Astar opened his eyes just as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the narrow slits of the wooden shutters. His body felt pleasantly relaxed, and his thoughts at first refused to gather into anything coherent. He felt warmth beside him, and when he turned his head, he saw Elara. She lay there, wrapped in nothing but a light blanket that barely covered her bare body. Her hair, like silvery threads with a bluish sheen, was tousled, and a faint smile played on her lips.

  Her face, lit by the soft morning light, looked peaceful and serene. Astar stared at her for a moment, as if still trying to believe what had happened the night before.

  “What a night… I haven’t experienced something like this in years. Not since before I buried myself in work,” he thought, stretching slightly and feeling a pleasant soreness in his muscles.

  The memories slowly began to return. He, Elara, Lukaris, Lina, and Keira had continued their evening in one tavern and then another. Music, laughter, and endless toasts had blended together, creating a whirlwind atmosphere that was impossible to resist.

  The alcohol flowed freely, and the fire between him and Elara only burned brighter with each passing minute. Her glances grew bolder, his touches more daring. They couldn’t take their eyes off each other, as if seized by a primal pull.

  At some point, laughing, Elara had grabbed his hand and pulled him outside.

  Astar had felt his blood pounding in his temples, and he didn’t even consider resisting. He followed her, as though under a spell, until she stopped at the door of a small house—her home.

  And then… passion consumed them.

  Recalling the night, Astar couldn’t help but smile. There was something ironic about it all, even a bit absurd. He glanced around at the modest but cozy interior, letting the memories wash over him again. His final months on Earth had been a whirlwind of negotiations, deals, and the sale of his company. It had taken more than half a year, leaving barely any time for sleep, let alone a personal life.

  “And now, after all that… my first time in ages is not just with a beautiful woman, but with a beautiful woman from another world,” he thought, shaking his head slightly. The realization made him chuckle under his breath.

  Everything that once seemed so important—business, deals, status—now felt like relics from another life. And this strange sense of liberation, tangled with a new reality, was exhilarating.

  He turned his head again to look at Elara. Her breathing was slow and steady, her face so peaceful and beautiful that Astar felt a flicker of desire rise again. The warmth of her smooth skin against his only added to it.

  “Who would’ve thought that in a world full of abyssals, memoria, and a constant struggle for survival, I’d meet someone like her… and have a night that’s easily one of the best of my life,” he mused.

  He chuckled quietly again, watching a beam of light gently slide across her skin.

  “Life’s so damn strange,” Astar thought. “Not long ago, I was a tired businessman, and now… Now I’m cursed with abyssia, I might go mad or turn into a monster at any moment. But in spite of all that, I’ve made a friend—and I’ve had a night I once only dreamed about. Is this some twisted version of the freedom I always longed for?”

  Astar exhaled softly, realizing this morning was a rare moment of peace in his new, chaotic existence.

  “Sadly, I’ll have to work hard in this world too. If I want more nights like this, I need to earn real money—and more importantly, find a way to break the curse tied to my technique,” he thought. “Whether I like it or not, I have to be pragmatic. I need to learn who my parents were… and what my bloodline really means.”

  He sighed again, smiling faintly to himself—but his inner monologue was abruptly interrupted by a soft, melodic laugh. He quickly turned and met Elara’s bright blue eyes, now wide open. She was watching him with that same playful smile he remembered from the night before.

  “Why the sigh?” she asked, her voice gentle with a teasing undertone. “Don’t tell me you’re already mourning the end of last night… or regretting that you’ll have to leave town soon?”

  Astar was slightly surprised by her candor, but he smiled right away, allowing himself to be just as honest.

  “You’re right, beautiful,” he said without shame, his gaze lingering on her face. “Last night was… unforgettable. I really do wish we could stay longer.”

  Elara laughed softly, propping herself up on a pillow and tilting her head to get a better look at him. Her hair, messy from sleep, fell over her shoulders, giving her an effortlessly intimate look. It only made her more alluring.

  “Well then,” she said, her voice light but laced with clear provocation, “if you’re really leaving today, I can’t just let you go so easily. You’ve made quite the impression, ha-ha.”

  Her eyes sparkled, and Astar felt the weight of his thoughts begin to lift.

  "And what does that mean?" he asked, playing along, though his voice carried a note of genuine curiosity.

  Elara's smile grew wider as she rose slightly. She was clearly in the mood to continue the game, but there was something more in her voice now—something beyond simple teasing.

  "It means we still have a little time to say goodbye… properly," she said, her voice softer, almost a whisper. "I think neither of us should waste that chance."

  She gently touched Astar’s chest, and then her hand slipped beneath the blanket, gliding downward. Her fingers barely brushed his skin until they paused below his waist. Her movements were confident yet graceful, making Astar hold his breath for a second. She looked up at him with a sparkle in her eyes and a slow, sultry smile on her lips.

  In that moment, a fire reignited in Astar’s chest. It was a feeling he couldn’t mistake—a mix of desire, excitement, and undeniable attraction. Without another word, he cast the blanket aside, letting the morning light bathe their bodies.

  Astar shifted, rolling her beneath him. For a heartbeat, he paused, taking in the full view of her figure now entirely visible under the sunlight streaming through the shutters. Slender and elegant, her body was shaped with soft, graceful curves that seemed almost unreal in that golden glow. Elara laughed lightly and didn’t resist—instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer. With a flick of her fingers, she brushed her hair from her face and met his gaze with a radiant smile.

  "Looks like you’re thinking about last night," she said, her voice laced with playful mockery—but there was unmistakable intent behind it.

  "I am," Astar replied, his voice low and husky. "But I wouldn’t mind refreshing those memories."

  Elara didn’t answer with words. She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his neck, and kissed him. This kiss, however, was nothing like the drunk, primal one from the night before. This one was slower, more deliberate—passion uncoiling in the daylight, confident and easy.

  Astar felt his usually sharp and calculating mind give way to instinct. Her breath quickened, her fingers tracing along his shoulders, savoring the shape of him. His hand slid along her waist, guiding her toward him until their bodies met. The warmth between them burned deeper.

  “Mmmgh...” she moaned softly, biting her lower lip.

  Astar answered with a faint smile before leaning in, their breaths mingling, hearts beating in rhythm. Everything from the night before now felt like a blurred memory, dimmed by wine and lust. But here, in the clarity of morning, every sense was heightened. He saw every detail, heard every rustle of the sheets, every breathy sigh from her lips.

  “Damn, this woman is truly something else,” he thought, before surrendering himself entirely to the moment.

  Elara, sensing the shift in him, responded with just as much fire. Her body was relaxed, but the same wild spark from the night before danced through her every move.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Only after an hour did their passion finally settle, leaving behind warmth and a gentle exhaustion. Astar lay beside Elara, staring at the ceiling and letting his breath slowly return to normal. Her body was pressed against his, and she looked just as calm and content as he felt.

  "Well then," Astar finally said with a faint smile. "Looks like I stayed longer than planned."

  Elara laughed, then stretched and slid out of bed. Her movements were unhurried, and even now, she looked as though she was savoring every second.

  "You’d better get ready, hero. Last night you and Lukaris mentioned you were leaving in the morning," she said, glancing back at him over her shoulder as she began to dress. "I wouldn’t want your friends to worry. Though, to be honest, I wouldn’t mind keeping you here a little longer."

  Astar chuckled and sat up on the edge of the bed. His muscles protested after the night’s and morning’s “activities,” but he felt... alive. It was a good feeling, despite the road ahead.

  "Don’t worry, they’re used to hunting down Lukaris well into the afternoon," he replied, reaching for his clothes. "But you’re right, it’s time to return to reality."

  Once they were both dressed, Elara approached him with a comb in hand. She gently ran it through his hair, tidying it. Her touch was tender, and her face carried a mysterious little smile.

  "There," she said, adjusting the last strand. "Now you look like a nobleman again, not a midnight wanderer."

  "Thank you," he replied, his voice sincere. "You’re incredibly thoughtful."

  Elara just smiled in return without saying anything. Then she took his hand and walked him to the door. On the threshold, she stopped, looked at him with her bright blue eyes, and pulled him into a kiss.

  "Thank you for the evening… and for the morning," she said with a playful smile as their lips parted. "I hope we meet again. If you’re ever in town, come find me. But until then… take care of yourself."

  Astar nodded, his eyes gleaming with a strange feeling of freedom and life he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  "Thank you, Elara. That was… incredible."

  She winked, let go of his hand, waved once, and, without another word, slowly closed the door behind him.

  Astar took a deep breath, scanning the street that was just beginning to stir. His heart still beat a little faster than usual.

  "Well, that’s definitely a night I won’t forget," he thought, glancing around. "Damn… Now where do I find Lukaris? He was with Lina and Keira..."

  "Tch!" Astar clicked his tongue with mild annoyance. "I really hope Sirael and the others aren’t too mad at me. Guess I’ll head to the square and we’ll look for him together..."

  Feeling unusually light and relaxed, Astar walked confidently up the street. The town was waking up: merchants were setting out their wares, wooden shutters banged open, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air. This morning promised to be peaceful, and Astar was enjoying this rare moment of serenity.

  However, he hadn’t made it a hundred steps before something strange caught his eye farther up the road. A door creaked open, and from it stumbled—or rather, spilled out—a figure with a distinctly non-human appearance.

  It was Lukaris!

  Astar squinted, trying to make out his friend more clearly. And when he finally took in Lukaris’s condition, he barely managed to stifle a laugh. His face looked like he hadn’t slept all night and had then spent a few hours wrestling abyssals. His blue skin was slightly pale, deep shadows hung under his eyes, and his hair stuck out in every direction, like he’d survived a hurricane. His whole figure looked like a dried-up husk—shoulders slumped, legs barely moving, and his steps so unsteady it seemed he’d collapse at any moment.

  But the most ridiculous part was the expression on his face: a mixture of exhaustion, regret, and something vaguely tragic. Lukaris looked like he’d been through something epic and miserable, and was absolutely not ready to talk about it.

  "Gods, I can’t look at him..." Astar thought, biting his lip to keep from bursting out laughing.

  Unaware of Astar’s presence, Lukaris took a few more wobbly steps. His legs trembled as if struggling to carry his own weight. He stopped, rubbed his temples, and muttered something under his breath—Astar managed to catch only a few words:

  "Never again..." Lukaris rasped, shaking his head slowly, as if genuinely regretting his choices. "Well… maybe just in a few days..."

  Astar couldn’t hold it in and burst out laughing. The sound made Lukaris snap his head around. He gave Astar a bleary-eyed look, equal parts confused and mildly offended.

  “What are you laughing at?!” Lukaris shouted, trying to put some sternness into his voice, though he sounded more like a sulky teenager.

  Astar only grinned wider and quickened his pace to catch up with his friend. But something caught his eye—movement in the window of the house Lukaris had just stumbled out of. He looked up and saw two girls—Keira and Lina—peeking out and waving cheerfully. Their faces radiated satisfaction, their eyes sparkling with the kind of glow that said their night had been just as eventful as Astar’s.

  Astar couldn’t help but laugh again and waved back at them. Keira narrowed her eyes playfully and blew him a kiss, while Lina, giggling, pressed a finger to her lips—a silent sign to keep things hush-hush. It only made Astar laugh harder.

  He caught up with Lukaris, who was clearly doing his best to preserve the last shreds of dignity as he dragged himself along.

  “Hey, Lukaris,” Astar said, teasingly. “Looks like you had… quite the night?”

  Lukaris turned his head with effort, his face a picture of exhaustion and irritation. He paused to catch his breath, then croaked out in a hoarse voice that seemed to strain his vocal cords:

  “Don’t mock me, brother,” he groaned, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. “You’re a Premarch. Your body’s way more resilient than mine. I… I just can’t handle that kind of intensity.”

  Astar chuckled, amused. Lukaris glanced at him sideways, then added with a strained grin:

  “And besides, I took on two at once. Or more accurately… they took on me.”

  Astar stopped and burst into fresh laughter, drawing stares from passersby. Even Lukaris, despite his battered state, couldn’t suppress a faint smile—though his face immediately twisted in pain from his pounding head.

  “Incredible, Lukaris,” Astar said through his laughter. “You really are a legend. I saw how they looked at you from the window. I’d say you gave them a night to remember. Judging by your hair, you were the hurricane!”

  Lukaris gave a weak shake of the head, trying to wave off the jokes.

  “Just shut up and find me some water… or something strong. I’m dying,” he groaned, trudging forward. “If Sirael sees me like this… it’ll be the end.”

  Astar, still chuckling, followed beside him, savoring the moment.

  Lukaris staggered like a leaf in the wind, but even in that state, he somehow maintained a bit of self-deprecating humor. Astar, finally calming down, clapped him on the back—nearly causing him to stumble.

  “Alright, hero. I’ll get you some water. But only on one condition,” Astar said with a grin.

  “What condition?” Lukaris asked warily, slowly turning his head.

  “You tell me about this ‘hurricane technique,’ ha-ha-ha! Or maybe I’ll just knock on Keira and Lina’s window? I bet they’d be very happy to share the details.”

  Lukaris stopped, rolled his eyes, and let out a heavy sigh.

  “Screw you! I’m completely drained!” he groaned, clutching his forehead. “Just get me some water, brother—and not another word of this to anyone. Especially Sirael!”

  “Deal,” Astar nodded with a smirk. “Although… if she sees you like this, I’m not sure there’ll be much left to keep secret.”

  “Ugh…” Lukaris groaned. “Remind me why I like you again?”

  “Quit whining. You started this night, I just played along,” Astar laughed, slipping an arm under his friend’s shoulder to help him walk.

  “Alright, alright, I’ll be honest,” Astar added, helping Lukaris stay upright. “I’m glad we met. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. That night was... perfect. And this group we’ve got—it’s something special.”

  Lukaris, leaning on his shoulder, managed a tired smile. His face still looked wrecked, but there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes.

  “Even though I feel… completely wrung out,” he said with a faint chuckle, “I agree with you, brother. You’re… a hell of a guy. Not many people could survive my antics.”

  Astar laughed loudly and patted him on the back.

  “Your antics? You’re underestimating how entertaining they are,” he replied. “Who else could throw a night together with that kind of flair?”

  “Yeah, well…” Lukaris exhaled. “Good thing you found me in that forest, and not some bore. I see it in you, too—that same spirit of mischief and madness. We were meant to meet.”

  Lukaris fell silent for a moment, clearly lost in thought. His gaze grew more focused, and despite his exhaustion, a spark lit up in his eyes.

  "You know, Astar," he finally said, as if weighing each word. "I’ve been thinking… We’ve been through a lot in a short time. And honestly... I’ve never met someone I connected with this easily."

  He suddenly stopped and, turning to Astar, placed a hand on his shoulder.

  "Let’s become spirit-brothers. What do you say?"

  Astar raised an eyebrow in surprise, but a broad smile quickly spread across his face. He sensed that this wasn’t just a passing whim—it was a genuine gesture of trust and respect.

  "Spirit-brothers?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Hmm… sounds tempting. I suppose we should mark the occasion with another evening like the last one," he joked. "But I do have one question."

  "What is it?" Lukaris asked, narrowing his eyes.

  "You keep teasing me and trying to pair me off with your sister," Astar said, barely holding back a laugh. "Wouldn’t that be awkward? We’d be more than just friends—we’d be family."

  Lukaris burst out laughing, though his voice was raspy from exhaustion.

  "No, that’s not a problem," he said, shaking his head. "We’ll be spirit-brothers, not blood-brothers. But you know what’s funny?"

  "What?" Astar asked, curious.

  "Now that I know how good you are with women, I’m definitely keeping you away from Sirael," Lukaris declared, still smiling. "It’s obvious you were a womanizer before you lost your memories. And I don’t need that anywhere near my sister!"

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  Astar laughed out loud, throwing Lukaris a sly look.

  "Oh come on, you’re being too strict. What if I’m the one who can actually get her to smile more often?"

  "Yeah, and then you’ll have kids—my nieces and nephews—and I’ll end up drinking myself into an early grave," Lukaris grinned, shaking his head. "No thanks, brother, forget it..."

  "But you know what?" he added suddenly. "Flaws and all, I’m glad we met."

  Astar smirked and held out his hand.

  "Then spirit-brothers it is!"

  Lukaris grabbed his hand in a firm shake, then clapped him on the shoulder again, making Astar laugh once more.

  "Deal, brother. And remember, I’m watching over you now," he said with a grin.

  "And I’ve got your back," Astar replied, looping an arm under his to help him walk toward the nearest food and water stall. "Come on… after last night, you definitely need to recover."

  Together they continued onward, both of them feeling that their spontaneous and unexpected friendship had only grown stronger.

  After a short break at a small vendor nearby, Lukaris looked slightly less "dead." His steps were more stable, and a faint but familiar smirk had returned to his face. Astar kept teasing him the whole time, reminding him of last night’s "exploits," though he also made sure to support him when he swayed.

  "So," Astar said with a grin, casting a playful glance his way, "ready for the next challenge—facing Sirael?"

  "Honestly? No," Lukaris replied, rolling his eyes. "I can already feel her anger, and we haven’t even seen her yet. She’s got a talent for yelling in a way that makes my ears wilt from a mile away."

  "Well, I’ll be right there to support you. But I’m not promising I won’t laugh," Astar smirked.

  Lukaris let out a hoarse laugh, wincing slightly from the headache, and they kept walking.

  As they reached the square, the whole group was already waiting. Sirael stood slightly ahead of the others, arms crossed, seemingly in the middle of a stern conversation with Zunar. The moment she spotted them approaching, her gaze locked on Lukaris. Her expression instantly twisted with irritation.

  "Lukaris!" she called out, stepping forward. "You’re at it again!"

  Her voice was so sharp that Lukaris instinctively hunched his shoulders, as if trying to hide behind Astar.

  "Do you even realize how much trouble you cause us?" she continued, not giving him a chance to speak. "It’s lucky Astar kept an eye on you this time and got you here on time. Usually, you’re passed out in some tavern until noon and we have to drag you out like some drunken fool!"

  “Sirael, I—” Lukaris began, trying to explain himself, but she sharply raised her hand, cutting him off.

  “No, silence! Don’t even start!” she snapped, then turned her gaze to Astar. Her voice immediately softened: “Thank you, Astar. If it weren’t for you, he would’ve caused us a whole lot of trouble again.”

  Astar shook his head, suppressing a smile.

  “No need to thank me. It was… not difficult. And you know, Sirael, in a way, Lukaris is a great companion. Never a dull moment.”

  “Of course he is,” she huffed, folding her arms across her chest. “But I hope his nonsense isn’t distracting you from more important matters.”

  Astar only smiled silently, skillfully dodging the question. In truth, he was no better than Lukaris—their nights might’ve differed in detail, but both of them looked like they’d just come back from a small war. The only difference was that Astar looked fresher, thanks to his abilities… and Elara’s help. Sirael, clearly focused on her brother, didn’t seem to notice Astar’s own condition, and he preferred not to invite any extra questions.

  Lukaris, catching his sly smile, suddenly raised a hand and, swaying slightly, gave him a thumbs up.

  “Don’t worry, Astar,” he rasped with a confident tone. “I won’t rat you out. You’re my brother now—and brothers keep secrets.”

  His dried-out face and earnest expression of full seriousness looked so absurd that Astar had to lift his gaze to the sky to keep from laughing.

  “I never doubted you,” he replied, clapping Lukaris on the shoulder.

  Sirael, watching the brief exchange, sighed and took a step back, casting a reproachful look at her brother.

  “You should be thanking Astar for not leaving you in some gutter,” she said sharply. “If not for him, I’d have spent the whole day looking for you.”

  Lukaris gave her a weak smile, wiping sweat from his forehead again.

  “Thanks, brother,” he said, clearly sensing that jokes wouldn’t land well right now. “You saved me from the terrible fate of being found by this woman in a tavern.”

  Astar only shrugged, smiling, not wanting to be dragged into their argument. Instead, he glanced around at the rest of the group. Zunar, as always, remained calm—but there was a glimmer of a smile beneath his usual mask. The others also tried not to laugh, but were clearly enjoying the situation.

  “Well, looks like the whole gang’s together now,” Astar thought, feeling that same ease and comfort he’d come to know over the past few days settling back in. “Here’s hoping the road ahead will be just as interesting.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  After checking their gear, the group finally gathered and headed toward the city gates. Astar walked beside Lukaris, supporting him whenever his steps became too unsteady. Zunar led the group, occasionally glancing back to make sure everyone kept pace.

  The city square slowly faded behind them, and the bustle of merchants was replaced by the rhythmic thud of boots on stone pavement. The streets leading to the gates were full of people—townsfolk hurrying about their business, vendors calling out to customers, children playing near fountains. Astar caught glimpses of smiles, laughter, arguments—but his mind was focused on what awaited them beyond the city.

  As they approached the gates, the sunlight grew brighter, and the morning air was laced with the freshness of open fields. The guards at the post lazily lifted their heads, gave them a quick once-over, and waved them toward the queue.

  But just as the group moved a bit further, Astar felt the weight of someone's intense stare. His instincts—sharpened over the past days—kicked in instantly. He slowed his pace and glanced around discreetly.

  In the crowd near one of the merchant stalls stood a tall man with silver hair and striking green eyes. His expression was a mix of irritation and contempt, arms crossed over his chest. Around him stood a dozen mercenaries clad in the white-and-blue robes of the Order of Wanderings and Trade—their light armor gleaming in the sunlight, swords and spears at the ready.

  “Oh? That’s the guy who tried to impress the girls... What was his name again? Vilar?” Astar mused inwardly.

  Vilar met his gaze and narrowed his eyes slightly. His lips twitched as if he was about to say or do something but thought better of it. He looked like someone still seething from last night’s defeat—someone eager for revenge.

  Astar turned away without reacting and rejoined the others.

  “Problematic guy. That ego’s already too big,” he thought, trying to ignore Vilar. “Something tells me he’s going to be a thorn in our side…”

  Lukaris, noticing the shift in Astar’s expression, squinted.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Astar replied shortly, offering a small smile. “Just someone who hasn’t accepted losing.”

  Lukaris frowned, following the direction of Astar’s gaze. He narrowed his eyes as he spotted Vilar and his entourage. The man stood with his head held high, trying to appear taller than he was. A faint sneer tugged at his lips, and his green eyes followed the group exiting the city with an unsettling sense of anticipation.

  But then his gaze landed on Sirael—and something seemed to shift. Vilar turned and said something to his mercenaries. One of them nodded, and the group, in near-perfect unison, began to move toward the gates. Their steps were unhurried but brimming with the confidence of seasoned fighters—men who knew better than to be underestimated.

  Lukaris sighed heavily and rubbed his temples with theatrical despair.

  “Great,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Looks like the road ahead will be more exciting than I hoped. Another idiot with an inflated ego thinking he has a shot at proving something. Just because he wants to be an exorcist doesn’t mean he’ll make it… I hope the abyssia drives him mad,” he grumbled.

  Astar smirked but said nothing. He still didn’t fully grasp how much trouble a blowhard like that could cause.

  “You think he’ll actually try something?” Astar asked, casting a glance at Lukaris.

  He shrugged and let out a short laugh.

  “With a personality like his? I wouldn’t be surprised. Guys like that hate being humiliated—even when they deserve it,” he said, then paused for a moment. “But the people with him are from the Order. They won’t attack us, even if someone paid them. They’re probably just escorting him on request from the Church.”

  Astar nodded and looked ahead—their turn at the gate was approaching.

  “Well, our strength seems about evenly matched,” he thought. “Judging by their auras, they’ve got about five Premarchs, and the rest are just Warriors. On the other hand, their skills are likely sharper than ours. They are from the Order, after all…”

  As Astar’s group passed through the city gates and stepped beyond the protective barrier, the atmosphere changed immediately. The air grew crisper, and the familiar hum of city life faded behind them. Fields stretched out across the horizon, leading toward distant forests and hills cloaked in morning mist.

  Zunar, calmly assessing the situation, glanced at the map he pulled from his bag. He carefully checked their direction and nodded, motioning toward a narrow road that wound toward the base of the hills. In the distance, another tower could be seen, cloaked in a gray haze—this time thicker and heavier.

  “Let’s move,” he said curtly. “The road to the next city won’t be easy, but if we stick to this route, we’ll reach a safe camp by nightfall.”

  Sirael, standing in the center of the group with two other warriors, seemed lost in thought. Astar sensed a subtle shift in the surrounding memoria, as if warning them that their path would lead through more dangerous territory. He paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder, but saw nothing suspicious.

  “When we make camp, I’ll need to absorb an abyssal core... In ten hours or so, the curse will start creeping in,” he thought, unconsciously brushing his fingers against the pouch containing the unrefined cores. “Hopefully, what I have will last me until Koros…”

  Astar still had some cores left, but he would have preferred a larger reserve. Since meeting Lukaris and Sirael, he had only absorbed a few. Usually, he’d slip away “to relieve himself” and quietly draw in the abyssia. Even though he trusted his companions, he had no intention of revealing this ability.

  The group set out, maintaining a steady pace. Their steps were sure, but no one hurried—everyone conserved energy, well aware that anything could lie ahead. Lukaris, who seemed more energetic after their meal, chewed on a strip of dried meat while occasionally chatting with Zunar.

  But not even half an hour had passed before Astar picked up movement behind them. The soft rustle of grass and the rhythmic clop of hooves approached steadily. He looked back and spotted Vilar’s group drawing closer—his entourage of Order mercenaries following at a slow but deliberate pace. Their armor gleamed in the sun, and their strange horses—creatures with tendrils sprouting from their snouts—marched in unison. They weren’t in a hurry, but they clearly had no intention of lagging behind either.

  Vilar rode at the front, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze, green eyes fixed ahead—though they occasionally flicked toward Astar’s group. That same half-smile lingered on his lips, a blend of smugness and quiet superiority.

  Lukaris noticed them too and let out a heavy sigh.

  “Told you the road would be lively,” he grumbled, casting a glance at Astar. “That guy’s clearly not the type to give up easily. Look at him—riding in like he’s some crowned prince.”

  Astar smirked and shook his head.

  “Maybe he’s hoping we’ll provoke a conflict,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “So far, he’s just following us.”

  “For now,” Lukaris muttered under his breath. “But something tells me he’s got a plan. A plan to ruin our day…”

  Vilar nudged his horse with his knees and heels, and the creature quickened its pace. Within seconds, he drew even with Astar’s group. That mocking, playful smile never left his face. His green eyes gleamed with veiled satisfaction—he’d clearly been waiting for this moment.

  “Well, well, look who it is!” he called out with feigned politeness, dipping his head in a mock greeting. “Isn’t this the dashing lover who spent his last coins trying to impress some girls last night?”

  His tone was calm, but laced with clear disdain and provocation. The words were chosen to strike at pride, to provoke a reaction. He seemed intent on making Astar look foolish—especially in front of Sirael, who glanced over with a look of surprise.

  Lukaris, walking beside Astar, scowled and clenched his fists. His usual grin vanished, replaced by a brooding expression.

  “This bastard is just begging for it,” he muttered, but Astar merely gave a subtle shake of his head, signaling not to take the bait.

  Vilar noticed the gesture and smirked even wider, adding with extra venom:

  “I wonder what you’d have done if you really had nothing. Sing them a song? Kiss their feet?”

  At that, Astar tilted his head as if genuinely considering the question. Then, with a deadpan expression, he nodded solemnly and replied:

  “I suppose I could’ve done a magic trick. Maybe a backflip.”

  His answer matched the absurd tone of the insult, catching Lukaris off guard and making him stifle a laugh.

  Zunar and the others simply cast sidelong glances at the odd newcomer and his entourage, but said nothing. As long as he didn’t create any real trouble, there was no need to intervene.

  Sirael, noting the tension, furrowed her brows and leaned closer to Astar and Lukaris.

  “Do you know him?” she asked quietly, her eyes narrowing as they flicked to the crest of the Order on the mercenaries’ armor. “He’s clearly not just some traveler. If he’s being escorted by the Order of Wanderings and Trade, he probably outranks all of us.”

  Astar didn’t respond immediately—he was carefully choosing his words, not wanting to compromise himself in Sirael’s eyes. At last, he smiled and shrugged.

  “We exchanged a few words at the tavern last night,” Astar replied with a crooked smile. “You know how Lukaris has a talent for attracting... excitement,” he added, subtly shifting the blame onto his friend.

  Sirael narrowed her eyes, clearly sensing there was more behind Astar’s words—possibly even some kind of conflict. But before she could press further, Vilar, noticing her involvement, immediately redirected his attention to her. His expression shifted in an instant: the arrogance vanished, replaced by a gallant, almost theatrical surprise.

  “Oh, forgive me, fair lady,” he began, bowing his head slightly in what he clearly thought was a courtly gesture. “I did not expect these two… ah… rascals to be traveling in the company of such a charming companion.”

  He ran a hand through his silver hair, striking a pose that was clearly meant to be refined.

  “Allow me to introduce myself properly,” he added, locking eyes with Sirael and smiling as if he had already won. “Vilar of the noble House of Retinis. Soon to be exorcist, and the shining hope of all common folk in the fight against the abyssia!”

  Lukaris, noticing how quickly Vilar had zeroed in on his sister, made a face as if he had just tasted something bitter. His eyes narrowed, and a grimace of irritation spread across his lips.

  “She’s my sister, actually,” he said sharply, folding his arms across his chest. “So congratulations, you just insulted both of us.”

  Vilar froze for the briefest moment but quickly recovered, wearing the same air of superiority, as if Lukaris’s words hadn't fazed him in the slightest.

  Sirael, realizing the situation was on the verge of escalation, sighed quietly and stepped closer to Vilar. She knew that if she didn’t smooth things over now, this encounter could easily spiral into trouble. With a calm yet restrained smile, she introduced herself:

  “My name is Sirael Tenebris, and this is my brother Lukaris—whom you’ve apparently already had the pleasure of evaluating,” she said, casting her brother a mildly reproachful look. “I apologize for his manners. He’s a reckless scoundrel, and sometimes his tongue moves faster than his brain.”

  Lukaris sighed but said nothing. In this case, he knew his sister was better equipped to handle the situation.

  Sirael continued, her gaze fixed squarely on Vilar:

  “I hope you won’t hold it against him. Traveling can be exhausting, and it often leads to... spirited behavior. But I assure you, he won’t cause any trouble on your journey.”

  After a pause, she quickly added:

  “And if Astar has offended you as well, please don’t hold it against him either. I asked him to keep an eye on Lukaris and make sure he stayed out of trouble.”

  Her tone was calm, with the same poised tact she might have used negotiating with high-ranking merchants. Vilar narrowed his eyes slightly, clearly analyzing her demeanor—and the interest in his gaze only deepened.

  Upon hearing this, Vilar suddenly broke into a wide smile and let out a loud laugh, as if he’d just heard something genuinely amusing. The laugh sounded surprisingly sincere, though it still carried that signature hint of smugness.

  “Well now, what a surprise!” he exclaimed, smoothing a hand through his silver hair. “I must admit, I didn’t expect such refinement from you. Judging you by your brother’s behavior was clearly a foolish mistake on my part.”

  He dismounted with a smooth motion, his boots landing softly on the ground. As if to make himself seem more approachable, more friendly, he stepped forward, closer to Sirael, and continued with a warm smile:

  “And where, may I ask, is such a lovely lady headed?”

  Sirael tensed slightly, though she hid it well behind her polite smile.

  “To Koros,” she replied. “And then to the Order of Wanderings and Trade. Our father sent us to study the art of commerce.”

  At that, Vilar raised an eyebrow, his interest visibly sharpening.

  “Koros, you say?” he repeated, as if turning the idea over in his mind. “What a fortunate coincidence! I’m headed to Koros myself—then on to the Church. They’re to assess my resistance to the abyssia and begin my exorcist training. It seems fate has chosen to intertwine our paths!”

  He paused, scanning their group, before turning his attention back to Sirael.

  “Would you mind if we joined forces?” he asked, smiling gallantly. “It’s safer to travel together, and your presence would certainly brighten the journey. Besides, I am a Primarch. I could protect you! Judging by your auras, you and your brother are roughly at Warrior level, yes?”

  Sirael suppressed a sigh and cast a quick glance toward Astar and Lukaris, trying to gauge their reactions. But before she could say anything, Zunar leaned in close and whispered to her:

  “Not the most pleasant fellow, but with him we’d gain free protection from the Order’s mercenaries. If you’re willing to endure this pompous boy, the reward could be worth it. If not, I’ll decline on our behalf immediately.”

  As he spoke, a faint gray mist briefly shimmered near his head, muffling the sound for everyone else.

  Seeing that little trick, Astar raised his eyebrows slightly, his lips parting in surprise. It was a clever method—especially when you didn’t want others eavesdropping on your conversations.

  Lukaris, meanwhile, crossed his arms and gave a small shrug, clearly signaling he had no interest in getting involved with the decision.

  "That’s up to you, sister," he said with a lazy grin. "I’m a simple man: if you say go with them—I’ll go. If you say tell them to piss off—I’ll gladly hold the door open."

  Sirael bit her lip lightly, deep in thought. She knew Vilar’s presence could become a serious inconvenience. His arrogance and penchant for provocation could poison the atmosphere of the journey. But Zunar’s logic was sound—the Order’s mercenaries could be a valuable asset on the road. Whatever her personal opinion of Vilar, her father had always taught her to separate emotion from advantage.

  “Evaluate the situation with a clear head,” her father’s stern voice echoed in her memory. “Don’t let emotions govern your decisions—especially when safety is at stake.”

  She glanced at Astar, who—as always—wore a calm, slightly enigmatic smile. Lukaris, on the other hand, looked like he was itching for a chance to jab at Vilar the moment one presented itself.

  “Well… if he does become a problem, I’m sure Astar and Lukaris will know how to handle him,” she thought.

  Finally, she drew a deep breath and, relaxing her shoulders a little, turned back to Vilar.

  "Why not," she said with a light, but genuine smile. "If our paths are aligned, then joining forces seems like the sensible choice. We’ll reach Koros faster and with fewer risks."

  She paused briefly, then added with a note of polite warning in her voice:

  "But let’s agree on one thing: mutual respect and a friendly atmosphere. The last thing I want on the road is conflict."

  Vilar clearly took the decision as a personal triumph. He beamed at her, his expression smugly radiant, as if convinced it was his charm that had swayed her.

  "An excellent decision, Lady Sirael," he said with a satisfied tone. "I’m certain our journey will be not only productive, but… delightful. I have so much to tell you about my future accomplishments! I think you’ll enjoy it."

  Lukaris snorted and leaned toward Astar, muttering:

  "Yeah… delightful. Especially the part where we have to listen to him ramble about himself the whole time."

  Astar chuckled quietly but didn’t reply, choosing—for now—to remain neutral.

  Glowing with self-satisfaction, Vilar suddenly turned toward his escort. He raised his hand and, with a theatrical gesture full of arrogant flair, beckoned them forward. His voice rang out loud and commanding:

  "Come, gentlemen! It’s time to meet our new companions!"

  The mercenaries of the Order moved forward at an unhurried pace, blending into Sirael’s group and taking up positions around the perimeter. Their demeanor was calm and measured, but their eyes showed the sharp discipline of seasoned fighters. One of them briefly exchanged looks with Zunar, sizing him up before offering a short nod—clearly recognizing a man of experience and control.

  Vilar, proud of his new arrangement, turned back to Sirael with his chest puffed out and a tone full of pride and bravado.

  "These men are my personal guards—mercenaries of the Order of Wanderings and Trade," he said with dramatic flair, as if expecting them all to be impressed. "They are here to protect me at any cost. As you surely understand, I am rather important to the Church of Memoria. A high-ranking exorcist position awaits me. So, becoming acquainted with me will certainly be... advantageous."

  He paused, smiled, and added:

  "Lady Sirael, should you ever find yourself in need—I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you. I’m certain the Order will listen to me in the future."

  Lukaris muttered under his breath:

  "Modesty’s clearly never been one of this guy’s virtues..."

  Sirael gave her brother a warning glance, then turned back to Vilar with impeccable politeness.

  "That’s lovely to hear, Vilar," she said with a light smile. "Though I do prefer to solve my problems on my own. I expect I’ll be relying on myself for some time yet. Still, it’s good to know we have such… helpful allies."

  Vilar, clearly pleased with himself, straightened his shoulders and winked at her.

  "Then it’s settled. I’m certain that with companions like me, your journey will be truly unforgettable."

  Lukaris shook his head and whispered to Astar, "If he says ‘unforgettable’ one more time, I swear I’ll lose it."

  Astar chuckled but didn’t reply, simply clapping his friend on the shoulder as if to say, “Patience, brother.”

  The two groups moved forward, their footsteps blending into a shared rhythm as the road stretched ahead for countless hours. The mercenaries and regular warriors marched in silence, well-accustomed to keeping out of the conversations of their youthful employers. Their focus remained on the road and the surrounding terrain—they understood all too well that beyond the protection of the city’s barrier, danger could surface at any moment.

  Sirael kept her position near the center of the group, speaking softly with Astar and Lukaris as they walked. Somewhere behind them came the occasional whinny of horses—ridden by several of the Order’s mercenaries.

  Vilar, meanwhile, continued to look for opportunities to engage Sirael in conversation, but she skillfully sidestepped his advances, steering their interactions toward neutral topics. It clearly irritated him, though he did his best to maintain the appearance of a charming gentleman.

  Elsewhere, Zunar, recognizing the value of a cooperative relationship with their temporary allies, approached the commander of the Order’s mercenaries—a man in his forties with sharp features and close-cropped black hair. His name was Gardis, and it didn’t take long for Zunar to realize he was a seasoned professional—one who valued practicality far more than ego or ambition.

  "I hope your charge isn’t causing too much trouble along the way," Zunar said with a faint smile.

  Gardis gave a dry grunt, casting a brief glance toward Vilar, who was currently animatedly talking at Sirael.

  "It happens. But I’m used to it," he replied calmly. "When you take on a contract, you prepare for anything. Especially when it’s a direct commission from the Church of Memoria… But truth be told, your group has caused fewer problems than I expected."

  "Then let’s keep it that way," Zunar nodded. "We’ll be passing close to necromancer territory. It’s best if we move as one."

  Gardis met his eyes with a short but respectful glance. No further words were needed. There was a mutual understanding between them—the unspoken kind forged by professionals who knew the value of discipline, coordination, and clear priorities.

  Ahead, the road twisted toward a distant forest stretching across the horizon. The sun had risen higher now, its warm light spilling over the path and bathing them in the gold of a new day.

  The group pressed on, each of them aware that the calm of the road was merely a pause—just a breath of peace before the next trial.