Yes, what does it all mean? Whether she drowns here with her face in the water, or one day burns in blue flames, or dies with her head on the city wall, what difference does it make? What does it all mean?

She bit her lips, so bruised they’d stopped hurting, and tasted the bitter tang of blood.

She wished she could consume herself completely. It was her blood, after all—why spill it anywhere else? Let it flow back into her own mouth, or wash away entirely into this river.

Damn, let me be free!

Rustle.

Her hands covering her face froze. Vienny, pale and dripping, slowly turned while still seated in the water. A figure stood just beyond, half-hidden among the dim, shadowed bushes.

“…Why are you here?”

It had only been a week since she’d last seen him, yet it felt like a reunion after ages. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d come to rely on him, and the awareness struck her with a shock.

Vienny felt nothing but a dull daze as she took in her own state, unable to make sense of it. Not only had she misinterpreted his actions as kindness, but she’d also begun to depend on them. She must have truly lost her mind.

“Are you deaf? Or did you bite your tongue?”

His irritation snapped her back to reality. Vienny stammered, scrambling to her feet as her mind struggled to catch up.

“I-I was just… washing up a bit…”

“Washing up?”

McClart’s sharp retort sounded as though he’d just heard something ridiculous. Vienny lowered her soaked face in silence.

“The watcher?”

She still had no idea where they were, but it seemed McClart had already pieced together the situation. His quiet curse carried a menacing edge.

Feeling a sudden, inexplicable guilt, Vienny glanced around and tried to step out of the water. However, the instant she put weight on her injured foot, a sharp pain shot through her, making her gasp and stumble. Looking down, she noticed her ankle was even more swollen beneath the rippling water—a result of her earlier fall.

“Stop wandering around pointlessly and get…!”

McClart, speaking with a sharp edge, suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. A pang of fear crept through Vienny as she bit her lip and clutched at her damp clothes. Water dripped steadily from her clothes and hair, splashing gently on the surface below.

“You…”

McClart began, but stopped, his words trailing off. His expression hardened and he walked towards the water’s edge. As he approached, his gaze swept over her dishevelled appearance, taking in every detail.

Vienny felt his gaze but kept her head lowered, staring blankly at the water around her. The ripples from the dripping water distorted her reflection into an unrecognizable blur.

“Get out.”

The words jolted her into motion. Carefully shifting her weight, Vienny moved across the water, stepping as gently as she could to avoid worsening her injury.

Thanks to her cautious steps, Vienny managed to limp out of the water without crying out in pain. Once she finally stood on dry land, drenched and sagging, McClart let out a curt curse.

“You look so awful, it’s unbearable to watch.”

Startled by his harsh muttering, Vienny flinched and instinctively shrank back. Suddenly, a heavy cloth was thrown over her head. She looked up, eyes wide, only to meet McClart’s icy gaze.

“With Pepin gone, are you planning to seduce my soldiers instead?”

How could anyone be so awful it’s unbearable to watch and yet supposedly capable of seducing anyone? Vienny blinked, confused, trying to make sense of his contradictory words.

A trickle of water slid down her face, dampening her cheek and tracing along her lips. The mixture of water and blood that seeped into her mouth tasted faintly salty.

“Cover yourself properly. Now.”

Vienny couldn’t fully process his words. More droplets slipped down her face, wetting her closed lips. McClart, visibly frustrated, tugged the cloth down roughly in front of her, obscuring her vision. Only then did she realize he had draped his cloak over her.

And that it wasn’t water dampening her face—it was her own silent tears.

Clutching the edges of the cloak, Vienny lowered her gaze, pressing her lips tightly together, not even a faint sob escaping. Only the salty taste kept seeping into her mouth, a reminder of the tears she tried to hide.

Beyond the dark fabric of the cloak, everything felt still. Though no sound or movement reached her, she knew McClart was there, his presence firm and unyielding. She bowed her head a little further, unwilling to meet his gaze.

And there she remained, standing in silence, crying without a sound for a long, quiet moment.

* * *

The muscles in her face were stiff, likely from the dried tears she hadn’t properly wiped away. Her swollen eyelids felt heavy, making even a few blinks a slow, cumbersome effort.

As she regained her senses, Vienny blinked in confusion, realizing that the surface beneath her cheek was surprisingly soft and warm. Slowly, she began to move her curled-up body, her stiff muscles creaking after remaining still for so long. The heavy weight of a blanket pressing down on her added to her sluggishness.

Having slept in the same position for so long, shifting her body was a struggle. With effort, she pushed the blanket aside and used her arms to lift herself into a sitting position.

After noting that she’d been lying on a soft fur rug, she glanced around. It didn’t take long to locate the owner of the tent.

“Inquisitor.”

The hand that had been wiping his shoulder with a damp cloth stopped. McClart glanced over at Vienny, then tossed the cloth onto the makeshift bed with a casual flick. He reached for an armour doublet lying nearby and began tying the laces and fastening the buttons.

“If you’re awake, don’t just sit there dumbly—get your head straight,” he said sharply, his tone as cold as ever.

Vienny, still staring at him with a dazed look, found herself blurting out without thinking.

“You haven’t… become a demon…”

His hands froze mid-button.

“You haven’t become a demon after all,” she repeated softly.

His hands, which had momentarily stilled, resumed fastening the buttons as if nothing had happened. Without sparing her a glance, McClart replied in a cold, indifferent tone.

“Did you think a few drops of blood could corrupt a servant of God?”

“That’s a relief.”

No matter how many times she heard that cold, unfeeling voice, it was the inquisitor she recognized. And strangely, that familiarity genuinely reassured Vienny. It was the first time she’d seen her blood have no effect on someone. Without realizing it, she spoke her heartfelt thoughts.

“I’m truly glad you haven’t become a demon…”

“Ridiculous thoughts, it seems.”

Apparently unwilling to hear more, McClart raised his voice, cutting her off. Vienny obediently closed her mouth. Just knowing that the inquisitor hadn’t changed was, in itself, a great comfort.

Moreover, he hadn’t brought up the kiss, treating it as if it were nothing. In a way, that was a relief. If McClart’s attitude had shifted after that incident, like Pepin’s had, she would have struggled to cope.

“Put it on.”

He tossed a heavy cloth in front of her, and Vienny, still sitting weakly, recognized it as the cloak she had worn the day before. It seemed he had decided to let her keep it.

“Cover yourself completely, from head to toe,” he commanded, echoing his order from yesterday. Vienny asked no questions, picking up the cloak without hesitation.

Her ankle was still swollen, but it no longer felt as though it might snap from pain as it had before. Sleeping under the blanket on the warm fur rug had eased much of her accumulated fatigue, and she felt somewhat better. She figured she could manage to keep up with him on foot if necessary.

Pulling the hood low over her head, as she’d done the day before, Vienny carefully moved toward the tent’s entrance. McClart, who was busy adjusting his attire, noticed her movement and frowned deeply.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Huh?”

She had assumed that receiving the cloak meant she was expected to leave. Pausing in the doorway, Vienny looked at him, confused. McClart’s gaze dropped to her swollen, red ankle, visible beneath the cloak, and with an annoyed gesture, he motioned for her to return inside.

Vienny hesitated, her lips parting slightly, before reluctantly moving back to the spot where she had woken up.

“With an ankle like that, walking will only slow us down. I won’t tolerate our travel speed dropping just because of you.”

It was true; keeping up with the sturdy soldiers’ pace would be difficult with her injured ankle. But, having forced herself to walk in a terrible state yesterday, she figured she could somehow manage again today.

Vienne tilted her head, comparing today’s situation to yesterday’s, and looked down at her uninjured left ankle. Side by side, the difference was glaring—her right ankle was severely swollen. She could understand why McClart seemed so exasperated.

“But there’s no carriage…”

Even though her condition was bad, there didn’t seem to be an obvious solution. Without a word, McClart pointed to something nearby.

“Eat first.”

Where he pointed, a tray covered with a cloth lay waiting. Vienny lifted the cloth slightly to reveal a simple bowl of thin soup. Unsure if it was really meant for her, she looked at McClart for confirmation. He merely returned to his own tasks, seeming indifferent.

Taking that as permission, she began to eat, though each spoonful filled her with a quiet confusement. Still, the warm soup was comforting, easing some of her lingering discomfort. She thought it would be too much, yet she finished the bowl quickly. Despite its thinness, the soup was filling—perhaps a better choice than hard bread after having skipped dinner and cried herself to sleep.

Could it be that McClart had actually considered that when preparing the soup?

“Follow me,” he commanded brusquely, snapping her out of her thoughts.

As soon as she set down her spoon, McClart addressed her. During her brief breakfast, he had finished preparing himself, fully armed. Vienny quickly pulled the cloak tightly around her and moved toward the tent entrance.