The Radiance They Cannot See
Anak often said that those who were truly exceptional—the ones who shone like the sun rather than mere fireflies—never realized their own brilliance. They illuminated everything around them yet remained unaware of how different they were from others. After all, the world they saw had already been transformed by their own light.
If Rowell had met Anak after growing a little older, things might have been different. But the young Rowell had only ever seen the bright side of Anak; the thought that something darker might lie beneath never occurred to him.
To that innocent, kind, and courteous boy, Anak had always been considerate and understanding—a thoughtful companion who put others first. That was the image Rowell had carried of him since childhood.
Of course, as he grew, Rowell came to recognize Anak’s other side and learned to accept it. He understood Anak’s pain and the meaning behind the actions that earned him the title of Second-Best Strategist. Yet even that understanding was filtered through the eyes of one of the “radiant ones,” and because of the image he had formed in childhood, it remained faintly tinged with that earlier impression.
Rofena, by contrast, had never held such an image of him. She was undoubtedly one of the brilliant, but her light was gentler than Rowell’s or Aegina’s. While Rowell had spent years surrounded by countless people who offered him affection and admiration, Rofena had known only Anak for the past several years.
And at some point, she had come to feel not merely goodwill toward him, but something deeper. Whether her understanding of Anak had given rise to those feelings or whether the feelings themselves had led her to understand him, she could no longer tell. All she knew was that the emotion now existed within her.
After the recent incident, Anak had noticed her feelings, and she knew exactly what thoughts were tormenting him now.
The guilt, the pity, the faint suspicion, and the cruel self-mockery that occasionally surfaced on his face—hidden beneath jokes meant to maintain an air of nonchalance—pained her as much as they pained him.
“If anything, I’m the one who should apologize. I only meant to tease you for a moment, but you took it so seriously that I ended up sulking without realizing it. I just wanted you to notice a little… I never thought it would hurt you this much.”
Yet her words never reached him.
“Did you sleep well?”
Still half-drowsy, Anak opened his eyes to find Rofena asking the question. In an instant, sleep fled as though cold water had been poured over him. Instinctively, he turned his head away from her and sat up.
He didn’t know why he had done it, or what meaning it held. Perhaps it was simply the strange sense of embarrassment at having shown her his sleeping face, or an irrational anxiety that felt foolish the moment he tried to examine it rationally.
“Y-yes. And you, Lady Rofena…?”
He couldn’t find the right words. She didn’t sleep. She was trapped in this narrow space. Nothing of note could have happened while he was unconscious. Asking whether she had been well or slept comfortably was meaningless and absurd.
Yesterday she had woken him too early and spoken to him endlessly before he was even fully awake, so he hadn’t needed to think about his responses. He had simply answered or agreed as the moment required. But today she seemed different—calmer than he had ever seen her. And this was literally the moment he had just woken up. He had no idea how to behave.
Then—
“I was fine as well.”
She smiled and answered first.
“I… I see.”
He hurriedly summoned a water spirit into the air and washed his face. It was something he had done only once before—back at the academy when oversleeping had nearly made him late for class. Because he was unaccustomed to the act, the water he had called forth should have vanished once its purpose was served, yet his mana control slipped and half his clothes ended up soaked.
He couldn’t understand why he was rushing and panicking like this. She had already seen him asleep. And summoning a water spirit just to wash his face? Yesterday he had faced her exactly as he was, only washing up after stepping outside to check on the horses.
“Heh.”
She laughed softly at the sight. He would have preferred it if she had teased him outright. Instead, for some reason, even his ears flushed red.
Something was different. Yesterday’s Rofena and today’s Rofena were not the same. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had changed, but the difference was unmistakable.
It felt, strangely, like standing before Julian. No matter what joke or lie he tried, he sensed it would never slip past her unnoticed. It was the same heavy, faintly sorrowful feeling—as though he were standing before something he dared not touch.
“Is it today?”
“No.”
At first he hadn’t understood what she meant. He had denied it on instinct. Only after drawing his next breath did he realize she was asking about the matter in Kasin Village.
“That will happen tomorrow at noon. Of course, I could go right now, but assassins tend to withdraw the moment they sense their plan has gone awry.”
He couldn’t allow that. This affair had to be settled at his level—without reaching Rowell or the others, and in such a way that no one would ever dare attempt something similar again.
“Then you’ll return to the village tomorrow?”
“No. I’m not sure how the aftermath will play out, but it will take some time. Besides, if I go back too early, Rowell and Aegina might grow suspicious for no reason.”
It would also be good to give the two of them some time alone. Since the tournament, they hadn’t once had the chance to enjoy a leisurely breakfast together or to linger in the night they had shared.
“So you’ll be sleeping here tomorrow night as well?”
There was a trace of relief in her voice. Of course. If he returned to the village tomorrow, he wouldn’t be able to visit this space again until after breakfast the following day. Until then, she would have no way of knowing whether he was safe.
“……”
With a gesture, several lines of text appeared in the air. Soon after, a white flame materialized before his eyes.
“That is…?”
She looked puzzled by the sudden act. Moreover, the white flame was something even she, a former Demon Commander, had never encountered. He enclosed the flame in a small barrier and fixed it in the air.
“A Life Candle. A spell peddled by third-rate charlatan mages to soldiers heading off to war or to their families. If the target dies, the flame goes out on its own, allowing those far away to know whether the person is alive or dead.”
Of course, once the mana stored in the scroll was exhausted, the flame would vanish regardless of the target’s condition. The spell had produced countless grim stories of wives remarrying after seeing their husband’s flame go out—only for the man to return home alive. It was defective merchandise.
For reference, if the flame was imbued with enough mana to last a month, that was considered relatively conscientious. Most versions burned out within a week, so only the ignorant or the truly desperate ever bought them.
Some people purchased them simply as talismans to pray for a loved one’s safety. Even if the flame went out, they could tell themselves it was only because the mana had run dry. Whether the flame burned or not, a sliver of hope remained. At that point, of course, the spell itself had lost all meaning.
“Normally it isn’t very reliable, since the flame goes out the moment the mana is depleted or the connection is severed for any reason. But at least it won’t run out in a day or two. As long as this flame keeps burning, it means I’m safe.”
At his words, she stared at the flame as though it were something precious.
“I’ll be back later, then.”
With a heavy heart, he turned away. Offering a third-rate spell like the Life Candle as though it were a solution felt hollow. If he died and the flame went out, at least she would know he was gone. But then what?
Afterward, she would remain trapped alone in this narrow space for what might as well be eternity. If he truly wished to spare her suffering, he should have placed a spell on the barrier’s medium or energy source that would destroy it the moment he died or failed to appear for a set period of time.
If he couldn’t inscribe it directly onto the medium, he should have arranged some other means to achieve the same result. Yet he could not bring himself to do so. No—he would not.
Such spells were not only complicated but carried the risk of accidentally dispelling the barrier entirely. With enough care it might be possible, but he could not bear that burden.
No—this was nothing more than an excuse. The real reason he refused was far more base and childish: a desire unworthy of him.
Rowell would never have hesitated. The difference between them lay not only in ability or circumstance. It was something far more fundamental, more essential…
“Thank you!”
The sincere words that reached him as the scenery shifted around him pierced his chest.
“…You shouldn’t say things like that.”
Gazing at the open landscape, he spoke the words as though they were a confession. He knew better than anyone that they were neither confession nor absolution, yet he said them anyway.
“Hihihhing!”
The horse that had been lying on the ground rose at the sight of him. He had said it many times before, but it really was a fine horse.
“Yeah. Today should be a little easier, at least.”
After releasing the barrier, he patted the horse’s head a few times and climbed onto its back. The moment his feet left the ground, memories of the times he had fallen during the journey flashed through his mind, but fortunately no such mishap occurred.
Back then, the barrier had activated when he fell, and Orcan had mocked him mercilessly for it.
“No matter how I think about it, I should’ve just eaten that horse.”
He had never imagined that the target of his resentment, even after all this time, would be the wretched foal rather than the enemies he had risked his life fighting.
What irritated him even more was that the same wretched horse had been extremely obedient not only to Rowell and the other companions but even to Orcan. A mongrel that hadn’t sold well at the market was acting as though it were some legendary steed that chose its own master.
“Looking back, I should’ve just bound it with a spell like a summon. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
It wasn’t as though he had never learned to ride at the academy, nor was he particularly bad at it. Yet while everyone else had their own well-trained mounts, the thought had never occurred to him at the time.
“Well then, let’s go.”