Chapter 115 …
“…….”
“And Rita, history is basically someone’s record of edited facts.”
It was the same as the note Ethan had left in his hero chronicle. Gide continued, his tone slightly subdued.
“Moreover, that historical record was copied directly from what Pascal had. Don’t believe everything there blindly, as it’s just what he gathered according to his own standards.”
“…….”
“Even if the overarching facts no one can deny are accurate, the details often aren’t. We need to distinguish between facts and opinions in the narrative. Things like ‘they were close’ are ultimately just the narrator’s perspective.”
“So, what’s the truth?”
“No one knows. It’s history that no longer exists. But we can make guesses.”
“Like what?”
“Ramcard collapsed, and the capital moved to the relatively untainted Deweyreborg. If the emperor had any sense, he would have strictly managed his relationship with an empress from Deweyreborg. And his original fiancée in the first place—”
Gide suddenly turned to look at her, cutting off his sentence, and pressed his fingers against her forehead.
“……?”
“You’ve got a higher fever now.”
He clicked his tongue, checked the cloak covering her to ensure the bandages hadn’t bled through, and said,
“You shouldn’t bleed if we move now. Let’s go back to the barracks, Rita. You need to rest.”
Before she could respond, Gide pulled the cloak back over her, lifted her into his arms, and rose to his feet. The movement jostled her wound, and she let out a short, involuntary groan.
“Ah.”
“Sorry.”
Gide quickly apologized and leaned close to her, resting his head near hers as if to comfort her, whispering gently,
“I’ll walk as carefully as I can, so bear with me a little.”
He carefully carried her so her legs wouldn’t wobble, hurrying along.
Rita, nestled in his arms, stared blankly at the forest rushing past. Her vision began to blur, and she could feel the heat of her own breath. Her fever was clearly rising.
Her muddled thoughts jumbled together everything that had just happened:
Hannah. Ethan. Crawler. Pascal’s goals. The best, not the optimal. Worry. Awareness. Unintelligible touches. Tangled thoughts. The Gide she knew and Gideon in history. Narrative and opinion…
Everything was dizzying, disorienting.
If she were alone, she might have managed to hold onto her sanity, but with Gide beside her, she could relax. The man who should have been overseeing the hunting competition had come to find her…
In a daze, she spoke.
“Gide.”
“Yes.”
“You were on the watchtower… how did you find me?”
“I got Olivia’s signal and met your maid on the way. She said you were hurt.”
“Oh, Hannah… that’s why you came. I told her… not to tell anyone else and to find you…”
“Me?”
“Because I was hurt, I wanted to see you.”
Rilietta smiled faintly and rested her head lightly against his chest.
“I’m glad you came…”
Gideon unconsciously stopped and looked down at her. She had fallen asleep, letting out soft, warm breaths.
“…Seriously drives a person insane…”
His neck and ears flushed red as he muttered to himself, then forced himself to continue walking.
Ethan was tracking a servant from the Naparoa family when he received Olivia’s signal.
‘Damn it, and of course Crawler shows up too.’
A dangerous beast even with bad compatibility. Realizing his presence wouldn’t help much, he continued the tracking instead of heading to the battlefield.
‘Rita told me to investigate this guy.’
The servant wasn’t particularly skilled or special. By Ethan’s standards, he was practically leaving a trail for anyone to follow.
‘But how far is this guy going, right near the camp?’
Unlike Hannah, who had fled deeper into the forest opposite the central camp, the servant’s trail ran along the forest’s edge, facing the camp.
At some point, Ethan stopped and silently leapt into a tree. His odd energy (OD) harmonized with the surrounding OD, making him nearly invisible.
The ghost blended into the branches, eyes fixed on a spot slightly away from him. Two people stood in the shallow forest, where the barracks of the central camp were faintly visible.
One was a man dressed as a servant—the one who had lured Hannah from the Raskyle barracks and then fought and split in the forest.
The person facing him wore a deep black hood, hiding their face.
Using his OD-enhanced hearing, Ethan caught their whispered conversation:
“State whose orders you are following and what you are doing. In detail.”
The hood spoke coldly. The man’s voice was slightly hoarse.
“The master… passed by the barracks, saw that maid… said she looked familiar… told me to find out about her parents… and to get her hair… When I touched her head, she resisted… I had to grab her, and she ran… The task was completed, so I took a long route… returning to the master…”
The servant’s eyes were unfocused as he stammered. The hood muttered irritably after listening.
“Damn old man with a uselessly good memory.”
The hood clicked his tongue and extended a hand to the servant.
“Give me the maid’s hair.”
“Yes…”
The servant handed over what he had stored in his pocket. The hood took a few strands, and flames ignited at the tips.
‘No spell, and still magic…’
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. This hooded figure was an exceptional mage. Moreover, their voice and build were remarkably familiar.
‘Could it be…?’
The mage burned Hannah’s hair completely, then waved their hand in the air, creating strands of similarly reddish-brown hair. They handed it to the dazed servant and ordered:
“Put this in your pocket. Walk ten paces, and then completely forget meeting me.”
“Yes…”
The servant put the fake hair in his pocket and began walking back toward the central camp.
Ethan didn’t follow further. He tensed every nerve, eyes fixed on the hooded mage.
‘…Can I mask the tracking scent?’
The tracking perfume could only be detected by specially trained people and remained active for a long time. Ethan had prepared it with Isaiah’s help, using an assassin’s formula.
He pulled out a bottle from his pocket, attached it to the thread conjured by his OD, and prepared to use it.
The servant, ten steps ahead, flinched, scratched the back of his head in confusion, checked his pocket, and headed to the barracks marked with the Naparoa family emblem.
The hooded figure turned, and Ethan quickly threw the bottle attached to the thread.
As it flew, a strange sensation ran through his fingertips. The bottle stopped midair, as if hitting an invisible wall.
‘A barrier!’
Instinctively, Ethan pulled the thread to retrieve the bottle, jumped down from the tree, and quickly put distance between himself and the mage.
The tree he had been on was immediately engulfed in bright blue flames.
“…….”
The hooded figure stared at the burning tree, then turned away. A glowing magic circle appeared under their feet, and they vanished—teleportation.
Ethan, from a safe distance, watched them disappear, panting and cursing.
“Damn, shit….”
Even though the bottle didn’t have stealth applied, the mage instantly detected it the moment it touched the barrier, guessed the trajectory, and immediately incinerated it?
‘What kind of speed is that…’
If he had hesitated a moment longer, he would have been caught in the flames or revealed.
And a mage with mediocre physical abilities reacting this quickly, using teleportation—a high-level spell that even Olivia struggles with—so effortlessly, without preparation…
Ethan let out a bitter laugh and twisted his mouth.
“Yep… it’s Pascal, that bastard…”
