Chapter 97

Mikhail moved slowly down the corridor, listening to the servants' hushed gossip.

[…Tsk tsk. It's the late Madam I feel sorry for, rest her soul. Lord Joseph hasn't so much as looked at the young lord's face in years, and the young lord throws fits and gets locked in his room like it's routine. Dreadful times. What's to become of the North at this rate.]

[Um… Mr. Butler, sir. You said the young lord keeps asking to go outside, right? Then wouldn't it be fine to let him travel for a day or two? The North is dangerous, sure, but with a proper escort it shouldn't be a problem. So why won't they let him leave?]

[Who can say what Lord Joseph is thinking? All he says is that the young lord must never leave the estate—and he says it in no uncertain terms. …Hah, and the rest of us are the ones caught in the middle. Every single day is a battle. Though at least when the young lord's reading, he's a touch quieter. I suppose we should count that as a blessing.]

Mikhail hummed faintly and kept moving.

His footsteps fell at steady intervals, undisturbed by the stream of voices.

[……]

The murmuring around him gradually died away.

The will of this place—eager to snare him in old memories and hold him still—seemed to have decided that this level of provocation wouldn't draw the reaction it wanted.

A taut silence followed.

Mikhail stopped and turned his head. Right beside him stood a large door.

From behind the thick wood, his own voice began to echo down the corridor.

[…Father. I think I finally understand what you're so terrified of. It's me, isn't it? Me getting hurt. Me dying. Then let me leave this place. Right now! Unless you want to watch me bite down on a blade and drop dead where I stand!]

The hysterical shout was closer to a scream. The weight of the emotion behind it pressed heavy on Mikhail's shoulders.

He stood there, staring at the door. Then a dry laugh slipped free.

"Well. Regardless of the circumstances—he threatened his own father with his life? That's one hell of a temper."

A brief remark was all he had to offer. Mikhail turned forward and walked on.

No more voices reached him after that.

Whoooosh—

The surrounding scenery shifted once again.

A cutting wind howled as a freezing blizzard tore into the corridor.

White snow began to pile on the floor.

But Mikhail remained perfectly composed. He crunched through the accumulating snow and pressed ahead.

The torches along the walls became round winter birds. The pillars holding up the corridor became snow-laden pines.

The landscape, layering ever-deeper cold with each step, finally gave way to a midwinter conifer forest.

Pssshh.

The Crystal Wisp fluttering a short distance ahead crumbled into fine dust.

Mikhail watched the scattering fragments of light and tilted his head back.

Whoooosh—

Beneath a night sky dotted with tiny golden dwarf stars—

Through the driving snow, a towering wall of ice rose before him, blocking the way forward.

"Haah."

Mikhail exhaled a white breath and scanned his surroundings.

The blizzard whipped with savage force, its extreme cold gnawing through to the bone and locking every muscle in place.

Snow had climbed to his knees without him noticing, gripping his ankles and fighting his every step.

"……"

Mikhail fixed his eyes forward and forced his frozen legs to move.

Each step drew a dull, grinding protest from his muscles. The deep cold seeped into his marrow.

But none of it could make him stop.

"……"

He stood one stride from the ice wall.

Both palms pressed flat against the surface—cold bleeding through in thick, relentless waves—he slowly lowered his gaze.

He already knew the words that would break through.

A stagnant past can never hold back the will to move forward.

[Notice: Possessed mana activates, imbued with the property of [Surge].]

CRACKLE!

The system message had barely seared itself into view when a brilliant dark blue light erupted from Mikhail's palms.

The unleashed mana raced across the solid surface like lightning, carving lines of blue-black radiance into the ice.

Fractures splintered through the massive wall. Sections wrenched apart, grinding and shuddering against each other.

KA-CRACK!

The ice wall—unyielding as eternal permafrost—shattered and collapsed in an avalanche of fragments.

What emerged behind the settling white debris was a void of pure black.

Mikhail blew out a single breath and stepped forward without hesitation.

Ssssshh….

The darkness around him thinned before long. Beyond the vanishing point, the bright panorama of a forest materialized piece by piece.

Mikhail walked on in silence. All that remained was finding his way out.

"……"

He was a step or two from the exit when he stopped and turned to look behind him.

Flutter.

Faint, but unmistakable—the beat of a guide's wings.

From deep within the distant pitch-black, the two-toned Crystal Wisp he'd placed in Ethan's hand came drifting toward him.

---

The sky looked ready to release snow at any moment.

Ethan stood motionless at the edge of a distant lakeshore, staring out across the water.

"Ow!"

A sudden impact at his waist made him look down.

A small child had tumbled over right at his feet, face scrunched on the verge of tears.

"Hey now, careful there."

Ethan bent down, helped the child up, and brushed the dirt from their clothes.

Then he glanced around at the surrounding grass and shrubs and asked.

"Where are your par—"

"Monster."

Ethan flinched. The child wrenched free of his hand, spun around, and ran.

He watched the small figure shrink into the distance and let out a hollow laugh.

"What was that abou—"

"—Ethan! Hey! You little punk!"

A voice lanced into his ears and blanked out his thoughts. Ethan's eyes flew wide as he whipped around.

A man with dark brown hair tied back and deep blue eyes was emerging from a large tent, waving his arm.

"You said you were going to fetch water, and what—did you fall in the lake and drown? I'm going to die of old age waiting for you! Die!"

The sight of a person he would never forget as long as he lived.

Ethan felt his heart hammering against his ribs as the word stumbled out.

"Master…?"

The instant he spoke, his right hand grew heavy. He looked down slowly.

A pail brimming with clear water sat in his grip. The clothes on his body weren't his usual uniform, either.

"Oh."

Ethan breathed out, dazed and disoriented. From far across the clearing, his master shouted again.

"What are you standing around for? Get over here! It's about to snow!"

Ethan hesitated for a moment—then quickened his pace toward the tent.

He couldn't tell whether what he was seeing was a dream or real.

But the chance to see his master again—whenever it came, however it came—was something he refused to let slip away.

Clatter.

Pail in hand, Ethan stepped inside the tent.

The interior, suffused with a gentle warmth, looked exactly as he remembered it.

Bedding tucked in the corner. A small campfire giving off heat. And a table with a softly glowing lamp.

Ethan swallowed hard and set down the pail. His master's voice filled the space.

"There you are. Sit down for a sec. Let me cut up some fruit."

Ethan watched his master's back as he rummaged busily through a basket.

Then he did as he was told and sat down at the table.

"The fishermen were having terrible luck, so I lent a hand and got these in return. Look at that. Aren't they gorgeous?"

Thunk.

What landed on the table alongside his master's breezy chatter was a handful of ripe red peaches and apples.

The kind of fruit Ethan had always loved for their sweetness—but could rarely get his hands on when you lived on the road, drifting from place to place.

He stared at them in silence, then raised his eyes. His master flashed a toothy grin.

"They're your favorite, right? I picked them out special."

Something surged up from deep in his chest. Ethan dropped his head in a hurry and nodded.

"Thank… you."

"What's with the formalities? Since when?"

Clatter.

A cup appeared in front of him. Warm milk poured from a kettle and filled it to the brim.

Ethan swallowed a shaking breath and lifted his head.

His master had already moved to the opposite side of the table, sipping his own cup of milk.

Ethan watched him for a long, quiet moment, then spoke.

"Master."

"What."

"I missed you."

—Pffttt!

His master spewed milk clear across the table.

That wasn't enough—a violent coughing fit followed, and he hacked and sputtered while wiping his mouth.

"What—what's gotten into you? Have you lost your mind?"

Ethan let a soft, crumbling laugh escape and shook his head.

Everything about this moment was exactly the same as the scenes locked in his memory.

"No… it's nothing."

"Good grief. They say when a man's time is up, he starts acting out of character. You're not actually sick, are you? Something terminal?"

There's no way I'd die.

The words climbed all the way to the tip of his tongue, but Ethan chose not to say them.

He simply offered a faint smile at his master, who was stroking his stubbly chin with an expression of exaggerated concern.

"Ahem. Well, anyway."

His master was the first to change the subject. Ethan nodded agreeably.

"Sure. Go ahead."

"How's the prep going for dropping out of that school?"

Ethan's shoulders jerked. He swallowed a sharp breath.

"…What?"

"I told you last time—don't tell me you forgot? It's about time you linked back up with me."

All Ethan could manage were thin, scattered sighs. No words would follow.

But he gathered his voice and forced himself to speak.

"I… but, Master. You're… your illness is—"

His master's face shifted into understanding. He waved both hands dismissively and let out a scoff.

"Oh, for—that's what this is about? Should've known. Worrywart through and through."

He shoved his sleeve up past the elbow and thrust his arm out.

Ethan stared at what he saw and his eyes went wide.

The skin that had been so pale it was turning blue—dying before his eyes—now carried a flush of warm, reddish color.

"Go on. Look closer. Look."

Before Ethan could form a response, his master pushed his wrist right up against Ethan's cheek.

The unexpected move made Ethan flinch—but a moment later, a faint gasp of wonder slipped from his parted lips.

Warmth. Real warmth, radiating from the skin pressed against his face.

His voice came out trembling, stumbling over itself.

"All of it—you're completely better? Fully?"

"Obviously. Who do you think I am?"

His master snickered and withdrew his arm, tugging the sleeve back down.

Ethan's face lit up as he leaned forward. He was about to accept the offer on the spot, without a shred of hesitation.

But then—he stopped. Wavered.

"Master. Could I… have just a little more time?"

"Huh?"

His master's voice pitched upward.

Ethan pulled back and settled into his seat. His eyes dropped from the man across the table, and his words came haltingly.

"The truth is, I've made a lot of good friends at school. If it's okay… I'd like to spend just a bit more time with them."

BANG!

The table shook violently under a heavy impact.

"Friends? Did you just say friends?"