Torvalt was overcome with doubt.

This incident would no doubt forge a lasting connection with the Julien Mercenary Corps. Even if their paths diverged, that much would suffice. He had something to do here.

‘But why...?’

Why was he suddenly feeling this hollow?

It was as if... he’d made the wrong choice.

It felt like the place he was meant to have in the Julien Mercenary Corps had disappeared. Like he had simply been a passing encounter in their story.

No—perhaps that was true. Their first meeting hadn’t been great, and he hadn’t really shared anything meaningful with them.

So that certainty he’d felt... must’ve been nonsense. Just his heart leaning too strongly toward wanting to join them.

That’s all it was. That’s what made sense.

How could he think he was one of them after knowing them for such a short time?

And yet...

That tangled, unfamiliar feeling wouldn’t fade, and he was left unsettled.

‘No, no... I... I...’

What exactly had gone wrong?

Nothing had gone wrong. And yet the fact that he felt this way made him feel deeply strange.

Torvalt tried to trace the source of that feeling. To find a word that could capture it.

If he had to describe it...

‘...Out of sync?’

It felt like his decision had somehow altered the flow of fate.

No matter how he thought about it, that was the closest explanation.

‘Seriously? Just from that?’

He seriously began to wonder if he was losing his mind.

Why would he feel this way about people he barely knew?

‘Did I really make the wrong choice...?’

He hadn’t planned to stay in Vallscrum at all.

If he hadn’t lost Gramdir, he wouldn’t even have come back here.

His plan was to earn some travel funds and then leave for good. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

But then the Salvation Order had invaded, and he’d witnessed the Julien Mercenary Corps in action.

And at the same time, he’d seen his father fight.

If not for the Julien Mercenary Corps... his father would have died.

Because of them, he’d seen Grondal’s strength and changed his mind.

Torvalt stared blankly at Ghislain.

‘So...’

He could say it was because of the man in front of him that he had changed his course.

And that change was now producing this strange, ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) dissonant emotion.

Seeing Torvalt suddenly drift off into a daze, Ghislain asked,

“What’s with you? Why do you look like that? What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Ah—no, nothing. It’s nothing.”

Torvalt shook his head rapidly.

All these emotions and sensations—just delusions.

How could he possibly explain all the nonsense running through his head?

To think it was a “wrong choice” was absurd. Maybe he was just feeling a kind of loss because the future he originally imagined had changed.

Yeah, that had to be it.

There was no reason to be so emotional over people he’d barely known.

So Torvalt smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“I was just worried about how I’m supposed to train from now on.”

Grondal answered with a booming laugh.

“Puhaha! Don’t worry! I’ll work you hard enough to make up for everything we’ve skipped!”

Grondal wasn’t the kind to offer gentle instruction. In short, he was saying he’d train him until he dropped dead.

Torvalt shook his head. He’d said he’d do it, but knowing his father’s personality... the future looked grim.

He might die before becoming strong.

Grondal gave Ghislain a friendly elbow to the ribs and grinned.

“Feels like ever since the Julien Mercenary Corps arrived, nothing but good things have happened.”

“Haha... is that so?”

“Of course! You stopped the Salvation Order’s invasion, saved a ton of dwarves, and got my damn son to get his head on straight! All thanks to you lot!”

Ghislain smiled faintly and shook his head.

Hot-blooded and straightforward—quick to rage, quick to forgive. He kind of liked that about Grondal.

Soon Grondal, looking generous, declared,

“Alright then. As a gift, I’ll give you Gramdir!”

“...I’ll accept it with gratitude.”

“It’s a treasure of our royal family. Always make sure you’re using it for the right reasons before drawing that blade.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

The two looked at each other with smiles. They shared the kind of camaraderie that could only come from facing a powerful enemy together.

Though, of course, the thoughts behind those smiles were slightly different.

‘Tch. I really need to settle things with this bastard properly. Seems like he’s got better technique than me. Still, I’ve got more raw strength and stamina.’

‘Ugh, if I had my original body, I would’ve won. In a proper one-on-one, I’d beat him for sure.’

The two of them kept grinning as they stared each other down. Both wanted a rematch.

But not now. Only after they’d recovered, when the time was right.

Whenever that might be.

Soon Grondal shouted a grand declaration to everyone.

“Prepare the finest arms and armor for the Julien Mercenary Corps! We shall repay those who helped us!”

The dwarves nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The sudden announcement of gifts brought wide smiles to the mercenaries’ faces.

Of course it did—dwarven-made equipment held incredible value.

And if it was being offered personally by the dwarf king? That meant it wasn’t just regular dwarven gear, but the very best—of a level incomparable to what circulated in the general market.

“First, assess the damage! Once the restoration is complete, we’ll hold a feast to celebrate our victory! We must properly honor the warriors who defended this land with their blood!”

In dwarven culture, a victory banquet was a sacred tribute to warriors. No matter what, it had to be held.

All the dwarves threw themselves into repairing the battlefield and treating the wounded.

The Julien Mercenary Corps was no exception. Though few in number, their diverse skills were a great help.

After the post-battle cleanup, the Julien Mercenary Corps received their grand reward.

Dwarven-crafted weapons and armor, along with precious gemstones that could serve as travel funds.

Following Ghislain’s philosophy, most of the gear prioritized mobility—things like breastplates and weapons—but there were also many practical items like leather equipment and cloaks.

And at the victory feast... Julien and Deneb finally awoke and joined the celebration.

The moment Deneb appeared, the dwarves erupted in cheers.

“It’s the Saintess!”

“She’s the goddess’s blessing sent to us dwarves!”

“With a Saintess born, this war will surely end in our victory!”

No one could hide their joy—jubilation filled the air.

Of course, Deneb, unused to such immense praise, was red-faced the entire time.

Julien watched her with a quiet smile.

‘...Deneb.’

She had really become a Saintess. She really used divine power.

It was hard to believe—but he was proud.

Now, Ghislain and Astion’s words no longer felt like wild fantasy, but like a real, possible future.

Deneb had awakened—now she could share her ideals with the world.

She had always dreamed of using holy power to help others. The Saintess’s power was nothing short of a blessing for her.

But deep in Julien’s heart... a worry began to grow.

‘...Sacrifice.’

Ghislain had said the Saintess sacrificed herself to seal the Demonic Realm. And knowing Deneb... she really might make that choice.

He couldn’t allow that.

He had to become stronger.

‘I’ll protect you.’

Julien vowed once more.

He would never lose Deneb.

***

To Ereneth, this victory feast was something completely new—and utterly fascinating.

It was her first real festival, and the unfamiliarity quickly transformed into joy.

Though dwarves were said to dislike elves, they didn’t treat her with hostility.

They had, after all, stood side by side and risked their lives to defend Vallscrum.

Because of that, Ereneth was honored here as a warrior.

She quietly watched the crowd from a little ways off.

‘...This is fun.’

It was a feeling she had never known in the dull, colorless world of elves. A sight she had never seen.

The journey from the Elven Forest to this place had given her so much.

And she knew the journey ahead would bring even more.

Ereneth closed her eyes and smiled.

This adventure with the Julien Mercenary Corps was deeply enjoyable.

Compared to the elven lifespan, human lives were over in the blink of an eye. But that made them all the more precious.

She hoped this adventure with the Julien Mercenary Corps would last a very, very long time.

That this fleeting moment...

...might go on forever.

***

Crack!

“Guh—hrrk...”

A man in a tattered black robe collapsed to the ground.

Standing before him with a cold gaze was the High Chief of the Elves, Ereneth.

“Disgusting bastards.”

The one she had just killed was a priest of the Salvation Order.

They had lost the war and scattered across the continent—she was now hunting down those remnants with her fellow elves.

Ereneth surveyed the area.

Dozens of corpses lay sprawled across the ground. All slain by her hand.

More of the Salvation Order’s remnants had survived than she expected.

Though they had been crushed by Duke Fenris, they had once operated covertly across the entire continent. Their roots reached into nearly every kingdom—their numbers were not small.

Now, everyone understood how dangerous they truly were.

Every kingdom had launched relentless pursuit and purges. But like cockroaches, there were far too many hiding in the shadows.

Ereneth muttered wearily.

“Not a single one can be left alive.”

They had sealed the Demonic Realm. She’d believed that was the end of everything.

Even if the Adversary were to resurrect, she thought they could stop him alone.

But things had not unfolded as she had expected.

The Salvation Order clung to life, and in the end, they triggered yet another war.

Even without the Demonic Realm, they reopened Rifts—and summoned monsters trapped in dimensional cracks.

At this rate, the hard-fought effort of sealing the Demonic Realm would be meaningless.

Yes, the situation was better than a thousand years ago, but if they let their guard down, humanity would fall again.

‘I won’t let that happen.’

They had won that war through immense sacrifice and hardship. That tragedy could not be allowed to repeat.

The only silver lining was the emergence of a formidable figure: Duke Fenris, who had annihilated the Salvation Order’s core forces.

He was powerful enough to stand alongside the heroes of a thousand years ago.

Not just his strength—but his boldness, decisiveness, utter lack of mercy, and superior tactics and strategy.

It was truly fortunate that someone like him existed in this era. Even a millennium ago, such individuals were rare.

Still, it was a bit uncomfortable how often he tried to pry into her past.

‘It’s meaningless, Duke Fenris.’

What use was there in uncovering the past?

It had already happened. It was already over.

They had won the war a thousand years ago. The Demonic Realm was sealed, and humanity had reclaimed peace.

That was all that mattered.

The same held true for this era.

‘All that’s left is to kill every last remnant.’

Only then would it truly be over.

The Salvation Order would never rise again, and humanity would live in peace forever.

‘And the elves and dwarves will finally be free.’

Thanks to Duke Fenris, who held the greatest power on the continent, even that goal was slowly becoming reality.

Everything was flowing as it should. As long as Duke Fenris didn’t entertain unnecessary thoughts.

There was already an answer sheet—no need to complicate things with other ideas.

The eradication of the Salvation Order.

That was the best and only way to save the world.

Flap.

Ereneth pulled her hood over her face.

She spread spirits in all directions, continuing her pursuit of the Salvation Order’s remnants.

Wandering the land wasn’t hard. She had traveled the continent before, with her friends.

‘Yes... back then...’

The Julien Mercenary Corps.

She had met her friends there. She had joined them, fought by their side.

They’d been mere novices then—but they endured countless trials and eventually stood at the center of the Great War.

It was no exaggeration to say that the victory of that ancient war was thanks to the Julien Mercenary Corps.

Ereneth took great pride in having once belonged to them.

She walked with her eyes closed.

Faces of long-lost friends flashed through her mind.

Faces she missed. Faces she longed to see again.

For the first time in a long while, she recalled them one by one.

And then, she suddenly stopped.

‘Astion...’

The great 9th-Circle mage.

A genius who led and supported the growth of the Julien Mercenary Corps.

With his somewhat cute face, he was quite popular with women—but strangely, he himself never showed much interest in them.

It was understandable. Astion had far too much on his plate.

There were even rumors that his mind had been fractured by the spirits that possessed him.

Ereneth still didn’t know whether that was true—but in reality, Astion was always exhausted, sensitive, and razor-sharp.

People often said the most distinctive thing about him was the dark circles under his eyes.

Because of that, he gained an odd sort of “decadent” charm that attracted even more attention.

In any case, thinking of Astion now, Ereneth felt something was off.

‘Why?’

She had recalled the faces of her old friends countless times over the years. So why was Astion suddenly the only one occupying her mind?

A strange sensation crept in, and Ereneth furrowed her brow.

‘Again...’

She pressed her fingers to her temple. The same headache as last time began to build.

It made no sense. She had surpassed even superhuman limits—yet she still suffered from headaches?

There had to be a reason. The fact that this happened when thinking of Astion meant it was clearly related.

‘Astion... Astion...’

Ereneth dug through her memories.

And again, something felt strange.

Events that used to come to mind clearly... now felt slightly blurred.

Still, she refused to give up and kept searching her memories.

‘Astion...’

Was she forgetting something? Or was there another reason?

She gritted her teeth against the pain and tried harder to recall what had happened with Astion.

Then a question suddenly surfaced.

‘Astion... was that really his name?’

Astion was Astion. That’s what they always called him.

Yet suddenly, it felt awkward on her tongue.

‘How... did I used to call him?’

Did he have another name? A nickname?

Why—why now?

Why did his name feel so unfamiliar all of a sudden?

The name of a friend she had shared centuries with.

‘Astion...!’

Thunk.

In that moment, something cracked loose in her mind and fell away.

Ereneth’s eyes shot open.

And then, in a trembling voice filled with disbelief, she whispered:

“...Ghislain.”