Once, Amir had summed up her past in just a few short sentences.
Her tone had been flat, even calm.
The side of her face, which almost never showed emotion in front of others, betrayed no ripple of feeling under the moonlight.
But the listener’s heart felt like a deep-sea bomb had been dropped into it, churning everything upside down.
The night wind curled around the ends of her hair, but she didn’t notice.
Histori stood stiffly on the thick sycamore branch, her face pale.
She clenched the hem of her cloak so hard her fingertips turned white.
A sudden surge of bitterness rose from the bottom of Histori’s heart, clogging her throat.
She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say.
Amir… she was still carrying a past like that on her shoulders.
‘What am I supposed to say? “I understand you”‘?
‘How can I understand someone who was abandoned by the entire world from birth?’
‘What a joke. I came from a peaceful world, and before arriving in this one, I’d seen countless versions of the Hero through all kinds of stories and media. Without exception, they were all Children of Destiny, favored by the World Will.’
‘They were born into nobility, or at least held some hidden legacy from a hermit sage. From the moment of birth, a sacred spotlight was fixed firmly on them.’
‘Their talent was astonishing, their bloodline pure. They were always surrounded by loyal knights and beautiful mage companions. All they had to do was wave that golden holy sword in their hand, and they could pluck stars from the sky and fish the moon from the sea. Amid the cheers and applause of all humanity, they would set foot on the Path of Glory to slay the Demon King.’
‘So, even after witnessing Amir’s masterful stealth and assassination techniques firsthand, I’d just secretly grumbled: “How come this Hero has every talent there is.”‘
‘In my stereotyped impression, Amir had always been that protagonist from another world who stood at the top of the food chain and could crush anyone she wanted. Her only traits were power, coldness, and invincibility.’
‘But now, with that flat tone of hers, she’d personally torn open this scar for me to see. For the first time, I felt like I truly knew the dark-haired girl in front of me.’
Unbidden, she began to rewind the scenes of their journey together, frame by frame, in her mind.
‘…Yeah, when I think about it carefully, there were so many details along the way that I should have noticed, but kept ignoring.’
‘A true noble lady, raised in silk and satin and gently treated by the whole world—how could she possibly be the way Amir acted?’
‘There wasn’t a single beautiful dress in her Space Ring.’
‘That dark magical Storage Ring was stuffed full of Stealth Cloaks, all for coping with swamps, blizzards, dense forests, and every kind of extreme environment.’
‘When traveling, she never needed proper tableware or a bowl of hot soup.’
‘Amir would just pull two hard-as-rock dry rations out of her pack, toss one to me, and chew on the other herself while washing it down with cold water from her leather canteen. That was all she used to sustain her energy for the day.’
‘And whether it was the noisy underground black market in Shadowdeep Town, or the dark taverns crowded with crude miners amidst the roar of forges in Vulcania, Amir moved through them as if she were returning home.’
‘Those stealth, tracking, and assassination skills I thought were so cool—along with her wilderness survival abilities—weren’t fun game skills at all.’
‘They were the only means she’d had to keep herself alive through the long years after being abandoned by her parents, with no one to rely on. They were the survival instinct Amir had been forced to develop by life itself.’
‘So, Amir was never really a Child of Destiny.’
‘The things that should have been given to her from birth—status, family, blessing, glory—she had none of them.’
‘The girl in front of me is just someone who struggled desperately at the very bottom of the mud, and finally, with a pair of bloodstained hands, forced her way up from hell to the top of the food chain like a devil.’
‘And now, this dark-haired girl, spat upon by all of humanity, has been forced by the bitterly ironic “chosen by the gods” to bear the blessing of “Hero” and go kill the Demon King for the very people who once trampled her into the gutter.’
‘After she finishes the Demon King, she doesn’t even have a decent place to stay.’
‘She has to hole up in a broken attic in the slums, not even a single chair to sit on, listening to the commoners who benefited from her favor upbraid her with the vilest gossip.’
‘Things like “the bastard abandoned by the gods” and “the despicable assassin”…’
‘Those voices seeped up through the cracks in the floorboards, especially clear in that attic. But every time, Amir just leaned against the wall with a blank expression, eyes closed, as if she’d long since gotten used to that treatment.’
This is… too unfair.
“Um, I’m sorry, Lady Aimier.”
Histori lowered her eyes, her voice muffled, her nose sounding stuffy.
“Hmm?”
Amir, who had been staring coldly at the distant Naiteli Manor, turned her head in confusion at the unexpected apology.
A flicker of bewilderment passed through her obsidian-like pupils.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Earlier… I was a bit too presumptuous.”
Histori took a deep breath, then raised her eyes to look seriously at Amir.
The moonlight was faint, but they were standing close enough to see the tiny glimmers in each other’s eyes.
“Before this, I just thought of you as an incredibly powerful Hero, someone who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals, cold-hearted, ruthless, and sometimes not very reasonable.”
As she spoke, she felt a bit embarrassed herself, and her voice dropped lower.
“But now, I realize that I was too shallow in my judgment of you. You’re actually… actually…”
What should she say?
‘That you’re not some monster. That you’re truly amazing. That none of those people deserve what you’ve done for them…’
‘But no matter what I say, in front of Amir, it all seems too light, too weak.’
“Grrrrrr—”
Just as Histori was trying to figure out what to say to Amir that would express her feelings, a highly untimely, piercingly loud gurgle suddenly rang out from her stomach.
In this dead silence of the deep night, the sound was especially jarring up in the tree canopy.
An owl that had been squatting drowsily on a nearby branch startled, shrank its head, glanced over with its round eyes, then silently flapped its wings and flew off to a farther perch.
“…”
Histori’s eyes, still a bit teary, went wide.
Blotches of red spread from the base of her neck all the way to the tips of her ears at a visible speed.
She clamped her hands over her stomach, wishing she could find a tree hollow to crawl into.
‘Damn it! Why now of all times?’
‘I finally built up some deep emotional resonance, and now it’s been ruined by the sound of my stomach!’
Still, to be fair, it wasn’t entirely her fault.
That morning, up in the attic tavern, Amir had coaxed her into downing a big gulp of Dwarf oat ale straight on an empty stomach.
She’d been dizzy all the way into the early hours.
She hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner.
And now, after another round of hangover, shock, and this late-night stealth trip, her pampered body, accustomed to three big meals a day, had only now made a sound—a miracle in itself.
Amir lowered her head slightly and glanced at Histori’s stomach, tucked tightly beneath her cloak.
Then the former assassin’s usually stern, unapproachable face couldn’t help but reveal a slight upward twitch at the corners of her mouth.
“All right. Instead of dwelling on my boring past, let’s prioritize comforting that empty stomach of yours first.”
Amir turned around, braced one hand on the thick tree trunk, and leaped down from the tall sycamore, her body as light as a weightless fallen leaf.
The night wind puffed out the hem of her black cloak, fanning it open for an instant in the air.
Then she landed steadily on the bluestone pavement of a secluded alley, barely making a sound.
“Come on, Histori.”
She looked up at Histori, still crouched on the branch and blushing in a daze, and extended a hand toward her.
The alley was very dark; moonlight could only barely reach a small patch near the wall.
But that outstretched hand was exceptionally clear—slender, powerful fingers wrapped in black half-finger leather gloves, with the exposed fingertips catching a faint glimmer in the cold moonlight.
That hand had killed people, been stained with blood, and snapped countless necks.
But right now, it rested there quietly, waiting patiently, and somehow carried an indescribable warmth that put you at ease.
“What are you dawdling for? Come on down.”
Histori snapped back to attention.
She hurriedly placed her wrist in Amir’s hand and let herself be guided down from the thick sycamore.
Once Histori was steady on the ground, Amir didn’t let go immediately.
Instead, she naturally kept holding her wrist and turned to walk deeper into the alley.
The alley was long, flanked by mottled brick walls thick with moss. Old wooden crates and empty wine barrels were piled haphazardly in the corners.
In the distance, they could faintly hear the footsteps of a night patrol guard, but it was several streets away—as distant as another world.
“When I came earlier, I smelled cooking smoke a couple of streets over,” Amir said as she walked, her voice standing out clearly in the quiet alley.
“Probably an underground tavern still open for business. The patrons at this hour aren’t the most upstanding, but the aroma of grilled meat does smell pretty good.”
She paused and glanced sideways at Histori, the smile not yet fully fading from her lips.
“Also, it just occurred to me that I need to find a place for you to rest tonight.”
Histori was being led forward by Amir, the night wind slowly blowing away the heat on her face.
She stared at the back of Amir walking ahead—the slender silhouette outlined by her black nightwear, the dark hair lifted by the breeze, and the palm that still hadn’t let go.