Warmth in the Cold Rain

The sky threw a sudden tantrum. Rumble. Boom. A furious roar manifested as thunder. The sun seemed to sigh at the thick, dark clouds rolling in, as if conceding that today was not its day. As the sunlight retreated a few steps, darkness swiftly draped over the world.

The clouds unleashed their burden into the gloom. It was a torrential downpour. Perhaps because it hadn't rained in so long, the sky was greedy; the parched earth below devoured the water voraciously. Sated with water, the soil naturally dissolved into mud. The thick, squelching mire clung to our boots. Like lingering regrets.

Every single step demanded twice the effort. I could feel my stamina draining away. To make matters worse, our rain-soaked clothes grew heavier by the second. The rain wasn't freezing cold yet, but that was only a temporary mercy. It was a wind-driven storm. If we remained exposed like this, hypothermia would set in before long. Catching a cold in a wilderness like this was a death sentence; there would be no medicine to save us.

Sirien was already showing signs of exhaustion.

"Haa, ha... Ugh!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Thank you. You caught me."

"We're almost there. Just hang on a little longer."

I barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Slipping meant her focus was wavering—a clear sign that she had reached her physical limit. We had chosen to turn back the moment the first drops fell. It had been the right call.

Our destination was a cave we had spotted on our way here. It was spacious enough to serve as a temporary base. It seemed we would have no choice but to hole up there for the rest of the day. Perhaps it was for the best. It would make for a far cozier campsite than shivering under a boulder or a tree. Ending the day early to conserve our strength wasn't a bad idea at all.

As we pressed on, the cliff we had passed earlier came into view. We were only ten or twenty minutes away. The real issue, however, was Sirien's condition. Her breathing had been ragged for a while, and now her lips were trembling violently. If we kept this up, she would definitely succumb to hypothermia. I had to hurry.

"We'll need to light a fire the moment we get inside. Are you very cold?"

"I-I can... I can bear it."

"Watch your step there!"

"Ah!"

Had I pushed her too fast? Sirien lost her footing on the muddy slope and twisted her ankle. Though she quickly recovered her balance, the way she winced while cradling her ankle told me she was in significant pain. I had no choice.

"This won't do. Get on my back."

"Huh?"

"I said, climb on. It'll be much faster for me to carry you than for you to limp on a sprained ankle."

Throughout this journey, I had been almost obsessively conserving my stamina. If we encountered a demonic beast while I was exhausted, we would be in deep trouble. While Sirien's physical condition was paramount, keeping myself combat-ready was equally vital. But this was an emergency. I couldn't let her walk any further. I shifted my backpack to one hand and crouched down. The shadow behind me hesitated, but when I beckoned with a flick of my fingers, she quickly surrendered.

The girl draped herself over my back. She was incredibly light. She hadn't been eating properly despite our increased physical exertion, so she must have lost weight. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠My heart ached at the realization that she had grown even thinner than her already slender self. Wanting to shield her from the relentless rain, I pulled my cloak over her shoulders. A faint warmth blossomed between us. With our bodies pressed together, the chill seemed to recede just a fraction.

I could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest against my back with every ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠breath she took. Her breathing, finally steadying, tickled the back of my neck.

"Am I... heavy?"

"Not at all."

"I'm sorry. It's my fault we're delayed."

"Don't be. I've told you time and again, you're holding up remarkably well."

Her voice was so close. How long had it been since I last heard her speak from this proximity? The skin of her hands brushing against me was freezing. This was no time to indulge in cozy sentimentality. I quickened my pace.

"You carried me like this once before, Rajen. Do you remember?"

"When you got hurt trying to sneak out of the castle?"

"Yes."

It was idle chatter, but her whispering tone tickled my ears. Perhaps she was finally finding some peace of mind.

"It was your right ankle back then, too. You cried so hard because of the pain."

"I used to cry easily back then."

"Indeed. We can't afford to cry like that anymore."

Sirien had insisted she knew of a field where fireflies gathered at night and begged me to take her there. The result had been an utter disaster. We hadn't even managed to escape the castle grounds before we had to turn back, with her in tears. I recalled she had injured herself while trying to scale the wall.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble I got into back then?"

"Did you?"

"Of course I did! I helped the young lady of the house run away, only to bring her back with a broken ankle. Do you think I got off scot-free? I had to run laps around the training grounds in full armor for days."

"Pfft. I should have seen that. I suppose I missed it because I was busy getting scolded by Mother."

Now, almost all the stories Sirien loved to reminisce about were anchored in the past. The days back at the castle. The days when she would run around the halls full of life, and Therion would cause ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trouble almost every single day. The words she had spoken not long ago lingered in my mind. She had said I was the only one she could trust. I was the only person left in this world who could share those memories with her. Even after we escaped this wretched forest, that reality would remain unchanged. And my own situation was no different.

What exactly had been the nature of Sirien and Rajen's relationship in the original novel? It was certain they had cherished each other deeply. The moment Rajen died on the battlefield, Sirien had practically lost her mind. She abandoned her cautious, defensive strategy and began deploying her forces with reckless aggression. It was as if she no longer cared about the future. She launched suicidal offensives solely to slaughter as many enemies as possible. Of course, without Rajen serving as her spearhead, those desperate charges didn't last very long.

The novel's descriptions of them had sometimes felt intensely codependent, and at other times like a simple relationship between lord and vassal. On the surface, at least, they had never transgressed the boundaries of knight and master. But that novel had been notoriously indifferent to its villains. There was barely any reliable information about us. In the end, it would all depend on what I chose to do. For some reason, the arms wrapped tightly around my neck felt unusually warm.

"Ah, we're here. Thank you. I can move on my own now. You can put me down."

"In that case, could you help me start the fire? I'll go gather some firewood."

"Sure. I just hope the flint didn't get wet."

"I wrapped it in a leather pouch, so it should be fine."

The interior of the cave was far cozier than I had anticipated. Dispelling the stereotype of damp, musty caverns, the deeper recess was filled with dry leaves, soil, and fallen branches. It felt more like a spacious hollow than a cave. It wasn't particularly deep either, leaving no place for any hidden threats to lurk. This saved me the trouble of a thorough search. I gathered a bundle of dry branches from beneath the thick carpet of fallen leaves.

Clack. Clack. Sparks flew from the flint in Sirien's hands. When we first started this journey, it had taken her an eternity just to catch a spark, but now she was quite adept at it.

"Ah, it caught."

Sirien and I huddled close to the fire, letting the warmth seep into our bones. Now that we were safe from the elements, the endless downpour outside took on a rather poetic quality. It felt like looking out of one of the grand, circular windows back at the castle. The castle... Count Roxen was probably coiled up there like a serpent by now. If there was a pursuit party, they must have reached the vicinity. Would this rain wash away our tracks? It might be wishful thinking, but there was no harm in hoping. As long as I didn't neglect our defenses, it would be fine. Whether fortune favored us or not, they would be coming soon.

Once she had warmed up, Sirien quickly drifted off to sleep. It was still too early to call it a night. Feeling it would be awkward to sleep beside her so soon, I decided to practice my swordsmanship. Perhaps witnessing a powerhouse—a Swordmaster I had never known existed—had stirred something within me. I had been wanting to evaluate my own skills for some time, and with our busy schedule, this was my only opportunity.

I've gotten a bit faster. My transitions are much smoother, too.

Through countless battles, experience had etched itself into my body as deeply as my scars. The brutal lessons of real combat acted as a lubricant. Now, even if I initiated a sequence with the same opening, I could seamlessly transition into any number of follow-up strikes. The crises I had overcome through sheer improvisation had made my movements far more fluid.

My increased speed was likely because the sword felt lighter in my hand. I wasn't entirely sure if I had simply grown accustomed to the weight of the new blade or if my physical body had actually grown stronger.

Well, I'll find out the more I swing it.

The blade, reflecting the orange glow of the fire, carved through the air with raw ferocity. Was this a flaw? My movements had grown larger, and I was putting too much power into each strike. It was likely because I had been fighting nothing but massive beasts lately. Having to cut through overwhelming mass and hide must have bred bad habits. Developing rigid habits in swordsmanship was never a good thing. Yet, I couldn't dismiss this shift in style as entirely negative. It wasn't as if I could no longer execute the precise, technique-oriented swordsmanship I used to rely on. I consciously dialed back the excessive force. My sword had definitely grown more aggressive. Was I becoming more like the Rajen from the novel? In the end, we were bound to walk the same path.

Fortunately, the novel had been quite descriptive when it came to Rajen's battles.

By the time I finally stopped swinging, beads of sweat were rolling down my face. I sheathed my sword with a sense of satisfaction. My growth was undeniably faster than it had been back at the castle. I could almost see the path leading to the next realm. Once a path is found, all that remains is to run along it. My destination was clear, and I knew the potential lay within me. All I needed now was time.