Chapter 112
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: Not Preparation for Perfection
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"Eee-yah~!!"
Rike dropped the pen she'd been holding and stretched languidly, her soft moan echoing sweetly through the house.
It wasn't anything major. Some days, no matter how hard you tried to focus on a book like today, your mind just wouldn't cooperate.
Maybe it was because the house felt so warm and cozy that her thoughts grew lax...
Or perhaps, with her lover right there—when twenty-four hours of cuddling still wouldn't be enough—studying was easier said than done.
She'd probably concentrate better meeting up with Seria or Chloe to study together.
When her lover was nearby, her mind kept sending signals: the urge to snuggle into his arms, naughty fantasies that scattered her focus without a fight.
'This won't do... Wasted time if I can't concentrate. Gotta get a little Roman fix.'
A perfectly valid reason that allowed no rebuttal. Watching her lover head out to the yard, she felt the need to clear her head.
'Wonder how Eclair holds up when her Roman levels drop.'
Knights revered self-restraint, so maybe that was their own form of training. Enduring it was worthy of respect.
"Hmm-hmm~"
Remembering he'd dashed out for training without grabbing a drink, she hummed cheerfully and snatched up a water bottle first.
If he was truly deep in focus, she had no intention of interrupting—so she cautiously peeked out the window overlooking the yard.
Her Roman was hypersensitive to gazes, so she had to tread extra carefully. She tamped down her presence as much as possible and slid her eyes over.
"Huh...?"
What was he up to this time?
His massive back muscles twitched as he squatted in the yard. Every time he did something so adorably out of place for his build, she wanted to sprint over and squeeze him tight.
Looking closer, his face lit up with a grin as he muttered to himself... A chain was wrapped around the back of his hand.
It didn't feel like him reviewing training slips or shortcomings aloud.
'His lips... pre-tty? Pretty?'
What on earth could be pretty... that hunk of metal? The way he stroked the chain coiled on his hand like priceless artwork drew mana to her eyes on instinct.
The emotions shining in her special gaze from her lover were an unmistakably vivid positive—fanning her unease.
Roman wouldn't do something so frivolous. There had to be intent behind it... but this time, she truly had no clue.
All that filled Rike's heart first was worry.
'Is he troubled by something?'
If even he couldn't share it with her... maybe he was hiding it to spare her the concern.
Or, given how he never voiced hardships, perhaps unvented stress had piled up excessively.
'Adventurers and knights get combat aftereffects out of nowhere sometimes...'
Normally, she'd approach with a laugh and casually ask what he was doing.
For some, it might be unlucky timing, but yesterday's academy class and anecdotes on the topic had lodged fresh examples in her mind.
—Our territory had this super famous hunter who lost it after his son got badly hurt. Started coming onto paintings of women—and he wasn't even drunk!
—Our place had this lady who chatted with flowers! It started after her husband passed and she became a widow...
The day's lesson, plus Seria and Chloe's tales, lent it stark realism.
Tales of how unmanaged stress turned dangerous. How mental breaks were brutally hard to mend once they hit.
Even her platinum adventurer Roman had always stressed mental maintenance to her.
'Whatever happens, I can handle it somehow!'
She could accept any version of Roman. Couldn't judge his state from this alone, but even lifelong caregiving held no complaint for her.
She just fretted over his endless chain-mutterings.
She closed her eyes and slowly released mana, activating her skill.
Squeeze—
She clutched the water bottle tight and pushed open the door to the yard, praying her worry was baseless.
"Roman. I was peeking from the window... what're you doing?"
"...Huh?"
"Ahem!"
At Rike's worried face, I cleared my throat and hid my Gleipnir-wrapped hand behind my back.
Caught red-handed—highly awkward. But results changed the narrative once shown.
Like summoning someone and yelling "Status window!"—its appearance split lunatic from chosen in an instant.
"...Roman, you're okay, right?"
"Of course I am!"
"..."
"Rike? What's wrong?"
Her eyes glistened faintly with concern, leaving me sincerely flustered... Had my actions looked that off from afar?
In the thickening awkwardness, I drew Gleipnir from hiding right before her eyes.
Clink—!
"No! It's not nothing... but really not weird! This isn't that old chain of mine... —"
I'd never babbled such frantic, excuse-laden clarifications in my life.
"A woman's tears are a weapon" didn't apply to me.
But her teary gaze—a loved one's—was nuke-grade devastation.
We'd weathered ordeals together; I'd seen her cry... but not sobbing outright, just those eyes brimming with worry and sorrow fixed on me. My mind blanked white.
...
...
"—So when I opened my eyes, the sensation hit. Came to the yard to test just in case, and that earlier behavior stemmed from it."
Platinum-rated me spat words till breathless. As she absorbed it, worry ebbed, yielding to bafflement and skepticism.
"The chain's... happy...?"
Swallowing the summons-weapon bit without pushback was impressive enough.
Even Rike—who'd trust black was white if I said so—found a weapon with emotions more ridiculous than otherworlders.
Sat stunned seconds before rising; she wasn't doubting the sudden soul-bound gear. Her peak shock hit at the chain reveling in praise.
"Vanitas too?"
Rike drew Vanitas with a stiff face, swung it about, stroked the blade's edge repeatedly, then shook her head.
"Nope... Never felt that before, even now. The imagery flowing in... What I called mimicking your will was more like a magic tool's nudge—fixing botched moves or errors..."
"Hmm. Got it."
"Honestly, it's like a mechanism, a curriculum for pinpointing answers. No emotional vibe. A weapon being happy..."
Growing up on a continent untouched by Norse myths, ignorant of Gleipnir's lore, made belief tougher.
Any mythology held the same issue. Oral tales transcending human ken? Hard to credit their artifacts as real.
She lent earnest ear solely because it came from me; any other source, and this absurdity would've earned a deaf ear.
Mana gathered in her violet irises, gaze locking on my Gleipnir.
Her skill was peerless for verifying emotions—I secretly hoped.
"Hmm—?"
Peering intently, she frowned as if thwarted, ramped her mana, then released.
Fatigued, she squeezed her eyes shut then blinked open. I gently brushed back her hair.
"See anything?"
"Yeah... nothing."
Rubbing her soft cheek as she denied it, I pondered.
"Yeah? Not quite emotions, then?"
"Roman... It's not nothing."
"Huh?"
"More like... unreadable. Won't let me peek? First time—can't quite explain."
"Definitely not ordinary," Rike murmured gravely, prodding Gleipnir.
Rustle!
Gleipnir twitched like protesting the touch, and Rike whipped wide-eyed to me.
"Di-did you...?"
"See? That's its way of showing."
I chuckled at her flabbergasted look. Her stammering shock felt endearingly rare.
Piercing Gaze couldn't parse it? God-item tier gap, maybe.
If it bore personality or emotion, those stemmed solely from a god's "creation" domain.
One certainty: this child coiled 'round my hand was the continent's—and Akarite game's—undisputed crown jewel artifact.
Few equipped to grasp "Gleipnir's" worth... Robert aside, maybe none.
Pre-drop, any Norse myth brush would've rung the name bell.
'Doubt I'll flaunt it before Robert anyhow... No harm in caution.'
'A set script might cut down slip-ups a bit?'
She never expected flawlessness from herself to begin with.
Improvisationally feebler than a slime by her own claim, Chloe set her textbook aside and took up her pen.
Leaning on an opponent's kindness without mending repeated flubs? Utterly rotten.
"...Previously pro-vi-ded...? Be-stowed...? Hmm... gifted...?"
She mouthed it for natural flow.
Basing it on her unni's advice, she jotted must-say lines on a notepad.
Pathetic, prepping a script for chit-chat—but scanning it, un-prepped, her tongue would've knotted for sure.
Scratch—scratch—
Time poured in yielded a safely bland phrase.
"...Th-this should work with some practice, right?"