The rain was finally letting up, and the pale light of dawn began to stretch across the sky.
On the muddy road outside the forest, the rainwater had already begun to seep into the earth.
But the bloodstains left on the ground remained vividly imprinted in the hearts of Rudy and Sylphy.
Allen had been gone the entire night.
Inside the shattered carriage—broken by Allen's sword—Sylphy crouched in the corner of the cabin, staring at Allen's luggage beside the wreck. Her white hair clung to her face, her eyes unfocused.
She had gone through so many firsts that night.
Her first time killing.
Her first life-or-death experience.
Her first time… watching someone slice open Allen's throat before her eyes.
She kept thinking the whole night—was Allen really okay?
Was he just holding on?
Wouldn't it have been better if he hadn't chased after the assassins, considering his condition?
Too many thoughts.
No answers.
The people who usually gave her clarity—one was far away, unable to respond.
The other had gone to chase the assassins and still hadn't returned.
Allen…
Hadn't come back.
Why was she just curled up in the carriage?
Because… she was now afraid of blood.
At the end of the day, no matter how much she imitated Allen's calm demeanor, no matter how much she studied Roxy's expressions—
She was still just a seven-year-old girl. Her life had only just begun. Even in the original story, when she parted from Rudy a few months later, she cried her eyes out.
So how could she possibly handle something like this?
And when she saw the guts on the ground, the severed limbs, the shattered bones—it made her stomach churn violently.
Was it because of the corpses?
But she wasn't even thinking about them anymore. She wasn't thinking about death.
She sat quietly in the carriage.
Tried not to think about anything at all.
Only about Allen's face.
But it just made her feel worse.
Her stomach churned harder.
Why?
No one could answer her.
So all she could do was hug her knees and stare blankly.
Rudy's reaction was the complete opposite.
He sat on the carriage wheel beside her, staring directly at the corpses of the bandits he had personally killed.
His reactions last night had been fairly fast. When the carriage was attacked and he realized they were under assault, he hesitated at first.
Truthfully, at this point in the story, Rudy was less integrated into this world than Allen was.
He still couldn't accept how this "other world" was soaked in blood and death, presented so vividly before his eyes.
Especially when he was the one doing the killing.
In the original, Rudy had long avoided killing, resisting it until the Battle of Shirone.
But last night, while he hesitated, he saw Allen—through the rain—methodically slicing one bandit from hand to arm, then finally decapitating him.
Effortlessly.
In that moment, what flashed in his mind wasn't just the carnage—it was the image of Allen hurling him toward Paul in the snowy valley.
The rain turned into snow in Rudy's mind. And beyond the falling snow and swirling wind—
Was that same Allen, moments before he and Sylphy fell into the valley.
In that single instant—
Rudy moved.
His body acted faster than his thoughts. His magic surged without needing direction. His hand raised instinctively.
An ice blade shot from his palm—through the layers of rain—piercing the bandits with pinpoint precision.
Just like when he sparred with Allen.
Only by sharpening his accuracy could he land even a brush on Allen's sleeve.
By the time he came to, the bandits were already lying in the muddy water.
That's when he realized—
Killing could be so easy. So free of psychological burden.
In fact, after killing, when he rushed over to Allen—
He felt like he had done it.
This time, he wasn't left behind.
Just like in the snowy valley, when Allen saved him simply because he wanted to—acting on instinct even before fully thinking it through.
Likewise, Rudy had killed because he wanted to save them. In the rain, his body moved faster than thought. The ice blade had already flown.
And now he understood how Allen had felt back then.
But his hand once again grabbed at nothing.
So now, he forced himself to stare at the corpses, to face the emotional backlash of having killed.
As for worrying about Allen?
He didn't.
He'd already gone through that in the snowy valley.
The fear, the realization, the despair. After interrogating Lilia like Allen once did…
What did he see?
A death-stained valley.
A literal sea of blood.
Monster corpses floating in crimson.
And Allen, standing in the center of it all, gripping his broken, dulled sword—
Saying only one thing:
"There won't be a monster wave next year."
That's why Rudy believed in him.
Even if it took ten hours… ten days… half a month…
Allen would return—holding the assassin's head—look at them, and say:
"There won't be any more attacks."
Because that's the kind of guy Allen was.
How could he possibly die in a place like this?
How could he die in a place like this?!
Rudy suddenly slammed his fist into the wheel beside him, jumped down, and kicked a corpse away. Then he turned toward Sylphy.
"I'm going to find Allen!"
Sylphy blinked, dazed—then the light returned to her eyes. She raised her head to look at Rudy.
"Okay."
The two of them stood and began walking toward the edge of the forest.
There, a silhouette was already waiting.
Red hair, drenched and tangled into messy clumps. Her clothes were soaked, but her face was still lifted, arms crossed, glaring into the trees, lips pressed tightly in a deep frown.
Beside her, the exhausted catgirl tried repeatedly to comb her hair—only to be swatted away every time.
"Miss Eris, don't worry too much. Lord Ghislane is incredibly strong. She'll be fine."
Eris didn't speak—just stared even more intensely into the forest shadows.
Philip leaned silently against the carriage nearby, watching the woods just like Eris. His face looked calm, but the wide-open eyes and occasional flickers of anxiety betrayed his true state.
He too had stood in the rain all night, never once seeking shelter.
As Rudy passed them, he glanced sideways at Philip. The older man sensed his gaze and looked back.
Rudy opened his mouth, about to speak—
When suddenly, running footsteps echoed nearby.
Sylphy and Eris—both running at once.
Rudy's eyes widened, and he snapped his head toward the forest.
Morning light burst through the horizon.
Two silhouettes—one tall, one short—emerged from the trees. Bathed in fiery light, their faces were obscured.
Rudy froze. He wanted to run to them, but his legs turned to jelly.
He dropped to the ground.
But in his eyes—
The figure holding two severed heads was so familiar, so reassuring.
Once again, it was death that followed in his footsteps.
Once again, he was impossible to ignore.
And Rudy heard his own voice, from deep in his throat—
"Thank goodness…"
"Thank goodness…"
——
Sylphy stumbled into Allen's arms before he could even speak. She leapt up and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
Allen blinked, stunned.
Before he could say anything—
Two cold little hands touched the side of his neck.
And in the next second, Allen felt the body in his arms soften.
As if, having confirmed something, all the tension from the long night finally melted away.
Then came the crying.
Soft, muffled sobs—desperately suppressed, but unmistakable.
Drifting gently into Allen's ears.
He froze for a moment, then looked down at Sylphy's messy white hair, dyed orange by the morning light.
It reminded him of the moonlight at the bottom of the snowy valley.
Allen paused briefly, then slowly wrapped his arms around her and lowered his face into her hair.
"…Sorry for making you worry."
The dawn light bathed them both.
And reflected in the fire-red pupils—
Whose gaze was it, watching them?
(End of Chapter)
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