He didn’t remember it now, but in truth, Anze had met Wolka once when they were children.
Though their conversation had been brief, they had shared their names. In fact, the nickname "Anze" was a gift from Wolka himself during that encounter.
One might think him heartless for forgetting her after giving her a nickname. However, it was perhaps unavoidable. Back then, Anze had hidden her face and kept her hair short; her personality, too, had been quite timid. It would be more unusual if he could look at the woman she was today and recognize the child from his past.
Furthermore, he had only given her the name because her real one was too long and difficult to say. It hadn't carried any special meaning beyond convenience.
And at the time, Wolka was—surely—living every day in a state of desperation, pushing himself until he spat blood. It was only natural that he would forget a little girl who had been unable to do anything for him.
It was a story from eight years ago. To gain the insight and experience befitting her future, Anze had been taken on a pilgrimage to see the world beyond the Holy City. Along the way, in a tiny village located an unknowable distance from the capital, she met a boy.
The boy was being assaulted by a man.
Or so it seemed to Anze’s eyes. The setting was a crude, small house—little more than a shack—that stood in stark contrast to the standard of living in the Holy City. In a desolate plot of land that barely qualified as a yard, a boy was being unilaterally struck by an old man wielding a wooden sword.
"What’s wrong, Wolka?! What are you doing?! Are you just going to stand there and take it?! Can’t you return even a single blow?! Is that all the will you possess?!"
The old man’s roar was like a raging fire. Even hearing it from her hiding place made Anze’s entire body freeze.
"Wh-what is... that?"
Until she began this pilgrimage, Anze had been raised as a sheltered child within the Cathedral, surrounded by people who treated her with the utmost care. It was a fundamental truth to her that adults were beings who cherished children.
An adult inflicting violence upon a child—it was the first time she had witnessed such a terrifying sight. Anze could only tremble in the shadows.
The old man’s sword slammed into the boy’s side, sending him flying. His body tumbled across the dirt like a discarded toy, only stopping when his back struck a tree near where Anze hid.
She thought she heard a faint cry of agony.
"Hic—"
Anze reflexively looked away. The sight of a human being tossed aside like a kicked pebble was more than she could bear. She was gripped by the sudden, terrifying thought that the boy might actually be killed.
Then, she heard the old man’s disappointed voice.
"...Pathetic. Do you truly intend to become strong? Like that, you will never reach the sword you envision, not in an eternity."
Anze couldn't understand his words. To her, they sounded like a foreign tongue she had never heard before.
"Fifteen minutes of rest. Heal your wounds to the limit. We start the next session regardless of whether you’ve finished."
Anze fearfully raised her head and witnessed an unbelievable sight. The old man was walking back into the house alone, leaving the fallen boy behind.
The world Anze had built within herself—a world where adults loved and protected children—was being demolished from its foundations.
The old man disappeared behind the door, leaving only the battered boy, who lay slumped without moving a finger. She wanted to rush to his side, but the fear of the old man discovery kept her rooted to the spot.
"Kaha!"
Had the boy not coughed as he regained consciousness, Anze might have stayed there trembling forever.
She finally ran to him. Keeping her voice low to avoid detection, she touched the boy’s shoulder and called out desperately.
"Are you okay...?! Please, stay with me...!"
He was clearly not okay.
His left eye was swollen shut, his lip was split, and blood seeped from his forehead and arms. His torn clothes revealed painful blue bruises. These weren't just today's injuries; she realized he had been subjected to this violence since long before she arrived in the village.
The boy didn't seem to hear her. With hollow eyes, he muttered as if delirious.
"Ugh... damn it, I blacked out completely... Ow, ow, ow... That damn old geezer, I’m definitely gonna kill him one of these days..."
Anze was lost. An adult who beat a child and abandoned him; a child who spat out that he would "kill" the adult. She didn't know this world. This wasn't the world she had been raised in.
In the Cathedral, the adults Anze knew—even those who weren't family—held a deep affection for children. Even when they were angry, there was always a foundation of love.
"Why... how could this..."
"...Huh? Who... are you...?"
Finally, the boy’s clouded eyes focused on her.
Anze was a timid child with no experience talking to boys her own age. Despite having rushed to him, her mind went blank. Yet, she couldn't ignore someone so badly hurt.
"U-um... I am an apprentice sister... on a pilgrimage." She spoke as clearly as she could. "P-please, let me treat your wounds! I am still learning, but I can use Holy Magic...!"
She must have looked suspicious. For her journey, she wore a practical robe with her hood pulled low, and a thin veil covered her eyes to hide her identity. She had been taught that this was how a nameless sister on pilgrimage should dress.
The boy looked taken aback, then thought for a moment.
"Um... let's move away a bit," he said, standing up despite the pain and dragging his leg as he walked. "It’ll be a pain if he finds us."
This meeting with the battered boy—Wolka—would have an immeasurable impact on the young Anze. It would change her destiny, shattering her belief that the world was naturally filled with love.
"—A-Anje...? Um, let’s see... is 'Anze' okay?"
"Y-yes..."
When she gave him her name while treating his wounds, he had immediately given her a nickname. Her real name was a bit long, but she wondered if this level of familiarity was normal for people outside the Cathedral. Surprisingly, it didn't feel unpleasant; it made her feel as if she had become someone slightly different.
"...Amazing. The pain is actually going away."
"No, it’s nothing, really..."
They had moved away from the house, and Wolka sat on a convenient tree stump. Anze used the Holy Magic she had only recently mastered to heal his wounds one by one. However, she didn't heal them completely. He had specifically asked her not to.
When she asked why, he replied, "Because it serves as training for my Healing Magic."
Healing Magic was a basic recovery spell that didn't require clerical aptitude. While anyone could use it, its effect was minor, only slightly boosting the body's natural recovery. Even with intense practice, a wound that took three days to heal might only be reduced to two.
Still, Wolka said it was better than doing nothing.
"...May I ask something?"
"Yeah."
"Master Wolka... what exactly were you doing?"
"What do you mean? Training."
"But that can't be...!"
Anze stood up reflexively. There was no way that one-sided beating could be called training. She was sheltered, but she had seen the Chrys Knights train. That was martial arts. This was something else entirely.
Wolka read the expression on her face.
"Ah... the old man is really strict. It is weird, isn't it?"
"If you know it's weird, then why...!"
"Because I want to be strong."
Anze caught her breath.
He had answered instantly, without a trace of hesitation. In his pale jade eyes, she saw the flicker of a fierce, terrifyingly intense will.
"...I have a sword in my head."
"Pardon?"
"It’s... a powerful image of what I want to be. But it's not a normal sword. A normal approach won't get me there. That's why that kind of training is just right."
Anze was speechless. She realized he was entirely serious. Despite being roughly her age, he had already chosen the path he would follow for the rest of his life.
No, it wasn't a path. It was like climbing a sheer cliff with his bare hands, bleeding all the way. A single slip or mistake could cost him his life.
"Your parents, they..."
"Dead. About four years ago, I think."
"Oh...!"
Everything was so beyond her understanding that Anze felt like crying. She couldn't comprehend what this boy, who was no older than herself, was thinking. To lose his parents so young that he could only say "I think," and then to throw himself into such insane training... it didn't seem sane. If she hadn't seen the fire in his eyes, she would have assumed he was simply suicidal from grief.
Was he really a child like her? She couldn't believe it.
Yet Wolka scratched his cheek, looking a bit embarrassed. "Um... don't take it so hard. I was the one who asked him to train me."
"But still...!"
"It's fine. I can feel myself getting stronger... and some parts of it are actually kind of fun."
He wasn't good at showing emotion; the expression he made was awkward and clumsy. But she realized he was trying to smile for her. He was trying to comfort her, even though he was the one suffering in ways she couldn't imagine.
"But...! This is just...!"
Frustrated by her own helplessness, her control over her Holy Magic slipped, and she accidentally erased one of his bruises completely.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to..."
She hadn't called out to him because she wanted him to apologize.
"Is there anything I can do for you...?"
"..."
Wolka’s expression didn't change. After a silence long enough to make her feel small and ignored, he finally answered.
"No... I think I'm okay."
Anze felt a sharp, stinging pain in her chest. She realized there was a cold, immovable wall between them. He wasn't being polite or acting tough; he truly didn't need her. He had likely only let her treat him because she had been so persistent that it felt rude to turn her away.
"Just having the wounds treated was enough. Thank you."
Wolka stood up.
"Wait, I’m not finished...!"
"It's been ten minutes. I have to go back."
He gently stopped her with his hand. His face was perfectly calm.
"You’re on a pilgrimage, right? Good luck, Anze."
"I... yes."
All Anze could do was watch his back as he walked back toward the shack.
The world she had always known had crumbled. She had known intellectually that not all children were loved, but seeing his resolve—his willingness to burn his own life for his goal—made her realize how pathetically sheltered her own life had been.
This was what it meant to see the outside world. It was the moment Anze first felt the weight of her own helplessness.
The next morning, before leaving the village, Anze went back to Wolka’s house to say goodbye. Her pilgrimage followed a strict schedule based on the moon's phases. If she delayed everyone because of her own selfishness, it would cause trouble for the entire group.
She had only twenty minutes before they had to depart.
Running clumsily, she reached the same spot as before and peered into the yard.
"Ah—"
Wolka was there. He stood in a corner of the yard, his left hand holding a scabbard at his waist and his right hand resting on the hilt. He was crouched slightly, his weight shifted forward.
Though the sun had only just risen, the air around him was unnervingly still. It felt sharp, almost stinging. Even though he was just standing there without drawing his sword, Anze knew instinctively that this was his "stance."
The old man stood opposite him. Instead of a wooden sword, he held a piece of firewood in each hand. He tossed them both toward Wolka with a light underhand motion.
As the wood flew in a gentle arc, Anze wondered what the old man was doing—and then it happened.
A Silver Flash.
She assumed he had drawn his sword. She couldn't be sure, because the stroke was so fast it looked like a literal flash of light.
It was more than just one strike. The sword that had swung to the right was already back on the left. In that heartbeat, there had been a swing from left to right, followed by a return stroke. To Anze, it was nothing but a single streak of light.
The firewood fell to the ground.
His movement as he slowly returned the sword to its scabbard was fluid and graceful, like a sacred prayer.
Anze understood then. This was what he was aiming for.
Even though she knew nothing of swordsmanship, she was captivated. It was beautiful. Every knight she had ever seen took a stance with their sword already drawn. But Wolka kept his sheathed, turning the very act of drawing it into a weapon.
His words about it "not being a normal sword" finally made sense. This was why he endured the wounds and the agony. He was carving a path toward a horizon no one else had ever seen.
The old man suddenly roared.
"You idiot! What are you trying to look cool for?! You didn't even graze them!"
Indeed, the two pieces of firewood had fallen to the ground completely intact.
Wolka shouted back, "Shut up! It’s starting to look right, isn't it?!"
"Don't give me that! A sword that only looks right is worthless! You still can't even split a piece of wood? Pathetic. Today's quota is increased by thirty percent!"
"You damn old geezer...!!"
"..."
Anze remembered the advice her educator, the old butler, had given her the night before. "You must not let your heart be troubled, My Lady. That boy has found his path and walks it with conviction. To stop him would be to ask him to abandon his soul. It is best to simply pray that his dream comes true."
He was right. Seeing that flash of light and understanding the path Wolka had chosen left Anze feeling completely overwhelmed. Her life and his were worlds apart. She had nothing she felt that strongly about. She felt ashamed of how she had lived, taking love and safety for granted.
She stepped back and bowed her head with a small smile.
"Please do your best... Master Wolka."
Anze was scheduled to pass through this village again in two weeks. She decided that, until then, she would follow his example and push herself. She would forget her sheltered life and face herself with a pure heart.
She wanted to be someone who wouldn't be ashamed to stand before him the next time they met.
Yes... she believed there would be a next time. She didn't have a single doubt that he would still be in this village, training as he always did.
Even though she had seen the world and learned of its hardships, she still believed, deep down, that "danger" was something that only happened to other people, on the other side of a wall.