Fire Emblem : The Holy War

by RyanMk2

Follow Ray, sent into the world of his favorite game and the trials he will have to face in order to survive. However, this is not simply a story about his survival, but also about his desire to help and protect the bonds he made in this new world. Will he be able to save everybody ? Or will he succomb, yet again to forces greater than him ? Rated M just in case.

12. Chapter 10

Hello everyone ! Welcome to the newest chapter of the Holy War.

This chapter was a blast to write, and the ones coming next even more so. And, alrhough I've recently gotten around to finally play Pokemon Violet, I think the next chapter will be coming earluer than usual.

So, now let́́'s get into it, shall we ?

Reviews : Thank you guys so much ! And welcome on this journey that we'll be taking together for now on. Hopefully for long.

Friendly reminder :

Ishtar is the best ! = Text from the System

"Ishtar is the best !" = Talking

'Ishtar is the best !' = Thoughts

*Ishtar is the best !* = Sound effect

Copyright Disclaimer : I don't own anything about this fanfic, except for its OCs. Everything else belongs to their respective creators, and they're the ones that deserve praise.

---

Chapter 9 : The Spirit Forest Maiden

Deep within the untamed lands of Verdane, fate begins to weave its next trial for Sigurd and his army.

Edain's desperate escape, King Batu's sudden aggression—mysteries that demand answers. But will they get them before it is too late?

Before them stretch the vast, foreboding forest of Verdane, whispered to be haunted by spirits of old. But legend or not, Sigurd knows one truth: the path forward lies within the shadows of the trees.

And so, he takes his first steps into the heart of Verdane, where destiny—and most importantly danger—await.

---

The training grounds had fallen into a stillness that was almost eerie, the sounds of clashing blades, shuffling feet, and sharp exhales having faded into the background of distant birdsong and the occasional rustling of wind through the trees.

The once lively courtyard now bore only the quiet remnants of exertion—disturbed gravel, the faint scent of sweat, and the lingering smell of steel in the air.

I lowered my practice sword, exhaling slowly as the tension in my arms eased. The sun, now slanting lower in the sky, cast elongated shadows that stretched across the worn training field. Across from me, Oifey stood, his own wooden blade still held aloft, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. His grip had weakened, his stance slightly uneven—not in carelessness, but in exhaustion. I could see every subtle twitch in his muscles and every droplet of sweat glistening in the fading sunlight.

"That's enough for today," I said, resting my sword against my shoulder. "You're slowing down, and if I keep pushing you, you'll start forming bad habits just to compensate."

Oifey hesitated. I could see the flicker of reluctance in his expression, the way his fingers twitched on the hilt of his sword. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, the sweat glistening in the late afternoon light.

"I could still go a little longer," he insisted, but there was a waver in his voice. His stance betrayed him—his body was already protesting, even if his mind refused to yield.

I chuckled at his false bravado, shifting my balance. "And then tomorrow, you'll wake up sore, sluggish, and be twice as useless during your actual duties. Smart strategy."

A reluctant sigh escaped him, his posture softening in defeat. He dropped his training blade, rolling one shoulder as if testing its limits. "Fine. But I am getting better, aren't I?"

I studied him for a long moment before nodding. He was right.

"Yeah. You are. Your footwork is getting sharper, and you don't hesitate as much when committing to a strike. You're still stiff, though—too focused on getting everything perfect. A good swordsman learns to flow with the fight, not just memorize stances."

Oifey frowned slightly, his lips pressing together as he absorbed my words.

He was thoughtful like that—always reflecting, always analyzing. It was one of the things that made him a promising strategist, but it also held him back at times such as these.

"I suppose that comes with experience," he said finally, his tone quieter than before.

"Exactly. No matter how much we drill you here, actual combat won't follow a script. That's why I keep telling you to focus on adaptability, not just technique."

He nodded, but there was something in his expression—something deeper.

I recognized that look. He wasn't just thinking about training. It was about the last battle. The ones before it. The ones still to come.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "You're still thinking about what happened, aren't you?"

Oifey's fingers curled slightly at his sides. "I... I just don't want to be a burden," he admitted. His voice was quieter now, tinged with something raw. "Everyone else is fighting, contributing. I don't want to be the only one left behind."

I let out a short breath, considering my words. "Oifey, you're fourteen."

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing in frustration. "I know that. But Lord Sigurd trusts me to be useful. I should be able to handle more than just standing on the sidelines."

I met his gaze evenly.

"Listen, it's not about whether you're capable. It's about where you're most useful. Sigurd doesn't need another soldier—he needs an advisor. Someone to see the battlefield differently, to think ahead while he's busy leading the charge. That's what you've been doing for a while now."

Oifey looked away, his grip tightening around his sword before he let out a slow breath. "…I understand." He didn't sound entirely convinced, but he wasn't arguing anymore.

The evening light softened his features as if to cradle him in a gentle promise that tomorrow might bring new strength and clarity.

I clapped him on the shoulder with enough force to make him jump ahead, startled. "Good. Now go get some rest. You earned it."

Before he could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps drew our attention.

The soft patter of boots on gravel and the faint clink of armor heralded the arrival of new presences, breaking the intimate silence of our private exchange.

I turned just as Quan and Finn entered the training yard, both dressed in light armor, their lances at their sides.

Oifey straightened immediately at the sight of Quan, bowing slightly at his approaching figure. "Lord Quan."

Quan offered a small, acknowledging nod in return before looking over at the boy's state. "You're diligent as ever, Oifey. How was training?"

"He's improving," I answered before Oifey could downplay his progress. "Still has a ways to go, but he's getting there."

Oifey shot me a quick glare before schooling his expression into something more proper. "I'll continue doing my best, my lord."

"I have no doubt," Quan said, his tone warm. "But don't forget to rest. Even the finest warriors must know when to recover."

Oifey hesitated, clearly torn between his desire to learn more and the exhaustion of his body, before nodding. "Yes, sir. I'll take my leave, then." He turned to me. "Thank you for today's lesson, Ray."

I grinned. "No problem. Just don't collapse on the way to your room, yeah?"

Oifey huffed but said nothing, making his way toward the exit.

As he disappeared around the corner, I turned back to Quan and Finn, feeling a renewed curiosity at the sight of them in the twilight.

"You two looking to train?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at the weapon they were each waltzing around with.

It was rare for Quan to be out here at this hour. Generally, he prefers to train on his own, a little before night, so as to not disturb anyone.

Quan smiled faintly. "Indeed. The next battle might be a tough one, and we must all be prepared." He gestured toward Finn. "So I thought it'll be as good a time as any for some practical and personal training."

I crossed my arms, intrigued by the prospect of witnessing their exchange firsthand. "Do you mind if I stay a little and take a look?"

Quan turned to me, his expression calm but considering. Then, he nodded. "By all means. Perhaps you'll find it insightful."

I smirked and moved away from the training ground to give them some space. "I'll be the judge of that."

As I leaned against the nearby fence, the rough wood beneath my hands, I took a deep breath and allowed my eyes to wander over the expanse of the training yard.

Quan took a step forward, twirling his lance with the graceful precision of a seasoned warrior. Finn followed suit, gripping the shaft of his own lance tightly as if drawing strength from the very air around him.

I watched, keenly aware of the subtle differences in their postures and expressions—the effortless confidence of Quan, honed by years of relentless practice and real combat, contrasted with Finn's earnest determination and the nervous rigidity that betrayed his relative inexperience.

The training grounds had quieted with Oifey's departure, but the lingering energy of the session still clung to the air. The soft rustling of leaves and the gentle whisper of the evening breeze provided the perfect backdrop for this duel of wills and techniques.

I leaned casually against the fence, arms crossed, as Quan and Finn took their positions a few paces apart.

Quan studied Finn for a moment before speaking, his voice measured but thoughtful. "Finn, this fight will likely be a very long battle. My apologies for bringing you into it."

'He isprobably referring to the war against Verdane.'

Finn straightened, his grip firm on the shaft of his lance. "I am but your humble servant, milord. I would go anywhere, should my master will it." His tone was unwavering, not a shred of hesitation in his words.

Quan's lips pressed into a thin line, a hint of warmth behind his otherwise composed expression. "Thank you, Finn."

Finn bowed his head slightly, but when he lifted it again, I noticed a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze. "…Even so, I am but a squire," he admitted. "It honors me to have your confidence, but I doubt I'll be of much use to you."

I raised an eyebrow at the candid confession, yet before I could say anything further, Quan let out a quiet hum. "Is that so?" He took a step back, drawing his lance in one fluid motion.

The polished steel tip gleamed in the fading sunlight, capturing every nuance of light in a dazzling display that spoke of both artistry and lethal precision. "In that case, what better time than now is there for a spot of hands-on training? Ready yourself, Finn."

Finn's lips twitched involuntarily at the challenge, but he reacted immediately, lowering his stance and gripping his own lance with both hands. "Yes, sir!"

I smirked slightly, shifting my weight as I prepared to watch the exchange unfold in all its intricate detail.

Finn's hold on his weapon was steady, his form set with the kind of discipline expected of a knight-in-training. Yet, despite the resolve in his eyes, I could already tell how this would play out.

Quan was on an entirely different level.

Even as he stood at ease, there was an effortless confidence to his posture, a mastery that needed no showmanship. Finn's form was solid—proper weight distribution, grip firm but flexible, stance balanced.

By all accounts, he was a well-trained squire.

But Quan had long since surpassed training. He was a warrior forged in real battles, someone who didn't just know the techniques but embodied them as second nature.

Finn exhaled slowly, tightening his grip. He knew he wouldn't win. But that didn't mean he wouldn't fight.

With a sharp breath, Finn lunged.

His lance shot forward in a disciplined thrust, aiming for a clean strike toward Quan's midsection. I had to give him credit—there was no hesitation. No half-measured attack. He was committing fully, trusting his training.

But to Quan, it might as well have been a gentle breeze.

With a movement so smooth it was almost lazy, Quan sidestepped just enough for the attack to miss him by inches. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he turned his own lance, parrying Finn's strike with such precision that it barely made a sound.

Finn staggered, but he didn't falter for long. Adjusting quickly, he twisted his body and brought his weapon back around in a second strike, this time aiming for Quan's side.

It didn't work.

With a simple pivot of his heel, Quan deflected the strike as though it were nothing more than an inconvenient breeze, stepping just inside Finn's guard before pressing the blunt end of his lance lightly against Finn's shoulder. A clear "you're dead if this had been real combat".

Finn froze, chest heaving. His eyes darted to the weapon resting against him, his jaw clenching slightly.

But before the weight of that moment could settle, Quan stepped back, lowering his lance. "Again," he instructed calmly.

Finn swallowed but nodded. "Yes, sir."

He adjusted his stance, planting his feet more firmly this time as if trying to anchor his resolve against the swirling doubts within him.

He moved in again—this time feinting with his lance before shifting his angle mid-thrust. It was a smart maneuver, one that might have worked against someone of equal footing.

But Quan didn't even flinch.

Rather than dodging outright, he merely leaned out of the way, his movements precise down to the smallest detail. His control was almost terrifying in its efficiency; he didn't waste any energy, didn't parry unless absolutely necessary.

Every motion was designed for maximum effect.

And then, in a single swift counter, he stepped in and hooked Finn's weapon with his own, twisting it just enough to send it tumbling from his grip.

Finn's lance clattered to the ground a few feet away, a sharp sound that echoed in the stillness of the courtyard. A tense silence followed, punctuated only by the soft thud of the fallen weapon and the rapid, uneven rhythm of Finn's breath.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, his fists clenching at his sides as he fought to steady the tumult of emotions swirling within him. Even from where I stood, I could see the frustration tightening his expression—not at Quan, but at himself.

Quan regarded him for a moment, then stepped back, lowering his weapon once more. "You're improving," he said, his tone even and measured, as if delivering an inevitable truth. "Your movements are clean, your form disciplined. But you're too focused on execution and not enough on reaction. If you only think about the attack you planned, you won't be able to adapt when it fails."

Finn inhaled deeply, his expression unreadable as he absorbed the lesson with a mix of humility and determination. "I understand, sir."

Quan studied him for a moment longer before nodding slowly. "That's enough for now. Retrieve your weapon."

Finn hesitated for only a second before moving to pick up his fallen lance.

I exhaled quietly, frowning to myself as I reflected on the bout. 'That was barely even a fight.' But, in a way, it was never meant to be.

This wasn't about competition—it was about experience. About learning.

Finn was young. Inexperienced. And standing before him was a prince who had trained all his life, whose strength was already the stuff of legend. There had only ever been one possible outcome.

But still, he got up.

And that, more than anything, was what mattered.

I pushed off the fence, walking toward the two of them with measured strides. "Well, that went about how I expected," I said, giving Finn a pointed look as my eyes glazed over the small droplets of sweat on his forehead. "Did you actually think you had a shot, or were you just hoping to last longer than a few exchanges? Or was this entire exchange somehow training too?"

Finn's lips pressed together, his grip tightening on his lance as he struggled to spit out his response. "I wasn't expecting to win, of course."

"Of course." I nodded sagely at his words, my tone gentle and, despite myself, slightly sarcastic.

"But if I can't even land a single hit, then I still have far to go." His voice was measured, but I caught the frustration buried underneath.

Quan placed a hand on Finn's shoulder, his expression calm yet reassuring. "You do. But progress isn't measured in victories. It's measured in understandings. And you're already further along than you think."

Finn met his gaze, something uncertain flickering in his eyes before he nodded, as if accepting a truth that was both bitter and beautiful. "…Thank you, sir."

Quan smiled faintly before turning to me. "And? What did you think, Ray?"

I smiled, swiftly going through the bout in my mind. "Finn's got heart. And discipline. That'll carry him far. But he still fights like someone who thinks there's always a right answer. That's not how real battles work."

Quan nodded in agreement, his expression solemn as he acknowledged my words. "Agreed. And that is precisely why we train."

I smirked at that. "Yeah, yeah. Though next time, if you want him to actually learn something, maybe don't completely humiliate him in under a minute."

Finn stiffened slightly at the teasing remark, but Quan only chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling with a mix of amusement and pride. "Noted."

The tension eased slightly, and Finn finally exhaled, rolling back his shoulders as if trying to release the pressure of a moment that had stretched too long. "I'll do better next time," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

I clapped a hand on his back, the sound of the hit echoing softly in the stillness of the courtyard. "Attaboy. That's the spirit."

The sun had dipped lower now, casting deep amber streaks across the courtyard in a farewell glow.

As twilight deepened into a velvety night and the cool air carried the scent of distant woodsmoke and impending rain, the training grounds began to empty.

In the cool hush of the approaching night, I made my way back to my room.

Tomorrow, it will all begin again.

---

The heavy wooden table before me was covered in neatly arranged reports—parchments detailing the army's supply lines, casualty reports, and assessments of the occupied castle town. The scent of aged ink mingled with that of oiled parchment.

Sitting across from me was Quan, his usual composed expression slightly more pensive as he scanned the documents.

His gaze, normally so steady and unflinching, now darted from one report to another with a hint of uncertainty—a subtle sign that even the most meticulous among us were not immune to the burdens of leadership.

As Sigurd's closest advisor and Leonster's prince, he had a natural talent for handling logistics. Meanwhile, my role as tactician had me ensuring our positioning was sound, our resources optimized, and our forces well-prepared for whatever came next. It was a lot of paperwork, but I'd take it any day over dealing with an enemy ambush.

The soft lamplight flickered against the polished wood of the table, casting shadows that danced gently around the papers. The room, though small and unadorned, exuded an air of solemnity that could have been mistaken for a church on mourning day.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the back of my neck as I looked over the latest supply list. "We're holding steady for now, but if we're staying here longer than a few days, we'll need to start preparing supply runs. We barely have enough rations to keep our forces fed as it is."

My voice cut through the quiet murmur of our work. The numbers on the page, meticulously recorded yet stark in their implications, underscored the precariousness of our situation. I knew very well that in times of prolonged conflict, even the smallest oversight in resource management could snowball into disaster.

Quan nodded, resting a hand on his chin as he continued to peruse the document before him. "I anticipated as much. There's also the matter of securing this town's loyalty. Many of its people lived under Verdane's rule for years. We cannot assume they welcome us as liberators." His measured tone was laced with a caution borne of long experience.

The thought of the town's inhabitants, caught between the old and the new, stirred in me a sense of foreboding. Their allegiance, fragile and unpredictable, was as critical to our success as the supply lines detailed on these parchments.

I exhaled sharply, the sound mingling with the rustle of paper as I shifted my focus back to the supply list. "Right. Last thing we need is some rogue faction stirring up trouble while we're occupied elsewhere."

Before Quan could respond, a firm knock at the door interrupted the discussion.

"Enter," Quan called.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Ayra. She was as imposing as ever, carrying herself with the rigid, disciplined posture of a warrior. Her black eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over the assembled documents and then settled on us with an intensity that brooked no hesitation.

But beneath that unreadable expression, there was something else as her eyes settled on me. A tension that didn't belong to the battlefield.

"I was told you wished to see me, Sir Quan," she said, her tone formal, crisp, each syllable carefully measured as if reciting a well-rehearsed decree.

I knew this scene well—it was one of the more memorable lore dumps in the first generation of Genealogy of the Holy War, where Ayra provided the truth behind the war between Grannvale and Isaach.

Almost instinctively, I started gathering my papers as I prepared to leave. "I'll give you two some space," I said, pushing back my chair in order to move out.

"No need," Quan replied, glancing at me. "You're free to stay."

For a moment, I hesitated.

The beginning of the conversation had played out in my head exactly as it had in the game.

But right now, as Quan himself invited me to remain, it was different. There was an unspoken trust in his words, a subtle acknowledgment that my presence was more than welcome. It was a recognition that my role in these discussions might be more vital than I had previously assumed, which, truth be told, could have been a problem.

I cast a brief, searching glance at Ayra, noting that she hadn't reacted to my presence, at least not outwardly. Yet, the way her fingers tensed at her sides suggested an internal conflict—a stirring of emotions that she fought hard to conceal.

There was something about her that now struck me as… strange.

I exhaled quietly and leaned back in my chair again, deciding to remain silent for the time being. It was best to let the conversation flow, unimpeded by my own internal uncertainties.

Quan turned his attention fully to Ayra, his voice measured and deliberate as he addressed her. "Princess Ayra of Isaach ? I heard your story from Sigurd. I am Quan of Leonster."

"A pleasure," she answered simply. Her voice remained even, guarded, each word carefully chosen as though she were weighing the implications of revealing too much too soon.

"I apologize for making you come out this far princess Ayra," Quan continued, his tone softening just a fraction as he addressed her plight. "but there are no other suitable places to talk."

She glanced around her for a second, as though reevaluating her current position in the castle. "What did you want to talk about?"

"... I'll get straight to the point. Why did Isaach attack Dahna in the first place? Surely you knew doing so would invoke the wrath of Grannvale. I know of King Mananan as a wise person. That he would commit such a reckless act...the murder of innocent civilians… The very idea defies belief."

Ayra's posture stiffened, and for the first time, her expression betrayed something beyond neutrality—surprise. "You knew my father, Sir Quan?!"

The question hung in the air like a shard of glass, each syllable reflecting the pain of a loss too great to be measured in mere words. The intensity in her black eyes was a storm of emotions—grief, anger, and a desperate longing for justice that had festered over weeks of silence.

"I'm afraid I never had the chance to meet him," Quan admitted. "However, my father knew him well. He always had only the utmost praise for him. He also speaks fondly of your brother, Prince Mariccle. He's always said he is a fine young man."

Ayra's gaze softened slightly, though a shadow still lingered in her eyes like a phantom of bygone days.

"Is that so? It heartens me to hear it... Without a doubt, my father and Mariccle were admirable men. Never would they condone such an assault on a defenseless city." Her voice, though steady, was imbued with a deep-seated sorrow. Her hands clenched into fists. "As for the matter of Dahna, the patriarch of the border town Ribaut acted alone and without our consent."

The declaration was as cold as it was precise, slicing through the air with the sharpness of a well-honed blade.

I had to force myself to keep my expression neutral, even as a maelstrom of emotions churned within me. Even knowing this conversation was coming, hearing it firsthand had a different, far more visceral weight.

This wasn't just some "game event"—this was her history. Her father, her brother, her homeland—destroyed by a war that had begun under false pretenses.

'...Her?'

Quan's reaction was immediate, his voice rising in a mix of incredulity and suppressed anger. "I beg your pardon?! Why haven't the Grannvaleans heard this? Surely if Prince Kurth knew the truth, he would refuse to continue the war."

"So, too, thought my father," Ayra said, her voice quieter now, laden with resignation and a deep-seated bitterness that spoke of long-held grudges. "Once he executed the Ribaut patriarch, he departed for the Grannvale front, head in tow, to negotiate with them." She hesitated. "But…"

Her words trailed off into a silence that was as profound as it was ominous. The unfinished sentence hung in the air like a specter.

Quan leaned forward slightly, his tone a careful blend of urgency and empathy. "…Yes?"

She exhaled slowly, her voice trembling ever so slightly as she continued. "My father, the king… He was assassinated on the way."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Ayra's voice remained steady, but there was something brittle in it now, as if the act of speaking had chipped away at her carefully maintained facade. "Once word of this returned to Isaach, the people were utterly incensed. Mariccle set out, leading our entire army, seeking vengeance against Grannvale."

Quan's brows furrowed as he processed the narrative slowly unfolding before him. "Something is amiss here. The murder of a king who seeks peace talks certainly isn't like Prince Kurth, either." His fingers tapped lightly against, his thoughts clearly racing. "Have you told Sigurd of this as well?"

"No," Ayra said bluntly. "Lord Sigurd carries enough of a burden as it is. It's too late for my brother…" Her words trailed into a somber murmur. I could see her jaw tighten, her nails digging into her palms as if to anchor herself against the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

"Prince Mariccle was resigned to his death when he engaged Grannvale, wasn't he…" Quan murmured, his voice barely audible in the buzzing room.

"My brother believed to the last that Isaach's hope for the future rests in Shannan, his son," Ayra said, her tone clipped and controlled, the finality of her words punctuated by a deep, personal resolve. "My role is to protect Shannan, and with him, the promise of Isaach's liberty…"

Something about the way she said those words bothered me, although I couldn't tell why.

There was something in her tone, in the way she kept stealing the occasional glance at me between sentences. It wasn't just about Isaach. This felt... personal.

'Why?'

Before I could dwell on it further, the door burst open with an urgency that shattered the lingering tension.

A soldier stumbled in, breathless, his armor clinking as he hastily saluted.

"Sir Quan! Sir Ray! Scouts have reported sightings of a small group fleeing from the direction opposite Marpha Castle," the soldier panted. "They are being pursued by Verdanite troops. We believe them to be captured civilians of Yngvi!"

'Could it be...Edain ?'

The timing fits, more or less.

I pushed back my chair and stood, the urgency in the soldier's voice igniting a spark of resolve within me that cut through the haze I was currently going through.

"How many enemies?" I demanded, my voice firm and unyielding as I prepared to shift our focus from the heavy burden of the past to the critical needs of the present.

"A small detachment, sir. No more than a dozen foot soldiers and a few archers, but they are gaining on the refugees quickly."

The notion that civilians—innocents driven by fear rather than malice—were being hunted down was a call to arms that I could not ignore. More importantly, according to the scenario, there was a high enough chance that the civilian currently being pursued would be Edain.

"Then we ride." The words left my lips without hesitation, a clear and unwavering command that brooked no argument from those present.

I turned to Quan, already expecting disapproval for my swift and perhaps hotheaded decision, but instead found him watching me with measured understanding.

Quan nodded slightly. "You intend to intercept them?"

"Of course. If civilians are being hunted down, I won't stand by."

He exhaled, rubbing his temple for a moment before nodding in quiet approval. "Then take who you need. I trust you'll handle this swiftly."

That was all I needed to hear—a clear mandate and a silent vote of confidence that bolstered my resolve. "Thank you, Quan." I turned to the soldier, my voice gaining momentum. "Gather Midir and Lex immediately." I hesitated for a brief second before adding, "Azelle as well. We leave now."

---

A new quest has been generated !

Title : "No time to think—just time to save lives!"

Type : Main Quest

Time-frame : Immediate

Description : Scouts have reported two civilian captives fleeing from enemy forces near the outskirts of the forest. Their pursuers are closing in fast, and there's no one else close enough to help. You know the truth that no one else does — one of them is Edain of Yngvi, a key figure in the events to come. If you don't act now, they'll be captured again… or worse actually.

Objective : Intercept the enemy and rescue the two captives. Ensure their safety and get them back to camp.

Rewards : 2 000 Gold Coins, 200 EXP, Increased influence and trust among your allies.

Failure : The captives are recaptured — or killed. Loss of a critical figure, and the timeline could spiral into disaster. The weight of knowing you could have changed it? That's yours to bear.

Status: In progress...

---

Somehow, and I can't figure out how, we found ourselves nearing the village north of Genoa Castle. The road was dusted with the remnants of an earlier rain, the earthy scent of wet soil mingling with the distant aroma of burning wood. Despite our urgency, the landscape held a deceptive stillness, as if nature itself was holding its breath.

Since the area was not entirely under our control yet, there was always the chance that the villagers could be attacked by a rogue band of Verdanite soldiers—or even by roving bandits looking to profit from the chaos.

Normally, considering our current predicament, I would've simply bypassed the village and sent another squad to warn them later. Midir, his expression dark with concern, was more than eager to agree.

"Who's to say the villagers aren't in cahoots with the soldiers? After all, they're all from Verdane," he had argued, his tone edged with hate due to Verdane's invasion of his home. And I couldn't fault him for thinking that; the scars of past conflicts left little room for blind trust.

However, it was Lex—of all people—who convinced us to make a shortstop.

"A couple of minutes won't endanger our objective. But those same minutes could mean the difference between life and death for those people," he insisted, his gruff voice softened by a fierce compassion.

We had all witnessed firsthand the cruelty Verdane forces had inflicted when they roamed Yngvi, and the thought of another innocent village suffering was intolerable.

With a sigh that carried both reluctance and resolve, I directed our little group to the village entrance. We slowed our pace, our horses' hooves thudding against the hard-packed earth as we approached the crumbling wooden gate.

The locals were already on edge—faces drawn tight with worry, eyes glistening with both fear and defiance. A middle-aged woman stepped forward, wiping her hands on a worn apron in an attempt to get them rid of some filth.

"This village is part o' the holdings of Prince Cimbaeth, lord of Genoa, but his brother is even worse than that. They're as dreadful as they come! Barely a month goes by without them settin' their army on us. It's terrifyin'! King Batu, his father, used to do such a fine job of keepin' them in check. I can hardly imagine what's goin' on... Anyway, glad you stopped by!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and simmering anger.

I exchanged a glance with Midir. If Cimbaeth was as ruthless as they claimed, then it was a good thing he was already dealt with.

After offering some reassurances from our group that the princes would be no further trouble, we gathered what local information we could before mounting up once more. With that brief respite, our minds refocused on our primary objective.

The wind howled past my ears as I surged forward. My boots barely touched the ground as I raced alongside the charging horses, my magic propelling me like a fierce gust that rivaled the speed of any steed. The field was vast and open, dotted with wild grasses that swayed like spectral figures in the early afternoon light.

[The skill 'Presence Detection' is being activated]

N/A

'Still nothing.'

That simply meant they were out of range, not dead. At least I hoped they weren't.

Midir rode closest to me, his bow held at the ready as his brown eyes scanned the horizon. "Are you certain this isn't a trap? Verdane has been known for setting bait before, albeit not particularly clever ones," he called out, his voice tinged with both caution and anxiety.

"No doubt they're hoping to draw out easy prey," I replied, adjusting my speed to remain at the front of our column. "But this isn't a trap. The ones they're chasing aren't soldiers. They're running for their lives." I couldn't offer any further explanation.

"How can you be so sure?" Azelle shouted from behind as he strained to keep pace on his horse.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. "I just know."

Minutes passed in a blur of wind and hoofbeats.

[The skill 'Presence Detection' is being activated]

Civilians Detected ! x2

Then, over the crest of a gentle hill, we saw them: a lone woman and a young boy, both with golden hair that caught the sunlight. They appeared haggard but whole and safe. The sight sent a pulse of confirmation through me.

'Edain.'

Even so far away I recognized her instantly—her cleric's robes billowed as she ran, desperately shielding the boy beside her with every ounce of strength.

But behind them, as if emerging from the very shadows of the foliage, around a dozen Verdanite soldiers closed in. Their crude armor and bloodstained weapons glinted in the dying light. Their war cries, raw and savage, rang out across the open field as they surged forward, intoxicated by the scent of impending carnage.

"There they are!" Lex bellowed, tightening his grip on his axe as he urged his steed to charge. "We're not too late!" The urgency in his tone was matched by the fury in his eyes.

"Not yet," I growled, my focus narrowing on the approaching threat. "But we will be if we don't move." In that instant, every second mattered.

[The skill 'Gale Stride' is being activated]

I launched myself forward with a burst of wind-enhanced speed—a living arrow propelled by magic.

In a heartbeat, I was upon one of the Verdanite soldiers. My blade, catching the light as it arced through the air, sliced into his shoulder with a precision honed by "years" of combat.

The soldier let out a guttural howl as he staggered, colliding with a crumbling stone wall before crumpling to the ground, his scream swallowed by the roar of battle.

The clash escalated rapidly from there.

Midir, his eyes burning with the clarity of a seasoned archer, spurred his horse into action. In one fluid motion, he drew his bow and released an arrow that whistled past the chaos—a predator's strike that found the vulnerable gap in an enemy's armor. The soldier fell silently, his fall punctuating the rhythm of our offensive.

Lex, ever the embodiment of raw strength and relentless resolve, roared as he charged in. His massive axe swung in a wide, brutal arc. The first blow connected with a sickening thud, splitting a soldier's chest open and sending him hurtling backward into the dirt. Without pausing, Lex brought his axe down again—a relentless double strike that shattered another enemy's guard before cleaving deep into his side. Each swing was accompanied by the crash of splintered wood and the metallic tang of blood.

At a safe distance, Azelle's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the battlefield. With a deliberate motion, he raised his hand, and from his palm burst forth a torrent of flames that surged toward a cluster of Verdanite archers who had taken up positions behind a shattered stone wall.

The fire roared to life, engulfing one archer almost instantly while forcing the others to scatter in desperate attempts to seek cover. The heat was palpable, and for a moment, the world seemed to shimmer in the fire's reflection.

Yet the battle was far from over. More soldiers emerged from the surrounding brush, their eyes wild with bloodlust and their formation fraying at the edges.

I pivoted, feeling the rush of magic like a second skin, and surged forward again. My blade became a blur of motion as I parried a clumsy thrust from another enemy, the impact sending sparks flying in a dazzling display of combat artistry.

Amid the tumult, the sounds of clashing metal, anguished cries, and the rhythmic pounding of hooves melded into a dissonant symphony. I could hear the steady, determined breathing of my comrades.

In the midst of the melee, every movement was magnified: the grit of blood mixing with dust, the flash of a blade catching the light, and the fierce, unyielding expressions etched into every warrior's face.

Then, as suddenly as the fighting had erupted, a momentary silence fell—a pause heavy with the cost of conflict. The scent of blood and charred flesh mingled in the air, and the ground was littered with the fallen bodies of our enemy.

We had won this skirmish.

I stood amidst the chaos, my muscles still thrumming with residual energy, and scanned the field. There, at a corner of our side of the field, was Edain. Her face, streaked with sweat and dust, was etched with both relief and sorrow as she shielded the young boy with a protective embrace.

Midir was the first to react. Abandoning all decorum, he nearly threw himself from his horse, his usual knightly poise cracking as he rushed forward.

"Milady… You… you're safe!" he cried, his voice cracking with emotion. He dropped to one knee, his armor scraping against the dirt. "Ahh… thank the gods! I'm so sorry—I failed to protect you. Please, forgive me…" His words were punctuated by raw, unfiltered remorse.

Edain stepped forward, her presence as calming as a gentle breeze amid the storm. She placed a firm hand on his arm, her tone both gentle and resolute.

"Midir, rise," she said softly. "The important thing is that you're safe as well. Please, don't burden yourself with guilt. You fought bravely, even now, and I couldn't be more grateful for that."

Midir hesitated, his face shadowed with regret. "But I swore to be your shield, and yet…"

"And you upheld that vow until the end," Edain reassured him. "No one could have asked for more." Then, with quiet insistence, she added, "For now, I'd like you to remain with Lord Sigurd. He needs every capable knight by his side."

Midir straightened, nodding firmly. "Certainly, milady. Lord Sigurd has done so much for me, for you, and for all of Yngvi. I'll dedicate myself to repaying his kindness."

I watched the exchange in silence. The sheer devotion in his voice made something in my chest tighten. I understood why he felt that way—Edain had that effect on people. But that same unwavering loyalty… it was the kind that got people killed.

"Lady Edain! You're safe… thank the gods…"

Azelle appeared then, his face a blend of relief and lingering anxiety. His robes were singed, and his breaths came in short, ragged bursts—clear signs that he had pushed himself to his limits.

"Lord Azelle?" Edain inquired, her tone filled with genuine concern and curiosity. "Have you been fighting for Yngvi as well?"

Azelle hesitated, shifted uncomfortably. "When the news of your abduction reached us, I—I couldn't just sit at home while you were in danger. I came as quickly as I could." His words, though rushed, carried an earnestness that resonated even with me.

Edain's eyes softened for a moment as she regarded him, then grew contemplative. "You are the younger brother of Lord Arvis, are you not? Did he… allow you to come?"

Azelle's gaze fell, and a flicker of guilt danced across his features. "No," he admitted quietly. "I… left without his consent. He wasn't exactly thrilled to hear that."

I couldn't help but let a small, dry laugh escape me—humor amid horror was my only solace sometimes.

"That was putting it lightly," I remarked, my tone a mix of exasperation and mirth.

Edain's brows furrowed as she turned to him once more. "Why would you do something so reckless, then? I thought you despised war and violence."

Azelle flushed, visibly flustered as he fumbled for an explanation. "Because I… er, well…" he stammered, his eyes avoiding hers.

I raised an eyebrow, watching him squirm under the weight of her inquisitive gaze.

"Oh? What is it, Azelle?" Edain pressed, her tone laced with gentle curiosity that was both teasing and sincere.

After a moment's silence, Azelle sighed in defeat. "It's… nothing. Never mind."

I couldn't resist a teasing drawl. "That was thoroughly unconvincing," I stated, stepping forward and crossing my arms with an amused smirk.

Azelle's glare was sharp as he muttered, "You're not helping, Ray."

"Wasn't trying to," I replied easily. "Just stating the obvious." Then I turned to Edain, giving her a once-over. "You alright? No injuries?"

Her exasperated sigh was almost tender. "Everyone keeps asking me that. I assure you, I'm fine."

I tilted my head, eyes locked with hers. "Yeah, see, I'd believe that if I didn't already know you have a habit of putting everyone else's well-being above your own. So humor me—are you actually fine, or are you just saying that so we won't worry?"

Edain hesitated, and for a moment, I feared she might brush me off again. But then, with a tired smile, she relented. "Perhaps I am a little weary… but nothing serious."

I held her gaze a beat longer before exhaling softly. "Good," I murmured, my voice quieter than I intended to. Then, after a pause, I added, "Don't scare us like that again."

Edain blinked, taken aback by the unexpected shift in tone. "I… I'll do my best," she answered gently.

I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a breath. "That's all I can ask for, I guess."

The weight of battle still clung to us, but for now, relief settled in its place.

Another fight survived.

Another friend saved.

And, for the moment, that was enough to carry us forward.

---

Quest completed !

Title : "No time to think—just time to save lives!"

Type : Main Quest

Description : Against the odds, you intercepted the enemy forces and rescued the two captives without a scratch. One of them, as you thought, was Edain of Yngvi — a vital figure whose safety could change the course of events. Thanks to your quick action and fearless intervention, both civilians are now safe and under protection. For now, the timeline remains intact… but the future's still in motion.

Objective : Intercept the enemy and rescue the two captives. Ensure their safety and get them back to camp.

Rewards : 2 000 Gold Coins, 200 EXP, Increased influence and trust among your allies.

Status: Complete.

---

The warmth of the hearth fire filled the infirmary, its crackling flames casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. The faint, familiar scent of medicinal herbs mingled with the woodsmoke, creating a soothing atmosphere despite the turmoil outside.

Ethlyn, her brow furrowed in concentration, moved around the room with the practiced grace of an experienced healer. Each movement was precise, methodical, yet her touch remained gentle as she examined Edain for any lingering injuries.

"You should have spoken up sooner," Ethlyn lightly scolded, pressing cool fingers against Edain's wrist, her tone both reprimanding and concerned. "Even if you feel fine, exhaustion and strain are not to be taken lightly. You're a healer yourself, you should know that."

"I assure you, Lady Ethlyn, I would have spoken up if I felt truly unwell," Edain replied, her voice warm and soft, accompanied by a light chuckle that did little to mask her exhaustion. "I simply didn't want to trouble anyone further. You all have so much to do I'm sure."

Ethlyn's lips pressed into a thin line, though her gaze softened. "You and Sigurd are so alike in that regard. Always insisting on bearing the weight of everything yourselves, even when it wears you down." She sighed before offering a fond smile. "Perhaps that's why you've been friends for so long."

I huffed a quiet laugh from my spot against the wall, where I had leaned back, arms crossed over my chest, watching the scene unfold. "Oh, tell me about it," I murmured, amused. "It's practically a defining trait at this point."

Ethlyn shot me a sharp and disapproving look. "And you," she continued, "don't encourage her stubbornness."

I raised my hands in mock surrender, grinning all the while. "I'm not! Just pointing out the obvious. But you have to admit, it's impressive how committed she is to pretending she's fine."

Edain rolled her eyes at me, though the fondness in her gaze made it clear she didn't truly mind. "I am still here, you know."

I smirked but said nothing, watching as Ethlyn resumed her work. Ethlyn's fingers were already tracing the pulse beneath Edain's skin, confirming what we all suspected—that despite the ordeal, Edain's body was remarkably resilient.

Edain suddenly shifted slightly and turned to Ethlyn, as if recalling something important.

"All this time you've also been fighting for my sake, Ethlyn. I truly wanted to thank you…and... I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused your family."

Ethlyn huffed. "Of course I was, silly. When I heard you'd been abducted, I was so worried!"

Edain's smile tighten just a tad more, but it was still present. "It's difficult to express my gratitude, but please, accept this staff. I believe you'll find more use for it than I will."

Ethlyn's eyes widened as she took the bundle from Edain's hands before gently unwrapping it. "Is this… a Return staff?! Oh, Edain, thank you!" She ran her fingers reverently over the polished wood, a mixture of excitement and appreciation in her expression. "I'll use it well for all of us."

I tilted my head, watching with curiosity. "Huh. Didn't think you were the type to hand out gifts, Edain. Where did you even get that?"

She chuckled. "Consider it both a gesture of gratitude and a practical decision." Ethlyn beamed before setting the staff aside and resuming her examination. "Midir apparently brought it with him, along with most of my other stuffs."

"One wonders why he did that." I replied wistfully, a sigh escaping my lips then.

"Huhuhu." She laughed at that, hiding the sound behind her hand.

As silence stretched between us, I broke it with a casual observation. "The scent of medicinal herbs lingers in the air, doesn't it?"

Edain arched an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"Just making an observation," I added with a shrug, straightening up. My gaze shifted to Ethlyn, who remained focused on her work. "But you—you've done more than just tend to Edain. You've been overseeing the entire army's health, practically alone. How are you holding up?"

There were other healers, helpers and assistants to help of course. But we both knew that, while there other healers fairly competent in their own right, the bulk of the responsibility rested on her shoulders. Perks of being the leader's sister I suppose.

Ethlyn hesitated, momentarily caught off guard. She had been so absorbed in her duties, so accustomed to giving and doing for others, that she rarely took a moment for herself.

Her gaze softened, and her voice carried an unmistakable weariness. "I'm holding up, Ray. I always do. But I won't deny that some days are harder than others."

I let out a short laugh. "That's the problem with people like you and Sigurd. You keep pushing forward even when you're exhausted." I tilted my head, studied her for a moment. "But there's more than just physical strain at work here, isn't there? You're tired in more ways than one."

She didn't respond immediately, but the faint tension in her expression spoke volumes. Despite her composure, she wasn't invincible. She was a noble, a princess, a mother. Carrying the well-being of so many came at a price.

Before the conversation could deepen, Edain, who had been quietly listening, let out a soft sigh. "Ray, How come you've been here for so long ? Where are the others?"

I gasped dramatically, grasping my chest in mocked-disbelief in an effort to lighten the mood. "What, am I not enough company for you?" I teased.

She sighed again, a soft, exasperated sound, though her lips twitched upward ever so slightly. "You know that's not what I meant."

I chuckled and stretched my arms, giving in. "Alright, alright. If you must know, Quan took the opportunity to push ahead toward Marpha. He figured, with the enemy having lost their most valuable hostage, they wouldn't stand a chance if Sigurd led the charge directly."

Ethlyn's brow shot up in surprise. "Already? Then they must be close to capturing it by now."

I nodded, glancing toward the window where the faint glow of the setting sun stretched across the horizon.

"Probably. With Sigurd and Quan leading, it shouldn't be too difficult. The real objective is eliminating Munnir and securing Marpha without any unnecessary bloodshed."

Ethlyn shook her head, a knowing smile forming. "And to think I believed my brother was the only reckless one…"

Edain studied me for a long moment, her gaze unwavering as she sought to understand my relaxed stance.

"Then why aren't you fighting with them?" she asked, the question heavy with both curiosity and concern.

I shrugged languidly, leaning back against the wall once more. "Oh, they've got it covered. Honestly, they could probably do it with their eyes closed at this point. I'm just here to make sure you're alright. After everything you've been through, I wasn't about to leave you alone."

Her expression softened further, gratitude and something else—something deeper—flashing in her eyes.

Ethlyn, ever the observer, interjected with a curious question, "Why were you the one tasked with staying behind?"

I grinned. "Tasked? No one assigned me to anything." I leaned in, lowering my voice as though sharing a great secret. "But let's be honest. Someone had to stay, and, well… Some of the others weren't exactly the first choices for this particular job."

Edain blinked in mild confusion. "Why not?"

I suppressed a laugh, my shoulders shaking as I replied, "Well, one of them would be too busy trying not to pass out in your presence, while the other would be in an existential crisis about whether he even belongs here in the first place."

Edain's lips parted, the realization dawning in her expression. "Oh, I see. You're talking about—"

"Midir and Azelle, yes," I confirmed, thoroughly amused by the whole situation.

Ethlyn stifled a chuckle as she pretended to inspect the Return staff that Edain had gifted her earlier.

Edain sighed, a fond smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That's not fair to them."

"No, it's not," I admitted with a wink. "But it is accurate."

"You shouldn't tease them so much," Edain chided softly, though her tone was light.

I grinned broadly. "But it's so easy—especially Azelle. One compliment, and he'd combust on the spot."

Edain frowned slightly, clearly troubled with the teasing. "I don't want to make him uncomfortable."

I waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't worry about it. That's just how he is. Poor guy's got it bad."

As the silence stretched, Edain's voice, now quieter and more introspective, broke through the lighthearted banter. "In all seriousness… I do appreciate you staying behind, Ray. I know you'd rather be out there fighting, but…" She trailed off, her eyes meeting mine in earnest.

I simply shrugged. "You're being rescued. Someone had to make sure you were actually alright after everything. You know I'm not the best at being focused when I'm worrying."

Edain looked away for a moment, her expression unreadable. She seemed to gather her thoughts, and when she finally spoke again, it was quieter, more somber. "I suppose I should tell you what happened," she said softly.

I straightened, my heart tightening with the anticipation of truths too heavy to bear lightly. "Only if you want to," I said gently, my voice calm but laced with concern.

She nodded slowly and began to recount her ordeal—the bitter, unexpected twists of her captivity and the unlikely salvation that had come in the form of a young thief with golden hair. As she spoke of Dew's lighthearted jokes in the darkness of her cell and the bittersweet rescue that followed, the room seemed to grow quieter still, each word painting the story of her little misadventure.

When she mentioned that Prince Jamke had stepped in to free and guide her and Dew to safety, I couldn't help but let out a low whistle.

I chuckled, an amused tone creeping into my voice. "Jamke? Wait, he helped you?"

Edain nodded, her eyes frowning as though she couldn't quite get why it was funny to me. "It was… unexpected. I had thought he would be my enemy, but instead, he lowered his bow and told me to follow him."

"Just like that? And you did?" I asked, my voice getting higher as I tried to refrain from laughing.

"Not quite. He explained that he disagreed with the war, that he had no desire to see innocent people suffer. He told me his father had been deceived into this conflict… and that he wanted no part in it."

I let out a low whistle, taken aback. "Huh. That's… to be expected from him I guess."

"I thought he was deceiving us at first," Edain admitted. "But he guided us out of the stronghold and covered our escape. Thanks to him, Dew and I made it out safely."

I chuckled at the irony of it all. "Well, I'll be damned. Seems like I owe Jamke another favor—he saved my hide once, too."

Edain blinked in surprise. "He did?"

"Yeah," I replied with a rueful smile, recalling the reckless day that had cost me my closest friend. "Guess we've got a pattern going now."

Her eyes seemed lost for a second until finally a glint of recognition passed through them. "Do you mean when—"

"Yup. It was a gruesome affair alright. But he unexpectedly pulled through somehow."

Her eyes grew distant as she seemed to be remembering those events, yet she offered a small, tired smile. "I still can't believe how much has happened in such a short time."

I met her gaze with gentle reassurance. "Yeah. But you're back now. That's what matters."

For a long moment, the only sounds were the steady crackle of the fire and the quiet, unspoken promises of tomorrow.

I exhaled slowly, glancing toward the door before pushing off the wall again. "You should rest. You've been through a lot."

She nodded. "Thank you, Ray. For…being there for me."

I waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get all sentimental on me now." But despite my words, I felt something warm settle in my chest—something steady, something grounded.

For now, at least, she was safe. And that was enough.

---

Congratulations ! You managed to become a little closer to Edain.

- Your relationship is now : Allies

Congratulations ! You managed to become a little closer to Midir.

- Your relationship is now : Friends

Congratulations ! You managed to become a little closer to Azelle.

- Your relationship is now : Allies

---

Marpha had fallen.

Just as expected, Sigurd and Quan had little trouble taking the castle after their decisive push. The enemy forces had been weakened from the start, their morale shattered by our steady advance. It had been only a matter of time before they surrendered or fell, and the news spread quickly through our ranks.

Despite my repeated insistence to Edain that my presence on the battlefield wasn't necessary, a nagging unease had settled in my gut—a feeling that wouldn't let me forget the shadows of what might come next.

Perhaps it was mere paranoia, or maybe it was the creeping dread that always follows victory, a reminder that in war, the next storm was never far behind.

Still, I tried to convince myself that unless something went horribly wrong, the scenario would play out as it should. And sure enough, the messengers arrived not long after to confirm our triumph. They brought news that the enemy had been thoroughly routed, that Marpha was now in our hands, and that preparations were already underway to move our base into the newly captured castle.

Of course, this meant an obscene amount of work for all of us. War wasn't simply glorious battles and heroic speeches—it was a grueling cascade of logistics, endless shifting of supplies, and exhausting labor that rarely earned a cheer.

At the very least, I made myself useful.

Between transporting supplies and moving heavy equipment using what looked like wind magic—though, in truth, it was merely my telekinesis skill in action—I managed to shave hours off the workload.

Not that anyone questioned it.

By now, everyone had come to chalk up my abilities as just another strange quirk of mine, along with my occasional eerily accurate predictions and my general disregard for explaining myself. If anything, they were grateful for the help.

After what felt like an eternity of hauling, organizing, and shifting things into place, I finally allowed myself a moment of respite. And, as was becoming routine, I found my way back to the infirmary—a now quiet haven that existed in the warzone that was the other parts of the castle.

The warmth of the hearth fire in the infirmary lent a gentle glow to the stone walls, and the familiar scent of medicinal herbs mixed with woodsmoke created an atmosphere of modest comfort.

Edain and Ethlyn were already there. Edain sat upright on one of the narrow beds, looking significantly healthier than she had the day following the siege, while Ethlyn, ever the diligent healer, finished her latest check-up with practiced precision.

"That should do it," Ethlyn said as she stepped back with a satisfied nod, her voice soft but resolute. "You're looking much better now."

"I feel much better too," Edain assured her, her voice warm and sincere despite the apparent lingering fatigue. "Thank you, Ethlyn."

I sat off to the side, arms crossed, quietly listening to their conversation as I tried to shake off the last of my lingering nerves.

Marpha was ours now. There was no point in worrying over every little detail—at least, that was what I kept telling myself.

Edain turned toward Ethlyn, her expression growing thoughtful. "By the way… the boy who was with me—how is Dew?"

Ethlyn offered Edain a reassuring smile. "He'll be fine. It's just a fever and a bit of exhaustion left—nothing too serious."

Edain's brow furrowed, clearly unconvinced. "Even so… he endured so much before we escaped. He was beaten terribly by the soldiers, yet even then, he shielded me whenever they tried to—" She stopped abruptly, taking a deep, steadying breath. "He never hesitated. Even when he could barely stand, he fought to protect me."

Ethlyn's smile faded as her expression turned solemn. "I see. That poor boy…"

I leaned back against the cool stone wall, fingers tapping idly against my arm. "He's tougher than he looks, but that kind of ordeal takes a toll—physically and otherwise." I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in. "It's not just the bruises and the fatigue. It's the mental scars too."

Edain nodded, her gaze drifting downward as she recalled memories too painful to voice fully. "Yes… he was in a far worse state than he let on during our escape. And now, he's been sleeping for the last two days since we arrived."

That wasn't entirely surprising. Dew had always been reckless, stealing from Verdane castle itself was one such example, but there was something particularly harrowing about throwing oneself into danger with nothing more than raw courage and a desperate will to survive. The helplessness he must have felt—having no weapon, no escape plan, only his body as a shield—was something not easily forgotten, no matter how resilient the spirit.

Ethlyn placed a gentle hand on Edain's shoulder, her voice soft but firm. "Let him rest. That's the best thing for him right now."

Edain let out a quiet sigh. "I know. I just hope he wakes up soon…"

Before she could say more, the door to the infirmary creaked open. A familiar voice called out, breaking the fragile calm.

"Edain?"

The moment Edain heard the call, she turned, her eyes lighting up with recognition. "Lord Sigurd!"

Sigurd stepped into the room with his usual composed demeanor softened by evident relief. "Thank goodness you're better now. I wanted to visit you earlier, but I was so horribly occupied that I embarrassingly couldn't find a minute until now."

Edain offered him a gentle smile. "I've heard you rode out my aid as soon as news reached Chalphy. Please accept my apologies—I've put you and the knights of Chalphy through nothing but danger…"

Sigurd shook his head dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Everyone will be glad to know that you're safe. You've nothing to worry about anymore. The road back to Yngvi is secure for you, whenever you're ready."

Yet Edain's determination shone through. "No, I wish to remain here."

Sigurd blinked in mild surprise. "Oh?"

"Injuries are inevitable in war," Edain explained. "As a humble servant to the gods, it is my duty to stay here and aid your wounded."

Sigurd studied her for a moment, then nodded in understanding. "That does sound like you." A light chuckle escaped him as he added, "As I recall, you declined to pursue a knighthood and instead joined the clergy. Am I right?"

Edain inclined her head gracefully. "That's correct."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Sigurd mused, his eyes softening with genuine admiration. "Knowing how easily people warm to you—and you to them—I'd do well to learn from your example."

Edain's expression softened even further. "Thank you, Lord Sigurd, but that isn't entirely true. Initially, I sought priesthood in a bid to help me find my sister. Even now, I still believe this is the answer I seek."

Sigurd's brow furrowed slightly. "You mean Brigid…" I involuntarily stiffened at that, my mind thinking back to the golden haired pirate. "I'd heard that she went missing as a child."

Edain nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the edge of the bedsheet as if seeking comfort in its familiar fabric. "Yes. All this time, I've been praying for her sake. I don't know where she is, or if she even remembers our home, but…I have faith. She's out there, somewhere."

Sigurd exhaled softly. "So all these years, Edain, you've never given up hope?"

"Never," she replied firmly. "I know we'll meet someday. No matter what happens, I must give her this." With deliberate care, she reached for a finely crafted bow with an elegant, timeworn design lying beside her. "Her sacred birthright. The Yewfelle."

I raised an eyebrow, my curiosity piqued. "Huh. So that's what Midir was carrying around like his life depended on it."

It was my second time seeing one of the Holy weapons. I had only ever laid my eyes on Mystletainn, back in Agustria.

Edain smiled, her expression filled with quiet gratitude. "Yes. He brought it from Yngvi for me, even in the midst of battle. He never wavered."

Sigurd's gaze lingered on the bow, followed by a soft nod at his friend. "Then I pray you'll find her, Edain. For both your sakes."

She looked down at the Yewfelle, running a gentle hand along its smooth surface. Her determination was unwavering despite the uncertainty of the task. "I will."

Sigurd exhaled deeply and then straightened with renewed focus. "We'll be moving out soon. There's much to prepare." Then, before stepping away, he turned to me and said, "Ray."

I glanced up, stretching my legs out in front of me before answering, "Hm?"

Sigurd gestured toward the door. "Come with me."

I blinked, feigning suspicion. "Oh? Should I be worried?"

Shaking his head with a slight smile, Sigurd replied, "No. Just a word."

I stretched lazily before pushing off the wall. "Well, if you say so." Turning to Edain and Ethlyn, I smirked lightly. "Guess that's my cue. It was a pleasure ladies"

Ethlyn rolled her eyes. "Try not to cause too much trouble."

"Me? Never," I teased.

Edain chuckled softly, the warmth in her voice a comforting balm. "Thank you for keeping me company, Ray."

I waved a hand dismissively. "Anytime." Then, following Sigurd out the door, my mind began to churn with the possibilities of what he might have to say.

Outside the infirmary, the castle's corridors hummed with quiet activity as preparations continued for our next move.

I followed Sigurd in silence, my footsteps falling in rhythm with his as we made our way through the castle halls. The air felt heavy, the lingering tension from the battle still thick despite the absence of immediate danger.

I glanced at him as he walked ahead, his pace slower than usual, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

The further we went, the clearer it became that we were heading toward the castle's outer gates. The cool evening breeze drifted in from ahead, carrying with it the distant sounds of life beyond the stronghold—soft murmurs, the shuffle of feet, the occasional cry of a child. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield mere hours ago.

"So," I spoke at last, breaking the silence between us, "what do we plan to do next?"

Sigurd exhaled, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "About that…" he trailed off, his gaze shifting toward the direction of Verdane. There was a hesitation in his voice, one that I wasn't used to hearing from him. "I guess all we can do now is entrust our hopes of peace to Prince Jamke, who's still in Verdane Castle." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his fingers lingering at his temple. "I imagine we're seen as nothing more than unwelcome invaders to the people here."

I didn't disagree. Verdane had been the aggressor in this war, but that didn't mean its people wanted this. They were likely just as weary of bloodshed as we were.

Our conversation was cut short when the sound of hurried footsteps reached us. Naoise approached at a brisk pace, his armor clinking faintly with each movement. There was relief in his expression the moment he laid eyes on Sigurd.

"Sir, we have messengers from the town and the surrounding villages," Naoise announced, standing tall as he delivered the news. "The eldest among them has requested an audience with you."

Sigurd blinked. "Eh?" He didn't seem to have expected that.

Without further delay, we followed Naoise toward the castle gates. The sight that greeted us was a gathering of civilians, their eyes filled not with fear or resentment, but with something else—hope. A surprising thing to see, given the circumstances.

Sigurd took a step forward, his usual composed demeanor returning as he addressed them. "I am Sigurd."

From the group, an elderly man stepped forward, leaning heavily on a wooden cane. His beard was white and long, his face weathered with years of hardship, yet there was a light in his eyes as he looked up at Sigurd.

"Ooh…! So you are Sir Sigurd?" The elder's voice carried the weight of gratitude. "I cannot express my thanks in mere words."

Sigurd's brows furrowed in confusion and surprise. "Gratitude?"

"Yes," the old man continued, nodding vigorously. "You have done us a great service by defeating those two tyrannical princes. Of course, we, the nearby villagers, are overjoyed by your actions. Those two… they ruled as they pleased, treating their lands as personal playgrounds while their army roamed unchecked, committing acts of theft and violence daily. The suffering they inflicted upon us was relentless."

I folded my arms, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn't unusual for lords to mistreat their people, but hearing the sheer relief in this man's voice made it clear how desperate they had been for change. It made me wonder just how much worse things could have gotten had Sigurd not intervened.

The elder sighed, his expression softening. "Lord Jamke, however… Even though he is their brother, he is a completely different man."

Sigurd smiled faintly. "So I see everyone here places great trust in Prince Jamke."

"Yes," the elder confirmed without hesitation. "Ever since this country became entangled in war, Lord Jamke has been our only hope for peace." He gestured to the villagers behind him, all of whom nodded in agreement. "Please, feel free to stay in this castle for the time being. I am certain the people here would wish for the same."

The murmurs of assent from the crowd reinforced his words. It was a strange turn of events—rather than being met with hostility, they were welcoming us.

Then, from the group, a familiar face emerged. A middle-aged woman stepped forward, her gaze locked onto me with unmistakable recognition. It took me a second, but then I placed her—she was the one I had warned back in the village north of Genoa.

How…? How did she get here so quickly?

She smiled warmly. "You came to our village the other day to warn us, even though you mus' have been occupied with the battle. We all wanted to thank you for that, from the bottom o' our hearts."

A lump formed in my throat. I had expected nothing in return for my warning—it had simply been the right thing to do. But seeing the gratitude in her eyes, knowing that my words had meant something… It struck me harder than I thought it would.

I scratched the back of my head, forcing a smirk to cover up whatever emotion was threatening to surface. "Well, someone's gotta do the warning around here, right? Can't have people running into danger blind."

Her smile widened, and the people around her murmured their agreement.

Sigurd turned to me, his expression unreadable for a moment before he gave a small nod, as if acknowledging something. He then faced the villagers once more. "Thank you. Your support means more than you know."

The warmth in the air was palpable now, replacing the tension that had previously lingered. Maybe, just maybe, there was a path to peace after all.

Maybe after all this mess was behind us, and the cultists dealt with.

---

Night had descended, and I found myself once again in the infirmary, sitting at a sturdy wooden table across from Edain.

Ethlyn was to my right, her posture relaxed as she absentmindedly twirled a strand of her pink hair between her fingers.

The three of us had been talking for a while now, and though we had started with serious discussions about the basics of healing magic, for my sake more than theirs, the conversation had gradually veered into more mundane topics. The kind of products available in the shops of Marpha, for instance, had taken up an absurd amount of time.

"Well, if you ask me," I said, resting my elbow on my knee, "Marpha's selection is decent enough, but the weapons shop is a joke. You'd think a place known for brigands would have better stock."

Ethlyn chuckled. "I doubt the brigands buy their weapons from a shop, Ray."

"That's fair," I admitted. "Still, some of their steelwork looked like it was forged by a blacksmith with a grudge against metal."

Edain clapped her hands once, suddenly remembering something. "Oh! By the way, Ethlyn, while I was being held hostage in this castle, I became acquainted with a remarkable young woman from the castle town." Her voice was filled with admiration. "She had beautiful silver hair and clear amethyst eyes… she left quite the impression."

Ethlyn's eyes widened as she tried to picture said woman. "Oh, how lovely! She sounds like a fairy from a fairy tale."

Edain smiled. "Right? You think so too?"

I leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Silver hair and amethyst eyes? That's a striking combination. What was she like?"

"She carried herself with a certain flair," Edain said, her gaze turning distant, as if recalling a fond memory. "But she also seemed incredibly shy."

I hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds like someone worth meeting. Did she say anything interesting?"

Edain hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. "Not much. But I could tell she was strong, in her own way."

Before I could ask more, a firm hand suddenly pressed against the table, drawing our attention. I had noticed Sigurd approaching, but it seemed he had chosen that exact moment to make his presence known.

"'A fairy from a fairy tale,' huh?" Sigurd repeated, his tone laced with amusement. "Ethlyn, you're still like a child."

Ethlyn gasped dramatically. "How mean! Calling me a child! And you almost laughed too!"

Edain, who had been in the middle of sipping from a cup of herbal tea, nearly choked in shock at Sigurd's casual jab.

Meanwhile, I grinned and turned to him. "Come on, Sigurd, let her dream a little. Nothing wrong with a bit of fairy tale magic."

Sigurd smirked but said nothing, choosing instead to move toward the door.

Before he could leave however, Ethlyn shot back, "And what about you, big brother? You don't even have a girlfriend!"

Sigurd grimaced and turned on his heel. "…I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Ha! He ran away, Quan! I win!" Ethlyn declared, crossing her arms triumphantly as she turned toward her husband, who had been watching the whole thing unfold with an expression that wavered between amusement and exasperation.

Quan sighed. "Calm down, Ethlyn."

I chuckled. "You should give him credit for knowing when to retreat. That's an important skill on the battlefield."

Ethlyn beamed at me. "Exactly! Ray gets it!"

Quan shook his head, but then his expression turned thoughtful. "You know, Sigurd was quite popular with the young aristocratic women during our time at the military academy."

Ethlyn blinked. "Really?"

"Oh, definitely," Quan continued. "Both Eldie and he used to make bets all the time. Bets like how many girls they could get to confess their love each month…"

Ethlyn recoiled as if she had been struck. "No way! That's filthy!"

I let out a low whistle. "Well, well, Sigurd the lady-killer. Who would've thought?"

Quan nodded solemnly. "At that age, everybody acts that way."

A heavy silence settled over the room as Ethlyn processed his words. Then, slowly, her gaze sharpened, and she turned to her husband.

"…Everybody?" she repeated. "Then… you too?"

Before Quan could react, Ethlyn lunged at him, grabbing his collar and shaking him. "Out with iiiiiitttt!"

"E-Eh? No, I—!"

"The hesitation means yes, Quan!" I called out, enjoying the show. "You walked right into that one."

"You're not helping, Ray!" He shot back at me with a glare, which only made me grin even more.

Edain, who had been silent for most of this exchange, sat watching in wide-eyed fascination. She looked like someone who had just stumbled into an entirely different world and was struggling to make sense of it.

I leaned toward her, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "That might be you one day, Edain."

Her face turned red in an instant. "I-I hardly think so, Ray!"

Ethlyn momentarily paused in her assault on Quan and turned to us with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Ohhh? You say that now, but just wait! One day, someone's going to sweep you off your feet, and I'll be right there to tease you about it."

Edain placed a hand over her chest, looking flustered. "I-I'd rather not be subjected to such treatment…"

"Hey, if it happens, at least you'll have people to share in your suffering," I said with a grin.

Quan, finally managing to pry Ethlyn off him, sighed in relief before turning to me. "Ray, you're enjoying this too much."

I shrugged. "If I have to live in a world full of battles, let me at least enjoy the small victories."

Ethlyn crossed her arms and huffed. "I still don't believe you, Quan."

"You wound me, my love," he deadpanned, rubbing his temples.

The conversation carried on for a while longer, shifting from playful banter to stories of their academy days. Eventually, the group began to wind down, laughter fading into quiet conversation as fatigue crept in.

---

The sun hung low in the sky, casting golden light over the town as we strolled through the cobbled streets. Dust swirled in the warm breeze, carrying the distant scent of roasted meats and stale ale. After days of relentless travel and even more tiring fighting, we finally had the luxury of stopping somewhere that wasn't a war camp or a battlefield.

Although depending on the establishment it could be considered as a battlefield on its own.

Lex stretched his arms above his head, sighing. "About damn time we found a place to drink."

I snorted. "You say that like the last tavern we went to didn't get set on fire."

"That wasn't my fault," Alec chimed in.

I shot him a dry look. "You saw that guy reaching for your coin purse and almost kneed him." Then I turned to Lex. "And you punched him so hard he went through a table," I pointed out. "Then his friends started throwing chairs, then some idiot knocked over a lamp, and, well… here we are."

Lex chuckled. "Maybe try not flirting with the barmaid while taking a swing at a cutpurse this time."

Alec gave him a wounded look. "I can multitask."

I rolled my eyes as we finally reached our destination—a quaint tavern nestled between a blacksmith's forge and a bakery. The wooden sign above the door swayed in the breeze, creaking slightly. Inside, the scent of ale, sweat, and spiced food hit us like a wave. It was lively but not rowdy, filled with locals nursing drinks and sharing stories.

We found a table near the corner, away from the worst of the noise. A serving maid approached, auburn hair tied back in a loose braid, sharp eyes already assessing us.

"What'll it be, boys?" she asked, propping a hand on her hip.

"Ale, for all of us," Lex said without hesitation. "And something to eat."

I smiled at her. "What would you recommend?"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Depends. You looking for something that fills your belly or something that just tastes good?"

I tilted my head, pretending to think. "Well, ideally both. But I'll trust your judgment."

The maid smirked. "Flatterer. You and the green-haired one probably get along well." Did she know Alec before today?

Alec grinned. "Finally, someone who appreciates me."

She scoffed. "Didn't say that. I'll be back with your drinks."

As she left, Lex leaned back in his chair. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"

Alec shrugged. "Flirting's just like swordplay—you gotta stay practiced."

I took a sip of the ale that was placed in front of me, grimacing slightly. "I think your technique could use refining."

Before Alec could retort, a commotion at the bar drew our attention. A burly man, face flushed from drink, was standing and shouting at the barkeep.

"You call this piss water ale?! I oughta knock you flat for trying to cheat me!"

"We barely sat down..." groaned Alec ominously at the sight of the commotion.

The barkeep, an older man with a grizzled beard, merely folded his arms. "You've already had three rounds. If you didn't like it, you wouldn't have kept drinking."

The drunk scowled, raising a fist, and before anyone could intervene, Lex was already on his feet. He strode over, gripping the man's shoulder.

"That's enough," he said, his voice calm but firm.

The man turned, sneering. "What's it to you?"

Lex smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Just a guy who doesn't want his drink interrupted by your whining."

The drunk snarled and swung a fist. Lex dodged easily, grabbing the man by the collar and yanking him sideways. With a rough shove, he sent him sprawling onto the floor. The tavern went silent for a beat, then erupted into scattered laughter.

The drunk scrambled to his feet, red-faced but unwilling to press his luck. He staggered toward the door, muttering curses under his breath.

Lex dusted off his hands and returned to the table, where Alec and I were watching with amusement.

"Well handled," I said, raising my mug in a toast.

Lex shrugged. "Didn't even have to use my axe this time."

Alec took a long drink and sighed contentedly. "This turned out to be a good stop. Good ale, good food, and even some entertainment that thankfully didn't lead us to be banned."

I chuckled. "Let's hope this place doesn't burn down before we leave."

We finished our drinks, lingering just long enough to enjoy the warmth of the tavern before standing. The maid returned, looking between us. "Leaving already?"

Alec gave her a charming grin. "Unfortunately, but we might be back."

"You don't have to." she deadpanned, looking unimpressed by Alec. Then turned to Lex and I. "You two though are welcomed whenever."

With that, we stepped back into the golden sunlight, the town still bustling around us while Lex and I tried to keep our laughs under control.

Lex stretched. "Alright, where's the next tavern?"

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling. "You're insatiable."

Alec clapped me on the back. "Don't act like you're not enjoying this."

I didn't bother denying it.

We set off again, looking for our next stop, already prepared for whatever trouble might find us next.

A part of me wanted to savor this moment, to pretend just for a little while that I was nothing more than a traveler enjoying a leisurely afternoon out with my friends.

Of course, that was wishful thinking. Peace, for us, never lasted long.

Lex strolled beside me, rolling his shoulders as the massive axe strapped to his back shifted slightly with his every step. "We need to find us another tavern. Hopefully, with better drinks and more ladies."

His tone was light, yet I caught a flicker of weariness beneath his usual bravado. Battle had a way of wearing a man down—even one as stubborn as Lex. He masked it well, but I had traveled with him long enough to recognize the small tells: the way his fingers tapped absently against his weapon's leather strap, the subtle tension in his jaw. He was craving a distraction, something to pull his mind away from the heavy burdens of war, even if only for a few hours.

I shot him a sideways glance, letting a smirk tug at my lips. "Right, because nothing says 'charming' like strolling into a tavern with a battle axe."

Lex snorted, unfazed. "Hey, it's not for show. Unlike whatever you've got going on." He waved a hand vaguely in my direction, his eyes flicking over my attire with exaggerated scrutiny.

I arched an eyebrow. "What's wrong with my cloak?"

"Nothing," he replied with a widening smirk, a wolfish glint lighting his eyes. "It just screams 'brooding mercenary.' Girls love that kind of thing."

I blinked in mock surprise. "Do they?"

"Yes," Lex said flatly, then added with a teasing lilt, "not that you'd notice."

I shrugged, unwilling to argue. Romance wasn't exactly high on my list of priorities.

Still, I found myself absently adjusting the collar of my cloak—as if testing Lex's theory. Did I really give off that impression? I'd never cared much about how others perceived me, but with company like Sigurd and Lex—both oozing their own forms of charm—it was inevitable that I'd be seen as the quiet, mysterious type.

"I guess I'll take your word for it, O Master of Subtlety," I drawled.

Lex rolled his eyes, but before he could fire back, we turned a corner and stepped into the town square—and that's when everything changed.

The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if an unseen force had swept over the square. Laughter and chatter still filled the air, yet there was a distinct focus—a magnetism drawing every eye toward a central figure. My gaze followed that unspoken pull, and there he was.

Sigurd.

He stood tall in the center, the sunlight catching his golden hair so that he seemed almost ethereal. His blue cape draped perfectly over his shoulders, pristine and regal despite the long miles of travel we had endured. He wasn't merely present; he commanded the space with an effortless grace, the kind that made it impossible to ignore him.

He was the kind of man who belonged in grand halls and shining castles, the kind who could inspire an army with a single look. And, naturally, he had already drawn a crowd.

A small gathering of women stood nearby, their attention fixed on him with the kind of admiration usually reserved for storybook heroes. They giggled behind their hands, stealing glances, whispering to one another as if simply being in his presence was enough to set their hearts racing.

Which was probably the case truth be told.

Lex stopped mid-step, his expression blank. Slowly, he exhaled through his nose. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.

I snickered. "What? Did you think you were going to outshine Sigurd? He's basically a walking recruitment poster."

Lex scowled. "Yeah, but… does he have to be this good at it?" He scratched the back of his head, clearly irked. "I mean, leave some for the rest of us."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Hey, you can still win them over with your sparkling personality."

Lex shot me a glare that could have shattered glass. "Ray, I swear, if you don't shut up—"

Alec walked towards him, before lightly patting him on the back in understanding sympathy.

As we resumed our stroll through the square, Alec's voice carried as he added, "Let's just keep moving before we attract more trouble." His tone was relaxed, but there was an edge to his words—a hint that he was always on the lookout for mischief, whether caused by fate or by our own actions.

I scoffed. "More trouble? What, are we going to get mobbed by chickens next?"

Alec's playful smirk returned as he shook his head. "You never know, Ray. Sometimes chaos comes in the strangest forms."

Despite his lighthearted banter, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

As I turned around to figure out what, exactly, was unnerving me, I noticed some of the women who had been focused on Sigurd suddenly turned their attention towards our group.

More exactly, towards me.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. But no—there was no mistaking the way their eyes lingered, the way a few of them whispered to one another, giggling softly. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one I wasn't entirely comfortable with. I had never considered myself someone who drew attention, not in this way. And yet, here they were, looking at me.

"Uh, guys?" I said slowly.

"What now?" Lex grumbled, following my gaze.

"I think we've got a situation," I murmured, half amused and half perplexed.

Lex groaned. "Oh, come on. You, too?"

I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm as confused as you are." A nearby pair of women whispered something to each other, and their soft giggles confirmed that this was no illusion.

Alec turned to glare at me as if I had committed a personal offense. "This isn't happening," he said in a low tone, half-amused, half-exasperated.

"I don't even know what is happening," I admitted.

Alec groaned. "It's like the gods looked down and said, 'Hey! Let's mess with these two today.'"

As we started walking again, I felt the lingering weight of those gazes on my back. And then I saw her.

At the edge of the square, away from the crowd, a young woman stood with silver-white hair that shimmered in the sunlight. She wasn't watching me. Her gaze was fixed on Sigurd, unwavering, almost yearning.

"Ray?" Alec's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I blinked, turning to her. "Are you just going to stand there, or do we keep moving?"

"Uh, yeah. Sorry." I cast one last glance back toward the silver-haired girl—

But she was gone.

Still, as we walked on, I couldn't shake the feeling that I hadn't seen the last of that girl. If my memory was correct, maybe we could speed things up if I was to change things a little in this scene.

I snorted. "Yeah, yeah. I've got something to take care of," I said, slowing my steps as I broke away from the group.

Lex turned to me, skeptical. "What, already?"

Alec raised an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, do you have to take care of?"

I shrugged. "Oh, you know. Mysterious business. Brooding errands. The usual."

Lex rolled his eyes. "Right. Well, don't let your dark and edgy protagonist duties keep you too busy."

"Oh, don't worry about me." I smirked. "You two go ahead. Explore the town. Maybe grab a drink, make some friends—" I waggled my eyebrows at Lex. "Maybe even find love."

Lex scoffed. "Tch. I'd rather fight twenty bandits than sit through one of your jokes."

"I don't know, Lex," I mused. "I hear women love a guy who can swing an axe."

"Ray," he deadpanned. "Leave."

"Leaving, leaving," I said, backing away. "Try not to miss me too much."

Before either of them could retort, I slipped into the crowd and out of sight. The humor faded as soon as I was alone.

That silver-haired girl… I knew her. Or rather, I should have known it was her. There was only one person at this point in time who matched the image burned into my mind—one woman whose presence will change the course of everything.

Deirdre.

She shouldn't appear until we were almost done with the Verdane campaign, which meant this was the moment. The first meeting. The spark that would ignite the tragedy to come.

I moved quickly, slipping through the narrow alleyways of Marpha. My instincts told me exactly where to go, as if the world itself was leading me.

Then I heard it.

"N-no! Please, let go of me!"

I froze.

"Heh heh... What's the matter? C'mon, I'm just askin' for a little date."

I turned the corner and saw them—a rough-looking man, sneering down at a pale-haired woman as he grabbed at her wrist.

Deirdre.

She tried to pull away, her voice still gentle despite the fear in her eyes. "I need to go home, sir. I ask of you, please, pay me no mind!"

The man's grip tightened. "Shaddup! Keep up your yappin' and you'll regret it!"

My fingers twitched at my side, magic humming at the edge of my mind. I could end this in an instant. One flick of the wrist, one burst of telekinetic force, and he'd be sprawling in the dirt.

[The skill 'Mind over Matter' is being act-]

But I didn't. Despite all my instincts screaming to me to intervene, I couldn't. It wasn't my role.

It was his.

"She doesn't want to go with you, okay? Unhand her." Sigurd's voice cut through the street like steel.

The ruffian turned, his sneer faltering the moment he laid eyes on the towering knight in shining armor. "What's your problem!? This one's—" His face paled. "...Urgh! You're not that Grannvale paladin, are you?"

Sigurd's expression darkened. "You understand the situation? Then be on your way. There are none I loathe more than your kind. The girl has given you her answer. Now, leave her be and get out of my sight."

The man swallowed hard, releasing Deirdre instantly. "Yeah... Yeah, got it... My bad, missy. I was just teasin', is all. Sorry. I'll be off now…"

He scurried away like a kicked dog, his friend following not long after him.

Sigurd turned back to Deirdre. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, though she still looked shaken. "Y-yes... Thank you, Sir Sigurd."

Sigurd blinked. "Hm? You know of me?"

She hesitated. "Yes. I met a woman named Edain not long ago in this castle, and…"

"...She spoke of me," Sigurd finished, his expression relaxing.

Deirdre nodded. "She did. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you: You are in every way the man I had imagined..."

Sigurd took a step closer. "May I… ask for your name?"

Deirdre opened her mouth—then closed it, looking away. "...That's...Ah...I...I must be getting home."

"Then I shall escort you. Where is your home?"

"...I'm sorry!"

"...Ah !" Sigurd reached out instinctively. "Wait! Please, I just want to talk for a little longer—"

She shook her head, voice barely above a whisper. "I am truly sorry. I am glad we could meet, even once..."

Then, before he could stop her, she turned and disappeared into the winding streets, leaving only silence in her wake.

Sigurd stood still, staring after her. I stepped forward, finally making my presence known. "You're gonna let her go just like that?"

Sigurd turned to me, his eyes flickering with surprise. "Ray?"

I crossed my arms. "Don't get me wrong, that was a hell of a first impression, but you looked like you were about to chase after her a second ago."

Sigurd hesitated. "I… don't even know what I'd say. She was like… like a vision. And now she's gone."

I sighed. "And you just let her run off into a town full of people who might try something again. Smart."

Before Sigurd could answer, an elderly voice chuckled nearby. "Lord Sigurd, is it? What's the matter?"

We turned. An old man stood there, stroking his beard with knowing amusement.

Sigurd straightened. "Oh… Elder."

The man nodded. "Aye. And you, young lord, seem troubled."

Sigurd hesitated, then asked, "That woman who ran off just now… Do you know who she is?"

The elder's expression turned thoughtful. "Ahh, of course. That woman is called Deirdre. She is a priestess of the Spirit Forest."

Sigurd repeated the name softly, as if committing it to memory. "Deirdre…" His gaze was distant, lost in thought.

The old man chuckled. "Ohoho, even a refined man like you can't resist being charmed by her ilk! Could it be love at first sight?"

Sigurd stiffened. "Sir, please. Don't tease me."

I snorted. "Too late."

Sigurd shot me a half-hearted glare before looking back at the elder. "And yet… I've never seen anybody so beautiful before. I… I need to see her again."

The old man sighed. "Alas, young lord, for it cannot be so. The folk of the Spirit Forest staunchly refuse to partake in the world beyond their woods. Furthermore, that girl and members of her clan are forbidden from ever liaising with men. Village lore dictates that should this ever happen, calamity would befall the world."

I stiffened. There it is.

The prophecy.

The first real confirmation of the tragedy yet to come.

Sigurd frowned. "What kind of foolishness is that ! I don't believe in such superstitious nonsense."

I stayed silent, watching him carefully. He's already doomed, after all.

This wasn't just a chance meeting. It was fate.

And fate… was cruel.

---

The morning sun filtered weakly through the dense canopy, casting elongated, wavering shadows over the assembled troops. The crisp air carried an edge of apprehension, amplified by the unnatural stillness of the Spirit Forest ahead. The occasional distant call of birds seemed distorted, hollow—an echo rather than a true sound.

At the forefront stood Sigurd, his posture rigid with purpose, his blue cape fluttering in the faint breeze. Surrounding him, his most trusted companions—ourselves—shifted between frustration and incredulity.

"Sigurd, tell me this is a tactical decision," Quan said, his tone clipped as he massaged his temples. "Because if you're really leading us into an enchanted forest over a woman you met once, I'm questioning your command."

Sigurd's expression tightened. "It's not just that, Quan. I—"

"Here we go," Lex cut in, arms folded tightly. "Let me guess. Was there a divine light when she appeared? Did the wind stir your hair dramatically as your eyes met?"

"Lex," Sigurd warned, but the sarcasm only escalated.

"Maybe she was glowing," Lex continued, his grin widening. "Please tell me there was ethereal music."

Naoise's patience finally snapped. "Milord," he said sharply, his voice an edge of steel. "This is folly. We are at war, and you're diverting resources and risking lives for—what, exactly? A fleeting encounter?"

It was my first time seeing him so...vexed? At least at someone other than Alec.

"I see no problem here," Alec said with a smirk. "If our fearless leader has finally found something besides battle to chase, who are we to stand in his way?"

"You would say that," I muttered.

Ethlyn exhaled slowly, her voice weary but fond. "Sigurd, I love you, but you are a walking catastrophe."

Sigurd winced. "Ethlyn—"

"You're married to duty," she said, soft but firm. "We've always known that. And now, because of one brief meeting, you're willing to lead us into unknown and dangerous territory? Forgive me if I question your judgment."

"She was in distress," Sigurd replied, his voice steady but low. "And I felt—something. I can't explain it. But she may be in danger."

"That much is clear," I said dryly. "We can all tell when you're hopelessly smitten. It's almost impressive."

Sigurd shot me a withering look. "Ray."

I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying—at least you're showing some emotion again. It's been a while."

Edain's calm voice cut through the tension. "Lord Sigurd, if this woman truly is as remarkable as she seemed, perhaps there is reason in your pursuit."

Sigurd's gratitude was palpable. "Thank you, Edain."

"See?" Alec said cheerfully. "The priestess approves. That has to count for something."

Quan let out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. But when this ends in some mystical disaster, I want it on record that I opposed this from the start."

With that, we advanced into the Spirit Forest.

As we delved deeper, the forest grew wrong. The ancient trees twisted unnaturally, their branches forming an oppressive, interwoven barrier overhead. The filtered light turned the morning into a dim, green-tinged gloom. The air grew dense, electric with an unseen energy.

But the most disturbing aspect was the silence.

No birds. No rustling leaves. Only the steady crunch of our footsteps on the soft, damp earth. It was as though the forest itself was holding its breath.

We were lost.

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their murmurs barely restrained. Shadows danced at the edges of our vision, moving in ways that defied reason. The path ahead remained indistinguishable from the one behind, an endless loop of confusion.

"You do realize we've been walking in circles, right?" Quan finally demanded, his voice taut with frustration.

"I hate to agree," Lex added, scanning the twisted trees, "but this feels like a terrible idea proving itself right."

Sigurd's silence was telling. Even he couldn't deny the lack of progress.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. "Alright. This is getting us nowhere."

Sigurd turned toward me, hope flickering in his eyes. "Do you have a better idea?"

"As a matter of fact…" I stretched out my fingers, focusing inward. Magic hummed at my fingertips as I extended my senses, reaching beyond the physical.

[The skill 'Presence Detection' is being activated]

The forest's energy was ancient and knotted, a tangled web of life and mystery. I pushed further, seeking something—anything—beyond the oppressive quiet.

But there was nothing.

My brow furrowed. There should have been movement—traces of life, the pulse of living things. Yet the void remained absolute.

I pressed harder, desperation bleeding into the effort.

[The skill 'Presence Detection' is being activated]

Still nothing.

A chill crept along my spine.

I withdrew quickly, masking the growing unease. "No luck," I said quietly. "I can't sense anything."

Naoise's eyes narrowed. "You mean you can't find her?"

"I mean I can't find anything," I corrected, my voice low. "No people. No animals. Not even residual traces of life. It's like the forest itself has swallowed everything whole."

Unease rippled through the group. Even Sigurd's resolve wavered.

"Then we keep moving," he said at last, his voice steady despite the uncertainty. "She has to be here somewhere."

Unfortunately, I wasn't so sure anymore.

---

{ Preview }

Fire Emblem : The Holy War… Unseen Scenes.

Sigurd: I still don't get why people think I'm reckless.

Ray: You? Reckless? Oh, I don't know. Maybe because every time something happens, you respond with, "Better charge in headfirst and hope for the best!"

Sigurd: That is not—

Ray: How did you handle Verdane? Charged in. How are you dealing with Sandima? Charging in. How are you planning to get Deirdre? Charging in.

Sigurd: …Well, when you say it like that—

Ray: I always say it like that. You just never listen.

Ray: "Oifey, why do you always look so stressed?"

Oifey: "Because I spend my days babysitting a war and my nights wondering how we haven't died yet."

Ray: "So, how does it feel to be the big, tough guy with the axe?"

Lex: "Pretty great, actually. Nothing says 'I'm the guy you call' like a large piece of steel."

Ray: "Are you compensating for something?"

Lex: "It's the axe, Ray. Always the axe."

Ray: "Good thing you're not compensating with your personality."

Ray: I bet five gold pieces you don't last five minutes against Sigurd.

Munnir : You dare insult the crown prince of Verdane?!

Ray: Not an insult, just statistical probability. Look, if it helps, think of yourself as a stepping stone on the path to someone else's greatness. Very noble, in a "cannon fodder" sort of way.

Sigurd: Ray, we're marching on Marpha. Ready for battle?

Ray: You're the guy who launched a full-scale war because your "crush" got kidnapped. Let's not pretend this is a masterclass in military strategy.

Sigurd: I– That's not–

Ray: No judgment. I respect it. Nothing screams "great life choices" like triggering an international crisis over a girl.

{ End Point }

---

There was no mention of who was present during the conversation between Quan and Ayra in the game, although in the manga it was shown that Ethlyn was present beside Quan, as well as being the one who went to fetch Ayra. I decided to go with no one except for Ray.

The spirit forest is said to be a place impossible to travel without help from locals who knows the area best. If I had Ray just na igate through it with Presence Detection it would've been too easy, right? Plus, I felt like making him unable to feel anything due to the forest added to its mystique.

The short with Munnir is funny in that, in the manga Munnir came out of his castle boasting that he was going to end the Grannvale commander in one hit, then Sigurd got mad and went ahead to one-hit KO'd the guy instead.

Only shorts present for this chapter. I didn't have time to write out a proper preview. Then I thought, why not have shorts when you can, reviews when you can, then both when you can? I just thought it would be easier like that, so there you have it.