Several days had passed since then——or rather, Lira's sense of dates had become hazy. Every evening, she climbed the mountain path. She knocked on Kael's cottage door. A brief silence. The door opened. She was not turned away. That alone was more than enough of an achievement for her. Kael said nothing. He did not tell her to stay away. He simply sat in a chair and gazed out the window. Lira spoke, and Kael remained silent. Lira searched for her next words and spoke again. The pattern repeated. Not so much a wall as stone. No matter how much you struck it, the sound never changed——a thick stone wall. And yet, Lira noticed. Kael did not stand. He did not close the door. Though he seemed to look out the window, his gaze would occasionally drift toward Lira——for just a moment, truly just a moment, then quietly return. A small tremor that almost no one would notice. (What is that. It's not rejection. But it's not acceptance either. ……Then what?) Unable to find an answer, Lira descended the mountain path once more that day. During the day, there was the hot spring. A communal bath drawn from the edge of the Misty Hermitage hot spring——a small stone bathhouse. The smell of sulfur hung thick in the air, and the water's surface was clouded white. The hot spring born from the geothermal heat of the Fang of Ice mountain range was said to have the effect of slightly recovering the soul veins——the pathways through which life force flowed. The warmth gradually unknotted the exhaustion of dark magic accumulated in the body. Lira submerged her left arm into the water and unwound the cloth. Black patterns wavered on the water's surface. The Dark Bloodline Surveillance Decree——a law enacted roughly eighty years ago. Those with dark magic bloodlines were designated as "subjects requiring surveillance," and discovery meant imprisonment. Lira had borne this pattern since birth. It was not carved into her because she had committed a crime. She was simply born. That was all. She withdrew a fragment of obsidian from inside her robe. A keepsake from her master, Arna. When she submerged it in the water, it felt cold at first, then gradually warmed. (Kael's profile) She had not meant to picture it. But it appeared. His deep green eyes turned toward the window. Short hair mixed with silver-white and black. The curse mark on his right arm——a pattern of curse carved in exchange for the purge of Ashfield twenty-five years ago. Lira gripped the fragment tightly. (This is for the kingdom. That person's power is necessary, and that's why I go. That's all.) Even as she thought this, her chest stirred. The stirring would not settle. Something coming from deeper within, separate from the heat of the hot spring, warmed the area around her ribs with a slow burn. Lira already dimly understood that it contained something other than pure sense of duty. Because she understood, she stopped thinking about it. --- That night, Lira entered the hot spring later than usual. Bruna had said "there aren't many guests tonight," so she thought she could soak leisurely. Alone in the stone bathhouse, sitting in the steam, she gazed at the stains on the ceiling. The sound of the door opening came. When she turned around, Kael was standing there. Lira instinctively placed her right hand over her left arm to hide the pattern——but the pattern was submerged in the water. Kael glanced at Lira once, then quietly lowered himself into the bath at the opposite side of the bathhouse, maintaining maximum distance. She was startled, or rather, Lira forgot how to breathe. Kael had never asked for anything from her except when she came to him. Yet tonight, in a place like this—— Lira remained silent. She tried to say something, but words would not come. Kael was also silent. Only the faint sound of the water and the smell of sulfur filled the space. How long the silence lasted, she could not say. Kael opened his mouth. "Have you ever heard the story of Ashfield?" Lira did not move. "……The purge of Ashfield, you mean?" "Twenty-five years ago. A battle where I led several thousand soldiers to subjugate the eastern barbarians." His voice was matter-of-fact. Dry, as if emotion had been pressed down and sealed away. Moonlight streamed through the skylight, faintly illuminating the water's surface in white. That light fell upon Kael's profile. "Militarily, it was a victory." A brief silence. "There were settlements within the combat zone. Multiple ones. Civilians were caught up in it." Lira said nothing. Could not say anything. "I still don't know the exact numbers. In the fog of battle, we couldn't keep track. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say we didn't try to." His right arm's curse mark lay quietly against his skin in the moonlight. Kael was looking at it. Or rather, his gaze was simply directed there. Eyes that could neither look nor turn away, holding something within them. "I received this at the end of the war. The cause is unknown. Perhaps someone's curse, or perhaps something else. It aches every night. It gradually erodes the soul veins. By the time I could no longer swing a sword, it felt like punishment. Now, it simply exists." In the water, Lira gently placed her right hand over the pattern on her left arm. (It felt like punishment) Those words pulled something from deep within her chest. The Dark Bloodline Surveillance Decree. She had not committed a crime. She was simply born. Born with the bloodline. That alone made her a subject requiring surveillance, forced to hide, to flee, to lose Master Arna, to keep running alone for nineteen years. Not a crime. Not a punishment. Yet the world treated it as if it were—— Kael's crime was heavier. Innocent people had died. He had commanded them. It was different from Lira. Different, but—— (The weight is similar) The shape of the sin was different, but the weight of what they dragged behind them was——somehow similar. That resonance overflowed from deep within her chest, and Lira gazed at the moon reflected on the water's surface. White, round, trembling. (The last time someone's words resonated through my body like this——) It had never happened before. Not even Master Arna's words had resonated this way. Her admiration for Arna was a feeling of reverence, of looking up. This was different. More horizontal. Standing beside someone, confirming the same weight—— (No. That's wrong. That's not it.) Lira remained silent, said nothing. But her eyes could not help but turn toward Kael's profile. --- After leaving the bath, the two walked side by side along Hilde's stone pavement. There were no words. They were not needed, or rather, words would have intruded upon this kind of silence. The moon was out. The ridgeline of the Fang of Ice mountain range was illuminated white by moonlight. The sulfur steam from the hot spring dissolved into the night air, slightly refracting the light. In that hazy glow, Kael's profile appeared soft——just slightly, just slightly, as if the harshness had eased from his expression. Lira closed the distance by half a step. It was not conscious. Her body moved naturally. The interval between them as they walked narrowed by half a step. Kael's sleeve came into view. The sleeve of his right arm. Beneath it lay the curse mark. Her hand——extended. Lira realized her fingertips were moving only after they had begun. A few centimeters remained before touching the fabric. If she touched it, perhaps she could ease the pain of the curse mark just as she had that night. But it was more than that——she simply wanted to touch. Her fingertips withdrew. The cold of the stone pavement transmitted from beneath her feet. Lira placed her withdrawn hand over her own left arm. Over the pattern beneath the cloth. (You must not harbor desire. You came here on a mission. This person's power is necessary, and for the kingdom——) But her hand extended. That was fact. Not the calculation of duty, but drawn by a gravity that lay before all such considerations, her hand moved. Kael did not stop walking. He continued forward at the same pace, facing ahead. Whether he had noticed Lira's hand withdraw or not——his profile said nothing. A scream echoed. From the edge of the village, a woman's voice. Short, sharp, then cut off. Lira and Kael broke into a run simultaneously. The stone pavement ended, and the path became earth. At the area where ancient boundary stones stood marking the village's edge, two elderly people stood trembling, pointing at the ground. Kael moved in front of them, and Lira took position at his side. At the base of the boundary stone, there was a black scorch mark. Rather than a scorch mark——it was the trace left when soul veins burned. Lira could tell. The faint mark left on the ground when corpse-ring soldiers binding the lingering spirits of the dead passed through. Along with it, a fragment of metal lay scattered. A triangular crest. A design imitating flames. The Ash Pilgrimage Brigade——the curse-magic battalion led by Darius. Their mark. "Reconnaissance traces." He spoke quietly and briefly. Bruna appeared at the inn's doorway, took in the situation at a glance, and immediately began calling the children inside. A former mercenary's judgment was swift. Leaving the elderly to Bruna, Kael turned on his heel. Lira followed. Not toward the corridor to the inn, but toward Kael's room. The sound of a door opening. Lira did not stop, continuing after him. Inside the room, Kael walked toward the wall. He took up a sword leaning there——an old sword with rust blooming upon it——and held it in both hands. He closed his eyes. Lira watched the motion. It was quiet. Not the quiet before a storm, but the quiet after one. Something accumulated over long years, breathing life once more in this moment through the form of a sword——that kind of quiet. The Thousand-Soldier Sword Saint awakening from slumber, in the silence of solitude. Lira asked nothing. There were countless things she wanted to ask. What moved you. Was tonight's conversation in the hot spring connected. Or did your body move first the moment you saw the reconnaissance traces. She swallowed it all and followed. --- The forest's edge was dark. Moonlight filtered through gaps in the trees, creating white spots on the ground. The air was cold. The night wind descending from the Fang of Ice mountain range rustled the leaves as it passed. There were three shadows. Two corpse-ring soldiers with semi-transparent outlines. Behind them, one living soldier——black patterns running across his entire body as proof of curse-magic enhancement, a reconnaissance soldier of the Ash Pilgrimage Brigade. Kael stepped forward. The rusted sword was quietly raised in the moonlight. Lira unwound the cloth on her left arm. The air temperature dropped. The surrounding heat was drawn away and vanished. The moisture on the stone pavement froze silently. Shadows stretched——spreading unnaturally in multiple directions, ignoring the light source, a visual effect unique to dark magic. The pattern on her left arm glowed black. One of the corpse-ring soldiers extended its arm toward Lira. In that instant, Kael's sword traced an arc. Despite the rusted blade, the movement held no hesitation. The sword technique carved into the skeleton by accumulated years——the body's memory of a man who had commanded a thousand soldiers. The corpse-ring soldier's arm scattered, and Lira's dark magic severed the binding of the soul veins. The semi-transparent outline faded, and the lingering spirit of the dead was released. Dissipation. ——They meshed. Both felt it at the same time. In the instant Lira's dark magic severed the binding of the soul veins, Kael's sword reaped the gap. The second one fell the same way. As if each compensated for the other's absence, their movements overlapped without intention. The reconnaissance soldier unleashed curse-magic. A black torrent raced across the