“No, I’m excited. So excited that I don’t feel the slightest regret about not seeing the ocean for a while.”

Whether those words were sincere or not, Brote stretched before dawn had fully faded. The two packed their belongings and left the inn without leaving any trace, just as they had when they first arrived.

“The Empire? I’m not going there. As you know, it’s absolute chaos right now. We need to survive too. We’re all just trying to make a living, but what’s the point if we end up dead? Don’t you agree?”

“Ah… Then perhaps another carriage heading that way—”

“I told you, there aren’t any!”

The civil war sparked by the rebellion against the Beauvesh royal family had grown in scale, with the Crown Prince rallying the South while the North was led by the Esmund family rebels. 

Before long, neighboring countries joined the conflict, spreading it across the entire continent. Or rather, it had spread.

What seemed like an endless war came to a surprisingly easy end when the man who led the rebellion was poisoned to death.

Though no one knew exactly who killed him, on the day of his death, the Crown Princess, who couldn’t escape with the Crown Prince, took her life by jumping from the highest room in the Mirror Palace, once the Princess’s chamber.

“Please, just one more—”

“Derien. A moment.”

Arguing with the coachman about finding a carriage to cross the border, Derien turned his head at Brote’s touch on his back.

“What is it?”

“Your waist, please…”

Responding to her small fluttering gesture to lower himself, Derien bent down slightly as Brote’s soft whisper reached his ear.

“Do we really need a carriage?”

Of course not. He knew how to ride horses, and the path from the United States of Protemis where they were staying to the Empire required crossing steep, treacherous mountain ridges. In truth, horses would be more convenient than carriages, and using a gate would be easier than either.

Knowing this, they had initially planned to use a gate to enter the Empire and continue their journey wandering throughout the continent.

But as mentioned earlier, the civil war in the Kingdom of Beauvesh had grown into a continental war as more countries joined, disrupting their plans. A few months ago, with the death of the rebellion’s leader, the civil war seemed to be winding down, so they resumed their journey.

By then, however, the wildfire had already significantly affected neighboring countries’ political situations. Small local conflicts erupted continuously across the continent.

That wasn’t all. A mysterious epidemic originating from the South spread throughout the continent along with these local conflicts. Creatures that had lost their reason attacked people in mountains, fields, homes, streets, and capitals alike.

Though killing these creatures wasn’t impossible, the fact that inside those hideous shells were once beloved parents, children, siblings, and lovers made it difficult to end their lives.

As a result, the disease continued to spread unchecked.

‘…Oscar.’

‘Grrrr—hack! Karghrk, hack, hack!’

Derien had witnessed the devastation of this epidemic with his own eyes. In the South, at Brote’s family estate, he had seen a boy tied up in the small, round annex where her room had been, covered in wounds and in a miserable state.

The Veritatis Count, whose oily face had grown gaunt since the time he sold her; Oscar who had become a monster; an old man’s corpse rotting without a proper funeral; the household servants; and even the red-haired woman they had seen at a restaurant in the capital, who alternated between laughing maniacally and suddenly bursting into tears.

‘Grandfather…. Vanessa….’

Together with Brote, he had witnessed the curse, called an epidemic, that afflicted anyone who consumed even a small amount of manaha fl*id, and the family that had been destroyed by it.

‘…Are you alright?’

‘…Yes. I’m fine.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I confirmed my nurse is safe, so it’s enough.’

After contemplating for a long while, Brote had decided to leave the South, departing without ever looking back. She left only a letter for that woman she called a friend, Edith Hopper.

For these various reasons, farmers who found it increasingly difficult to survive abandoned their lifelong homes and became bandits, attacking merchant caravans to make a living.

Once closed, the gates showed no signs of reopening amid the endless atmosphere of unrest. Even the merchant caravans that had transported people and goods gradually became more cautious.

Despite these circumstances, they couldn’t stay in one place indefinitely, so they sought individuals who operated carriages privately rather than merchant caravans.

That led them to the elderly couple before them.

“What about renting horses?”

“I don’t mind, but—”

“I want to try riding. Besides, with you around, I doubt we’ll face any danger.”

After briefly considering Brote’s suggestion, Derien nodded. If she wanted to do something, enabling her was his responsibility, mission, and reason for existence.

“I’d like to purchase horses.”

“What did you discuss with that young lady…? Wait, horses?”

“Yes.”

“Look here, if I sell you my horses, how am I supposed to continue my business?”

“Would this compensation be sufficient?”

“Hmm… I’m not sure…”

“Then how about this much?”

Be happy, my children.

Having purchased the horses from the coachman, Derien helped Brote mount the smaller horse while leading the larger one as they completely left the village behind.

* * *

“Are you tired?”

“Yes, I am.”

Since it was extremely rare for Brote to directly admit fatigue, Derien immediately began preparing to make camp, despite it being early evening with the sun still up.

Leaving the open road, he found a suitable flat area among the trees, leveled the ground, laid out blankets, and lit a fire. While Derien performed this sequence of tasks, Brote tied the horses to a tree not far from the campsite and gave them water and feed.

Without needing to speak, they both knew their respective duties and carried them out effortlessly.

This natural coordination came from gradually accumulated memories of shared time, space, and experiences.

“Do you remember?”

As Derien sat beside the freshly lit campfire, making a simple stew by adding jerky, hard bread, and dried herbs to their water supply, Brote’s soft voice reached his ears.

“You lit a campfire back then too.”

The snowy field gradually turning white as snowflakes began to fall, the sweet and bitter aroma rising from the wine heated to warm their bodies.

Brote, experiencing cold for the first time in her life, touching her reddened nose tip while gazing intently at the surrounding scenery, the wine in her hand, and the strangers around her.

Recalling that distant yet close past, Derien blinked lightly in agreement with her words.

“…It was the day of the first snow.”

“That’s right. It was the first time in my life I’d ever seen snow.”

After bringing up the memory, Brote paused, seemingly reminiscing about that day as she quietly gazed at the crackling flames.

Derien found himself staring for a long while at the red flames dancing in her unfathomable black eyes before finally looking away and transferring the nearly finished stew into bowls.

One might wonder why a deathless body would need food, but Derien had learned through experience that the act of eating and the warmth of food provided significant comfort to an uncertain life without a predetermined end.

Unlike stone statues carved on castle walls, rusted armor, or jewels that had existed for countless years, the act of eating reminded him that he was still a living being.

This understanding, gained through long experience, was why Derien never missed this unnecessary yet essential moment of meals, treating it like a sacred ritual.

“Be careful, it’s still hot.”

No sound came from the bowl placed on the soil where nameless weeds grew. Until then, Brote had been staring blankly at the flames with their darting red tongues, her expression unreadable.

Her eyes finally followed the bowl downward. She reached out, grasped it, and took a sip of the steaming stew.

“…It’s warm.”

Only after confirming the faint smile on Brote’s lips did Derien pick up his own bowl. The night at the end of winter, approaching summer, arrived slowly and leisurely.

Like a gentleman strolling with his hands behind his back, the sunset gradually approached, dyeing their feet with rippling red light.

* * *

“…Aaagh!”

The peaceful night ended after just one day. In the very early morning before sunrise, as Derien and Brote were preparing to resume their journey, a man’s scream echoed in their ears.