The wartime company commander standing before him wore an untroubled smile as he addressed Walm.

“You still remember my name.”

Both of his feet were firmly planted on the ground, the circulation beneath his skin appearing perfectly normal. He was neither a wraith with a faint existence nor an undead reeking of rot. Seeing the healthy figure of a comrade who had shared the deathtrap of Dandurg Castle, Walm felt a mixture of joy and confusion. At the same time, questions swirled within him. When Walm had crawled out from the belly of the Tyrant Worm, that ancient castle had already fallen under the dominion of monsters. Death and monsters had infested every corner of the stronghold, and the road back to the Highserk Empire had been sealed.

“You… were alive?”

He could hardly accept it. Hallucination or delusion would have felt more believable.

“Yes. I fought under your command in Dandurg, Wartime Battalion Commander, and survived.”

“When I crawled out of the Tyrant Worm’s belly, there were no living left in Dandurg.”

At Walm’s strained words, dragged forth from painful memories, Friug’s expression darkened with regret.

“That damn worm ravaged the castle. We searched the rubble for the Guardian Chief but could not find you. It is a shameful tale. Though time was limited, we believed you dead. After you opened a path for us, we fled under Brigade Commander Justus to Selta, the only place we could still contact through a communication magic tool. That land was a natural fortress. Aside from Dandurg, it was the only remaining human stronghold in the surrounding region.”

It was a simple answer. Under Wartime Brigade Commander Justus, they had headed in the exact opposite direction, toward Selta in Mayard Territory. There was no way Walm, who had rushed straight back toward the homeland, could have found traces of them. Even the former Felius Front Army led by the military god Gerald Berger had judged that storming Selta would incur tremendous losses, shifting instead to subterfuge and siege.

The terrain of Selta, as Walm had heard during the war, was the very definition of a natural stronghold. At the base of the peninsula jutting into the massive lake, sheer mountains ran along both sides to the water’s edge, their ridgelines functioning as natural ramparts. To conquer Selta, one would either have to breach its heavily fortified gate or defeat the Selta navy, which was renowned as the elite of the northern nations, in naval combat and enter by ship across the lake. Walm could easily believe that it repelled not only men, but hordes of monsters as well.

“After the Great Rampage was finished, a few settled in Selta of Mayard Territory, but more than half the soldiers have returned to Highserk. I sought you out now, Guardian Chief, to request your return to the homeland. Fortunately, we have a letter of introduction from Viscount Edgar. And I have heard that during this recent upheaval, you devoted yourself to the defense of Bergana. Thanks to that, Marquis Trio Borgia was most gracious—”

Walm raised a hand, halting Friug’s words. He tried to digest what he was hearing, yet his understanding lagged behind.

“Wait. I can’t follow this. You said… return?”

Seeing Walm’s confusion, Friug began to explain the situation.

“Yes. Return to the homeland. The Highserk Empire lost His Majesty the Emperor and his kin, and half its territory, collapsing in ruin. On the surface, warlords across the land have raised their banners. In truth, the remaining Eastern and Southern Front Armies are united beneath the banner of His Majesty’s surviving child. I believe you know of the Karoloria Magic Silver Mine. Using the Magic Silver produced there as funding, they are striving to restore the nation. Libertoa has begun to sense it, and so our situation is critical. The day of rematch is not far off.”

While Walm had drowned himself in drink and turned his eyes from reality, the former Southern Front Army had developed the Karoloria Magic Silver Mine, seeking resurgence as a power. He had known this from the conflict between Viscount Edgar Dalimarcus and the Meizenaf Family. But that the scattered Front Armies had unified under a single will, rallying beneath an imperial heir to rebuild the nation? This was news that struck him like a bolt from the blue.

A year had passed since he had ended his role as a soldier of the Highserk Empire. It hadn’t been a small change. In the Labyrinth City of Bergana, far from his homeland, he had slowly begun to find a place he could call his own.

“You’re telling me… to return to the battlefield?”

Old and young, men and women alike had died equally and absurdly. Soldiers and civilians, status and lineage… none had mattered. All had been cast into purgatory. Refugee corpses picked apart by monsters. His homeland consumed in pale blue flames. The imperial capital he had looked down upon with those who could not fully die. Walm had not forgotten. He could never forget.

“As before, Libertoa and Crest will reject Highserk’s survival. In place of those who crossed into the underworld, we who survived must protect our nation and its people. I do not wish our comrades to endure such war again. The resolve of the high command is firm. No matter the sacrifice, no matter the cost, this time, we will protect the country. For that, we need you, Guardian Chief.”

It was an honest confession, without deceit.

“As you can see, I am like this. My eyes are rejecting my body. At this rate, they will rot away in the near future.”

“We have learned from past mistakes. Relying solely on military force while neglecting diplomacy was one of the causes of our defeat. Now, Highserk has worthy neighbors; the Viscounty of Dalimarcus of the Archipelago Countries, and even the Duchy of Mayard, once our enemy. Cast into the Great Rampage, both nations joined hands. Naturally, there was opposition. The bridge between them was formed by Highserk soldiers who fought through Dandurg, and the Mayard civilians they protected.”

For Highserk, long surrounded by Demonic Territory and hostile nations, this was remarkable progress. Without the bitter medicine of national ruin, such an alliance would never have come to pass. Walm urged him onward with his gaze.

“In Mayard, now our ally, there is an unparalleled healing mage. A girl you know well, Guardian Chief. She would surely heal those eyes. And above all, she would be overjoyed to learn you live.”

If Friug had survived, others might have as well. Even so, when the girl from his homeland was mentioned, Walm could not hide his agitation. He spoke her name as if to confirm it.

“…Ayane.”

“Yes. The girl you swore to see again.”

Walm had promised Ayane that he would return alive. That vow now stood on the verge of fulfillment. Had it been immediately after the war’s end, Walm would have rejoiced without reservation and agreed at once. But now, Walm had companions he could even call friends.

He fell silent, unable to answer. Friug did not press him, and time passed in heavy quiet.

“Walm, you should go.”

At the voice from behind, Walm turned. The speaker leaning half her body on a staff was Merrill.

“There’s no guarantee your eyes will last until my body heals and the labyrinth is cleared from the rubble. If there’s a cure, you should go for it. And besides, I’m not that fragile.”

Whether it was Merrill’s true heart or mere bravado, Walm could not tell. He tried to speak, but words would not come. He could not respond lightly. After long thought, Walm chose his words carefully, so as to leave no regret.

“To be honest, I wanted the five of us to slay a dragon together again. I don’t think there are other adventurers in the labyrinth who I could trust with my life… this sounds cheap when said out loud. Even so, I’ll say it. Merrill, you’re the greatest adventurers I’ve met.”

Merrill accepted Walm’s decision without hesitation.

“We’re not called the Three Magic Attack for nothing. Still, I’m glad to hear that. Once your eyes are healed and your country settles down, I want the five of us to challenge the labyrinth again.”

Memories of their time in the Labyrinth City surfaced in Walm’s mind. Aimless conversations. Meals after exploration. Even the sensation of resting shoulder to shoulder upon the labyrinth floor felt dear. He savored it and nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s.”

Opening the eyes he had lightly closed, Walm spoke to his comrade waiting beyond the door.

“Company Commander Friug, I will return to Highserk.”

There were no ornate words. Yet at Walm’s chosen answer, Friug nodded slowly but firmly.

◆

In the guest room prepared within the guild facilities, four adventurers gathered. The large chamber, intended for long stays, was adorned with silverwork and plaster decoration, designed in accordance with its quality. A room that once held five adventurers and their belongings with room to spare. It was only natural it now felt too large.

Merrill tried to convince herself of that yet could not swallow her emotions. Only one was missing, and yet the room felt desolate, loneliness clinging stubbornly.

“Merrill… are you really okay with this?”

The usually quiet Yuna spoke. Though lacking context, the meaning was easily understood among companions who had shared hardship.

“With this body, yes. And I don’t want to take advantage when he’s weakened by losing someone dear. It seems there are people in his homeland he was separated from. I know I’m a fool, but I haven’t given up. For now, I’ll focus on healing. Next time we meet, I intend to really amaze him.”

Perhaps the long time the party spent together made her transparent to them, as the other members’ faces remained clouded. They were worried.

After a breath, Merrill resolved to be slightly more honest and revealed her weakness.

“Still… even for an adventurer called a dragonslayer and hero, life doesn’t go as planned. The one thing I truly want, I can’t have, huh?”

“Surely you don’t mean…”

Mariante’s face twitched as she grasped the implication.

“What, Mariante? He used the Deep Crimson Bloom he desired so badly for me. And even with his eyes at risk of rotting away, he wounded the Undead Dragon deeply with Demon Fire. And he even stole my lips… Do you really need me to say more?”

Explaining it made Merrill feel embarrassed. She turned away, cheeks flushed red.

“Then you should’ve just said so.”

At Mariante’s insistence, Merrill shook her head.

“It’s better that his eyes are healed for certain. I can’t leave while my homeland lies in ruin either. And pressing him right after Lizzy’s death, wouldn’t that be underhanded? Well, if I must add one thing… I suppose I’m more of a coward than I thought.”

She could only laugh bitterly at her own words. In the labyrinth, she had rarely felt fear. Yet the mere thought that her feelings might be rejected made her chest ache and tongue falter.

“Not being able to speak plainly… that’s troublesome,” muttered the warrior monk, arms folded.

“I wish my head and mouth were as directly connected as Hari’s.”

“Mm. Indeed.”

Though barbed, Hari nodded as if praised. Even Merrill had to laugh at the warrior monk’s brimming confidence.

“Honestly… I have no words for you, Hari. I’ll be a burden for a while, but I’ll repay it. I swear.”

Her party nodded without calculation.

Raising her impaired half-body, Merrill slowly clenched her trembling fingers. The muscles stiffened as if resisting her, dull pain radiating outward. The healing mages Hari and the guild consulted had declared that therapeutic training would require immense pain and effort. Even closing her fingers was uncertain.

Yet Merrill’s two differently colored eyes did not lose their light. She would endure until the day the two would meet again.

[End of Arc 2]

Translator – Lyxxna