"..."
In the deep quiet of dawn.
Like the moon, bright and solitary in the night sky, Isaac's eyes showed no sign of closing.
Outside the lodging.
He simply stared blankly at the sky, sinking deeper and deeper into thought, like a bottomless lake.
"Can't sleep?"
The Grand Master emerged from the lodging.
Isaac hesitated for a moment before turning his head.
"...Yes, that's right."
"That's understandable."
The Grand Master sat down beside him, indifferent as ever. Out of habit, she placed a cigarette between her lips but didn't light it.
After watching for a moment, Isaac quietly reached out.
"May I have one as well?"
"You never smoked before."
"I used to, before the regression. Well, I quit at some point."
As the Silent Sword, he had smoked while writing his books. But in the end, it was just another way to ruin his body, so he gave it up at some point.
His legs were already broken—he didn't want to destroy his lungs too.
It was Isaac's own small effort, a refusal to completely abandon his dream of becoming a swordsman.
"Then don't start again. You've finally become the swordsman you always wanted to be."
"And yet, Grand Master, you still smoke?"
"When you're as strong as I am, then you can smoke."
Despite her words, the Grand Master quietly handed over a cigarette. The sensation, unfamiliar yet familiar, was strangely comforting.
Isaac rolled it gently between his fingers but didn't go any further.
"I gave it to you, so smoke it."
The Grand Master lit her own cigarette, and the bitter smoke wafted out, calming Isaac's heart ever so slightly.
"Go on."
"Huh?"
At the sudden request, Isaac wasn't sure what she meant.
But the Grand Master, gazing at the moon with her arms crossed, spoke again.
"If you have something to say, say it."
"..."
"I'm just here, standing by. Let it out. Consider it an accident that I happened to overhear."
To untangle complicated emotions, a somewhat contradictory situation seemed necessary.
The desire to speak to someone and sort out one's thoughts, yet feeling like those emotions shouldn't be spoken aloud.
So Isaac steadied his breath.
The sigh that escaped him was even more bitter than the acrid smoke of the cigarette in his hand.
"When I lost my leg…"
"..."
"I was lost. At that time, it felt like the world was crumbling around me."
Was he afraid of living without his leg?
No.
What terrified him more than spending his life limping was—
"What if my wife… truly let go of me?"
"..."
"I had lost all potential to be a son-in-law worthy of Helmut."
The bitterness rose like smoke, though the cigarette in his hand remained untouched.
"She came every day. The sound of Lia's footsteps pacing outside my door—it was her way of telling me it was okay."
The scent of roses drifting through the crack in the door.
Her restless footsteps, the weight of her forehead lightly pressed against the wood.
He knew she was worried about him, yet Isaac couldn't bring himself to step outside.
"But I couldn't show her my broken self. If I did… I felt like I would truly collapse."
So he stayed alone, silently, in the darkness.
In that cramped room, he poured out his pain, his groans, his resentment.
A year passed like that.
"Eventually, I left."
"..."
"Had I overcome it? No. Had I run away? Not that either. It was simply that the place wasn't for me anymore, so I left."
For a year, in the darkness.
What Isaac had done was—
"Say goodbye."
"..."
"Because I loved her so much, it took me that long."
His feelings for her were too vast—it had taken time to sort through them all.
"On the morning I left, the scent of roses lingered in the air."
His limping leg.
The rhythmic tap of his cane between steps, punctuated by the occasional fragrance of roses.
"That was the last time for us."
He took a breath.
Choosing his next words carefully.
Only after the Grand Master exhaled smoke twice did he continue.
"It was wrong."
It shouldn't have been that way.
"Whether we held on or let go—we did neither properly."
They had been half-hearted, the both of them.
"After that, I lived as the Silent Sword. Not as Isaac… just as that."
The Isaac of the past was gone.
The Isaac who had once seen the world through romance and youth had disappeared.
Now, it felt like time had finally come to look back.
Over ten years had passed.
Only now did he feel like he understood a little.
"It was cowardice. Spending a year alone, preparing to cut ties—calling myself a coward would be accurate."
A trace of sorrow flickered in the Grand Master's eyes.
It's understandable.
You were hurt that deeply.
In the face of such comfort, Isaac smiled bitterly.
"You always make me prepare myself, Master."
The Grand Master and Mu-myeong had told him:
Even with an ironclad rationality, sometimes one must abandon instinct and simply swing the sword.
"But it wasn't just about swinging the sword."
Even if it was a coincidence, Isaac smiled softly.
"You were telling me to move forward."
"..."
"The next time I see her—it won't be as the Silent Sword. It'll be as Isaac Logan."
Common sense and reason.
Cold logic and judgment—he would set them aside for now.
"I just want to meet her as myself… and pour out all the words I've kept inside."
These words could become resentment, ugliness, or suffering.
But they were necessary.
"It's bitter."
As if he had smoked the unlit cigarette to its end, Isaac handed it back to the Grand Master.
Accepting it, the Grand Master smiled faintly and nodded.
"A marital spat, then."
"Hah, I suppose you could call it that."
"Then you'll need to prepare. Your ex-wife is famously fierce."
"That's true."
"At the very least, you shouldn't die."
"Agreed."
"Do you need help?"
"I'd appreciate it."
Moonlight bathed the two.
As a master, the Grand Master knew the path ahead for her disciple was thorny and treacherous.
Thud.
He patted Isaac's back once and answered.
"Consider it done."
***
Capital, Evergard.
"..."
Princess Clarice, unable to sleep lately, spent her days reviewing documents with a haggard expression.
"What kind of life is this for a woman in her prime? I should've at least learned how to fold paper flowers."
Grumbling, her eyes swiftly scanned the text, organizing the details in her mind.
The situation in the north was particularly dire.
With the Malidan Wall gone, beasts from the north frequently attempted to cross.
It was only thanks to Eisenwolf's makeshift barricades and temporary defensive lines that the situation hadn't worsened.
Moreover, Baron Logan's efforts had allowed some Caldias and northern soldiers to return, positively impacting the war effort.
Yet, the situation remained complex.
"Transcendents are still appearing…"
Clarice sighed daily at reports of Transcendents suddenly materializing.
As a side effect of moving the Malidan Wall through sorcery, many Transcendents were unintentionally crossing over—only to vanish again.
For them, it was like watching their forces slowly whittled away.
But for her side, it was no less troublesome.
"The soldiers' stress levels are beyond manageable," Heirad added.
Clarice nodded.
"Of course. Especially since the ones appearing are Transcendents."
Exaggerating slightly, it was like warriors capable of fighting a hundred men alone were popping up out of nowhere.
A stroke of bad luck could mean assassinations of key figures or raids on supplies—too many variables.
"And once again, we're indebted to Caldias."
Since the wall's disappearance, Uldren had become the wall himself, fighting in its place.
Amid the chaos, his presence was an immense relief.
"This, too, is thanks to Baron Logan risking his life to venture into their world."
Swinging her legs in her chair as she praised Isaac, Clarice earned a sigh from Heirad.
"It's not good to play favorites too much."
"Favorites? Isn't it natural to think highly of a noble who actually delivers results?"
She shrugged shamelessly, eager for Baron Logan's return.
"How long has he been in the Magic Tower anyway? It feels like forever."
"It's been about a month. Including his travel time, it hasn't been that long in the tower itself."
"Any updates on the sorcery research?"
"Tower Master Regant is diligently deciphering it, I hear."
"I know this sounds ungrateful, but the sooner, the better. We need a solution for the north."
Clarice hoped the research would resolve the northern crisis.
"Ugh, forget it! Break time!"
Her head throbbed.
She hadn't rested properly in days.
What she needed now was a short break—and coffee.
Heirad, as if waiting, brought over prepared coffee and snacks.
Cup in hand, Clarice stood by the window.
Spread out before her was the view of Everguard.
Whenever exhausted, she drew strength from this view.
"The more I endure, the longer I can protect this sight."
Reaffirming her resolve.
Clarice always recentered herself this way.
"...Hm?"
Then, an anomaly caught her eye.
A woman who shouldn't be there.
No—under normal circumstances, she wouldn't stand out.
But right now, it was impossible not to be puzzled.
Because that woman was—
"Wasn't she… captured?"
Liana Helmut.
Striding forward, greatsword at her side.
Citizens recognized her, bowing or gazing in admiration.
Naturally, few in Evergard knew she had been taken prisoner.
If word spread that Helmut's next heir was captured after Arandel's death, the family's collapse would be unstoppable.
There was no need to incite public panic.
Thus, Liana walked unchallenged to the palace gates.
An absurd scenario.
Who could've imagined the enemy's leader moving so freely through hostile territory?
"St-stop her! Heirad, now—!"
As Clarice shouted—
A crimson light erupted into the sky.
"Run from me."
At its center, the woman stepped forward, whispering a plea.
*
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[TL Note]
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