FEFR 10

“Fire…!”

It was such a large blaze that there was no need to announce it. People were pouring out of the marketplace.

Erna, who couldn’t even light a stove by herself, stared at the scene in a daze.

Renart was a bit calmer but just as clueless.

The only one who reacted quickly, as if used to shellfire, was Ranje.

Was that just now an explosion?

This was the kind of neighborhood where no one would be surprised if some dangerous item rolled around unattended. It wasn’t a place where flammable materials were managed properly. The fire was practically an accident waiting to happen.

Until now, the market and its people had just been lucky. But now, they trembled like it was their first time facing such chaos.

“W-Why are they going in there?”

Erna, having spotted something strange, tugged on Ranje’s sleeve.

As she said, about five or six men were pushing against the crowd, heading into the market.

Ranje and Renart managed to catch fragments of their conversation.

“Was the medicine warehouse this way?!”

“If we don’t salvage it, we’ll miss the delivery—!”

They shoved past the fleeing people. Clearly not selfless citizens diving in to help.

This was an area with barely any supervision. It wasn’t likely they were driven by desperation either—those types would have no decent merchandise to rescue and would be more focused on saving themselves.

They were probably part of a well-built smuggling crew. Likely even tied to the cause of the fire.

“It’s dangerous to go in now.”

At Renart’s sobered words, Ranje nodded.

“Literally walking into a deathtrap.”

Renart didn’t scold her for her flippant tone. After all, there wasn’t much they could do—and he didn’t feel strongly compelled either.

No reason to help people like that.

Ranje was thinking the same.

No need to stand out. What if word reaches Swan Hild?

Erna was the only one visibly agitated.

“Shouldn’t we… do something?”

Still holding onto Ranje’s sleeve, she spoke.

“Those people—they’re heading somewhere dangerous…”

“Yeah. That’s their choice.”

Erna flinched at the surprisingly cold reply.

Only after seeing her wide eyes did Ranje realize her mistake. She gently pried Erna’s hand away and tried to soothe her.

“They’re going back for their goods. But those goods…”

She hesitated, unsure if she should voice her grim guess. Renart filled the silence.

“Even if it’s medicine, it’s unlikely to be anything decent.”

He didn’t go so far as to mention the illegal neuro-drugs commonly distributed in the west.

“Let them be. We should leave. Breathing in that smoke isn’t good for you.”

Ranje agreed immediately, but Erna hesitated, glancing between the market and her companions.

Even though she knew they were right—and even though she knew there was nothing they could do—she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

“But… there might still be people left. Not the ones who went in just now…”

Even as she mumbled, she braced herself for scolding.

It was a naïve, untainted sense of justice. She didn’t know the world and had no plan or means to act on her sentiment.

But contrary to her expectations, a heavy silence followed.

Renart looked surprised and turned his gaze toward the market.

Erna couldn’t fully grasp what had stirred him, but even he, who had spoken so calmly, couldn’t hide the emotion beneath.

Ranje’s reaction was even more telling. Her brows furrowed in irritation, but her expression quickly shifted into something too complex to be called simple discontent.

It was the first time Erna had seen her sister’s face twisted like that, and she tensed.

But Ranje didn’t explain. Instead, as if sensing something, she sharply turned her head.

“…The layout in there is complicated.”

As if urging them to decide, a group of children ran past them.

Their worn clothes were covered in soot. They looked about the same age as the pickpocket boy from the station. Even from afar, their sun-darkened faces were pale—it was clear something terrible was happening inside.

“You’re right, Erna.”

Ranje, still watching the children, spoke again.

“If the fire spreads, it’ll be a disaster.”

She stepped forward with resolve.

“If there’s even a single person you’re looking for in there… you can’t just sit still. I’ll try putting out the fire first.”

That wasn’t what Erna had expected. Before she could stop her, Ranje was already walking into the market with the same casual gait she had used earlier to buy dinner.

“…Find a safe place to hide.”

Leaving the stunned Erna behind, Renart followed Ranje.

Was he planning to bring her back? Or to help?

Erna clenched her handkerchief and bag tightly, staying in place.

The thick smoke, the scent of burning—it dried out even the inside of her mouth.

Ranje’s nerves were on edge. She had seen this before.

It started with Erna’s words, but what truly pushed her to act was her own memory.

Ranje had once lived with ideals—wanted to do good, be acknowledged, live honorably. Up until the age of twenty.

Maybe she could have held on a few more years if the battlefield she was thrown onto had offered any justification.

But the war she faced before returning to this life was brutal and senseless.

To survive, Ranje had to simplify her thinking.

What’s more valuable than your own life?

But this wasn’t a battlefield. The problems she was trying to ignore weren’t that complicated.

It wasn’t even that dangerous yet. Ranje had the strength to turn things around.

She clenched her fist.

Erna had reminded her not to turn away from the things she could do.

Erna probably didn’t realize it, but for Ranje, it was a meaningful moment.

Even Renart, who followed, seemed to feel something. His young face was filled with an awkward kind of determination.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

“What kind of person do you take me for?”

Renart was a bit annoyed. He had been trying to be kind.

“To be honest, I thought you’d find it too bothersome.”

“I’ve never been taught to just watch when someone in my group goes somewhere dangerous.”

He frowned. Ranje might not exactly be a ‘lady,’ but regardless, this was the right thing to do.

“So… you’re planning to bring her out?”

Renart didn’t immediately confirm, because of the look on Ranje’s face.

There was no pretense in her calm expression. In her green-gray eyes was a confidence he couldn’t understand. It was a sense of righteousness he’d never seen before.

“…You did say you’d take care of it, so I’ll assume you’ve got a plan. Let’s hear it.”

“To put out a fire, you use water.”

Ranje pulled out the spear hanging from her waist. It was shortened to dagger size, so Renart focused more on her absurd words.

“You’re not seriously calling that your plan?”

“If we had rain, it’d solve the whole problem. And luckily, there are two mages here.”

She said it simply, but Renart gave a hollow laugh.

Something on this scale would need a downpour. Weather manipulation was advanced magic—the basics of elemental creation, at the very least.

“I mean, I’m only a second-year…”

“Your skills are better than just second-year, aren’t they?”

“And you’re just an applicant. What can we possibly do, the two of us?”

“Bit late to nitpick after coming all the way here, don’t you think?”

Renart held his head.

Maybe it was the smoke, or maybe just the absurdity of his mistake, but he had a headache. He’d come thinking he could drag her out if needed, but this girl was on a whole different wavelength.

“Don’t worry. I’m not just any applicant either.”

Ranje smiled, bright as the fire around them.

Renart, seeing her familiar mischievous smile, felt none of the dread he expected.

She slung her now-full-length spear over her shoulder.

“And besides, you know, right?”

“…Know what?”

“In a crisis, we’ve got a method that always works.”

Ranje knew better than anyone how to push people burdened by doubt or regret.

“Renart.”

Lock eyes. Say what you truly believe is best.

“Let’s invoke.”

When she was twenty, she’d said the same words to the then twenty-two-year-old Renart.

Because her partner back then had needed a push—he’d been ready to die.

The border clash that had made Ranje his new partner eventually led to war.

The Empire struck Inel first, right after talks broke down.

Even though they had the advantage of the first strike, they failed to secure momentum and were driven back beyond the border within a month. A disgraceful, foolish failure.

Until then, Ranje’s pair hadn’t even fired a single shot. They had been half-assing it, unwilling to dirty their hands.

But the moment eventually came—when they had to decide: kill or be killed.

It was the fortieth day of war. Their main force had been annihilated, and they were the only ones left, being hunted.

At the time, Renart had said something ridiculous.

—“I’ll distract them. You run north.”

They weren’t close enough to warrant such sacrifice. He had simply chosen to die.

Only later did Ranje learn that he had grown deeply tired of life.

But Ranje had never—not even once—wanted to die.