“…….”
The next morning.
When Isaac slowly opened his eyes, a throbbing pain washed over his body and made him curl into himself.
It felt as if ages had passed, yet the battle against Hellic—once the Primitive Helmut—and the escape from the Malidan Wall had been only yesterday.
No, perhaps more than a day had slipped by; ever since crossing into this place, his sense of ti had dulled.
The sky here is perpetually dark—there’s no way to get a feel for ti.
Back at the Malidan Wall, the escape had felt interminable.
In this sun-less world, darkness filled the hours where daylight should have been.
He sat up and surveyed the empty room.
The house had only two rooms.
Last night, Rihanna and Sharen had debated who should share a room with Isaac; he had firmly insisted on sleeping alone.
The result: the sisters bunked together.
“Hmm…?”
A strange, earthy scent pricked his nose.
At first it seed foul, but the longer he breathed it in, the more pleasantly dicinal it beca.
Stepping outside, he found Rihanna and Sharen seated around the table where they had taken refreshnts the night before.
They appeared to be setting out breakfast, as though they had been waiting for him.
“Isaac! You’re awake!” Sharen greeted him with a sunny smile.
“Co sit. Rancelon brought us provisions,” Rihanna said calmly as she placed dishes on the table.
“…….”
He had always thought the phrase peaceful daily life could never fit Helmut, yet looking at this scene he felt—unexpectedly—that it wasn’t so bad.
Breakfast was similar to yesterday’s, except for one peculiar soup: the source of that pungent aroma.
“Does this have dicinal herbs in it, too?” Isaac asked.
“Seems so. I suppose he’s looking after us in his own way,” Rihanna replied.
“Everything they make tastes bitter,” Sharen muttered, sticking out her tongue.
Today, the peddlers were due to arrive and open a market in the village.
While the northern warriors rested, they planned to stroll the stalls and learn more about village life and the transcendents.
【What good is hating humans?.】
“…….”
Rancelon’s words still echoed in Isaac’s ears.
They had startled him precisely because they sounded sincere—almost too favorable toward their side.
Slurp.
As he drank the soup, Isaac mulled over the lingering sense of disquiet in one corner of his heart.
****
Following the main road their party had used yesterday, rchants spread mats and quietly unpacked their bundles.
The scene differed wildly from any market Isaac had pictured.
There were none of the bustling footsteps or boisterous haggling voices one normally associated with a bazaar.
On the contrary, the place was unnervingly silent.
Trades were whispered, furtive. rchants half-hid their faces and kept wary eyes on their surroundings.
So that’s why Rancelon told us to cover our faces.
Before coming, Isaac had been given a wide-brimd hat; he now toyed with its edge.
It was called a satgat, and he rembered seeing a fellow pupil of the Grandmaster wear one.
At that sudden mory, a heaviness settled in his chest.
‘I hope the Grandmaster is all right.’
Forced to cross blades with a comrade she had long sought—she must be in turmoil now.
Isaac was about to sink deeper into worry when Sharen tugged lightly on his sleeve.
“Isaac, look at that.”
Pulled from his thoughts, he followed the direction of her finger.
“A potion that erases mories?”
“……A potion that erases mories?”
She was pointing at a small, slender flask.
The label on the front read Potion to Erase mories.
A burly transcendent sitting beside the flask nodded at the three with a knowing smile.
“We all have things in life we’d rather forget, don’t we?”
“…….”
For a mont Isaac’s heart wavered—but only for a mont.
He had noticed the labels on the other bottles lined up beside it:
-Elixir to Send You to Paradise
-Draught for Escaping Life
-Potion for Your Final Mont
-dicine That Opens Dying Eyes
Every claim was extravagant and suspicious.
Rihanna caught a whiff of the acrid fus leaking from the stoppers and frowned.
“It’s liquor—and extrely strong.”
“Oho, such a discerning nose. Are you in that trade, miss?” the rchant asked, mistaking her keen sense for that of a transcendent.
He said nothing further.
Here, sellers did not chase custors or force bargains.
They simply held their ground and waited for passers-by to approach of their own accord.
Perhaps because this is a village of condemned…
The atmosphere was less that of an ordinary market and more of an underground bazaar.
‘Getting information won’t be as easy as I thought.’
Isaac scanned the area in silence.
Judging by the stiff set of Rihanna’s mouth beneath her hat, she was thinking the sa.
On the other spread-out bundles lay all sorts of items, yet each was either unfamiliar or too dubious to warrant interest—objects whose extravagant promises only fed suspicion.
-Necklace of the Dead
-Bell of Silence
-Colorless Confection
Sharen perked up at the ntion of sweets, but the mont she saw them she shook her head.
“They look disgusting—like they’d taste like rocks.”
Not that they were ever going to buy them anyway.
While listening to Sharen’s grumbling, Isaac glanced over at Rihanna.
“Not what you hoped for, huh?”
“Right. This isn’t the sort of market I pictured.”
They hadn’t co here to shop; they’d co for information—currents and undercurrents alike.
With the market this subdued, there was no way to learn anything useful.
“If there’s nothing else worth seeing, let’s go find Nureumdol! I told him to wait outside the gate. He’s probably still there.”
“…Yeah, let’s do that.”
Like he’s so kind of war-horse, Isaac thought, feeling a twinge of guilt at leaving the big fellow to stand guard at the entrance.
When they reached the gate, they found Nureumdol deep in conversation with an unfamiliar woman.
“Yes, that’s right! I guided those great personages all the way here. They seed to be in a spot of trouble, so I put my thick skull to work and helped them out!” Nureumdol declared, puffing out his chest.
The woman listened in silence.
A satgat was pulled low over her eyes; a neat, shoulder-length bob frad a face set atop a stature even taller than Isaac’s.
In her hand rested a massive sabre.
The instant Isaac laid eyes on her, they widened.
A fellow disciple of the Grandmaster…
It was “Number Two”—the very woman he knew by rumor.
The mont she turned her head, sensing the party’s presence—
Boom!
Rihanna’s greatsword was already in motion.
A flash of red aura.
Having deed the newcor an enemy, Rihanna struck without hesitation; the speed belied the blade’s unwieldy bulk.
But Number Two was no novice.
A sword longer than a man’s height slid free of its scabbard in the blink of an eye.
She drew that blade so fast the air didn’t even stir.
That alone placed her skill on par with the Grandmaster.
Even so, she could not stop the blow completely.
Receiving Rihanna’s strike head-on, she planted her feet, skidding backward across the ground.
Chiiiik—!
Dust billowed; smoke curled from the woman’s heels.
“Haa—”
Lowering her sword, she exhaled, hand tingling from the raw force of Helmut’s strength.
“Tch. Two days in a row the illustrious drop by. Seems I’ve spent every favor of fate in this one place,” she said—a light, almost flippant tone utterly unlike before.
Relaxed, perhaps—but to Isaac it sounded more frivolous than anything.
Rihanna kept her greatsword leveled, refusing to relax. Seeing that, the woman let out another sigh.
“Does your bloodline not understand patience or conversation?”
“……”
The breezy manner was all the more disconcerting; when they had crossed blades before, she had been silent—an assassin loyal only to her master.
Now she felt more like a prickly uncle from the neighborhood.
Co to think of it, the Grandmaster was the sa, Isaac reflected.
Solemn when teaching or fighting, yet curiously sloppy in daily life—and quick to sulk, which only added to the light-hearted impression.
“This isn’t work hours,” the woman went on. “No reason to fight; I’d rather not draw my sword for nothing.”
She spoke as if clocking out, then pointed a finger at Isaac, who was standing back from the clash.
“You there—disciple of Number Ten. Good timing. I’ve wanted to et you.”
Her voice held curiosity rather than hostility.
Rembering how she had swallowed her words when their blades t before, Isaac stepped forward.
“I wanted to et you as well. You’re my master’s fellow disciple.”
“Isaac?” Rihanna called, worried, but he shook his head.
“It’s fine. If she’d wanted a fight, we’d already be at it.”
A swordswoman on par with the Grandmaster—Rihanna might be able to endure her, but victory was doubtful.
The woman rely shrugged, neither confirming nor denying Isaac’s assessnt—clear confidence in her own skill.
After handing his twin sabres to Sharen for safekeeping, Isaac offered a cautious handshake.
“I’m Isaac Logan.”
“For the fad Tenth’s disciple, you’ve got so nerve—walking this close while my sword’s drawn,” she remarked, yet she took his hand lightly.
“I have no given na,” she added. “If that bothers you, just call Naless.”
“……”
Isaac couldn’t help thinking that the Grandmaster’s secrecy about her own na must have stemd from the sa reason.
“If my master were here, I couldn’t cut you slack,” Naless said, casting a glance around the village with a wry grin. “Fortunately for you, I’m alone today.”
Then she chuckled. “Still, you’ve picked a truly peculiar place to run to.”
“You an Benhaim Village?” Isaac asked.
“Right. Hm… there’s plenty I ought to tell you, but to start with—”
Naless scratched her cheek and lowered her voice.
“The people of this village are nothing but a blight on both worlds.”
“A blight?”
“Yes—prey that deserves the point of your blade, whether you’re transcendent or human.”
– – The End of The Chapter ––
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