End of the White Night
“Then I’ll be off.”
“Yes, have a peaceful night.”
At the end of Vera’s gaze stood Rene, offering a small bow before disappearing into the house with its red roof. Only after the door closed fully behind her did Vera finally turn and head out of the village.
…Starting today.
Night was falling once more. The long, endless daylight of those seven days had finally come to an end. And with it came the knowledge that the factions scattered across the continent—the ones who had been stirring up trouble everywhere—were beginning to tighten their encirclement.
He wasn’t afraid. Nor was he worried. They might be closing in, but a week wasn’t enough time for them to pinpoint Rene. They lacked the power of Guidance. In other words, they had no surefire way to identify her at a glance.
The only method they might have—watching the Holy Kingdom’s movements—was impossible in this case.
Because I moved.
She had never once left the Holy Kingdom. No matter how much intel they gathered, Vera didn’t exist in their networks. They couldn’t identify the Saint through him.
Of course, this didn’t grant infinite time. The continent had magic. Sorceries. Mysteries. If they used them aggressively, they’d eventually pinpoint the Saint.
Lost in these thoughts, Vera reached the village entrance and spotted Norn waiting. He gave a slight nod.
“You’ve arrived.”
“Yes.”
“What did you learn?”
“Yes, the Empire is still focused centrally. They seem to be searching domestically first.”
“The Magic Tower?”
“Same, mainly the central regions, but they’ve expanded to the south. The Alliance isn’t moving from the west. There seems to be internal discord.”
Vera nodded at the report. The first thing he’d done upon realizing Rene didn’t want to go to the Holy Kingdom was send Norn to scout the continent’s movements. Even with some leeway, basic preparations were essential.
“And the other factions?”
“Draconians are spotted in small groups across the continent. The Night followers… as you know, they couldn’t move during the white night.”
“Understood for now. You’ve done well.”
“It’s my duty.”
Norn bowed his head.
Still some breathing room.
Vera cross-referenced his past-life knowledge with the current situation, calculating their likely paths.
The Draconians will come first, probably.
Dragon hybrids seeking the Saint for her draconic power. With their mobility and independent intel network, they’d likely identify her soonest.
Next… the Night followers.
Those seeking the Saint to lift the curse etched in their blood. Immobile by day, but unmatched at night. Their bodies instinctively recoiled from divine power, so one glimpse of Rene would confirm her identity.
Then, past-life memories surfaced: their movements.
The Empire never pinpointed her. The Magic Tower headed north due to clashes with Draconians. The Alliance can be ignored once we cross borders.
This wasn’t mere speculation. The setup matched his previous life. Barring major changes, it would hold.
And that was why Vera could afford this leisure. Draconians and Night followers? He could handle them alone.
…Not bad.
There was still time. Worst case, he’d carry her kicking and screaming to the Holy Kingdom. But not yet.
Vera didn’t want to force Rene’s choice. He wanted her to stand on her own, to resolve her heart. To give her that chance.
Why not? Hadn’t the Rene of his past life done the same for him? She never forced him. Never dismissed his will. She simply stayed by his side, and that alone had moved him. So he owed her the respect of honoring her wishes.
…For now.
He wanted to wait a little longer. As Vera pondered this, Norn—watching him—spoke cautiously.
“Um… so, what about the Saint?”
“Her heart’s not set yet.”
“Ah, I see.”
Norn stared at Vera’s nonchalant reply, his face overlapping with the one from before the scouting trip. An indescribably dopey expression. Vera had always been sharp-edged since they met, so seeing him shambling along with a face as vacant as the twins’ had sparked fears of some catastrophe.
The follow-up—wanting to respect the Saint’s wishes—eased those fears, but a new question lingered.
Has he fallen for the Saint…?
Norn’s eyes narrowed. It fit perfectly. He’d glimpsed her before leaving: breathtakingly beautiful, worthy of awe.
And besides.
He’s at that age.
Vera was just eighteen, prime time for a racing heart. Norn understood. He was married with a daughter now, but back then? Skirts turned his head all day, grinning like an idiot.
He nodded subtly. A fatherly smile crept onto his lips unbidden.
I should root for him.
Love wasn’t one-sided, but Norn trusted the diligent Vera he’d seen. A man who approached everything earnestly—his sincerity would reach her.
“…Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Vera frowned slightly. Norn smiled warmly. A perfect picture of crossed signals.
*
The next day, Vera trailed Rene as always, matching her pace. He simply followed in silence. Occasional small talk broke the quiet, but mostly they walked in mutual hush.
It might seem stifling at a glance, but Vera found it satisfying. Trailing her let him confirm her safety. The spark he pursued burned steadily. Seeing it soothed him deeply.
They walked on. The land, monotonous under the white night’s seven days, began shifting hues with time. The noon sun stretched shadows longer. The sky tinged red, sunset painting the greenery crimson.
Only then did Rene speak.
“…You never ask anything, knight.”
“Ask what?”
“Don’t you find it ridiculous? A blind woman wandering all day without seeing a thing. It’s pointless and dangerous.”
Vera’s gaze assessed her. His answer, as ever, was blunt.
“Not ridiculous at all.”
“Really? You’re unusual.”
Silence returned.
A tap of cane, then a thud of footsteps.
After another long stretch, Rene continued.
“…Memorizing paths with my body. Since I can’t see. Prepping so I can find my way if needed.”
“Admirable.”
“Foolish.”
Rene stopped. Vera halted too.
Staring blankly into space, she murmured on, weak chuckles escaping her lips.
“I know. Nothing will ever require me to go somewhere alone. And if something big enough hits the village… I won’t be able to do a thing.”
Sadness. Flecks of anger, helplessness. They laced her words.
“Even if I’m the Saint you want, I won’t be what you expect. I’m just a blind woman who can’t do anything alone.”
Pessimism. Despair.
Only then did Vera see this fourteen-year-old Rene more clearly. And he understood the root of those emotions.
Helplessness. The same that had tormented his younger self now plagued her.
He still didn’t know what blindness felt like. But helplessness? He understood that intimately. The terror of impotence, of rotting away until death. A parasitic dread gnawing at heart and soul.
What to say? How to comfort her?
Recalling her past-life refrain—the one she’d used to hold him, urge him onward—he spoke it.
“Who knows.”
A scoff, thick with mockery, returned.
“Knows what? That my sight might return? Is that it?”
She turned toward him. Vera met her pinched, frustrated face and spoke again.
“Who knows. Whether you’re truly helpless, or destined for greatness—even the gods above don’t know.”
“Ridiculous. And I’m not a saint.”
“My apologies.”
Rene bit her lip. Her face crumpled. Head down, she sighed deeply before continuing.
“Sorry. I was too snappish. It’s not your fault…”
She turned and resumed walking. Tap.
Vera watched her back, pouring sincerity into his words.
“Many fall. Many tremble in fear.”
Thud—she halted.
Her gaze forward, Vera couldn’t see her face.
“But few refuse to yield in such straits, or so I hear.”
To her turned back, he continued steadily. Words born of her past self.
“You… Lady Rene call it pessimism, yet you haven’t stopped. You keep walking.”
Unlike him. He’d assumed she’d crumble in the slums, cursing the world. Yet she walked on.
“Effort for an uncertain tomorrow.”
And became the light that even subdued this wretched beast.
“So no one knows what future Rene will become.”
She wasn’t helpless at all. Bowing his head with that conviction—
Silence fell. Wind stirred. Her sunset-stretched shadow draped over him.
Tap. Without reply, she walked on.