Clarabelle is by the gates the next morning, her suitcase white-knuckled in her fingers by the wooden handle. My usual shadow is ahead of us, but offers a brief greeting. I note the wooden wheels of her suitcase, slight and fixed. Her eyes are glittering.

“Warning you now; you may not appreciate what I have to say during this trip. Or what I make you do.”

She bites her lip, clenching the suitcase tighter. Pulling a deep breath and lifting her chin, she releases her words slowly. “I’m ready.”

We diverge from the trail after an hour. Clarabelle wrestles the bag through the long strands of grass and wheat. A soft reminder and a strength spell hoists the bag into her hands. The forest line has more or less returned to normalcy – Carlile had said there was a portal within the belly of the forest that most of the monsters in the area seep from. Our first destination is the Northern edge of the forest, the edge opposite to the city’s natural entry point. At its narrowest, the forest requires a dedicated full day to traverse. We manage it in three hours – one and a half bells – through the use of a simple trick, two if you include non-magical. She doesn’t venture for an explanation, but does furrow her brow in confusion.

I admire the jagged leaves of one particular bush and the subtle, venomous spikes blanketing the fleshy surface like fine hairs, then flit my attention to the blueberry-like fruits clinging to the centre stem. “This is the nular asul plant,” I answer unprompted. “The needles are extremely poisonous.”

“Ah… Then, that detour earlier…”

“It was for this.”

Briefly adjusting my gloves, I grip the plant by the main stem (avoiding the berries) and drag it from the earth by the roots.

Karmel lent me a spatial pouch for the material gathering. Any item slipped within is teleported to a special container in her shop. I wrap the leaves and deposit them in the bag.

“Scrub.”

The familiar tornado manifests with the rune, soaking my gloves in seconds with suds and water.

“Expunge.”

Another rune appears between my fingers, shining brilliantly like a miniature sun. An eerie purple smoke seeps from the lingering suds, swallowed up within itself.

The ginger-haired girl stares in slack-jawed amazement.

Supposedly, one of the previous generations of Summoned cast a mass area-of-effect spell against an army of zombies, reversing the rotting corpses into their living, human, forms. Though a rather extreme example of the Light Element, it is far more renowned as medicine against rot or poison. The Church of Regir maintains that this application is only a fraction of the element’s true power and a blessing of Regir himself, but the general populace only cares that it is a supposedly rare attribute.

“Get a campfire set up; I want to see your temperature control.”

She sets to work gathering the kindle and sticks. I procure five more of the nular asul and a couple other ingredients for the shop. As I do, a feisty Squirmer sneaks up on me from the branches of a tree, pawing its claws on the branch to pounce.

A needle pierces through its throat, seizing the ambush.

Hunting down a Rinny for the claws, I skin and present the meat to Clarabelle. Her face wrinkles with disgust at the blood, but she skewers and sets them both over the fire.

“Don’t bother with the wood tonight.”

Her fingers flinch, wavering the fire, blue eyes snapping up. “What?”

“Were the words you said yesterday a lie?”

She shakes her head.

“If you’re weak, you need to push yourself. That is the only way to get stronger.”

“But…”

She shuts up, repressing her thoughts. Focusing on the skewers, she holds her staff to the flames to readjust the temperature.

“Speak.”

“What if you’re stuck with a limit you’ll never be able to overcome? What if, no matter how hard you try, there is nothing you can do to overcome it?”

“Is it a curse?”

“…”

“Even if it is, the solution remains the same.” I sit down, crossing my legs. Flicking my glance to the treeline, I linger on the two silent members of the audience. One, my good friend, has followed me since the first night. The other is new.

“Two Calikats are engaged in a battle with each other. Which one wins?”

“What? I… they don’t… What?”

“Theoretically. One Calikat is fighting another. What they are fighting over, why they are there, neither of those matter. Who do you think wins?”

“The… first one…?”

“Why?”

She stutters. I pluck the Squirmer from the fire and check it. “Take your time.”

If she has been paying attention, she will have the answer before tonight’s camp. But I suspect her to forget the question before the passing of a bell.

It wasn’t really for her anyways.

…

I sharpen my knives, perched on a stump a small distance from the sleeping girl. Blankets enveloped securely around her, she lets out a slight whistle between soft snores. Testing the edge against my thumb, I sheath the knife and scoop a rock from the dirt while retying the laces on my shoes. Stretching and working out the muscles, I loop a languid circle around the camp.

One lap, two, three… now.

Flicking the rock into the tall grass, I smoke the new face from hiding. He rubs his forehead, stunned.

“Good evening,” I greet sweetly, looping my hands together behind my back. “What brings you here tonight?”

He ignores my question, attempting to retreat back into hiding. I skip the distance between us, covering fifty feet in a second.

Squatting to his face, I extend a hand.

“Let’s try that again. My acquaintance and I are destined for Sommersen. You already know this, but it’s important to cover the basics.”

Still silent, listening. Good.

“Nothing you learn from this distance will be of much help. And I have not given you my consent to follow. Which is why you now have two bells to reach a decision.”

“What decision?”

He talks. Those brief reports throughout the day had to be communicated somehow. I hold up three fingers for his convenience, lowering one for each option presented.

1. Skip ahead and wait for our arrival

2. Make contact in the morning and join our group

3. Continue as he has till now knowing I will make his job extremely difficult

I flash a business smile as the last option is delivered, noting the trembling of his hand within the grass. He’s been bracing his body by that hand this entire time and falls over the instant I stand up and dust off my clothes. Adjusting the gloves again, I remind him of his deadline.

“Two bells. Convene with your boss if you must, but don’t make me decide for you.”

He returns to the silent tactic. I let him – he will be talking on his own soon enough. I only gave him one choice. The Chess Candidate behind him, if they have any sense, will recognize that immediately.

Dropping a cheap pack at his feet, I return to the camp and my perch on the stump. The clothes will fit; I picked them out myself from a stall on my way to the gates this morning.

Waking Clarabelle, I have her cast a barrier over us and cross my legs to meditate. Since my slip up in front of His Majesty, I have practiced drawing magic into myself. That saying, once is happenstance, twice a quandary, thrice a fool exists for a reason.

Though the tug is more gradual this far from the Circle, I am able to replenish a sufficient store of magic by the time morning colours the horizon. Clarabelle, accustomed to my antics, devotes herself to cooking our food through her spells alone. Learning to appreciate the inconvenience of her staff, she has resorted to casting the simpler spells without.

I snack on an apple as she operates, admiring the significant improvement compared to the first time I had seen her magic. Regardless of whether her earlier display had been a part of her act, forming good habits is an essential tool for battle.

No sense using a screwdriver on a nail if there’s a hammer in the very same toolbelt.

“You’re improving. How does it feel to overcome a limit?”

She flicks her attention to me then hastily recentres it on maintaining the spell. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

I turn the kebabs over and wash my gloves. They are browning beautifully. Another two, three minutes, and the food will be ready.

“Have you thought about it yet? Why the Calikat wins?”

She shakes her head. “They’re the same. There shouldn’t be anything different about one from the other.”

“That is correct.”

“Is it something external? But you said what they are fighting over doesn’t matter.”

“Correct again.”

“That’s a contradiction.”

“Is it?”

She frowns, hesitating on her rebuke. I take the kebabs, handing one to her and cooling my share for consumption. She instinctively applies the spell she is maintaining to cool the kebabs before dispelling her magic and accepting them.

“Explore the details and have some fun with it; you’ll find the answer when you’re ready.”

Though she will likely act on it first.

We break camp after breakfast, returning to the road to continue onwards. A short time later, the silence is interrupted through a strained gasp. “You there! Are you… adventurers… by chance?”

Panting and out of breath, a young man seemingly in his teens rushes up to us. Planting a hand on each thigh, he wastes the next three minutes of our attention catching his breath. Clarabelle shifts her focus to me, unsure of how to answer this actively suspicious person coated head to toe in dirt.

I suppress my mirth beneath a fist, granting my very dirty shadow a chance to present his hastily rehearsed performance.

“Please, grant me the honour of accompanying you.”

“Did something happen?”

He coughs into a fist, averting his face. “The… the truth is, though I am ashamed to admit… I was robbed. All they left behind were the clothes on my back and this ring I managed to conceal from them. You see, I… there is one whom my heart belongs, and I intend to ask for her hand.”

The part about the proposal is true.

Narrowing my eyes in amusement, I steal a glance at Clarabelle. She stands shock still, bewildered by the sudden turn of events.

“What do you think?”

“Huh? Uhmm… he’s quite unfortunate, isn’t he?”

“You’re not wrong.” I remark in return, tapping a knuckle against my lips. My eyes flick to his. “Do you live in Sommersen, by chance?”

His head snaps to me. “I–I do.”

So that’s the story, huh? A trip to the capital for the ring, but mugged on his return trip home. A bit cliche, but not bad for such short notice.

“Three Cretia.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“In exchange for our protection.”

He seems to gape silently for a moment before screwing his face in thought. Scratching at the back of his head, he counters my proposal with a hint of shame.

“I, uhm… I don’t have that much.”

A commoner would be quite unusual if he did. Especially if he, at just past the threshold of adulthood, had squandered his entire savings between a ring and a mugging.

“The–the most I can offer you is one,” he forces in a reluctant mutter, brandishing his finger for emphasis. “Paid on my safe arrival.”

“What do you think, Clarabelle?”

She startles, then fumbles for a moment over what I could possibly be hinting at. “O-okay… I guess?”

“You have yourself a deal.”

The instant he accepts my hand, I release the spell I had prepared throughout our conversation. Staggering at the unexpected force of soap and water, and then air, he stares wide-eyed at the suddenly pristine garb and skin of his hand. Within the brief glimpse of his ruffled bangs, I spot the purpling bruise from only a handful of hours ago. The cut on his cheek is new.

You dare…?

I tilt my head to the side at his flare of anger.

Didn’t honestly expect me not to have a proper look at you, did you?

His pupils dilate with surprise. I squeeze his hand, returning him to the act. “Even if it is the truth, I don’t imagine the love of your life would appreciate being proposed to by a dirt-covered lover.”

“Th…ank… you?”

“This is Clarabelle. You may call me Sebastian.”

“S-Sevan.”

“Well, Sevan. Shall we be off?”

Not as though he can decline. At least as far as this narrative is concerned, he approached us first.

‘Sevan’ strikes up idle conversation with Clarabelle as we walk, at times attempting to draw me in and failing. She answers his questions with clipped responses, unable to fully disguise her perturb. The simple sign hung over the village enters into view, welcoming travellers in the humble manner only a village is capable of accomplishing. In a cluster to the side of the gate, a group of adventurers converse idly amongst themselves. Bryant, inevitably, serves as the helm of the conversation.

Sevan stiffens at the sight of them, the widening of his eyes from surprise fully genuine. Consciously relaxing his ingrained display of respect too late, he locks panicked eyes with my friendly smile.

Candidate of the dagger it is.

In a voice betraying his surprise, Bryant addresses me first. Not that I had any intention of actually exchanging words. Aside from that one woman I’d seen in the bar with him, it appears as though none of his original members have stuck.

“What are you doing here?”

“Now isn’t that a question.” I turn to Clarabelle. “Escort Sevan to his home and ensure the completion of the request.”

Both people in question hesitate, but while Clarabelle relents with a nod, a gesture from the woman at Bryant’s side triggers the knight into action. My eyes narrow upon her with amusement.

“It’s… Ambrie, right? I’m not familiar with the rest of you.”

“I don’t recall you two being formerly introduced.”

“We haven’t. I take it you have business with the capital?”

“None of your concern.”

“I understand.” I say in a broad, innocent smile.

“You–!”

The princess cuts Bryant off, resting a hand on his forearm to draw his attention to herself. “You’re much too important to waste your time on people like him, BJ.” She insists in a flowery voice, fluttering her eyelashes at him with calculated cuteness. He hesitates, stalled from his ego’s intended rant.

“We’re leaving now.” Directing his arrogance at me, he narrows his brows in distaste. “There’s not a lot of time left before the wave.”

“Good luck with your business in the capital.”

Bryant pivots on his heel, storming away from the village at a pace his entourage struggle to keep up with. Ambrie the sole exception, of course. She turns on the charm, flattering and egging him on.

A puppet with a brain is useless, after all. I wonder if she realizes that they’re playing each other?

The ‘Hero of Might’ summoned to aid this country does not take this world seriously, though I suppose I have no place to speak. I wonder who afforded us the title of 'hero' anyways.

Checking the text on my phone, I turn to the gatekeeper and flash a smile. "So," I say, "what damage has he wrought upon your village this time?"