The air of the Old Continent pierced his lungs with its cold. The moment the transfer light faded, Raid felt it drain from all three of their bodies. That high-density atmospheric mana that had constantly clung to their skin in the Magical Continent—far denser than the air of the Empire's eastern regions, with a rawness that was almost pungent—peeled away from their skin like water seeping into sand. Raid felt that sensation through the soles of his feet. (I see. Without realizing it, I've been relying on that these past few days.) The ground was soil. The outline of the碧峯 mountain range hovered beneath a gray, clouded sky. The gravity of the Old Continent, the familiar scent of the landscape. The moment his body recognized that he had returned—his legs gave out. His knees buckled. He pressed his right hand against the soil to stop himself from collapsing further. Kneeling on one leg, he steadied his breathing. The mana of the Magical Continent must have dulled his pain perception. Heat surged belatedly from the wound on his back. Below his shoulder blade. The wound torn by claws was still there. Blood seeped through the tear in his coat. "Raid!" Aira's voice came from above. She was already on her knees. Her lustrous reddish-brown hair was coming loose, her green eyes fixed on the wound. There was no hesitation in her movements. Her hands were quick as she widened the tear in his coat to examine what lay beneath. Her body moved before emotion could catch up—the response of a knight. "It's nothing serious," Raid said in a low voice. It wasn't a lie. Not fatal. "Don't speak," Aira said. Only those words came back. Her voice trembled slightly. Raid noticed. He noticed and said nothing. Aira pulled back his coat and visually confirmed the extent of the wound. In that moment, something vanished from her expression. Before she could process the emotion, her face alone froze first. Her green eyes measured the depth of the wound, measured its breadth, then paused for just a beat. Her professional face shifted into something else for an instant—then immediately returned. "Lilia, healing, please," Aira said. "Got it!" Lilia replied. Lilia stumbled toward them, still reeling from the transfer's impact. Her silver short bob was disheveled. Her odd eyes—one pale purple, the other a faint amber—were glistening. She was biting her lip to hold back tears. She knelt down and stretched both hands toward Raid's back. Her hands were trembling. The bio-magical power that the demon race possessed—the ability to channel one's own mana directly into physical stamina while directing it toward tissue repair in another—was being activated, but the output was unstable. The accumulated exhaustion of these past few days was taking its toll. After the full-power release in the ruins, her body hadn't fully recovered yet. "Lilia," Raid said. "I can do this. I can," Lilia replied, still looking down. Her voice caught slightly. "I'm counting on you," Raid said. He didn't stop her. Lilia desperately pressed her trembling hands against the wound. Biting her lip in concentration. Her pale purple eyes held a serious light. Warmth transmitted from his back. A heat different from human magic. A sensation like the temperature of a living thing close to its roots pressing against tissue. Cells responded. Recovery was happening. But—it was slow. Aira confirmed this beside the wound. Her fingertips touched the skin at the wound's edge. Not through cloth, not through armor—direct contact. It was a knight's practical judgment to accurately assess the depth and breadth of the wound. She had always organized it that way. But. The moment her fingertips felt the skin's temperature, yesterday's memory suddenly overlapped. In the transfer light, the weight and body heat of the arm that caught her as she stumbled from the impact. The direct temperature and weight unobstructed by leather gloves. That sensation—now, through her fingertips, again. Aira's hand stopped for just an instant. (…This is contact for the mission. Confirming the wound's condition is—) Her hand resumed. Quickly, as if nothing had happened. But it had stopped for just one beat. Only that fact remained. "…I said it wasn't serious," Raid muttered quietly. Still on one knee, he looked back and forth between Aira's serious face as she worked and Lilia's trembling hands pouring in healing magic. "If anything, it feels like I'm being butchered like game I've hunted," Raid said in a low, controlled voice. A hint of self-deprecation seeped through. Neither of them reacted at all. Aira continued confirming the wound. Lilia kept her lip bitten as she poured in healing magic. Both of them weren't unaware of his words. Rather, they had no room to react—or more accurately, they were so concentrated that there was no gap for a response. That silence was far heavier than Raid's self-deprecating mutter. Raid gave a small, solitary bitter laugh. *** Even as time passed, the wound's contraction speed didn't increase. Lilia continued pouring in healing magic. She hadn't rested. Her trembling hands remained pressed against the wound, sweat beading on her forehead as she concentrated. Normally, with this much time and magical power, the surface should have sealed long ago. But the wound's edges closed only slowly. Aira measured that speed continuously in her mind. Output close to forbidden techniques. Resonance between scar tissue and the transfer device. When Raid first returned to combat in the ruined city in the sixteenth district, he had felt that "scorched smell of something burning away deep in the body"—something he hadn't spoken of then, but Aira had been beside him and noticed his breathing was slightly different. And now this slowness in the wound's healing connected everything in a single line. Magical power fusion—a technique designated as forbidden two hundred years ago by the Imperial Academy of Magic. By forcibly expanding the magical circuits within the body and directly synchronizing with atmospheric mana, one could achieve several times normal output, but the circuits would deteriorate in a state close to "charring." That deterioration was now manifesting externally as delayed healing. Aira swallowed that thought. Not now. She hadn't confirmed the basis. She didn't know if she should voice the words needed to confirm it in this place and time. But more than that—there was a reason closer at hand for her hand to have stopped. While touching the skin at the wound's edge, Aira knew. This was contact for the mission. Accurately assessing the wound's condition was a knight's natural action. Assisting with treatment was her duty. But. The memory of the hardness of his shoulder felt through cloth in the ruined corridor. The memory of body heat and weight felt in the transfer light. And now, this direct contact with skin. Three layers overlapped, and the organization of "professional judgment" became thin—only this time. (…This is strange. I can organize it. And yet—) Her hand almost stopped once more. She moved it again without being noticed. But she knew. Lilia continued healing throughout. She never removed her hands no matter how much time passed. Exhaustion showed on her face. Shadows gathered beneath her eyes, her breathing grew shallow. Yet she kept her trembling hands pressed against the wound, biting her lip. Raid felt it silently. The warmth transmitted from his back, the sensation of soil against his right hand, the scent of the Old Continent's cold air. *** The treatment reached a stopping point when the Old Continent's morning light had brightened slightly. The wound wasn't completely sealed. But the surface had settled. Raid stopped Lilia from exhausting herself further. Lilia placed both hands on her knees and looked down. "…If I had more strength, I could have healed it all," Lilia said, her voice almost to herself. As if speaking to convince herself. Regret and frustration seeped through. Raid reached out and gently placed his hand on Lilia's head. Lightly, just once. "You did enough," Raid said. It was a short statement. Nothing more. Lilia, still looking down, nodded slightly. Her silver short bob swayed. Aira caught that scene in the corner of her vision. The moment Raid's hand rested on Lilia's head. The moment Lilia nodded. The time she spent watching was brief. But something contracted slowly deep in her chest—a sensation where warmth and something else beyond it existed simultaneously. The weight of the fact of their return and the possibility that Raid's body had exhausted something in exchange in the Magical Continent—Aira held both of these weights in her chest at this very moment. Like something that would crumble before it could be put into words, it remained there continuously. The Old Continent's morning light faintly stained the gray clouded sky. Aira looked up at the sky once. The ridge line of the 碧峯 mountain range sank into the haze. It was the sky of the Empire's eastern regions. A familiar, unchanging sky. From here to the imperial capital Verga was twelve days by horse. To the East Corridor Fortress was four days. She had to write a mission report as deputy commander of the advance unit. She had to consider the path back. Raid's condition— Her eyes returned downward. She was looking at Raid's profile. His black short hair with white mixed in. His posture with one knee on the ground, hand pressed against soil. Beneath the sleeve of his left arm, a pale blue scar glowed faintly. The trace of magical circuits damaged by magical power fusion. Aira didn't put the meaning of that gaze into words. She tried to—and couldn't. She couldn't organize it as she usually did. That was the honest contour of Aira's emotion in this moment. In the wordless morning light, the three of them simply remained there for a while. The wound wasn't completely sealed. What the circuits had exchanged for internally, no one had yet spoken of. Yet they had returned. The three of them, to the Old Continent. For now, they quietly confirmed only that fact. Raid released his hand from the soil. He tried to stand, wavering slightly. Lilia quickly moved to his side. Aira's hand extended almost simultaneously. Both their hands touched Raid's arm at nearly the same moment. "…You don't need both of you supporting me," Raid said. "Don't speak," Aira said. "Don't talk!" Lilia said. Both spoke at once. Their voices overlapped perfectly, which seemed slightly unexpected even to them. Lilia, still looking down, moved her mouth slightly. Aira's expression didn't change, but the corners of her eyes softened just a little. Raid let out a small breath. Beneath the clouded sky, the Old Continent's morning light cast the shadows of three people on the ground. The weight of their return and the weight of something Raid's body carried continued quietly forward from here.