The rain was finally easing.
A pale light crept over the horizon.
Along the forest road, the puddles left by the downpour were slowly seeping back into the soil.
But the bloodstains smeared across the earth—vivid, crimson, undeniable—pressed down heavily on both Rudeus and Sylphy's hearts.
Allen had been gone the whole night.
That single pursuit had stretched until dawn.
In the shattered remains of the carriage Allen had cleaved apart, Sylphy crouched in a corner near the broken frame, staring blankly at Allen's abandoned luggage. Her white hair clung to her face, soaked and matted. Her eyes had lost all focus.
She had experienced too many "firsts" in just one night.
Her first kill.
Her first brush with real, life-threatening danger.
And the first time…
She'd watched Allen's throat get cut open—with her own eyes.
She'd spent the entire night replaying it in her head.
Was Allen really okay?
Was he just pretending to be fine?
Would things have been better if he hadn't gone after the assassins?
Thoughts spiraled endlessly.
No answers came.
The people she usually turned to for clarity—one was in the sky, unreachable. The other had vanished into the forest in pursuit of killers, and hadn't returned since.
Allen…
Hadn't come back.
Why was she curled up in the corner of the carriage like this?
Because… she was afraid of blood.
No matter how hard she tried to imitate Allen's calm demeanor, or Roxy's composed expressions—
She was still just a seven-year-old child. Her life was only just beginning. In the original story, she'd cried her eyes out when separated from Rudeus just a few months later—how could she possibly accept what had happened tonight?
When she saw the bloodied organs on the ground, the severed limbs, the shattered bone fragments—
Her stomach twisted violently.
Was it because of the corpses?
But she hadn't even been thinking about them anymore. She wasn't thinking about death. She sat there quietly, trying not to think at all.
She only thought about Allen's face.
But somehow, that made her feel even worse.
Her nausea intensified.
Why?
No one could answer her.
So all she could do was sit there, knees hugged to her chest, dazed and silent.
---
Rudeus's reaction was the complete opposite.
He sat on a broken wheel nearby, staring at the corpses of the kidnappers he'd killed with his own hands.
His reaction the night before had been fast. When the carriage was attacked and he realized he had to fight back—he had hesitated for a split second.
Because at this point in the story, Allen was more acclimated to this world than Rudeus was.
Rudeus still couldn't fully accept that this fantasy world could suddenly become this bloody. That death could come so suddenly, so violently—and that it could come from his own hands.
He had always tried to avoid killing.
Even in the original story, that logic persisted all the way until the Battle of Shirone. It was a defining trait.
But in that instant of hesitation—he saw Allen.
Allen, who was slicing down a bandit as casually as Zenith sliced potatoes. Bit by bit. From the hand to the forearm.
Then taking off the man's head—cleanly.
Rudeus stared through the veil of rain, and what flashed into his mind wasn't that moment—
But a memory from Snow Valley.
When Allen had hurled him toward Paul.
The rain in his eyes turned into snow.
Across that blizzard… the moment Allen and Sylphy fell into the valley.
Just for that one second.
His body moved.
It reacted before his mind did. His mana surged through him without command, his hand raised instinctively.
[Ice Blades] flew from his palm. Even through the rain and chaos, they struck true—piercing the kidnappers near the carriage with pinpoint accuracy.
Just like in every training match with Allen.
Precision.
Only with precision could he graze Allen's sleeve.
When he snapped back to reality, those men were already dead—collapsed in the mud.
And only then did he realize—
Killing someone… can be so easy.
So… emotionally weightless.
And when he ran toward Allen, after it was all over—
He felt like he'd succeeded.
This time, he hadn't been left behind.
It was the same as in Snow Valley.
Back then, Allen had saved him just because he wanted to. The movement had been faster than thought. While Rudeus was still panicking, Allen had already made the choice.
And this time, he had chosen to kill. To save them. His body had moved before his mind again.
The [Ice Blade] had flown from his palm.
Now—he understood what Allen felt back then.
And then… once again…
He had reached out—
And grabbed nothing.
So now, all he could do was stare at the corpses.
Force himself to face the aftermath of killing.
As for worrying about Allen?
He wasn't.
He had already worried back in Snow Valley.
The fear, the helplessness, the despair. Trying to interrogate Lilia, mimicking Allen's stern tone, trying to play judge and executioner.
And then—what had he seen?
That entire valley, soaked in blood.
A lake of gore.
Monster corpses floating across the crimson sea.
And Allen—
Standing at the center, holding a chipped, broken blade.
He'd only said one thing:
"There won't be a monster horde next year."
So Rudeus believed in him.
Even if they had to wait ten hours. Ten days. Half a month.
Allen would come back.
Dragging the assassins' heads behind him.
And say those words again—
"There won't be any more assassination attempts."
Because Allen was that kind of person.
The kind who made grand, beautiful declarations.
How could he die here?
How could he possibly die here?!
Rudeus slammed a fist against the wheel beside him, then leapt to his feet, kicking a nearby corpse aside. He turned to Sylphy and shouted:
"I'm going to find Allen!"
Sylphy blinked out of her daze, a spark returning to her eyes. She looked up at him.
"…Okay."
The two of them stood and walked toward the edge of the forest.
And there—
A silhouette already stood waiting.
Her crimson hair was soaked and clumped, her entire body drenched—but she held her chin high, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the trees ahead, lips pressed in a tight frown.
Beside her, the exhausted beastmaid kept trying to comb out her hair, only to be pushed away again and again.
"Miss Eris, please don't worry too much. They'll come back. Lady Ghislaine is so strong—she'll be fine."
Eris said nothing.
She only stared harder at the shadows in the woods.
Philip stood leaning against the carriage next to her, just as silent. He, too, stared into the forest.
His face seemed calm.
But his wide-open eyes, the way his expression flickered with uncertainty, and the fact that he had stood in the rain all night without once seeking shelter—
All made it very clear:
The lord of Roa was not as composed as he appeared.
Rudeus passed the three of them, glancing briefly at Philip.
Philip, sensing the gaze, met it.
Rudeus opened his mouth to speak—
And at that moment, he heard it.
Footsteps.
Running.
Sylphy and Eris.
At the same time.
Rudeus's heart jolted.
He whipped his head toward the trees.
The morning sun, breaking through the clouds, lit the forest's edge with golden fire.
Two figures—one tall, one small—stepped out from the shadows.
The sunlight silhouetted their bodies, burning their outlines into gold.
He couldn't see their faces.
But Rudeus knew that silhouette.
He wanted to run toward them, but his knees gave way.
He collapsed, sitting hard in the mud.
But in his eyes—
That familiar figure, dragging two severed heads—
Was everything he had hoped to see.
Still cloaked in the aura of death.
Still impossible to ignore.
And from his throat, a voice escaped.
"…Thank god."
---
"Thank god."
Sylphy stumbled forward, reached Allen—
And leapt into his arms, wrapping herself tightly around his neck.
Allen blinked, stunned.
Before he could say anything—
Cool little hands pressed gently against his throat.
The next instant, he felt her body soften in his arms.
Like she had just confirmed something.
And the tension she'd held all night finally let go.
Then—
The sobbing began.
She tried to muffle it.
But he heard every broken sound.
Quiet.
Fragmented.
Clear.
He froze for a moment, then looked down.
Her tangled white hair shimmered in the morning light.
It reminded him of the moonlight at the bottom of Snow Valley.
After a long pause, he reached up and held her tight.
Burying his face in her hair.
"…Sorry for making you worry."
The post-rain sunlight bathed them both.
Reflected in a pair of crimson eyes—
Whose gaze, now, lingered quietly from afar.