The Continental Covenant is a union built around me. Similarly, the Nameless Church is a sect established with me as its living symbol. My decree to “act for the sake of humanity” became the guiding motto for both entities, yet the Church remains strictly separate from the Covenant under the principle of the separation of church and state.

However, the distinction is rarely so clean in practice. Florida, for instance, is governed by a Bishop of the Nameless Church. Furthermore, I have already moved to save as many lives as possible “for the sake of humanity” by mobilizing the underground organization—an entity that functions as a state apparatus of the Covenant.

This creates a complex paradox: Whom should this shadow network serve? Does it act for the universal good of mankind, or the specific interests of the Continental Covenant? This ambiguity weaves through every level of our operation, from my own personal moral struggles to the fundamental identity of the state and the faith.

Ultimately, I shook my head. “That is not a question I can answer right now,” I murmured.

It was not a decision I could make in isolation. I was no dictator; even if I were, no man could possess the omniscience required to micromanage every facet of a burgeoning empire. Governance is not a unilateral act, and a ruler does not simply reign over a community like a player above a board—he is a part of it, bound by its internal logic and collective will. For now, deferring the answer was better than offering a hasty, ill-conceived one.

The Bishop nodded quietly and stepped back. “I understand. We shall revisit the matter at a later date.”

“Wait,” I called out as he turned. “What do you think?”

The Bishop paused, considering the question for a long moment before letting out a dry, mirthless chuckle. “I do not think, Your Holiness. That is your burden.”

I remained silent.

“Regardless,” the Bishop continued, pivoting smoothly, “take this note. Those ‘reckless’ agents of ours have compiled a summary of the Catholic League’s supply status. It was relatively simple to obtain; one only needs to track the movement of large-scale provisions.”

He handed me the parchment and departed through the small gate hidden deep in the garden. I walked back into the estate, descending the stairs to the warehouse, which was as frantic as I had left it. I began organizing the new data into a table in my notebook, cross-referencing it with the supply status of the mercenary companies we were currently sponsoring.

“Mansfeld’s current supply situation is quite poor,” I noted.

“True, Nemo,” one of the analysts replied. “However, most of the other mercenary units are in excellent shape without any intervention from us. Luck seems to be on their side; local merchants happened to be selling massive quantities of supplies at bargain prices just as they arrived.”

“Mmm.”

It was a curious trend. We had managed to prevent several massacres—even among Catholic mercenaries—without spending nearly as much as I had anticipated, purely because they had been “lucky” with their logistics.

Wait.

“Are you saying they’ve been consistently lucky for the past several months?” I asked.

The analyst blinked. “Pardon? Well, the Catholic mercenaries have had their supply lines cut several times, but…”

“No, never mind.”

I trailed off, a nagging sense of unease settling in my gut. My intuition had caught a scent of something, but it hadn’t quite reached the clarity of logic yet. I looked down at the table I had just drafted.

“Compile the supply status of every major army by period,” I commanded. “Bring it to me immediately. Even a rough outline will do.”

The room stiffened with confusion. Our interest in logistics had always been about predicting where an army would march or where they might initiate a sack. This sudden request for historical data felt like an unnecessary academic exercise to them, yet no one protested. It took some time to aggregate the scattered reports, but eventually, a mountain of data sat before me.

I worked patiently, organizing the information into a massive master table. I tracked how the supply status of every army on both sides changed over the course of the campaign.

Initially, I found no obvious continuity. Whether Catholic or Protestant, armies saw their pay fall into arrears and their rations dwindle at seemingly random intervals. It felt like a waste of effort. I sat back, clicking my tongue and staring at the paper. What did I miss? Was it just my imagination?

“Report! Mansfeld’s mercenaries suffered a defeat while crossing the Austrian border from Bohemia!”

“What is their current supply status?” an officer asked.

“Surprisingly good! They reportedly encountered a group of suttlers nearby and signed a fresh supply contract—”

My breath hitched. I stared at the table again, this time overlaying the moments of victory and defeat for each faction.

“…”

“Your Highness? Is something wrong?”

“Everyone,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Gather around.”

A pattern had emerged from the chaos. The analysts set down their pens and gathered at the table. I began to explain, keeping my voice as calm as possible.

Typically, defeat or a disadvantageous position leads to logistical collapse. Armies abandon supplies during a retreat, find themselves besieged, or get cut off in enemy territory. Conversely, victory usually brings logistical stability; one can seize the enemy’s stores or carry out “requisitions” from newly occupied lands.

“But here,” I pointed to the charts, “it is the exact opposite.”

Once you filtered out the outliers, an undeniable truth remained: whenever a force suffered a crushing defeat, they ‘luckily’ found a way to improve their supplies shortly thereafter. Conversely, those who won found such luck increasingly scarce.

It was an absurdity. When had the Goddess of Fortune ever been so charitable to the losers of history?

The room fell into a stunned silence as the realization rippled through the staff.

“Someone is manipulating the flow of goods,” I said. “They are propping up whoever is losing, regardless of whether they are Catholic or Protestant.”

I looked around the room, meeting their wide-eyed gazes. “Someone else is interfering in this war. From the shadows. And they’re doing it without us even noticing.”

The warehouse became as cold and still as a tomb.

***

I decided to set aside the philosophical debate over the organization’s identity for now. We had a fire at our feet that needed extinguishing. Our immediate priority was to identify this mystery faction and their motives—and more importantly, to protect ourselves from them.

Whatever their goal, they were stakeholders in this war. It was highly likely their intentions would eventually clash with our mission to mitigate the conflict’s devastation. We had to evolve. Following in the wake of a few mercenary companies and merchant caravans was no longer enough. We needed high-resolution intelligence and a far more aggressive posture.

In short, the organization needed to grow. Not just in size, but in its very nature.

“We have dozens of agents scattered across the Empire,” I told the Bishop. “The people they’ve recruited likely number in the hundreds.”

“I am aware,” he replied.

“But if we were to expand that scale… how many would we need?”

“We must send out hundreds of agents,” I declared. “And we must recruit thousands.”

The Bishop went silent, clearly stunned by the radical nature of the proposal. I pressed on, detailing the vision.

“In every major city within the Holy Roman Empire, we must have at least one or two collaborators. We need safe houses scattered throughout the land. We need eyes and ears in every layer of society—from the son of a beggar to the daughter of a count. Anyone reliable, regardless of their station.”

The Bishop blinked, showing a rare flash of alarm. “The resources required… it would be astronomical.”

“And the intelligence they bring back will be just as valuable.”

“But you aren’t just talking about the Empire, are you?”

“No,” I said, a faint smile touching my lips. “England, the Netherlands, the Empire, the Americas… perhaps even as far as China and Joseon.”

He looked utterly overwhelmed.

“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “It will require far fewer resources than you think.”

“How is that possible? An organization of that magnitude—”

“Did we spend an ‘astronomical’ amount in Florida?”

He paused, the realization dawning on him.

“Right now, we are training agents in Virginia and Florida and then shipping them out. Our local collaborators are just errand boys who don’t even know who they’re working for. Most of them are just in it for the pocket change.”

But Florida had been different. A small core of agents had entered the territory and recruited thousands to the cause. People had pledged their lives to the underground out of a shared belief in the liberation of slaves. That was the spark that had started it all.

“If you’re suggesting we go back to that… I’m not sure we can…”

“No, I’m not saying we should recruit indiscriminately. We still need a loyal core at the center. But we need more than just employees. We need people on the ground who believe in our cause. People who will act out of a voluntary loyalty to save others and stop the madness of this war.”

I leaned forward, my gaze locking onto his. “We are going to turn this organization into a secret society.”

The seventeenth century was the era of the Rosicrucians and countless other clandestine orders, so the concept wasn’t entirely foreign. I spent a moment considering the organization’s identity.

“We work in the dark to serve the light.” That’s a classic; I’ll keep that. “Nothing is true; everything is permitted.” No, that’s a bit too anti-religious for this crowd. I’ll need a substitute.

“What are you muttering about?” the Bishop asked.

“Oh, nothing. So, what do you think of the proposal?”

A long silence followed.

“…I believe it is the only rational path forward,” the Bishop finally conceded.

And so, we decided to forge the shadow network into something entirely new.

***

“Huzzah! Long live the city! Praise be to the Lord!”

“We… we’re alive! We’re all alive! Thank you, Holy Mother!”

“It’s a miracle! We must offer our prayers!”

“What are you talking about? If the Mayor hadn’t convinced the mercenaries to withdraw… he saved us all!”

Outside the window, the citizens of Schwäbisch Gmünd were cheering and embracing one another. As the sun crested the horizon, staining the eastern sky in brilliant hues of fire, the city remained untouched.

The Mayor of Schwäbisch Gmünd drew the curtains and collapsed into his chair, weeping as he offered a prayer of thanks. He still couldn’t believe that his ancient, storied city had been on the verge of being put to the torch by heretic mercenaries only hours ago. It seemed like a dream that they had occupied the city only to quietly ‘purchase’ the supplies they needed and leave. He had expected the worst—the rapes, the murders, the houses engulfed in flames.

“Did I not tell you?” a voice asked. “I told you the city would be safe.”

The Mayor looked at the merchant standing before him. He hadn’t believed the man until every word of his prophecy had come true. He had simply followed the stranger’s instructions and handed an Othello coin to the mercenary captain. The moment the captain saw the coin, his face had turned ashen, and he had ordered his men to wheel about.

The people believed the Mayor had saved them through brilliant negotiation. He knew better, but he was bound to silence.

“Thank you,” the Mayor whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved this city. I will pray for you, and for the great being you serve. For your… your order…”

“Shh,” the merchant said, pressing a finger to his lips. “Do not call it ‘my’ order.”

The Mayor looked up with tear-filled eyes.

“It is our order now,” the merchant whispered. “We must maintain our secrets. Do not speak of the society so carelessly.”

He glanced around the room before releasing the Mayor’s shoulder. “You know our secret, and therefore, you are one of us. Did you not join us in our noble cause to protect the innocent?”

“I… I only wanted to save my people from the sword.”

“And this is not the only Free City in the Empire,” the merchant said, his voice ringing with a quiet, noble conviction.

The Mayor felt himself being pulled up by the man’s intensity, forced to meet his gaze.

“Countless others are groaning under the weight of this war. They are terrified, just as you were. Do you not wish to save them? Do you not wish to dedicate yourself to all of humanity, as Christ did?”

The Mayor remembered the sheer terror of watching his city almost burn. He tasted the bitterness of that despair once more. He didn’t want anyone else to experience that—not even a wretched heretic.

He lowered his head. “…I wish to serve.”

“Then,” the merchant said, producing a small object, “wear this ring.”

As if in a trance, the Mayor slipped the ring onto his finger.

“Do you swear to follow the tenets of the society and support all that we stand for?” the merchant asked.

“I swear,” the Mayor whispered.

“Do you swear to never reveal the secrets of the society to another?”

“I swear.”

“And do you swear to keep this oath until your dying breath, regardless of the cost?”

“I shall.”

The merchant, wearing a ring engraved with a cluster of grapes, grasped the Mayor’s hand—which now bore an identical mark. The Mayor repeated the words after him.

“We walk in the shadows to pursue the light.”

“We walk in the shadows to pursue the light.”

The merchant smiled. The Mayor, too, found himself smiling through his tears, feeling as though he had been reborn. The stranger handed him a dagger bearing the same vine-leaf emblem.

“For humanity,” the merchant said.

“For… for humanity,” the Mayor echoed.

Inside the shaded halls of the City Hall, a new member of the society was born. Deep within the heart of the Empire, a new secret society began to take root.

None of them knew the true origin of the words they spoke. It was all by the grace of Hwangsuk Soft.