When Lieben told Faust that the one who would accompany him wouldn't be Klint but himself, Faust completely lost it—yet he had no other choice.
It had been about an hour since they left the Corehold barrier.
Faust walked with a sour expression, not saying a word, while Lieben walked beside him, repeating things that were already obvious…
"The weather's cloudy."
"The trees are so green."
"The 10th Heir was strong, right Faust?"
The pointless chatter and attempts at small talk were driving him insane—if only he'd just said what was bothering him, admitted he was angry, and made it clear he wasn't in the mood to talk, everything would've just fine…but according to Faust, people's problems should concern only themselves...
And him hating to talk about himself is also a reason of course.
I can't believe Klint sold me out—first he pissed me off, and then he left me stuck with one of the most energetic, joyful person alive...
"But there's nothing we can do, right Lieben?"
"Uhhh… what?"
Faust's voice sharpened...
"There's nothing we can do. Right. Lieben."
Lieben nodded rapidly, uneasily, up and down.
"Uh-huh—uh-huh."
Walking to the Winter City would take days. I could be there in minutes if I wanted, but…
As they walked side by side, Faust put his hand out in front of Lieben and stopped him.
"Lieben!—Stop for a second."
"…? Did something happen, Faust?"
"Do you have any idea how long this road is?"
"Yes? I was actually just about to ask that—why are we going on foot? It's not like we are talking anyway."
Faust let out a heavy breath, brought both hands to his face, and closed his eyes.
Puffff.
You can't be fucking serious…
Faust spoke—but with his mouth covered, it came out muffled.
"Now it occurs to you to tell me this, Lieben?"
"What are you saying, Faust—"
Lieben pulled Faust's hands away from his face.
"Say it again."
Huh!?
"I said—now it occurs to you to say this?"
Just as Lieben heard what he wanted, he was about to put Faust's hands back on his face, but Faust waved them away.
"I was already going to lower them."
"Hmph. Sure."
Lieben began doing short warm-up movements where he stood.
He bounced lightly. Stretched his legs. Tensed and loosened his back.
"What are you doing now?"
"Weren't you going to want us to speed up anyway? I'm getting ready to run. You should probably do the same—I don't even remember the last time I saw you run."
Faust was about to get mad, but there was no need. What would being mad over a few words gain him?
No matter who he spoke to, what angered him most was the other person being right. Even if that correct opinion was on his side, or even if it was exactly what he himself was about to say.
In his view, no one but himself should carry opinions—others should only follow his ideas, add to them, or oppose them.
Opposition could be tolerated, but presenting one's own idea afterward was unacceptable. It was one of the core traits that made Faust who he was.
He had to be right. And superior.
After Lieben finished warming up, the two raced all the way to the Winter City, using the kilometers-long road like a racetrack—but as expected....the winner, by a wide margin, was Faust, who then had to wait around half an hour.
When Lieben finally arrived, they were there.
The Gate Of The Winter City.