It had been approximately a year since my arrival on this continent. During all this time, I devoted my attention to the healing magic classes taught by the tutors Claire had hired. Thanks to that, I managed to better grasp the fundamentals and, by combining the anatomical knowledge from my past life with Ayam's memory, I succeeded in perfecting my healing arts.
Although I didn't literally reach Saint Rank, through a precise approach I managed to potentiate the spells: elevating Intermediate healing to Advanced, and Advanced to a Pseudo-Saint level. This implied two fundamental improvements:
1. Lower Mana Consumption
I am now able to execute Advanced healing with greater frequency without exhausting myself. Basically, I have doubled my capacity: if I could cast ten spells before, I can now cast twenty. Just like my brother, I confirmed that refining the technique allows you to ascend a step in efficiency.
2. Rank Management
This is crucial: while I can simulate Saint-level effects using Advanced magic, it requires extreme concentration, forcing me to do it chantlessly. This presents a problem in Millis; I cannot use it freely, or I would likely be branded a heretic.
Even so, I calculate that if I dedicate one more year, I might achieve King-level healing magic, which would increase my capacity to help others.
On another note, returning to the Mana Incident: I managed to gather some information. Although scarce, it was enough to learn that a group has formed a sort of "Search Guild" for the missing. I assumed it was related to what happened in Roa.
Furthermore, thanks to the funds obtained by completing more than five daily missions, we managed to ascend to A-Rank. We decided to stop there; it wasn't necessary to advance to S-Rank, as that would imply lower availability of commissions.
From what I noticed, Cliff was like me. We could have asked our families for money, but we were proud enough—or practical enough—to prefer securing our own resources. In any case, that is more satisfying and prevents us from being left with moral debts to repay later.
Finally, I resigned myself to the idea that my brother was not on the Demon Continent. Even so, I sent a pile of letters in his name, taking advantage of the fact that Cliff facilitated the postal service for me.
[That Mosaic Head... I suppose he was always right. What do you think about it?]
(Whether he's right or not, he tried to manipulate me... Perhaps he foresaw that the ship I intended to take would be attacked or something similar. In any case, I couldn't just throw myself alone into the Demon Continent based solely on an idea.)
[And what if he didn't...?]
(Ayam... You surprise me. You're letting yourself be influenced by that "God".)
[But... What if we are wrong about him?]
(A few months ago, do you remember a report arrived about a ship that never docked in Wind Port? Well, by that time, I already had enough money to leave, and I refused.)
[And what if he told you that so you wouldn't go?]
(That... Doesn't matter. I want to think about something else now.)
Another problem I had was my grandmother.
Yes, over the course of this year, her attitude has softened. She no longer looks at me with disdain, nor does she feel uncomfortable when I eat at the main table. Even so, I've noticed how she sometimes hands me stuffed animals that belonged to my mother.
This leads me to a doubt: Is she using me as a replacement for her daughter? Or, conversely, now that the bond has changed, will she allow me to leave if I decide to depart?
The situation has become more twisted than I thought.
"Young Master Daiki?" I heard a voice behind the door.
"Come in, it's no problem," I said, rising from the desk.
As it opened, it was revealed to be a maid.
"Lord Daiki..."
"Just call me Daiki, please. I've told you many times."
"Apologies... Daiki, young master Cliff is waiting for you in the garden. He says he found an interesting mission that didn't require swords or magic, but intellect and a capacity for improvement."
I blinked twice, three times. "That was it?"
She nodded. "Yes, Daiki. That is all; he didn't want to give further explanations."
That guy. It's surely just some random mission and he just wants to act mysterious in front of the staff.
"Thank you very much. You are always kind to me, so I appreciate it."
She withdrew with a smile, and I headed towards the coat rack.
"Let's see... Right, I have to sew this cloak later, it's already wearing out." I threw the cloak on in a single motion, with the habit of having done so every day for a year.
###
POV: Rudeus Greyrat
Location: Wind Port
One year. A whole year had passed since the Mana Disaster.
Ruijerd stood beside me, motionless as a statue, watching over Eris, who was fiercely haggling with a grilled squid vendor.
"It's a robbery!" she shouted. "In Roa, this would cost half as much! And Daiki would be able to haggle like that time he took me to the market!"
I sighed, rubbing my temple. Eris hadn't changed much. She was still loud, violent, and... well, obsessed with my brother.
"Daiki..." I murmured to myself.
"Black hair, red eyes." That description had been on my lips in every city, every village, and every trading post on the Demon Continent.
"Have you seen a boy like that?" I would ask.
"No. Only demons and old adventurers," they would reply.
No one. Absolutely no one had seen him.
A part of me, the logical part that remembered my past life, whispered some possibilities. A child alone in a hostile world... without a Superd to protect him...
I shook my head violently. No. Daiki wasn't normal. He trained with the sword until his hands bled. And he had that look... that look of someone who knows something you don't.
"He's fine," I said aloud. "He's too stubborn to die."
"Rudeus?"
I turned. Ruijerd was looking at me.
"The ship sets sail in an hour. Did you get the tickets?"
"Yes. It was expensive, but the smuggler accepted the coins we earned." I showed the three dubious-looking tickets. "Next stop: Zant Port, on the Millis Continent."
"Millis..." Ruijerd looked toward the horizon. "It is a big place. Do you think we will find him there?"
"It's our best option," I replied. "If he's not on the Demon Continent... Millis or the Central Continent are the only logical places." I smiled with a bit of sadness.
Eris came running back toward us, three skewers in hand and a victorious smile.
"I did it! He gave me three for the price of two!" she exclaimed, shoving a skewer into my mouth before I could speak. "Here! You need energy if you're going to look for Daiki!"
"Thanks, Eris," I said while chewing.
She crossed her arms, looking out at the sea.
"When we find him..." she said, clenching her fists. "I'm going to punch him! For leaving without me! And then I'll make him train me until I can't move! And then...!"
She blushed and fell silent, averting her gaze.
"And then?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Shut up! And then nothing!" she shouted, kicking me in the shin. "Let's just get to the boat!"
I rubbed my leg, suppressing a laugh.
"Yeah, let's go."
I looked at the sea one last time.
(Wait for me, brother. Eris is about to cross an ocean just to hit you and hug you. And I... well, I just want to know you're alive.)
###
POV: Daiki Greyrat
Now, in the garden:
"You see, Daiki, it's a simple job. A lord's daughter refuses to leave her room; she's locked up all day, she doesn't study. Since you are always so... how to put it?... you always know what to say to people, I assigned this mission to you."
Cliff looked at me with an expression oscillating between professional seriousness and the relief of not having to deal with the problem himself.
"A recluse?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. "Cliff, I'm a swordsman, not a family therapist. Why would the guild accept something like this as an A-Rank mission?"
"Because the 'lord' is a person who has helped the Church greatly," Cliff admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "And because technically it's classified as 'Exorcism of a Sloth Evil Spirit,' although you and I know it's probably just a spoiled teenager... But the pay is good. Very good."
He sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Look, I'll handle the complex rituals. You handle the diplomacy and... well, being you. You have that 'perfect grandson' face that grandmas adore. Maybe it'll work on the daughter."
[He's calling you a pretty boy.]
(Shut up.)
"Fine," I agreed, resigned. "Where is it?"
Cliff explained the location, not too far away. I knew that family a little, as I saw them from time to time. They weren't exactly nobles, but they had secured a position of importance.
I adjusted my cloak. "I'll go see what I can do. But if she throws a vase at me, I'm charging extra."
How naive I was. The only thing I knew is that her name is "Emilia," nothing more. He didn't provide any further details...
I sighed as I observed the residence's imposing oak door. It wasn't a mansion as old as the Latreia's, but it radiated that "new money" ostentation that Claire disliked so much.
"Emilia," I repeated to myself. "A common name for a common problem..."
Now that I think about it, my brother also had that problem in his previous life. I remember when he told me. We were three years old and yet, we told each other horrible things. I hugged him, told him it didn't matter, and he managed to recover...
The man who received me, a butler, was an older individual with a kind face and an impeccable uniform. He guided me through a foyer that was surprisingly modest for the area we were in.
"The Miller family is... peculiar," Cliff had told me. "They have money, but they live as if they didn't. They say it's so they don't forget their roots."
We arrived at a cozy living room where a couple sat on a sofa. Upon seeing me enter, both stood up immediately.
"Are you the adventurer?" asked the woman, Mrs. Miller. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she clutched a crumpled handkerchief in her hands.
"Yes, ma'am. I am Daiki. I come on behalf of the Guild regarding your request," I replied with a respectful bow, noting the genuine warmth in their gazes mixed with deep concern.
Mr. Miller stepped forward and shook my hand.
"Thank you for coming, young man. I know it may seem... strange. Hiring an adventurer for this. But we don't know what else to do. The doctors say she is physically healthy, the priests say there are no curses... but our Emilia is fading away."
They invited me to sit and served homemade tea. As I drank, they explained the situation with trembling voices.
"We adopted her three years ago from the Orphanage," the mother began. "She always hid under tables or behind curtains. We thought that with love and a safe home, she would bloom."
"And she did, at first," the father continued. "She went to school, played in the garden... But six months ago, something changed. She started eating more, locking herself in her room. First it was days, then weeks. Now..."
"She... she hates herself. We hear her crying at night. She says she's 'useless,' that no one wants her, that she's a mistake..."
The words were like the story Rudeus had once told me.
"I felt like trash. Like the world would be better off without me. That's why I hid."
"I understand," I said, placing the cup on the table. "It's not just laziness or gluttony. It's fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of not fitting in."
Mrs. Miller nodded fervently, wiping away a fresh tear.
"At the orphanage... they told us she struggled to connect. The other children ignored her because she was quiet. And now, at school... well, children can be cruel. They made fun of her because she didn't know how to use the correct cutlery at lunch. Since that day, she shut herself away."
"We just want her to know that we love her," said the father, his voice cracking. "That this is her home. That she doesn't have to hide from us... But even so, she won't open the door for us."
I stood up.
"Let me speak with her. Sometimes, it's easier to open up to a stranger than to family, because the stranger has no expectations."
"Please," the mother pleaded. "Try. Her room is upstairs, second on the right. We left a tray of food at the door, but she hasn't touched it since yesterday."
"I will do what I can."
I climbed the stairs.
I reached the door. There was a tray on the floor with a bowl of cold soup and hard bread.
(Emilia... I know what you're going through. Perhaps better than anyone here.)
I knocked on the door gently.
"Emilia," I called out. "I'm not a doctor. I'm not a priest. And I'm definitely not a teacher. I'm Daiki. And... well, I was told once that hiding under the bed is safe, but it gets dusty very quickly."
(This is going to require patience.)
[And empathy. Don't use force here, Daiki. Use your history.]
It's the same case as my brother's. His previous parents simply gave up on him and never dedicated any more time to trying to recover him. Here, if I hadn't accepted, perhaps they would have given up too.
So I stood up and gathered my courage. I used force and turned the handle, entering without further ado. I expected morning sunlight, but found none of that; only darkness and a girl my age on a bed, surrounded by books and illuminated by a few lamps.
"Ah..."
I tried to call out to her, but the words didn't come out.
How am I supposed to talk to someone who doesn't want to listen and whose face I don't even know?
Even so, she seemed to notice my presence. Her large eyes spied on me for an instant through the barrier of books, only to hide again immediately.
The only thing I'm good at, my only real skill, is "acting." Talking isn't my thing. It's still too soon for that. I advanced in silence toward the window and yanked the curtains open.
"Kyah! W-What are you doing?"
Her scream startled me, but what surprised me most was how she hid behind that huge book as if it were a shield. It was then that I saw her figure clearly for the first time. Somewhat messy reddish-brown hair and, behind the barricade she held aloft, mysterious eyes.
From her appearance, she seems to be about fourteen.
"A crucial step to move forward is allowing the sunlight to caress your soul..."
...Dammit.
I waited for a reaction. An insult, anything.
But nothing. Silence.
She didn't even give me a "huh?".
When she lowered the book a little to adjust to the light, I saw her eyes. Blue eyes that shone as if they had gone days without seeing the sun.
And then, without saying a word, she raised the book again and returned to her reading.
"...Do you like books?"
It was a question that slipped out without thinking, just to break the silence.
She lowered the book a few centimeters and looked at me with a perfect mixture of exasperation, annoyance, and a clear shade of "are you an idiot?". "Are you seriously asking me that?"
I wanted to tell her it was an honest question. Not everyone reads for pleasure. There are those who read to escape reality. In my previous life, I was like that. Books were the only thing that calmed my mind. In this new life, that hasn't changed. But reading for a few hours is very different from being a recluse. Perhaps, for her, books are not an object of passion, but simply a refuge.
Why does she need a refuge? What drove her to this?
"So... what are you reading?"
She lifted the book just barely and replied in a whisper.
"...The Adventures of Philip and the Lost Treasure."
She answered me.
"That story where Prince Philip travels for miles, crosses the sea, fights monsters, and in the end obtains a treasure that doesn't give him back his lost time?"
She looked at me suddenly. She seemed genuinely confused.
"You... are very..."
"Serious? Knowledgeable?"
"What I meant to say," she murmured, tracing the book cover with her finger, "is that it's the first time I've met someone who actually understands what this book is about. It's not just an action adventure."
I stared at her.
"It is an adventure, but the ending doesn't make you feel that way, right? You've read it many times, haven't you?"
She didn't answer, but her eyes confirmed it.
Probably, this is what she needed. To talk about what she loves, to be heard, and to know that taking refuge in a story doesn't make her a bad person.
To know that it is possible to change.
But just when the conversation seemed to strike a chord, she immediately returned to her paper world, ignoring me.
For an instant, she was about to open her heart... It wasn't going to be that easy.
So I started tidying up the room. I began returning the books to the shelves in alphabetical order.
I needed time to think before acting.
Every now and then I felt her gaze on me, but she would immediately withdraw back into herself.
It was time to talk.
To give her a reason to think.
"What would you think about reading stories to the children at the orphanage?"
She looked up with a face of disbelief.
"Imagine it," I continued, while placing a book on the shelf. "There are many children who don't know how to read. But you understand the essence of stories. Besides, your repertoire is incredible. Fiction, adventure, redemption, action... you have everything. Books are expensive, and there are so many children who will never have the opportunity to touch stories like these."
I turned slightly and looked at her out of the corner of my eye.
"You could make many children at the orphanage happy. Simply by reading to them. Just by sharing what you love."
She gripped the book tightly. She didn't answer immediately; she lowered her gaze and began to play with the corner of a page.
"People always murmur... even if they don't know anything. Even if they don't even try to get close." She let out a dry laugh, devoid of joy. "If I make a mistake, they laugh. And if I do it right... they'll say something anyway. It's always like that."
I paused.
I didn't want to corner her. But I didn't want to let her lock herself in her shell again either.
"Reading is not a weakness. Sharing knowledge isn't either. If someone laughs, it's their problem, not yours."
She lifted her face slightly.
"You say that, but... with someone like me, people prefer to invent stories rather than listen."
"Someone like you?" I asked cautiously.
A long silence.
"...Someone who is easier to push away."
There was no anger in her voice, nor was she playing the victim. It was a cold statement of fact. That's why it was so painful. I moved a little closer. Not too close, but enough not to disappear from her radar.
"Then, I will be the exception. Just for today."
She seemed interested.
"What do you mean?"
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"Tell me a story. With your words. With your way of narrating."
She blinked several times.
"My... story?"
I nodded slowly.
"It doesn't have to be long. It doesn't have to be perfect. I just want to hear what a story sounds like told by you."
(I can't believe I'm spouting such cheesy lines to someone I just met.)
[I must admit I like this part of you, brother.]
She averted her gaze toward the window. She adopted a posture hugging her knees, but it didn't seem like a gesture of rejection, but rather one of seeking comfort.
"I haven't had a decent conversation with anyone in a long time. I don't know if I'll be able to do it well."
"It doesn't have to go well. The important thing is that they are your words."
A pleasant silence fell.
"Okay... just one..." She looked at me. "Don't laugh."
"I won't laugh."
In that moment... she smiled. It was a small, fleeting, but genuine smile.
"Okay. Then, listen..."
She took a deep breath...
And she began to narrate.