One Week's Grace
The Wolf Mercenary Corps encampment.
Inside the commander's private tent, Fredrick fixed Kaisent with a sharp, unyielding stare.
"…So you just picked this kid up off the street?"
"Y-yes…"
Kaisent lowered his head under that glare — the look of a man scolding a child who had dragged home something strange without permission.
"Kaisent. I seem to recall telling you this before."
Back in another city, when Kaisent had taken pity on beggar boys pleading in the streets, Fredrick had warned him not to help people so carelessly. He had assumed the boy was clever enough to understand. He had not expected to be blindsided like this.
"I-if I'd left him there, they really would have beaten him to death! I'll just treat him and send him on his way!"
Chest tight with unease, Kaisent had stepped out of the tavern for air — and then, thinking of Mingming, he had decided to check the surroundings before coming back. That was when he had found Clint surrounded by refugees, in genuine danger. He simply had not been hard-hearted enough to walk away. So he had helped him.
"Fredrick. He isn't trying to take responsibility for the boy. He said he'd treat him and send him off."
"If he actually does what he says, I've got no complaint. But you know Kaisent's nature as well as I do."
"Mm…"
Lillian, who had been speaking in Kaisent's defense, fell silent at Fredrick's counter.
Blessed with transcendent talent inherited from his parents' blood, Kaisent had somehow failed to inherit almost any of their temperament. He was soft-hearted to the bone. If the boy he had rescued clung to him and begged desperately enough, he would cave — anyone could see it coming. Even Lillian found herself unable to argue that particular point.
"……"
But when Kaisent hung his head, eyes glistening as if on the verge of tears, a twinge of guilt stirred in Fredrick's chest. Perhaps he had come down too hard.
"One week."
"…What?"
"From now on, our company will be recruiting new blood and heading south. Look after him for one week. After that, he leaves. No exceptions."
"Yes! I promise!"
Permission granted, Kaisent nodded with a smile of pure relief. At Fredrick's signal to go, he left the tent with a noticeably lighter step.
"Still, a full week is fairly generous."
"A week should be just long enough for that boy to make himself thoroughly annoying to Kaisent."
"So this is to teach him what happens when you help someone out of a moment's pity."
Fredrick and Lillian had both done the same thing once, early in their mercenary days — helped strangers out of simple compassion. More often than not, that compassion had led to ugly outcomes, and those experiences had taught them just how harsh the world could be. Fredrick wanted Kaisent to learn the same lesson: that kindness was not something to hand out freely.
"This is the kind of thing you understand better by living it once than by hearing it lectured a hundred times. Same as us."
"…You're right. Back at the palace, when they told me not to show the maids and servants careless pity, I never really understood why."
She lingered a moment in the old memory, then smiled.
"Still — isn't he impressive? Turning down the Rhinol Mercenary Corps' offer without a second thought."
"Honestly, I was surprised. To refuse that kind of money so easily…"
"Heh. In a way, taking Kaisent in might have been our good fortune."
Fredrick shared the sentiment and nodded.
Hm? Something feels off.
There was a strange, subtle allure in the way Lillian smiled when she thought of Kaisent — not merely the fondness of someone proud of a child, but something else beneath it. Fredrick could not put a name to it, and so he dismissed it as his imagination.
Judging by how freely he gave a whole week, he still hasn't noticed that Kaisent has acquired holy power.
That Kaisent now possessed holy power was a secret Lillian alone knew. No matter how much she trusted Fredrick, holy power was another matter entirely. Somewhere along the way, Kaisent had come to matter more to her than Fredrick did.
"We were delayed hiding from that sudden gunfire incident, but we should move on recruiting new hands."
"By now the whole affair should be more or less settled."
Unaware of how far they had already drifted apart, Fredrick had no leisure to rest. He began preparing to leave the Halrot Kingdom.
Meanwhile, in a tent at one corner of the Wolf Mercenary Corps camp—
"Ugh… nn…"
Clint groaned, consciousness returning, and forced his eyes open with effort.
"!!"
The last thing he remembered was the refugees' vicious kicks raining down as if they meant to kill him. He sat bolt upright and scanned his surroundings.
"Ghk— it… doesn't hurt…?"
Well — it hurt a little, honestly. But compared to the beating that had felt like it would end him, this was bearable.
"Ah!"
A beat later, he remembered who had saved him. A boy his own age, with pure white eyes that seemed almost alive and a gentle face. The one who had attacked the refugees with the technique this world called magic and pulled him free.
"Oh — you're awake."
At that moment Kaisent arrived, summoned by a signal from Mingming, who had been perched atop the tent where Clint lay.
"Th-thank you for saving me."
"Don't use formal speech. We look about the same age."
"Still… is that okay…?"
"It makes me uncomfortable, that's all."
"Got it. Then… thanks for saving me."
The two boys seemed to recognize the goodness in each other almost at once; the air between them loosened quickly. After exchanging names, Kaisent explained how Clint had ended up here.
"So it really was you who saved me. My mind was fading — I wasn't sure I'd remembered right."
"But… this might be a weird question, but what happened to the man who was with you?"
"Huh? How do you know about that?"
"You probably don't remember, but a while back he was moving fast through the streets and accidentally hit me. I caught a glimpse of your face then, too."
The boys were just starting to warm into conversation when—
"Hey! Kaisent! Where are you?!"
"Coming! Just rest for now. I treated you, but you still need more recovery time."
"Wait. Let me help too."
"You were getting beaten half to death until a little while ago. Forcing yourself to help and wrecking your body would only make more trouble for everyone."
"…Alright."
Having met, for the first time in this world, a stranger who showed him genuine goodwill, Clint wanted desperately to repay it — but he was firmly held back.
"Stay inside and rest today. It won't be comfortable, but getting better comes first."
With that, Kaisent ran off toward the mercenary who had called him.
He's right. You rest when you can, so you can move when you have to.
The hard lessons of a life spent fleeing pursuers were etched into Clint's bones. He focused on resting.
And yet — he had been beaten unconscious, and his body was not in serious pain. That was because Kaisent had used holy power while treating him. If Clint recovered completely, everyone would start asking questions about healing far beyond ordinary magecraft. So Kaisent had mended only the broken bones and deliberately left some of the surface wounds half-treated.
Lorentz… Mom… Dad…
For the first time since the chase began, he had found a measure of peace. The pursuer had been forced to use a biological bomb as a last resort; all that remained was to wait for the space-transfer device's energy to recharge.
Finally… it's over. At last…
"Hic… hhuk…"
Even if he returned to his own era, what waited for him was a world where both his parents were dead and he was alone. And beyond that, a solitary struggle against a future ruled by machines. Relief at having survived, joy, and the grief of everyone he had lost — the tangled feelings broke free, and Clint wept.
After calming himself and resting for a couple of hours, the sky had begun to darken when Kaisent returned to the tent — carrying a wooden tray that smelled wonderful.
"Clint."
"Ah — Kaisent."
"Take this. You're hungry, right?"
On the tray sat a soup thick with vegetables and meat, and a hunk of bread that was neither too soft nor too hard.
"Th-thanks. Really, thank you."
"I already ate, so don't worry about me. Just eat."
"Yeah. I will."
He had eaten any number of meals before, but always under the shadow of pursuit, never truly tasting them. Only now, with a sense of safety at last, did his sense of taste return. Clint ate slowly, savoring the bread and the soup.
"It's… good."
"Is it? I'm glad. I helped the cook make it."
"It's really… delicious… It's so… so good…"
Everything he had been holding back finally cracked open. Clint wept as if he were keening.
When the meal was done, he wiped his eyes on his sleeve and turned to Kaisent with gratitude.
"Thank you, Kaisent. This might sound… well… a little strange, but — can I ask why you saved me?"
"In this world, beings from other dimensions are called otherworlders. You know that, right?"
"Yeah."
"I'm an otherworlder too. Same situation as you — so I wanted to help. That's all."
"You too? But you used magic and everything."
"I've got a talent for it here. What kind of world did you come from?"
Two boys of the same age, thrown into the same plight, grew close with startling speed and talked without pause. The mercenaries had treated Kaisent well enough, but the age gap had always set a limit on true friendship. Meeting a peer for the first time, he chattered away like someone who had been waiting years for the chance.
"What? Giant robots and spaceships, fighting wars out in space? Do you use lightsabers too?"
"Yeah. Personal ones and mecha-scale ones…"
"Whoa! That's so cool!"
Clint, an American who lost his mind at the mere mention of sci-fi, was completely captivated by Kaisent's world of vast space and lightsabers. Kaisent, who had never been able to explain any of it to the people of this world and get a real response, found himself answering question after question with genuine pleasure.
"That's incredible! Starting from nothing and conquering half a galaxy — it's like a movie!"
"My dad uses a power called inner energy that other races don't even know about. He can make clones with it, or move so fast he leaves afterimages."
"That's completely the Force!"
"The Force?"
"There's this movie set in the future in our world, with Jedi who…"
The two boys talked on, losing all track of time, questions and answers flowing without a break. Only after nearly an hour did the excitement settle enough for the weight of reality to return.
"Clint. There's something I need to tell you up front."
"What is it?"
"This is the camp of a mercenary company called the Wolf Mercenary Corps. I'm one of them."
"Okay."
"The vice-commander said he'd give me one week. I can look after you until then — and then I have to send you away."
"One week…"
"I'm sorry. But—"
"Huh? No — why are you apologizing? If you hadn't helped me back there, I might be dead. I get where that vice-commander is coming from."
Clint waved the apology off.
"Besides, a week is good news. That's plenty."
"Plenty? For what?"
"…Actually…"
Lorentz had told him never to speak of the space-transfer device to anyone. But Kaisent had saved his life. His eyes were clear and pure, and for some strange reason, an endless well of trust rose up toward him.
"I have a space-transfer device."
Clint explained what he carried — that in four or five days the energy would finish charging, and he would be able to return to the recorded coordinates.
Huh? I thought people who come to this world can never go back to their original one.
A question stirred, but Clint had said a shock had scrambled the coordinate settings and dropped him here. With luck, that device might actually take him home.
There might already be people who've returned to their original dimensions, or moved on to others. It's just that vanishing from this world makes everyone assume they died or went into hiding.
He had no desire to crush Clint's hope, so he kept that thought to himself.
"Kaisent."
"Yeah?"
"When the space-transfer device finishes charging… want to come with me to my world?"
"I'm sorry. I'm grateful for the offer, but there's something I have to do in this world."
Kaisent told him about Dang Seol-yeong, and about the man who had attacked them.
"I have to get Seol-yeong back, and I have to take revenge on that man. If I gave that up and went to your world… I could never forgive myself."
"…I see. Alright. Forget I asked."
"It's starting to get dark. I'm going to turn in. You should sleep too."
"Yeah. Thanks."
They left the rest for another day and parted.
No pursuers. A friend who understood him. For the first time, Clint was able to sleep without every nerve drawn tight — truly, peacefully at rest.
"Ohh. This is remarkable. An extraordinarily precise structure."
The lord's castle. A mage's laboratory.
The mage retained in service to the city's ruling lord turned the bizarre doll the knights had brought him over in his hands, making no effort to hide his fascination.
"Judging by the material, it isn't metal — and yet it's far harder than metal. How on earth is something like this made?"
He ran his fingers over the pursuer's body. The explosion had blasted away all the flesh, leaving the skeleton fully exposed.
"I'll have to dismantle it. Time is no object — I'll analyze every piece. Heh heh heh heh."
Before beginning the disassembly, he examined the skeleton joint by joint, determining how to take it apart intact. If he could analyze this material and successfully develop it, his name would be remembered in this world. Driven by that greed, he worked alone in his laboratory for once, without even his disciples.
A low mechanical whine rose from the remains.
"Hm? What is that sou—"
A skeletal hand shot up and seized the mage by the throat.
"Ghk!? Gaaah—!"
A wet crack.
Before he could so much as shape a spell, the grip crushed his neck vertebrae.
Organic composition: total annihilation.
The pursuer assessed its own form, confirmed that only the skeleton remained, and began extruding a strange substance from within the frame, reconstructing a body. Moments later, what had once looked like a human model — face and figure both — had become something entirely different.
Dark gray skin like plastic. Corneas that glowed like blue liquid crystal, pupils as if painted onto a screen. Black hair fused into a single mass, as though metal had been melted and set. A form that seemed to sit halfway between human and machine. The only truly human feature was the softly rounded chest that marked the body as female.
This was the true appearance of the self-proclaimed Machinaloids — the ones who, in the future, would drive humanity to extinction and claim its place.
Using thermal sensors, the pursuer slipped past the guards and fled in secret. By the time the mage's corpse was discovered, the pursuer was long gone.