The Duty of the Survivors and the Start of a Long Night

By the time Alice came to, the command tent was in an uproar.

Most of the older lords like Deus and Benedict had all but adopted her as their own daughter, so her recovery had them overjoyed.

Crow, of course, greeted her return with a face that practically shouted thank goodness you're back on your feet.

As for me — we'd already shared a little "hehe" moment earlier, but the moment she laid eyes on me, her cheeks flushed faintly pink. Probably because of the whisper I'd given her before.

Benedict didn't miss it for a second. Grinning, he started in on her.

"My, my. Our lady of the house really is of an age to be married off."

Even Deus, who had played the roles of both father and uncle to her, joined right in.

"When you declared you'd never marry, I wondered if perhaps you already had a sweetheart... but to think you truly did."

"Exactly. And since that sweetheart is the Successor himself, there's nothing to worry about. Right, Deus?"

He closed his eyes and gave a slow nod of agreement.

"Indeed. A house that serves the Azure Dragon, joined to the Successor of the Azure Dragon — nothing could be more fitting."

The teasing carried on mercilessly, until Alice finally couldn't take it anymore and shouted at us all.

Two days later, the march home began.

When we had set out for the front, we numbered eight thousand. By the time we turned back toward Cumul Territory, we were roughly five thousand.

The sight left a dull ache in my chest.

Still — on the field of war itself, we had driven the campaign to victory with barely any losses. A blessing amid misfortune, I suppose.

Not that the heaviness in my heart showed any sign of going away.

We rode hard for four straight days and finally made it back to Cumul Territory.

Naturally, arriving did not mean resting.

The very first thing we did upon returning was deliver the remains of the fallen, along with their belongings, to the grieving families.

Alice and I sorted through the bodies and their effects together, then went door to door.

- Knock, knock.

When we rapped on one door, a young woman's voice answered, and it swung open. The moment she recognized who stood there, her smile collapsed into a look of disbelief.

"N-no...! Will...!"

Crying out the fallen knight's name, she sank to her knees, tears spilling down her face. Behind her, a little boy called after his mother, weeping alongside her.

"Mommyyy...! Don't cryyy...!"

She was a woman, yes — but she was a mother, too. Even with her husband gone to war, she would have kept doing everything that needed doing, all while waiting for him to come home.

Alice and I bowed our heads to her, apologizing as she wailed before us.

"I'm sorry. We could not protect the knights in the war."

I called upon Storm's Domain, conjuring a gentle breeze into being — because at the very least, I wanted this day, the day a child's father came home dead, to not be the worst day of that child's life.

Behind me, Baram revealed himself.

He met my eyes, gave a solemn nod, then padded over to the boy and licked away his tears.

"...Huh?! A doggy!"

The boy stared at Baram through eyes brimming with tears. When the young woman followed her son's shout, she saw an emerald wolf tending to the child.

"Don't worry. He's my spirit — a wind spirit. There's no need to be on your guard."

I could sense a flicker of unease in her gaze, so I kept talking, introducing Baram properly.

The boy petted Baram, hugged him, communing with the spirit as children do.

Someone who bonded with a high-rank spirit this young would have a far greater chance of awakening mana later in life.

I knew because the game had events where you met and raised children who'd lost their parents.

Baram, for his part, seemed to have taken a liking to the little one. He licked the boy's tears away, then began nuzzling his head affectionately against the child's hair.

The woman seemed to have grasped what Baram truly was. She looked at me and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠offered her thanks, voice trembling.

"Th-thank you... that kind of spirit... if I remember right, those are terribly high-ranked..."

I was secretly astonished.

Few people could handle high spirits at all — which meant she'd likely never seen one in her life, either.

My best guess was that her late father had been a full knight, and had perhaps encountered spirits in his time of service.

"It's alright. Think of him as the last gift his father left behind — for his child."

At my words, the woman simply nodded, repeating "thank you" over and over.

While playing with the boy, Baram suddenly gave a cheerful bark — careful not to startle him — and summoned a small wind spirit.

The little spirit took form as a fairy, spotted the child, and flew straight over to press its body against the boy's cheek.

The fairy was a Sylph — a lesser wind spirit.

Baram had, it seemed, used his own power to give the child a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠gift.

So even in death, that boy's father was leaving presents behind for him.

"Mommy! He says we're friends now!"

"!!"

At the boy's words, I, Alice, and the young woman all froze in equal shock.

Because if that was true — the child had the aptitude of a spirit caller.

Understanding the words of spirits meant aptitude on a level that towered over ordinary people. To hear them and speak with them meant grasping their will — and being able to respect it in return.

Most spirit callers can't understand a word, so spirits get sulky and refuse to answer summons at all.

In the worst cases, spirits break their contracts knowing full well the breach will cost them — simply because their handler never listened.

Looking at this boy, I doubted any of that would ever happen. He and the Sylph were giggling and chattering away together, after all. It only made sense.

I suspected Baram had seen the boy's potential and summoned the spirit precisely for that reason.

I called Baram over and ran my hand along his head in quiet praise.

Then we handed over the fallen knight's remains and belongings, and took our leave.

That boy, I thought, would grow up and live a brilliant life — his father's final gift lighting the way.

The families of the fallen received support funds as well, so barring misfortune, the child would grow into a fine spirit caller.

Wind spirits despise those who do wrong, after all.

The spirit would always be at his side, gently setting him right whenever he strayed.

And so, at last, we could step out of that family's home with our footsteps a little lighter than they had been.

Of course, not every door held a hopeful scene like that.

When I knocked, some people saw me carrying a fallen knight's effects and doused me with water, screaming why hadn't I saved him.

Some collapsed into wailing, keening grief the moment they saw what I brought.

Some cursed me. Some blamed me.

Their deaths hadn't been my fault. But their resentment was something I had no right to resent in return.

Because I had lived through this exactly once before.

At our parents' funeral, our aunt and uncle had hurled Mother's letters to the ground, spitting out their grief as fury.

I wasn't a child anymore. I understood perfectly.

They raged and wailed and blamed me because they needed somewhere to pour the overflow of their feelings. That's human selfishness — the belief that if you can pin the blame on someone, anyone, your heart will hurt a little less.

And I forgave all of them for it.

But understanding them did not put my own heart at ease.

Comprehending someone's pain and feeling that suffocating weight yourself are two entirely different things.

I never imagined I'd carry these feelings all the way into another world.

So much exposure to raw, negative emotion — the exhaustion was piling up.

Which meant it was time to lean on Alice.

On the woman who had taken me in — my origins murky even now that I stood in this world — and never once stopped treating me with warmth.

In the end, over the course of about two days, Alice and I delivered the remains and belongings of some five hundred of the fallen to their families.

Facing their faces was grueling. But here and there, a few words gave us just enough strength to shake off the gloom and move on to the next house.

'Thank you.'

'Thank you always, for fighting so hard to protect us.'

'My son didn't come home. But because of you, I could at least see him again like this. Thank you.'

And yet — why did the heaviness refuse to lift?

I closed my eyes and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠resolved to root out the source of all this suffering, as quickly as a single day could be spared.

We split into groups — Alice and I, Benedict and Deus, Crow and Haji — and so, working in parallel, we managed to deliver every single one of the fallen's effects in record time.

Then, just as they had after the campaign against Asmodeus in the Elaon Forest, the manor's gates were to be opened for three days of funeral rites.

Perhaps out of consideration for the grieving families, the Divine Beasts seemed to hold back the rain this time and grant us impossibly fine weather instead.

Clear skies held, without fail, for a full three days.

The day after the last rite concluded, the rain finally came — as if it had only been waiting for permission.

And now, three days after the funerals ended,

I stepped onto the training grounds and swung a sword at Alice's side.

Alice was far stronger than me — even with my first Trait evolved.

Of course, you couldn't compare her to me just because I'd picked up a handful of broken, cheat-grade skills. In the fundamentals, the gap between us was a chasm. It went without saying.

"Swing your cuts faster!"

I swung as ordered, and my wooden sword was casually batted aside by hers with a heavy crack.

- Crack!

Alice caught my horizontal slash with perfect timing, flicked her blade upward to redirect it, and closed the distance between us in the same breath.

I planted my foot and snapped my body backward to retreat —

"Low stance."

She'd read it instantly. Her sword went for my footing, my balance folded in on itself, and I went sprawling flat across the training ground floor.

Do you know what it feels like to be laid out flat, spread-eagled on the floor of a training hall?

It feels wrong.

Lying down seems like the last thing you should be doing here.

And in fact, you mustn't lie down. Not because of the dirt on your clothes — because of the teacher currently standing over you.

I got up, grabbed my sword, and reset my stance.

Because if I didn't, she'd simply keep swinging at me where I lay. If I didn't want to be hit, I had to get up fast.

Would she really hit me?

There is no such thing as a joke in a spar with Alice...

Girlfriend or not — it doesn't exist.

"The more precious you are to me," my beloved said, swinging her sword at me directly, "the harder I push you."

"Alice...! Ghk! Go easy on me!!"

My plea did nothing. Alice swung that wooden sword with total sincerity.

"Out here, it's not 'Alice'... it's Master!"

"!!"

My beloved was now executing a vertical overhead strike at my skull.

Both hands on the hilt, bracing for the impact. Her blade and mine collided in a clash of force —

and she was already driving a left fist toward my solar plexus.

I tore my wooden sword free, scrambled backward, and in that instant brought my blade to her throat —

— and without even looking, she turned her sword sideways and cut off my blade's path entirely.

...Is she a monster?

What even is she...?

"Hyun. You just used a skill."

- Guilty as charged.

I had, in fact, used Storm's Domain to move swiftly behind her.

It was the only way I could move faster than Alice.

"So I used one too. That's fair, right?"

"That counts as a skill?"

Clearly displeased with my answer, she flicked me on the forehead.

"Ah-ah! Right now I'm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not your girlfriend — I'm your teacher! Use honorifics!"

What even is this...

"Wait, so when we're in girlfriend mode I'm supposed to use a different name AND formal speech?"

"That's right! I'm the one teaching you, so this much is owed! Did you think my lessons were free?"

Huh. Fair point, actually.

When I thought about it... I was the one who should be paying up, wasn't I?

To the commander of the Holy Empire's knights, no less.

And if she's strong enough to exhale sword aura itself, the calculus changes entirely.

Mind you, I can spit out sword aura too — even fire slashes made of pure sword energy.

But that's, at the end of the day... something my skills achieved... a kind of shortcut, so it doesn't count.

"Understood..."

"Hm?"

"Understood, Master."

"Good."

...

This is exhausting.

If Alice had drilled my combat instincts through sparring, then next came the Imperial Sword Style.

I still remember how she recoiled in awe when I showed her Cheongnyongdeungcheon and Morning Star Cleaver, muttering about what kind of monstrous power that was.

Naturally. This was the sword art the true Azure Dragon himself once wielded.

Yet she didn't seem to know the term Blue Dragon Sword Style at all. Which, in a way, made perfect sense.

When a word falls out of use for long enough, it dies — becomes a dead tongue.

Just like that, I suspected, this "Blue Dragon Sword Style" had slipped into the backwaters of history — and I was the one now wielding its ghost.

I asked the Guardian Dragons about it, too...

But by that era, they'd already sealed themselves away and slumbered, so they had no answer for me.

In any case — what I had to learn from Alice was the third form of the Imperial Sword Style: Hidden Dragon's Momentum.

The technique, she explained, heightens the senses around your own body, letting you defend against and evade an opponent's attacks.

The problem?

Proclaiming that vast, crackling yellow domain and Hidden Dragon's Momentum at the same time was an exercise in sheer cruelty.

Within such a domain, maintaining the third form devoured staggering amounts of mental focus, mana, and stamina.

But I, who would inevitably be locked in battle with mid-ranked demons, had no choice but to master it.

Perhaps because the Authority's domain stretched my senses to their absolute limit, my concentration would crumble;

my senses amplified so violently that the world spun and my head reeled.

I decided to take a step back and learn the skill on its own first — but even that was no walk in the park.

'Dizzy... ugh... urp...!'

I vomited. I collapsed. I learned through all of it — and somehow, all that suffering paid off.

At last... after twenty-six hours...!

I finally grasped it.

Well, that explained it.

I felt everything.

So sensitive the world itself made my head spin...

And with that, I finished the day's training and headed back to my room.

I'd just arrived and was about to strip off my training clothes for a wash

when someone knocked at my door.

Assuming it was a maid, I opened it — and froze.

Because the person standing there was none other than Alice.

Wearing a nightgown so sheer that nothing was left to the imagination.

What on earth had been going through her head, dressing like that to walk into my room? I couldn't process a single bit of it.

I'd finished training, mastered a brand-new skill, and come back riding high —

and this is what awaited me?

Alice read the question mark on my face perfectly, looked up at me, and said:

"You remember what you said, Hyun."

"Huh?"

"'Huh?' he says! Don't tell me you've forgotten what you whispered to me!"

...!

Wait. That... that?

What had I said back then, again...

Ah. Right.

'Once I get back and the war's aftermath is wrapped up, you're not getting any sleep that night. So brace yourself, because when it happens, I won't be able to hold back either.'

...

My own karma, biting me again.

"You remember now, don't you? That promise is still valid."

I nodded, slowly, sheepishly.

And then Alice — in that utterly see-through nightgown — strode boldly into my room, and the door swung shut behind her.

- Click.

The sound of the closing latch rang out, and I took the back of Alice's neck in my hand and pressed my lips to hers.

Before long, the only sounds in my room were the soft brush of skin against skin — no voices at all.

And in time, even those sounds faded beyond our hearing.

Not that either of us cared in the slightest.