The room fell silent.
Obrem slowly pulled back the sleeves of his shirt, revealing countless scars spread across his arms—old, deep marks, some poorly healed.
"I know what this power cost me," he said in a low voice. "I can't use it anymore."
For the first time since we had entered that house, Lygni seemed genuinely interested.
"You said you fought in wars," she said. "But the Empire hasn't been expanding for more than sixty years."
She tilted her head slightly.
"Which one did you fight in?"
Durendal… so the Empire had once been expansionist. That explained why the journey here had taken almost a week. Vast lands, conquered by force.
"All three," Obrem replied, looking at each of us in turn. "Without rest."
He clenched his hand, as if he could still feel the weight of a sword.
"Do you know what it feels like to no longer have the strength to hold your blade…" he continued, his voice heavy with restrained anger and exhaustion,"…yet still be forced to raise it, because letting go means dying?"
The silence that followed was oppressive. It wasn't just a memory—it was a wound that had never closed.
"Do you know what it's like to look back," he went on, "and realize the path that once led home is now covered in rotting bodies and blood?"
He took a deep breath.
"To the point where you're forced to move forward… because that path has been sealed forever."
As he spoke, he pulled his sleeves down again, hiding the scars.
A war veteran.That was the past of the man who now lived as a simple farmer.
"I prayed every morning for the war to end that very day," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "But God never answered my prayers."
His eyes hardened.
"So all that was left was to fight. Again. And again. Losing friends… until no one remained."
There, standing before me, was the raw reality of that world.Ironically, not so different from my own—where we, too, killed one another for power.
"Obrem," I said seriously, breaking the silence, "I didn't come here to ask you to take up arms again."
I leaned forward slightly.
"I came to ask you to help the people of this territory."
My voice was firm.
"I would never ask you to return to the battlefield."
I paused briefly.
"All I want is your help. No swords. No war."
I stood up.
"I'm here because I want to bring prosperity to these people. I want war to never reach your doorstep again—and that's why I will fight to keep peace in this land."
I looked straight at him.
"So please, lend me your power. Not for war, but to raise this territory."
I didn't know how Durendal treated its veterans, but before me stood a man who chose to hide.What kind of reality had he lived through?
"Why do you speak with such certainty that war will never reach your home?" I asked.
"Because I will die fighting," he replied.
I extended my hand.
"Even if I accept," he said after a moment, "there's something you must know. War… will reach your home."
Lygni watched him closely.
"Did you have a vision?" she asked.
"I can no longer see the future clearly," Obrem replied. "Only fragments. The price was already taken by nature… one of my eyes."
That was when I noticed it. For the first time, I realized his left eye was made of glass—yet it reflected light like a living one.
The Web was a double-edged path.But for now, I needed him on my side.
"Then do we have an agreement?" I asked.
He looked at me, confused.
"From now on, I will fight every war," I declared. "Without retreat. I, Aether, will be the one who stands atop the mountain."
I stepped closer.
"Stand with me and witness the rise of a hated prince into a renowned king."
I extended my hand once more.
He gave a faint smile.
"I'll help you as far as my powers allow. But war—"
"You won't fight," I interrupted. "Because I will be the sword and the shield of this territory."
He watched us in silence for a few seconds.
Then he took my hand.