Ulrich held Ceres tight against his chest as his back slammed into the rushing water below.

The icy current instantly engulfed them both. For a disagreeable moment, as the dark water swallowed him whole, a phantom sensation seized Ulrich’s body. It was the echoing memory of the Blue Scar. The agony he had endured that day, the sensation of his flesh swelling and nearly every bone in his body snapping like dry twigs, was not easily forgotten. It was an invisible trauma, a phantom pain that immediately flared up, trying to paralyze his limbs beneath the surface.

He refused to let it take hold. Gritting his teeth, Ulrich forcefully shoved the traumatic memory to the back of his mind and kicked his legs, powering through the water until they breached the surface.

Pressed against him, Ceres instantly spat out a mouthful of river water, gasping and hacking strongly for air. Ulrich scanned the surroundings, spotting a muddy riverbank just a dozen meters away. Ignoring the dragging weight of his soaked clothes, he swam swiftly toward the shore. Once his boots found solid earth, he waded out of the water, lifting Ceres by the waist and dropping her onto the grassy bank.

Ceres collapsed onto her hands and knees in the dirt, coughing up more water as her soaked hair clung to her face. Panic set in instantly. She wildly raised her head, scanning the rushing river.

"Grandpa!! Grandpa!!" She shrieked.

"Shut up and stay here," Ulrich snapped to her. She was being too loud for a monster den.

Startled into silence, Ceres watched as Ulrich turned his back on her and waded calmly back into the river. He waded out until the current reached his knees, then plunged his bare hand deep into the water. His fingers closed tightly around the fabric of a tunic. Then he yanked her grandfather out of the depths.

"Coughhh!! Coughh!"

"Grandpaa!!" Ceres cried out in relief, seeing the old man alive and hacking up river water.

It was an objectively bizarre sight. Her grandfather was a tall, built man, yet this slightly shorter, aristocratic stranger was casually lifting him with a single hand. Ulrich didn’t offer the old man a chance to catch his breath. He simply turned and waded back to shore, dragging him by his clothes as if he were lugging a cheap sack of cement. The old man hung limply in the air in a reverse V-shape, gagging and sputtering the entire way.

Upon reaching the bank, Ulrich unceremoniously let go. The old man let out a strained grunt of pain as he slammed face-first into the muddy dirt.

"Grandpa!!" Ceres scrambled over to him on her knees, crying profusely as she grabbed his good arm.

"I—I am fine, Ceres... don’t cry," the old man wheezed, managing to push himself up into a seated position. He wiped a hand across his face, trying to recover his breath.

"B—But... Grandpa..." Ceres sniffed, wiping away the tears that showed no sign of stopping.

The old man looked at her with fondness, wrapping his good arm around her trembling shoulders and pulling her into a gentle hug. As she sobbed into his chest, his gaze shifted toward their savior.

Ulrich was standing a few feet away, having discarded his waterlogged hat to reveal a mess of dark hair, a shade as deep and rich as spilled wine. He was currently wringing the freezing river water from his overcoat. The longer the old man stared, the more suspicious his gaze became. The man had, without doubt, saved their lives twice now, but everything about his demeanor screamed wariness. Even his clothing, which was clearly designed to look inconspicuous, was woven from fabrics too fine and costly for a common Hunter. This man was definitely from high-ranking nobility, and that clearly didn’t put him in relief.

The old man swallowed his rising suspicions and bowed his head slightly. "I thank you for saving my life," he said, gratitude slipping through his guarded tone. He knew well enough that without his intervention, both he and Ceres would be tearing apart at the bottom of the ravine.

Ulrich merely cast a sideways glance at him in response. The oldman opened his mouth to press further, but whatever question he intended to ask was interrupted by a wet, hacking cough. Dark blood spattered against the grass.

"Grandpa!" Ceres cried out, clutching his good arm as his knees buckled.

The color had completely drained from his weathered face. Ulrich stared at the hunched figure calmly. Assessing the old man’s ashen complexion, the sweat clinging to his brow, and the sickly purplish tint creeping along his lips, the diagnosis was obvious. Poison. Contracting a venom in a high-grade beast den was a standard occupational hazard. Still, combined with his severe blood loss and fractured ribs, the man was rapidly approaching his physical limit.

"If you wish to live, follow me," Ulrich said simply. Without waiting to see if they complied, he turned and began walking away.

Ceres looked from the retreating noble to her grandfather. "Grandpa..."

In response, the old man fixed his weary gaze on Ulrich’s fading silhouette. Gritting his teeth against the searing pain in his chest, he forced himself upright. Ceres immediately wedged herself under his uninjured arm, her small frame straining awkwardly to support his weight. With monsters prowling the woods and venom coursing through his veins, they had no choice but to follow Ulrich.

Ulrich led them away from the exposed riverbank. Lingering in an open clearing after causing so much commotion was an invitation for an ambush. He guided them back beneath the suffocating canopy of an older, denser portion of the forest, navigating the treacherous terrain with ease.

Ceres trailed behind him fearfully, her amber and green eyes darting at every snapped twig and rustling leaf. Suddenly, she flinched, her head snapping to the left.

"A beast!"

A shadowed, feline mutation burst from the thick underbrush. Moving with terrifying agility, it launched itself straight toward the injured pair. Ceres squeezed her eyes shut, but the impact never came.

Instead, a sharp, metallic ring echoed through the trees. Ulrich had drawn his blade with blinding speed. A single arc of steel flashed through the gloom, meeting the monster in mid-air. The creature was severed neatly in two, the separate halves hitting the forest floor with a dull, wet thud.

Ceres opened her eyes, staring in speechless shock. Ulrich didn’t even spare the carcass a glance. He casually flicked the dark blood from his blade, slid the sword back into its scabbard, and continued marching forward without breaking his stride.

The exhausting trek lasted perhaps ten minutes before the dense underbrush finally gave way to a modest, man-made clearing. A circle of weathered logs surrounded the charred, ashen remains of a campfire, a temporary shelter likely carved out by generations of passing Hunters. It was a defensible, practical spot to rest, making it the perfect place for Ulrich to halt their march.

Without a word, Ulrich extended the tip of his sword toward the dead ashes. A delicate, glowing sequence of crimson runes materialized around the steel, instantly igniting the damp wood into a warm, crackling blaze. Ceres watched in silent awe. Despite the circumstances and her mounting panic, she had never seen spellcraft so fluid and breathtakingly beautiful.

"Put him down," Ulrich said, his voice instantly snapping her trance.

Ceres quickly lowered her grandfather to the grass, resting his head against the base of a log. "H—He needs treatment," she pleaded, looking up at Ulrich with expectant eyes. "He’s been poisoned..."

Ulrich didn’t even spare her a glance. He was already moving around the perimeter of the clearing, his fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air to erect a localized network of defensive barriers and alarm wards. Left entirely without a choice, Ceres remained on her knees in the dirt, her fists clenched tightly in her lap as she watched her grandfather’s pained, shallow breathing.

Once the perimeter was secure, Ulrich finally turned back toward them and raised his right hand. A silver ring on his index finger pulsed with a faint light as he channeled a fraction of his mana. A split second later, a glass vial filled with a shimmering blue liquid materialized directly into his palm.

Ceres’s breath caught, her heterochromic eyes widening in shock. A Storage Ring. It was an artifact of staggering rarity, an enchanted luxury that cost tens of thousands of gold coins just for a few feet of spatial capacity. If she had harbored any lingering doubts about this stranger’s aristocratic origins, the artifact eradicated them completely.

With a careless flick of his wrist, Ulrich tossed the vial to her. Ceres fumbled but managed to catch the glass before it hit the dirt.

"Make him drink it," Ulrich ordered, casually taking a seat on one of the dry logs across the fire.

Ceres hesitated for only a fraction of a second before nodding. She popped the cork and leaned over the old man. "Grandpa, drink," she whispered, carefully pressing the rim against his pale lips. Her grandfather, already half-unconscious and delirious from the poison, reflexively swallowed the bitter liquid.

Once he had drained the last blue drop, Ceres lowered the vial and turned back toward Ulrich, her mouth opening to offer a flood of tearful gratitude.

Ulrich spoke first, raising his calm stare. "What is an Elf doing here?"

Ceres’s body stiffened. The blood drained from her face, leaving her as pale as her grandfather. In a blind panic, her hands flew to the sides of her head, her fingers brushing against her own skin.

The elongated, pointed tips of her ears were completely exposed.