

Beyond it, color seeped into the grey world for the first time.

Above them stretched a clear, cloudless sky, its vivid blue merging with the snow-capped peaks of distant mountains that seemed close enough to touch.

She followed without question. Behind her, the gate slammed shut with a heavy clang.

Only then did the magistrate begin to speak at length.

“Listen carefully. From now on, I will explain everything. You committed a very serious crime, so you were given a severe punishment. You almost received the death penalty, but thanks to me, you kept your life. After all, I am your friend.”

The woman tilted her head slightly as she looked at her.

A friend?

“I don’t remember you at all.”

“Well, of course you don’t. Your memories were sealed. You’ve always been slow at studying and bad at reading situations, so I’ve had to help you since you were young. This time’s no different.”

The magistrate shrugged as if it were nothing. Then, catching the woman’s unfamiliar gaze, she seemed to snap back to herself.

“Ah, right. My name is Momona. Momona Kien. From now on, you’re going to leave your bad past behind and become a new person. Live an ordinary life—diligently, sincerely.”

Momona Kien spoke as though instructing a junior, or perhaps a younger sister. Under the sunlight, her pale green eyes appeared almost yellow.

“Reflect on your sins. Atone for them.”

“What crime did I commit?”

Shouldn’t she at least know what she had done in order to properly reflect and atone?

At the innocent question, the magistrate fell silent for a moment, as if at a loss for words.

“…Well, it’s a very important matter. Normally I shouldn’t tell you, but since it’s me, I’ll make an exception. You tried to harm someone very important. You tried to kill them. It’s a grave crime.”

“Who?”

“Crown—… anyway, someone like that. A person of great importance, someone far above you. Someone you wouldn’t even dare to look at. So you understand how serious your crime is, right?”

‘Crown… what?’

What a strange name! It sounded almost like ‘dried fish’.

She couldn’t quite make sense of it, but since that was what she had been told, she simply followed along in silence.

The magistrate, as talkative as ever, continued without waiting for a reply.

“I’ll only accompany you as far as the outpost ahead. There, you’ll meet a warden who will guide you from now on and make sure you don’t commit any more crimes. Just go with them and do as you’re told.”

The woman couldn’t help but wonder why this magistrate insisted on calling himself her friend.

The path sloped gently downwards, and the outpost was already in sight.

“Anyway, listen carefully. You must never attempt to use magic. And you must never try to recover or uncover your past. If you do, you will be executed – no exceptions. Not even I will be able to save you. For your own sake, do nothing. Just follow orders. Don’t speak to anyone, and don’t trust anyone who claims to know you. They’re all lying.”

“Yes. You said it earlier during the sentencing. I understood.”

She spoke slowly and obediently. Momona Kien hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Good. Then stand here for a bit.”

She did as she was told. Momona Kien ran over to the outpost and spoke to the middle-aged man seated inside.

“I’m the magistrate. I’ve brought a high criminal—where is the warden?”

“Oh! You’re here, ma’am. Congratulations on becoming a magistrate. The warden will arrive shortly. The old lady walks slowly, so it may take a little time.”

The outpost keeper hurriedly removed his hat and stood, bowing repeatedly with exaggerated politeness. Being a magistrate must be quite an important position.

“I see. This is an important matter, so make sure the handover is done properly. Keep the documents in order.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. I’ll handle everything myself.”

Momona Kien scribbled her signature roughly across the papers, handed them over, and turned back.

“Alright, I’ll be going now. I’ll come find you again, so we’ll meet then.”

The woman silently nodded.

“Oh, and your name is Yanke. Got it, Yanke? Take care.”

After patting her on the shoulder a few times, the magistrate retraced her steps and quickly disappeared back into the large, dark, stone fortress.

Yanke.

That meant ‘ugly’.

Though she remembered nothing else, she understood the meaning of the name, and her nose wrinkled slightly.

Then she turned her head sharply towards the outpost.

One gaze belonged to the outpost keeper.

The other belonged to a new figure who had appeared without her noticing.

A tall man stood there, very tall. He wore a hood and a mask covering his face up to the nose, and was fully armed.

“G-Gah! W-Who are you?!”

The outpost keeper, who had been too busy staring at the woman, noticed the man a beat later and jumped in shock.

“I’m here for her.”

The man pointed at the woman with his thumb, speaking simply.

His voice was low—deep, almost echoing like a cavern. His clipped tone sounded rough, even rude, but it carried an undeniable weight that made it more intimidating.

“W-Who are you…?”

Sensing this, the outpost keeper adopted a more polite tone of voice and raised his guard.

But the man didn’t even spare him a glance. He tossed down a wooden tag, then fixed his gaze solely on the woman.

She looked back at him blankly, her eyes filled with quiet curiosity.

“Where is Old Lady Dolores? The warden was supposed to come in person!”

After checking the identification tag, the outpost keeper still mustered the courage to speak, but the man only dug into his coat and threw out a crumpled document.

“Need anything else?”

A large hand clad in a black glove drifted near the sword at his waist.

The outpost keeper quickly shook his head.

“N-No, that’s sufficient! Here’s the key—take her with you!”

The man tilted his head toward the woman.

“Let’s go.”

‘I guess that’s how it is.’

She trudged towards him.

A strong gust of wind blew past, grazing the sharp corners of his eyes. He unlocked the shackles on her wrists and tossed them aside carelessly.

Then, without warning, he lifted her up.

She didn’t even have time to struggle. Before she knew it, she was sitting on the black horse he had brought.

The horse was enormous, its sleek mane glinting in the light.

“Don’t move. Don’t talk. You’ll bite your tongue.”

“…What?”

“I said don’t talk.”

His voice was curt.

The man mounted the horse behind her, and without saying another word, they set off.

They rode for a long time, until her body went numb from the saddle and the sun had almost set.

The constant swaying of the horse left her disoriented, and the stinging wind lashing against her face was painful.

By the time they finally stopped, she had done nothing but sit there, yet she was utterly exhausted — too drained to climb down on her own.

The man lifted her down once more. Then, without ceremony, he led her into a small but tidy inn, secured a room, and handed her a set of toiletries.

“Do you remember how to wash?”

She stared at him blankly, then blinked.

When she didn’t answer, he seemed momentarily flustered—perhaps even annoyed.

“…This is soap. You wet it with water, lather it, and use it like that.”

Only then did she remember how to wash.

She needed to clean carefully behind her ears and pay attention to her heels.

But she couldn’t remember where she had learned it.

‘What does it mean… to have your memories sealed?’

Tilting her head slightly, she clutched the bundle of washing items.

“…There’s hot water. Wash up.”

The man seemed as though he was about to explain further, but then changed his mind. He stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

He wasn’t sure if she had understood, but there was nothing more he could do.

He left the room and walked to the back of the inn, an area rarely visited by guests. In a secluded, grassy corner, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

“Your Highness.”

A black shadow emerged from the grass, dropping to one knee before him and bowing deeply.

The entire northern region revered him.

The entire empire bowed its head to him.

The man who had brought the criminal this far was Solishar, the self-proclaimed sovereign of the North and crown prince of the Hellenon Empire.

The fact that the heir to the throne had concealed his face entirely and travelled to this distant place was grim indeed.