Three days had passed since obtaining the Mark. Leon gently clenched his left hand. Even through the fabric of his glove, he could feel the emblem radiating warmth. As if a small furnace had been embedded beneath his skin. (Control, huh. It won't be that simple.) Last night too, the Mark had nearly gone berserk while he slept. His pillow had been scorched. A trivial thing, but it sent chills down his spine. The joy of recovering his power and the fear of not being able to control it existed in constant opposition. The bulletin board of the Adventurer's Guild "Beacon of the Road," Lostclare branch, was covered with request cards again this morning. Leon's eyes traced through them one by one. Skeletal soldier extermination, Silver-rank. Shadow moth observation survey, Iron-rank. Medicinal herb gathering, Bronze-rank— His gaze stopped at "Bat Extermination in the Abandoned Mine." Iron-rank. Reward: 15 Gilza. Difficult alone, but manageable with one or two partners. It would serve as practice to wield his power while maintaining control—or perhaps without using it at all. Just as he reached out to pull the card— "That request interests me as well." A cool voice descended from directly beside him. Leon turned around. Standing there was—a fairy. Emerald green hair, long and flowing, fell softly across her shoulders. The wavy strands caught the morning light streaming through the window, shimmering with a bluish-green hue. Her eyes were pale purple. The vertically-slit pupils characteristic of the fairy race observed Leon quietly. A thin silver line ran down her left cheek. A tattoo-like pattern. It spoke volumes about her origins. She was a head shorter than Leon. A slender sword hung at her waist. Her equipment was light, but her posture held no wasted motion. There was a quietness about her—the kind that came from living a long time. Or perhaps it was better described as an air of vigilance. "Would you consider a joint request?" Her tone was polite, but the question was phrased as a declaration. There was no room for refusal. "Uh, well—" Before Leon could finish, another person cut in. "Oh, that sounds fun. Mind if I join?" The voice was sweet. The scent of fragrant wood brushed past his nose. Mahogany-colored hair, lustrous and long. The waves caught the light with each movement. Amber eyes narrowed into a provocative triangle, forming a teasing smile. A small beauty mark at the corner of her lips, which became more pronounced whenever she smiled. She was about average height between the other two. Her equipment was light, but several small bottles lined the leather pouch at her waist. A mage's tools. Her fingertips moved unconsciously as he watched—light, elegant, with a distinctive habit. The three of them regarded each other in silence. A moment of assessment—or perhaps wariness—hung in the air amid the guild's bustle. "...Well, shall we sit down and talk?" Leon said this with a tired expression. --- The tavern "Sooty Lantern" was located next to the guild. At this early hour, there were few customers, and the three claimed a corner table. Golt Hagen silently brought three ales. The one-armed former adventurer glanced at the odd combination of three and left without comment. It was the philosophy of a man who had run a tavern for many years—to refrain from unnecessary words. The woman with emerald green hair spread out the request form. "First, introductions. I am Luna. A swordswoman of the fairy race." Brief and concise. She seemed to have no intention of explaining further. Her fingertips trembled slightly at the edge of the table. The mahogany-haired woman smiled while tilting her cup. "Sheryl. A mage. Details can come later, I suppose." "...Leon. Former adventurer, currently Bronze-rank." "Former?" Luna's pale purple eyes fixed on Leon. "Various circumstances." Sheryl laughed softly. There was depth to that laughter—as if she knew something, or was trying to know something. Luna returned her gaze to the request form and began speaking with a serious expression. "Regarding this bat extermination in the abandoned mine—these bats are not ordinary monsters. They have seriously wounded three mine workers. Some of them have wives and children. We should exterminate them as soon as possible so they can work safely." Her words carried weight. Her sincerity came through not just in her tone, but in the forward lean of her body. Sheryl set down her cup and smiled softly. "Justice, huh..." "...Is there a problem?" "For me, as long as I get paid, the motivation doesn't matter. Justice, evil, someone's life—money is equally money." Luna's eyebrow twitched. The trembling of her fingertips stopped. "...I must say, I am reluctant to work with someone of your mindset." "Oh, I'd rather not be lectured by someone so rigid." "What is wrong with having a sense of justice?" "Nothing wrong with it. It's just that idealism won't fill your stomach." Leon took a sip of his ale. This is going to take a while. He realized this after hearing their first exchange. "Come now, you two. Isn't the goal the same? Defeat the bat, that's all." "I cannot work with someone lacking a sense of justice. There is a possibility they would abandon their comrades in a crisis." "Abandon them? That's harsh. I'm just saying I approach work pragmatically." "That pragmatism leads to disregarding your comrades' lives." "It's fine to speak of noble things, but nobility alone won't close wounds, will it?" "..." "..." Their gazes clashed across the table. A few adventurers sitting in the corner of the shop glanced over. Stifled laughter drifted over. Leon placed his hand on his forehead. (How many times am I going to mediate this...) "Both of you, listen for a moment." "What is it? / What?" Their voices overlapped. They glared at each other again. Leon spoke quietly but clearly. "Luna. Your sense of justice is genuine. I can see that. But Sheryl is right—pragmatism sometimes saves lives. Sheryl. Your realism isn't wrong either. But attempting a dungeon-type request with three people who don't trust each other is dangerous. If you don't understand each other's movements, none of you will make it back." Silence. Luna's lips pressed together slightly. Sheryl tapped the table with her fingertip. —An hour later. In that hour, the two argued six more times. Over the route into the abandoned mine. Over role assignments. Over emergency retreat conditions. Over reward distribution. And for some reason, over bat ecology. When they started arguing about bat ecology, Leon quietly closed his eyes. The surrounding adventurers no longer bothered to hide their laughter. Golt could be seen behind the counter, smiling wryly to himself. "Alright! Equal three-way split on the reward, north entrance for the route, and Luna's proposal for retreat conditions. We're agreed on this, right, both of you?" Luna let out a small breath. "...Agreed." Sheryl tilted her cup. "Fine by me." "Good." Leon drained his ale in one go. As he set down the empty cup, he noticed Sheryl's gaze directed at his left hand. "Hey." "What?" "That hand." Sheryl's amber eyes, sharp and narrow, were fixed on the back of Leon's gloved left hand. Despite the glove, her gaze seemed to see right through it. "Anything changed recently?" Leon composed his expression into one of indifference. Casually, he withdrew his left hand beneath the table. "Nothing in particular." "Hmm..." Sheryl laughed. But this laugh carried a different quality than her earlier playful ones. "Well, everyone has secrets. I'm not trying to pry." "...It is improper to inquire into others' secrets." Luna said this quietly and coldly. "It's not prying, it's confirmation. Understanding your partner's condition is necessary for completing the request, isn't it?" "That is sophistry." "Are we starting again?" Leon stood up. The scrape of his chair against the floor cut short their budding argument. "Tomorrow morning, gather in front of the guild. We depart before the sun is fully up." The two fell silent for a moment. "...Understood." "Got it." The three left the tavern in an awkward atmosphere. --- Night had fallen. The city of Lostclare grew quiet. The market's bustle faded, and in the distance, a dog's bark sounded once, twice. Moonlight lay thin across the stone pavement, making the ground beneath their feet glow faintly white. Leon walked aimlessly through the outskirts of the city. The Mark pulsed quietly. It felt slightly more peaceful than during the day. Perhaps the cool night air was absorbing the heat from his skin. (Sheryl, huh.) He recalled her gaze. Those eyes weren't mere curiosity. She knew something and was trying to confirm it—that's what those eyes said. Who was she? Why was she here? She said it was for the reward, but it felt like there was more to it. On the outskirts of the city stood a small hill. There was a figure there. Emerald green hair swayed gently in the night breeze. Luna. She sat on a rock, gazing up at the starry sky. Leon hesitated briefly, then approached. "Can't sleep?" Luna turned. She showed no surprise. The long-lived races were said to be skilled at reading presence. "I simply felt like looking at the stars." Leon sat on a nearby rock, leaving a space for one person between them. The sky was full of stars. On the outskirts where the city's light was sparse, nights like this were a luxury. The ridge of the Ash Peak Mountains floated black against the starry sky. For a while, neither spoke. Luna broke the silence first. "The fairy race is long-lived. I have... said goodbye to human lifespans many times." Her voice was quiet. Completely different from the tense tone she'd used in the tavern. "So I thought I was accustomed to loneliness. But being accustomed and being unaffected are different things, aren't they?" Her pale purple eyes reflected the starlight. The silver pattern on her left cheek glimmered faintly in the moonlight. Her fingertips trembled slightly on her thigh—her usual habit. Leon rested his elbow on his knee and looked up at the stars. "I'm in a similar situation." "...?" "After losing my magic power, people gradually distanced themselves. Out of pity or disappointment. Either way, fewer people came near me." Luna looked at Leon. Not assessing, but measuring something. "That must have been painful." "You don't need to sympathize." "It is not sympathy. I simply... find it easy to understand." Leon was slightly surprised. Luna continued. "Even if I make human friends, I will only see them off. Again and again. So I hesitate to draw close. The reason is opposite to yours, but the result is the same—the number of people nearby decreases." The night breeze passed between them. Luna's green hair fluttered up, then settled back down. For that brief moment, Leon sensed age in her profile. She looked twenty-three, but her eyes held something far longer. Leon felt warmth bloom in his chest. Not quite empathy—more like... sharing. "You," Luna said, "might be someone I can trust." The words were quiet. Leon said nothing. He didn't know what to say. But that was fine. There are kinds of warmth in this world that don't need to be put into words. The two watched the stars for a while. --- Second floor of the inn. Sheryl leaned against the window, looking outside. On the hill, two figures were visible. At a distance, gazing at the stars. Leon and the emerald-haired fairy swordswoman. (They're getting along quickly, aren't they.) A smile played at her lips. But Sheryl's gaze was fixed on Leon's left hand. In the moonlight, beneath the fabric of his glove—it seemed to glow faintly. A pattern. That emblem. (Just as I thought.) Sheryl's fingertip tapped lightly against the window frame. (That's no ordinary magic. The "Mark of Sacrifice"—Immortatio Signa, as the old texts call it. An ancient forbidden ritual. A contract where the