As Anach always said, those who are truly exceptional—those radiant like the sun, not mere fireflies—do not know they are exceptional.
While they light up their surroundings with their brilliance, they are unaware of how they differ from others.
What they see around them is already dazzling, illuminated by their own light.
If Lowell had met Anak at a more mature age, things might have been different.
But as a child, all he could see was Anak’s brightness; he couldn’t even fathom the idea that there might be something beyond that.
To young Lowell, Anak was pure, kind, polite, always considerate and understanding—a thoughtful figure.
That was the image of Anak etched in his mind.
Of course, as he grew, Lowell came to recognize Anak’s other side, and he came to understand it.
He understood Anak’s pain and the reasons behind actions that would later earn him the epithet “Strategist of the Second Best Path.”
However, even that understanding came from a place of reverence—for someone who shines.
And perhaps because of the image he’d held since childhood, that understanding would always, bit by bit, fade.
Compared to that, he had no such image of Ropena.
Yet she, too, was undoubtedly one of the brilliant ones—though her brilliance was dimmer than Lowell’s or Aegina.
While Lowell had spent many years with Anak, constantly surrounded by countless others showering him with affection and kindness, Ropena had had nothing but solitude in recent years.
And so, at some point, she began to feel something for him—more than just goodwill.
Whether her understanding of Anak led her to feel this way, or those feelings led her to understand Anak, she could no longer tell.
But at some point, the emotion had rooted itself within her.
And after what happened last time, she knew that Anak had realized how she felt—and she knew what he was thinking now because of it.
Subtle jokes meant to feign nonchalance couldn’t hide it.
That flicker of guilt, compassion, faint doubt, and cruel self-mockery that sometimes crossed his face tormented not just him, but her as well.
“I’m the one who should be sorry. I just wanted to tease you a little. I didn’t think you’d take it so seriously, or that I’d pout without meaning to. I just wanted you to notice—a little. I didn’t know it would hurt you.”
But those words didn’t reach him.
***
“Did you sleep well?”
She asked him as he was just opening his eyes, still half-asleep.
In that moment, it was as though a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him—sleep fled, and instinctively he turned his head away from her and sat up.
Why he did that, or what it meant, even he didn’t know.
Maybe it was just the strange discomfort, the kind that might seem silly or laughable if overthought, that came from knowing he’d been sleeping with his face directly toward her.
“Ah, yes. And you, Miss Ropena…”
He didn’t know what to say.
She didn’t sleep.
She was just trapped in that tiny space.
Nothing special could’ve happened while he slept.
Asking whether she slept well or had a peaceful night was meaningless and foolish.
Yesterday, she had woken him up early, and started talking before he was even fully awake, so he hadn’t needed to think about how to respond—just to answer as usual.
But today, something was different.
She was calm in a way he’d never seen before.
And it was morning—he had just woken up.
He had no idea how to act.
Then—
“I was well, too.”
She smiled and said that first.
“I-I see.”
He quickly summoned a water spirit and washed his face.
Something he hadn’t done since almost being late to class back at the academy.
Maybe because it had been so long since he’d done it, and because it was so unfamiliar, his control slipped.
Water, which could normally be dispelled in the air, splashed and soaked half his clothes.
He didn’t even know why he was in such a rush or so flustered.
She’d already seen his sleeping face.
And yet, here he was, summoning a water spirit just to wash his face.
Yesterday, he had talked to her like this without washing up first, only cleaning up after checking the situation outside.
“Hehe.”
She laughed quietly at the sight of him.
It would’ve been easier if she had teased him outright.
But instead, her gentle laughter made his ears turn red.
Something was different.
Today’s Ropena was different from yesterday’s.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something had changed.
It was… like standing in front of Julian.
The kind of feeling you couldn’t brush off with jokes or lies.
A weighty, somber feeling that you dared not touch.
“Is it today?”
“No.”
At first, he didn’t know exactly what she was asking.
He instinctively denied it.
But just before the next breath, he realized—she was asking about the event in Kashin Village.
“That’s happening tomorrow at noon. I could go now, but assassins tend to back off if they sense anything’s gone off-plan.”
He couldn’t let that happen.
This had to be handled by him—quietly, so that neither Lowell nor the others would hear of it, and so that nothing like this would ever be attempted again.
“Then we’re staying here one more night?”
“I don’t know exactly how long cleanup will take, but it’ll need some time. And if I go back too early, Lowell or Aegina might get suspicious.”
Besides, it might be good to give those two some time together.
Since the Great Battle, they hadn’t had a chance to enjoy a relaxed breakfast or to let the night flow into morning.
“So you’ll sleep here again tomorrow night?”
There was a faint tone of relief in her voice.
Right.
If he returned to the village tomorrow, he wouldn’t come back to this pocket dimension until the following morning’s meal.
Until then, she’d have no way of knowing if he was safe.
With a gesture, several lines of text appeared in the air.
Then, white flames ignited before him.
“What’s that…?”
She looked puzzled by his sudden action.
Even more so because those white flames were unfamiliar to her—even as a former Flame Legion commander.
He wrapped a barrier around the flame and anchored it in midair.
“Life Candle. It’s a third-rate magic sold by con-artist wizards to soldiers heading off to war or their families. When the person it’s linked to dies, the flame naturally goes out, letting someone far away know if they’re still alive or not.”
However, if the magic power contained in the scroll is depleted, the flame goes out regardless of whether the person is alive, leading to countless unfunny stories — like someone returning from war to find their wife remarried because the flame had gone out.
For reference, if the candle is charged with enough magic to last a month, that’s considered “decent.”
Most only last a week, so only those desperate or ignorant about magic end up buying them.
Of course, some people buy them as a kind of good luck charm to pray for safety.
Even if the flame goes out, they can just believe it was due to power depletion — so whether it’s lit or not, there’s always a sliver of hope.
Though at that point, the candle has lost all its real meaning.
“Normally, when the power runs out or the link to the person is severed for any reason, the flame just goes out, so it’s not exactly reliable magic. But at the very least, the power won’t run out in just a day or two. If this flame is still burning, that means I’m safe.”
At those words, she couldn’t take her eyes off the flame, as if it was something precious.
“Then, I’ll come back later.”
With a lonely heart, I turned away.
I showed her that third-rate spell called the Life Candle like it could somehow fix everything.
But what did it matter?
If, by some chance, I died and that flame went out — at least she’d know I was gone.
But then what?
After that, she’d remain trapped in that tiny space, alone, for what would feel like an eternity.
If I truly wanted to protect her, I should’ve added another spell — one that would destroy the barrier or its power source the moment I died or failed to return after a certain time.
Even if I couldn’t engrave it directly onto the source, I should’ve arranged for the same result through other means.
But I couldn’t do it.
No — I wouldn’t do it.
Those kinds of spells are not only complicated but risky.
If something goes wrong, the entire barrier could collapse.
With enough caution and effort, it’s not impossible — but I couldn’t bear that burden.
No, that’s just an excuse.
The real reason I didn’t do it is far more base and childish — a selfish desire that doesn’t suit someone like me.
If it were Lowell, he wouldn’t have acted this way.
The difference between him and me isn’t just in skill or circumstance — it’s something far deeper, more fundamental…
“Thank you!”
As the surrounding scenery began to shift, her heartfelt words pierced my chest.
“…You shouldn’t say things like that.”
Looking out at the open view, I muttered those words like a confession, even though I knew better than anyone that it wasn’t really a confession — nor would it grant me absolution.
Still, I said them.
“Heehee!”
The horse, who’d been sitting on the ground, stood up upon seeing me.
I’ve said it many times, but it really was a good horse.
“Yeah, today should be easier at least.”
After dismantling the barrier, I patted the horse’s head a few times and climbed on.
The moment I lifted my foot, I remembered the times I’d fallen mid-journey and flinched, but thankfully, no mishaps occurred.
There was that one time I fell and triggered the barrier, and Orcan laughed his head off.
“Honestly, I should’ve just eaten that damned horse.”
Never thought the one thing I’d resent for so long wouldn’t be some enemy I risked my life to fight, but that damn foal.
What made it even more annoying was that the horse obeyed Lowell and the others — even Orcan — like a charm.
It was just a mutt that couldn’t sell in the marketplace, so who did it think it was, acting like some legendary steed and choosing its rider?
“Thinking back, I should’ve treated it like a summoned creature and used a binding spell. Can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
It’s not like I never learned horseback riding at the academy — and I wasn’t bad at it either.
But when all your companions manage to tame their mounts properly, it’s not easy to suddenly think of such drastic measures.
“Well, let’s go.”