The Pilgrimage—My Name Is. (2)

The Ert-ta Gorge lay about eight days south of the junction in the Mayurian Plains, the capital’s granary.

The Ert-ta Gorge, famous for its dizzyingly sheer cliffs, as though a giant had cleaved them apart with an axe in a single stroke, was the only passage into Contium, the great city connecting the southern and central regions.

The procession, which had been traveling since early morning, had stopped at the entrance to the Ert-ta Gorge to rest.

On a steep cliff that no ordinary person would dare climb, the golden eyes of a yellow cat moved ceaselessly, surveying its prey.

“As expected, they’ve grown quite lax.”

Chichi smiled in satisfaction.

He had chosen the fourth night for the operation not simply because it was the night the moon would disappear.

Based on his long experience as a tracker, the fourth night was when prey was most defenseless.

Just as he had predicted, the first day’s tension had long since vanished: soldiers yawned languidly, while knights and mages sat down wherever they pleased to chat.

“Take a bottle of holy water each!”...