“So you mean this Human God is the one who told you about Ruijerd?” Eris asked, her sword cutting precise arcs through the morning air as she continued her daily practice.

“Yeah. I’d say we’re deeply indebted to him.” The admission tasted strange on my tongue—gratitude mixed with growing uncertainty.

“Then if he’s such a good person, why did Orsted attack us? From what the Water God said, Orsted’s supposed to be evil, right?”

The question struck at the heart of my confusion. “That’s…” I trailed off, watching her form. Even discussing our near-death experience, she maintained perfect posture, each movement flowing into the next. “I honestly don’t know anymore.”

“But Claude definitely understands something about it,” Eris continued, pausing mid-swing to look at me. “I remember when you were unconscious—he and Ash tried talking to Orsted, even while trembling from all that pressure he was giving off.”

My blood chilled. This was the first I’d heard of any conversation with the Dragon God. “Claude talked to Orsted? While I was out?”

“They spoke about something—I couldn’t hear what over the sound of my own heartbeat. But Claude’s potion was what saved you, so…” She shrugged, resuming her practice with more force than necessary.

“It might be one of his Miko abilities,” I murmured, though the explanation felt inadequate. Claude’s knowledge always seemed to come with a price—fragments of understanding paid for with suffering I couldn’t begin to imagine.

A thought struck me. “Wait, wasn’t he also the one who broke through the tunnel ceiling during our escape?”

When I asked Ruijerd about it later, his answer left me stunned.

“He’s achieved King rank in his sword mastery.”

“Are you serious!” Eris’s excitement was infectious, her eyes lighting up with the prospect of measuring herself against such skill.

“The pressure you felt—that was his Touki manifesting outside his body,” Ruijerd explained with the patience of someone who’d spent centuries mastering such techniques.

I knew the theory. Once a practitioner reached Saint rank, they began to sense the Touki surrounding their form. Unlike mana, which flowed from within and was shaped by will and imagination, Touki came from harmony with natural forces—a pure energy that enhanced physical capabilities beyond normal limits.

“I don’t really understand the difficult parts,” Eris admitted, her voice smaller than usual.

“You will, when you reach that level yourself,” Ruijerd said matter-of-factly.

But I was still reeling from the implications. “Didn’t he only reach Saint rank back in the Great Forest? How could he advance so quickly?”

“By the time we reached the forest, he’d already been training alone and achieved that rank through his own efforts,” Ruijerd replied thoughtfully. “My sparring with him helped somewhat, but his weapon techniques differ fundamentally from mine. The way Touki flows around him follows patterns I don’t fully understand.”

Seeing my confusion, Ruijerd paused to consider his words. “He found a teacher better suited to his style. That’s why he advanced so rapidly—and why he broke through to King rank after his encounter with Orsted.”

“Ah, so Isolte and Reida helped him reach that level.” It made sense. The Water God’s teaching methods, while painful for Eris and me, had clearly resonated with Claude’s approach to combat.

“In the end, what does Claude actually know about this Human God business?” Eris pressed.

“I’m not certain,” Ruijerd admitted, “but the fact that Orsted didn’t attack him suggests he’s different from the rest of us somehow.”

“I overheard some of what he said—something about a bleak future where he dies.” Ruijerd’s voice carried unusual weight, and I saw pain flicker across his ancient features.

Claude? Dying? The concept seemed impossible given his strength, his knowledge, his ability to see paths others couldn’t.

“How could someone so strong die?” Eris voiced my own thoughts.

“No one escapes death, regardless of their power.” The grief in Ruijerd’s voice spoke of personal experience—centuries of loss that no amount of strength could undo.

Several days later, we crested a hill and saw it spread before us: the vast grassland that had once been Fittoa. Where a thriving region had stood, only endless green remained, broken by a single cluster of buildings in the distance.

The refugee camp. Our destination. The end of everything.

Just outside the settlement, Ruijerd brought our carriage to a halt and climbed down from the driver’s seat.

“I’ll be taking my leave here.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Eris and I scrambled from the carriage, nearly falling in our haste.

“Wait!” I called out. “At least stay the night! Come into the town with us!”

“There’s no need.” His voice carried the finality of stone. “There’s no need for a warrior here. No need for protection.”

The truth of it struck me silent. I’d almost forgotten—Ruijerd had only agreed to escort us home. With that duty fulfilled, our paths naturally diverged.

Even though some part of me had imagined we’d stay together forever.

“Ruijerd-san…” I started, then hesitated. Could I convince him to stay? Should I even try?

No. I’d already caused this man enough trouble. For three years, he’d endured my failures, my shameful moments, my constant need for guidance. Yet somehow, he’d still recognized me as a warrior.

I couldn’t depend on him any longer.

“If it weren’t for you, we never would have made it here safely,” I said instead.

“If it had been just you, you would have managed somehow.”

“There’s no way. I would have stumbled somewhere along the path.”

“As long as you understand that, you’ll be fine.”

He was right, of course. There had been countless situations where I’d had no solution—captured in Shirone, facing political complexities beyond my understanding, navigating the subtle prejudices that could turn deadly without warning.

“Rudeus.” His voice was gentler than I’d ever heard it. “I said this before, but you’ve already proven yourself as a magician. Despite possessing such talent, you haven’t grown arrogant. You should take pride in accomplishing so much at your age.”

The words brought complicated feelings. My true age was over forty, counting my previous life. The reason I hadn’t grown arrogant was because I remembered being a complete failure.

But perhaps that memory itself was valuable.

“I should tell you about my—” I began, ready to confess my shameful past.

“Rudeus, don’t lower your head to me.”

The command stopped me short. “Why?”

“You think you’ve been depending on me, but I’ve been depending on you just as much. Thanks to you, I can see hope for restoring my family’s honor.”

“I haven’t done anything special.”

“You taught someone like me—who only knew how to save people through honest strength—that many different approaches exist.” His eyes held warmth I’d rarely seen. “I remember everything. The old woman in Rikarisu who said she no longer feared the Superd name. The adventurers who laughed without worry after hearing about Dead End. The Dedoldia warriors who accepted us despite knowing my race. The Shirone soldiers who thanked me through their tears.”

“That was your own power, Ruijerd-san.”

“No. For four hundred years, I traveled alone and couldn’t advance a single step. You’re the one who helped me move forward.” He extended his hand. “You and I are equals. Rather than bowing, look me in the eyes.”

I grasped his hand, feeling the strength that had protected us through countless dangers. The inner corners of my eyes grew hot.

This shameful version of myself, who’d made nothing but mistakes—somehow, Ruijerd had recognized me as worthy.

“Thank you for everything, Rudeus.”

“Thank you as well.”

After a moment, he released my hand and placed it gently on Eris’s head.

“Eris.”

“What is it?” Her voice was carefully controlled.

“May I treat you like a child one last time?”

“…It’s fine.”

He smiled and ruffled her hair with unexpected tenderness. “You have tremendous talent. More than enough to surpass me someday.”

“That’s not true. After what happened with…” She bit her lip, sullen.

“You fought someone called a God and survived to learn from the experience. Do you understand what that means?”

Her eyes widened slowly. “I… I think I do.”

“Good girl.”

As he withdrew his hand, Eris clenched her fists, fighting back tears with visible effort.

“What will you do now?” I asked.

“Search for other Superd survivors on this continent. Restoring our honor is impossible alone.”

“I’ll help if I can find the time.”

“And I’ll keep an eye out for your mother during my travels.”

He began to remove something from around his neck—Roxy’s pendant, the Migurd charm that connected me to my first teacher.

“Please keep it,” I said before he could offer it back.

“Are you certain? It’s precious to you.”

“That’s exactly why I want you to have it.”

He nodded silently and settled the pendant back in place.

“Well then, Rudeus, Eris… until we meet again.”

Just like that, he turned and walked away. No lengthy goodbyes, no drawn-out farewells. The same decisive simplicity he’d shown when joining us three years ago.

I had so much I wanted to say. Three years of shared dangers, small victories, and quiet moments of understanding. Feelings too complex for words—gratitude, affection, the pain of parting from someone who’d become family.

“Until we meet again,” I called after him, summarizing it all in those simple words.

Because we would meet again. As long as we were both alive, I was certain of it.

Eris and I stood watching until his figure disappeared beyond the rolling hills, carrying our unspoken thanks into the distance.

Just like that, our journey came to an end.

[ERIS POV]

That night, I, Eris Boreas Greyrat, crossed the threshold into adulthood.

Rudeus was my gift—a present I claimed for my fifteenth birthday, though it came wrapped in complications I hadn’t expected. The promise we’d made years ago felt different now, transformed by time and circumstance into something both more and less than I’d imagined.

I love him. The realization hits me with the force it always has, unchanged despite everything we’ve endured together.

When did I first understand this feeling? My tenth birthday—no, his tenth. Mother had roused me from sleep, her face grave as she draped that deep red nightgown over my shoulders.

“Go to his room,” she’d instructed, her voice carrying the weight of tradition and expectation. “Entrust your body to him.”

I wasn’t unwilling, but confusion clouded my thoughts like morning mist. Mother and Edona had prepared me for this eventuality, yet standing outside Rudeus’s door that night, I felt utterly unprepared.

When Rudeus touched me—tentatively, as if I might shatter—doubt crept in like poison. Had Father commanded this? Was I merely a reward, a transaction between men?

Rudeus seemed different that night, older somehow after his conversation with Father. But as I watched him struggle with his own desires and conscience, a terrible thought surfaced: He might not want me at all.

He was brilliant even then—knowing everything, capable of anything, always pushing forward with insatiable curiosity. What place did I have beside such radiance? Looking at his flushed face and trembling hands, I felt like nothing more than an obligation.

A prize handed down by Father. Nothing more.

The thought soured everything. I pushed him away and fled, leaving behind confusion and half-formed apologies.

But fear followed me from that room—fear that I’d destroyed something irreplaceable. Mother’s words echoed: no one else would accept me as I was. I’d met other noble children, seen their weakness, their inability to match Rudeus’s quiet strength.

He’d always been fascinated by my body, even as children. Those mischievous attempts to flip my skirt or steal touches—I’d beaten them back with fists and indignation. Other boys cowered after similar treatment, but Rudeus? He’d simply laugh and try again later.

Mother was right. There would never be anyone else.

The thought terrified me. If Rudeus came to hate me, I’d face a lifetime alone.

Even as a reward, I decided, at least we could be together.

I returned to his room that night, finding him curled like a guilty child, mumbling apologies. From above, I looked down at his misery and made my pronouncement: “Wait five years.”

Five years felt manageable then. Five years to grow, to become worthy of what he offered.

If only I’d known how little time we actually had.

The Teleportation Incident shattered everything. One moment we were home; the next, staring at a Superd’s crimson spear in some gods-forsaken wasteland.

Retribution, I thought desperately. This is punishment for my selfishness.

Mother’s warnings echoed: misbehave, and the Superd will come to devour you. I collapsed, screaming, certain I’d brought this doom upon us all.

But Rudeus came for me—not Ghyslaine, not Grandfather, but the boy I’d pushed away. He spoke to Ruijerd with trembling voice and pale determination, shouldering burdens that should have crushed someone his age.

How brave he is, I realized, even as my world crumbled.

The journey that followed tested us both. Rudeus negotiated with demons while eating barely enough to survive, hiding his suffering behind forced smiles. For me, he decided. To spare me worry.

I tried to match his strength, to shoulder my share of the burden. When anxiety overwhelmed me, he was there—stroking my hair, offering silent comfort without a single inappropriate touch. His usual playfulness vanished during those moments, replaced by gentle concern.

Was it all an act? I wondered. His perverted behavior—was it just his way of keeping us happy, of making light of darkness?

The realization humbled me. He thought of others even in his pain.

I had to become strong—strong enough not to burden him further. Fighting was my only advantage, the sole area where I might contribute rather than drag him down. Even then, I remained inferior to Ruijerd, outclassed when Rudeus combined magic with swordplay.

They could manage this journey without me, I acknowledged with bitter clarity. I’m dead weight.

But I trained anyway, desperately. Ruijerd became my second master, beating lessons into my bones with patient brutality. Night after night, while Rudeus slept, we sparred until exhaustion claimed me.

“Rational,” Ruijerd would say after each defeat. “Understand the why behind each movement.”

Ghyslaine’s words finally made sense. There was logic in a master’s technique, patterns to be observed and absorbed. I watched Ruijerd’s every motion, memorizing the flow of combat until I could almost predict his strikes.

After a year of this torment, I finally landed a hit—probably because he was distracted, but I didn’t care. For one shining moment, I’d matched him.

Now I won’t hold Rudeus back. Now I can walk beside him as an equal.

My arrogance lasted exactly until Rudeus acquired his demon eye and effortlessly pinned me in combat. No magic, no tricks—just pure skill demolishing years of progress in minutes.

I had nothing left to offer him. The path I’d walked for years crumbled beneath his casual superiority. That night, I cried alone on the beach while practicing sword forms, mourning my uselessness.

“Don’t let it trouble you,” Ruijerd consoled. “Rudeus has natural affinity for demon eyes. You have talent with the blade. Continue training.”

Talent? The word felt hollow. If I had talent, why did I always fall short?

Rudeus grew larger in my perception—a radiant figure too bright to approach directly. I’d made him into something divine, perfect and untouchable. The gap between us seemed insurmountable.

Everything changed on the Millis Continent. Meeting Geese opened my eyes to skills beyond sword and magic, though my requests for training were rebuffed. Then came Claude’s revelations about the world’s state after the disaster—Grandfather, Father, Mother, all potentially lost.

At Milishion, I attempted simple goblin subjugation alone, desperate to prove my independence. When strange assassins attacked, I overwhelmed them completely. Somewhere during our travels, I’d grown stronger without realizing it.

Returning to find Rudeus weakened by his confrontation with Paul shifted everything again. Here was the boy I’d pedestalized, reduced to quiet despair by his father’s harsh words. He wasn’t crying, but the defeat in his posture reminded me: he was still just a child, two years younger than me.

This boy has carried us all, I realized. Protected us, guided us, sacrificed for us—and never once received the recognition he deserved.

Paul’s treatment of him was unforgivable. I decided then to kill Rudeus’s father—nobility meant nothing compared to this injustice. Only Ruijerd’s intervention stopped me.

“This is a family matter,” he’d explained, speaking from his own parental grief.

They reconciled eventually, just as Ruijerd predicted. I couldn’t understand Rudeus’s forgiveness, couldn’t comprehend mercy toward someone who’d caused such pain.

Adults, I thought bitterly. They make everything complicated.

Claude proved himself during those days—stronger than I’d imagined, capable of defeating Paul without effort. The real deity might have been him all along.

But Rudeus remained my constant. My best.

Our confrontation with the Dragon God changed everything again. While Ruijerd and I trembled before that avatar of destruction, only Rudeus maintained composure. Against the world’s strongest being, he actually landed a blow—that impossible rock bullet technique that defied everything I knew about magic.

For one glorious moment, I thought he could win.

Then Rudeus died.

Death had seemed impossible for us—we were protected, guided, invincible in our little group. The illusion shattered as Rudeus collapsed, life bleeding from his wounds.

If Claude hadn’t appeared with that miraculous healing potion… I would have lost everything.

The fear that followed was paralyzing. I wasn’t just holding Rudeus back—I was actively endangering him. Yet somehow, impossibly, he resumed training three days later, preparing for another encounter with the Dragon God.

How does he do it? I wondered, staying close from terror that he might vanish if I looked away. How does someone face death and immediately plan to try again?

Separating from Ruijerd hurt, but his final lesson burned itself into my memory: the Dragon God’s technique, the rational movement that deflected my strike. Even the world’s strongest followed comprehensible patterns.

He’s not a monster, I understood. He’s a master using human techniques elevated beyond mortal limits.

Returning home destroyed what remained of my old life. The house was gone, Father and Mother dead, everything I’d fought to protect reduced to ash and memory. Ghyslaine and Alphonse were there, but they felt like strangers wearing familiar faces, scolding me for choices I couldn’t regret.

Only Rudeus and Grandfather remained, and Grandfather was powerless against noble politics. Soon, Rudeus would leave—his contract fulfilled, his duty complete. He’d resume searching for his scattered family while I… what would I do?

I have to bind him to me, I decided with growing desperation. Make him stay somehow.

I used my body like a weapon, pressing close until his restraint cracked. He was reluctant initially—surprisingly so for someone who’d spent years stealing glimpses and copping feels. Did he truly want me, or was I forcing myself on someone too kind to refuse?

The doubt evaporated when he responded with genuine passion. His excitement fed my own until we crossed that final threshold together.

Pain gave way to pleasure as our bodies learned each other’s rhythms. But watching Rudeus—seeing him strong at first, then gradually weakening, becoming fragile beneath me—I realized something profound.

He was smaller than me. Younger. More vulnerable than I’d ever allowed myself to see.

This boy protected me across two continents, I marveled, running fingers over his exhausted form. Healed me constantly on that horrible ship journey, pushed himself beyond limits for my sake.

While I’d obsessed over his greatness, I’d ignored his humanity. Even now, using intimacy to trap him felt selfish beyond measure.

I love him, I acknowledged for perhaps the hundredth time. But I’m not right for him.

The thought crystallized into painful clarity. I was a burden masquerading as a partner, dead weight he’d carry from misplaced loyalty. We could be family—siblings, as he’d once suggested—but never equals.

I need distance. Time to grow strong enough to stand beside him without shame.

The plan formed gradually: the Holy Land of Swords, following Ghyslaine’s suggestion. I’d master the blade until I could match his magic, become a woman worthy of his devotion rather than a millstone around his neck.

When I return, we’ll meet as equals. Then—and only then—can we truly be together.

But how to leave without being followed? Rudeus was persuasive, stubborn when worried. A simple letter might reveal my destination, and he’d come chasing after me like some devoted hound.

Swordsmen in stories just vanish, I mused, but Rudeus hates that kind of dramatic nonsense.

Our journey had been built on communication, planning, constant coordination. Disappearing without explanation would wound him deeply.

A single line, I decided. Something he’ll understand completely.

Something that would hurt but also offer hope. A promise and a farewell combined.

“I’ll become stronger. Please wait for me.”

Yes. That would have to be enough.

[NARRATOR POV]

Claude sat in the sterile confines of his Division I office, the intelligence report spread across his mahogany desk like accusations waiting to be judged. The words blurred together as he read them again, seeking clarity in the chaos of teenage emotions and poor decisions.

“So as a parting gift, Eris and Rudeus had their… encounter at the camp?” Claude’s voice carried a mixture of exasperation and resignation as he addressed his subordinate. The clinical language of the report couldn’t mask what had transpired.

“The boy’s underage, though…” Claude paused, remembering his own world’s complexities. “Then again, Paul had his experiences even younger than Rudeus at this point. Still, I fail to see where the real problem lies.”

He continued reading, and the pattern became clear. After their night together, Eris had vanished—leaving only a letter and a lock of her crimson hair as explanation. Claude’s fingers drummed against the desk as he processed the implications.

Of course she ran. The question is whether this helps or destroys everything we’ve built.

___________________________________________

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