Following the desperate struggle at the Cave of Falling Shadows—and the suppression of an unprecedented Parade led by two Orc Kings—we began our journey back to the country of swords alongside the Asterion Knight Order.
Our immediate goal was to meet with Bradley. He was currently being sheltered by Orgos, the King of Asterion and Commander of its Knight Order. From a secluded room within the royal palace, Bradley continued to coordinate with external allies, desperately seeking an opportunity to rebuild and halt the total collapse of the Imuris Kingdom.
Despite the weight of our mission, the atmosphere inside the carriage was remarkably serene.
The rhythmic rattling of the wheels against the dirt was oddly soothing. The breeze drifting through the open window carried the crisp, verdant scent of the grasslands, leaving not a trace of the battlefield’s lingering iron and blood.
"Zzz... Zzz..."
Perhaps it was the sudden release of tension after the fight. Neneva, sitting beside me, was lost in a deep sleep.
As she surrendered herself to the swaying of the carriage, her slender frame gradually tilted toward me. Eventually, her head came to rest against my shoulder with a soft thud. I could smell the faint, sweet scent of hair oil drifting from her silver locks, and I felt her tangible warmth and weight against my arm.
The tranquility was so profound that our recent brush with death felt like nothing more than a cruel, distant joke.
"...I wonder what will become of Lady Neneva," Garon murmured from the opposite seat.
He watched her sleep, his expression clouded by an anxiety that ran deeper than his gratitude. Neneva was no longer just a girl; she was a Saint who could manifest miracles far beyond human limits. Having nearly died from an Orc King's blow only to be returned to perfect health, Garon understood the sheer weight of that power better than anyone.
There was no way to keep such a gift hidden. People living in constant fear of Evil Beings would surely flock to her, desperate for salvation. The quiet life she once knew was likely gone forever.
"I think Neneva will be fine," I replied in a low voice, careful not to disturb her. "She won't let herself be used by others. She’ll wield that power of her own volition. She has the resolve and the strength for it."
"...I suppose you’re right." Garon ducked his head slightly, appearing a bit embarrassed by his own fretting.
Outside, the Asterion Grasslands stretched toward the horizon. Great waves of green swayed whenever the wind gusted. As I watched the landscape roll by, my own eyelids grew heavy. The warmth of Neneva’s weight against my shoulder seemed to lull my consciousness away.
"Zzz..."
In that hazy space between waking and sleep, I couldn't tell if the soft breathing in my ear was hers or my own. I finally let my eyes drift shut.
At the head of the column rode Orgos, Commander of the Asterion Knight Order.
Mounted atop a massive black stallion that suited his superhuman physique, he looked every bit the conquering hero as he held the reins. However, his expression was unexpectedly grim. Rather than reveling in the victory, he maintained a sharp, high-strung intensity, as if he were riding back into the jaws of death.
The Captain, his close aide riding alongside him, finally couldn't help but speak up.
"Commander, is something wrong? We’ve achieved a historic victory, yet you look as though you’ve seen a ghost."
Startled, Orgos realized he had been gripping the reins with white-knuckled intensity. He forced his fingers to relax, massaged the bridge of his nose, and exhaled a long, heavy breath.
"...I was simply ruminating on the fight with the Orc Kings."
"That’s understandable. In all my years of service, I’ve never seen you pushed so hard."
A deep furrow appeared between Orgos’s brows. The Captain shrugged, wondering if he’d overstepped.
"Still, the Saint’s power was enough to make my blood run cold," the Captain continued, trying to lighten the mood. "To think she could dispatch those Orc Kings in a single strike."
The Captain’s attempt at levity fell flat. Orgos’s reaction was delayed, and when he finally looked over, his eyes burned with a sharp, piercing light.
"Tell me... do you truly think that was Neneva's power alone?"
"Sir? What do you mean?" The Captain tilted his head, confused.
"To my eyes, it looked as though that man, Walt, amplified the Saint's power several times over. The light that fell from the heavens was one thing, but the Sword of Light Walt manifested in his hand... that was something else entirely. It felt far denser, carrying an overwhelming sense of divine majesty."
Orgos looked toward the horizon. The image was burned into his mind: a flash of pure white that severed everything in its path, and the man standing at the center of it. In 그 moment, Orgos had sensed a "something" from Walt that surpassed even his own strength.
"Are you suggesting Walt is more than just a mere attendant?"
"Indeed. I find it hard to believe a common Swordsman could achieve such a feat."
The Captain fell into a contemplative silence. "Then, Commander, do you suspect he’s falsifying his Job? Perhaps he’s actually a high-ranking Magic Swordsman?"
"No, that isn't it. His actual swordplay was mediocre at best."
"Then what are you saying...?"
Orgos stared straight ahead, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
"Since ancient times, it is said there are omens that follow those destined to receive a 'Special Job' chosen by the world. Glimpses of their true potential can manifest even before they undergo the ritual."
"...You can't mean..."
"Yes. Walt may truly transform once he undergoes his next Rite of Job Change."
Orgos said no more.
In the distance, past the rolling green of the grasslands, the Asterion Citadel began to rise from the earth, its sword-shaped spires cutting a majestic silhouette against the sky.