Chapter 16
It was a highly plausible guess.
A monster that hadn’t been a problem even once over the past several thousand years suddenly running rampant?
That was a textbook bad omen.
Anxiety and unease.
Once again, to be clear, the emotions Terry Romance hated the most.
And yet, at this very moment, Terry was—unfortunately—feeling anxious.
“Damn it.”
She couldn’t control her expression.
Even after realizing that the knights gathered around the table were starting to sneak glances at her, the crease between Terry’s brows refused to smooth out.
“Don’t mind me too much.”
In the end, Terry spoke up.
“It’s, uh… probably something I ate at lunch.”
No one would really believe it, but it was at least a usable excuse.
The strategy meeting wrapped up quickly without the atmosphere improving in the slightest. They needed to hurry toward the southern coast, where the poison dragon had appeared.
As the knights of the Hesron Order busied themselves gathering equipment and preparing to depart, Terry stood with her arms crossed and quietly watched Liam, who was commanding the order from the front.
He’s grown well.
That was Terry’s thought.
When I first met him, he was practically nothing but bones.
She clicked her tongue absently.
It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that the Liam she’d first seen hardly looked human at all.
The people who had filled his past had all been far from normal, which had left him with an extreme wariness toward others.
A child who acted as though all he possessed were teeth meant to tear someone apart.
A child who had learned only how to grab a beast by the jaws and fight, just to survive a three-day–starved fighting dog.
A gladiatorial slave who had never learned how to live like a human being.
And yet, who could look at the current Liam and imagine such a past?
His once-dry black hair now shone with luster. His cheeks, once hollow from lack of food, were now healthily sun-bronzed.
The faint scars and old wounds covering his skin looked almost like badges of honor.
Still, I’m glad he grew up well.
Terry murmured inwardly, like a grandmother admiring her grandchild.
That former combat slave had become a knight commander.
I guess he had it in him—that’s why he survived that hellscape.
Terry reflected once more on how difficult it was to survive.
Jun hadn’t survived.
Yes. Her nephew hadn’t survived.
And if I don’t find the male lead now, then no one else in this world will survive either.
She had never lived without a sense of responsibility—as a grand mage and as the female lead—but this time, the weight on her shoulders felt especially heavy.
She was even seriously considering whether she should just grit her teeth and play along romantically once if Adrahim really was the male lead.
Just yesterday she’d thought she’d rather bite her tongue and die than play his lover.
But after hearing how many people had died because of the resulting anomalies, how much damage had been done, and how the environment itself was raising warning signs, her resolve wavered badly.
The poison dragon was something she could deal with personally.
It’s not like this is the first time I’ve fought hordes of monsters.
The real problem was whatever other abnormalities might follow afterward.
As Terry Romance worried about the fate of the world with a heavy heart, Liam—who had been standing some distance away commanding the knights—suddenly appeared right in front of her.
Terry only realized he was that close when his large frame cast a shadow over her face.
Looking closer, he wasn’t empty-handed.
Of course, it was only natural for a knight to be carrying something, but what caught her attention was that Liam was holding a medicine bottle.
A digestive remedy, no less.
Without saying a word, Liam quietly held the bottle out to Terry.
Wait. Is this because I said I got sick from lunch earlier?
Terry was genuinely shocked.
She’d just been thinking how admirable it was that he’d grown enough to become a commander—was he considerate on top of that?
“You really grew up well.”
Terry accepted the bottle with admiration.
Liam, on the other hand, looked puzzled. The kind of expression that clearly said, Out of nowhere? Right now?
“I didn’t raise you, so is this thanks to former Commander Shevgenia?”
“……”
“I don’t need to take medicine, but thank you.”
Even when Terry reached out and ruffled his hair out of sheer pride, Liam accepted it without resistance.
At this point, Terry started worrying in a gentle, almost indulgent way.
If he’s this nice, what if he gets taken advantage of somewhere?
Though honestly, who would dare scold the future Sword Master?
“And I’m sturdier than you think.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
That wasn’t the answer she’d expected.
For someone who knew, he sure seemed awfully worried about colds, indigestion, and everything else.
“Because you’re strong.”
Liam stated it plainly, as if he’d never shown concern at all.
“But knowing and feelings don’t always line up.”
His calm tone didn’t waver.
“Even if I know, I still worry.”
Terry suddenly thought—
Is this what romantic is?
“Just now, what you said was really…”
She swallowed the words That was totally something a male lead would say.
Years of romance novel reading—thanks to Alice—were finally paying off.
The problem was that they only paid off in recognition.
Even after realizing it was romantic, the best reaction Terry could come up with was, Well, that sounds annoying.
At least she understood that such a response would completely kill the mood. That much objectivity was a gift from Dante’s romance lessons.
So instead of replying, Terry chose to pat Liam’s head again.
“But if you and I fought, you’d lose.”
…Nope. Still a mood-killer.
Regardless of Terry’s distant gaze, Liam merely closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
His gaze remained calm. Steady. Unshaken.
That gave Terry an odd feeling.
Because she remembered the look in his eyes when they first met.
A piercing glare that cut through his gaunt face.
Red eyes burning alone in the darkness.
Eyes that looked like they could burn anything placed into his hands.
The boy who scraped the floor with dirt-caked fingernails, fighting for his life amid the stench of blood.
Because she hadn’t seen him even once between the day he joined the order and now, the contrast felt even sharper.
Had time smoothed him down?
Or had he always been like this, with circumstances simply sharpening Liam Hawthorne into a beast back then?
The boy who once looked ready to devour anything was now a young man.
And with all that heat buried beneath the surface, he said calmly,
“Even if we don’t fight, I lose.”
Leaving behind Terry’s primal question—How do you lose without fighting?—the knight order, now fully prepared, finally began to move.
From Sarvana, the capital at the very heart of the Kingdom of Feltra, to the southern coast, the shortest route would take roughly two weeks.
Every time this happened, Terry found herself missing the high-speed trains of her past life.
I’m a grand mage—how is it possible I can’t even use teleportation?
This world was seriously messed up; not a single practical magic field had properly developed.
Even Terry Romance, who could collapse an entire building overnight, still cleaned with a broom.
Her eyes fell on the nervous expressions of the rookie mages from the Tower of Anados, heading out on their first dispatch mission.
The stiff shoulders of the freshly adult eighteen-year-olds were enough to make Terry feel sorry for them.
So she walked over and offered some words of comfort.
“The road’s a bit rough.”
Granted, her definition of comfort might differ from others’.
“If you just brainwash yourself into thinking you’re not a living human but a piece of moss rolling along the ground for about two weeks, it gets easier.”
…Yes, very different.
The rookie mage’s face turned even paler.
“Count… is this the kind of thing you always do…?”
the young mage asked in a trembling voice.
“Yeah. That’s why I’m researching group spatial transfer and magical transportation methods.”
Apparently, that only translated to: Even a grand mage finds this forced march unbearable.
Thus, Terry’s dispatch mission began—after unintentionally plunging one brand-new recruit into despair.
