A smoke-tinged voice drifted out of the hut, the cadence of an Imperial folk song.

Though barely a murmur, the lullaby drew the fire-warmed caravan refugees and the Orc warriors alike.

Their wary eyes thawed for a heartbeat, like frost under dawn, and leaned toward that elegant, gentle sound.

It thinned like mist at dusk and ended on a trembling note.

Relief washed through Adelaide.

Her hand, stroking Mira’s hair, stilled; the glow from the Dream Eater Spider’s Magic Core at her wrist guttered like an ember.

Mira’s eyes had closed, and the crook of Adelaide’s arm felt her even breaths, a tide saying the pain no longer needed hypnosis.

Softness rippled in her crimson eyes, warm as wine.

Her arm slipped free without Mira noticing, like silk loosened in quiet.

She spared a last glance at the gash on Mira’s arm, a pale petal torn.

Unease made her swallow; she shook her head and stepped out into the tented night.

“Nice singing, finger-twiddler.”

She lifted the flap, and the voice she hated scraped out like grit.

Annoyance closed Adelaide’s eyes; she wouldn’t spare the speaker a proper glance.

“Even if a furred thing said it, I’ll accept the praise with gratitude,” her tone was anything but polite. “Lioness.”

“Hah. Typical finger-twiddler. Your tongue’s sharp too.”

What is this lioness even saying?

A sharp tongue… did she mean chant speed?

Uncertain, Adelaide’s brows knotted. “Let’s cut to it. You need my help, don’t you?”

Varie paused in tending her bowstring, then plucked it once; the crisp resonance rang like glass, and satisfaction tilted her mouth.

“I do. But before that, I suggest you fix a small problem.”

She said it and pushed out the little figure she’d kept behind her, then stepped aside as if opening a stage.

The violet hair pricked Adelaide’s memory; she blinked.

“Anta?”

The purple-haired girl Adelaide had saved flinched at her name.

She tried to draw courage into her chest, but when her eyes met Adelaide’s blood-red gaze, retreat took her by the shoulders.

The reason was simple. In that crimson lake she saw complicated ripples, and beneath them a current of near-disgust.

“What is it?”

Her tone wasn’t as sharp as with Varie, but it had cooled like water under shade.

The girl, barely up to Adelaide’s waist, clenched her fists.

She trembled, small as a sparrow in wind, pitiful to see.

Tch.

Helplessness sighed through Adelaide, like a wind through reeds.

What am I doing—taking it out on a child who just lost everyone?

Her feelings toward Anta were knotted, especially recalling Mira once planned to set this girl in Adelaide’s place.

She and Mira had spoken plainly, but seeing Anta in the flesh still set discomfort like a burr under skin.

Yet discomfort was discomfort; Adelaide knew it wasn’t the girl’s fault.

Look at her, shrinking like a leaf—she’s scared of me.

I should soothe her, right?

Mira cares about this little one; tension would be a bad rope to tie—she weighed it and set her face to gentle.

Before she could let the big-sister warmth flow, Anta drew a long breath, then lifted her head and met Adelaide’s eyes full on.

“Big sister, please be my teacher!!”

Adelaide’s words snagged in her throat.

“I can cook. I can clean. I can sew… I—I’m good at all the chores.

If big sister takes me as a disciple and teaches me magic, I’ll do anything! Even if…”

Something cut through her, a blade from memory; fear flashed in Adelaide’s eyes like an animal’s reflex.

Anta gulped air again, knuckles white, and shouted with a voice too strong for her thin frame.

“Even if you want my blood… or a hand, a foot—anything, I can—”

“Don’t say things like that, little Anta.”

Adelaide cut her off.

She stepped in, bowed her head, and met the purple-haired girl’s gaze, her face smoothed to gentleness.

“I’m sorry.”

The light in Anta’s eyes dulled, like a lamp cupped too tight.

“Being a teacher matters. But I’m being hunted, and I can’t promise you anything.”

She said it and set a hand on Anta’s head, warm as a palm over snow.

“So, I’m sorry… and I believe you’ll find a teacher better suited than me.”

She spoke and tucked the hair at the girl’s temple behind her ear, a simple comfort that made Anta’s thin body quiver.

“…Grandpa and Grandma used to fix my hair like that…”

“Hm?”

Adelaide missed the small whisper.

She was about to ask when Anta lifted her face; those amethyst eyes held tears—and a fire-bright resolve.

“I will never give up!”

Adelaide’s eyes widened; her palm found air.

Anta slipped free, flung the words behind her, and ran the other way, stumbling like a fawn.

Hm…?

Adelaide watched the small, wobbling silhouette and, for a breath, didn’t know how to answer the moment.

Still, maybe the problem was… solved?

She rose, uncertain, and turned—right into Varie’s gaze.

“Scared the little brat off just like that. Impressive, considering she worships you.”

“Uh, Varie, ma’am, is there really no room to negotiate…?”

The caravan leader tried to haul her attention back. Varie answered with a rolling eye, cool as stone.

“Told you. We only escort you into the long-ears’ territory. Everything else? Not our problem.”

“B-but the distance to the Elf city and back is about the same—”

Varie’s two round beast-ears twitched in impatience.

She chopped his words with a flick of her hand.

“You can choose to turn around right now with your wrecked convoy. I’m not stopping you.”

She paused, then added, “But if you use our supplies, you accept our plan. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?”

Bitterness pulled the leader’s face tight, like biting a raw herb.

Most of their supplies and coaches had burned under the Plague Ghouls’ raid; reaching the last desert town on scraps was sand-dream nonsense, and this wasn’t a multiple-choice question.

In the end, he yielded with a long sigh.

“I understand, Lady Varie… if you guarantee our safety, we’ll do as you say.”

“Of course. Keep your mouths shut, and the long-ears won’t have cause to hold you.

They’ll give you enough supplies and wagons for the return.”

Adelaide listened, thoughts folding like paper.

If she read it right, Varie aimed to deliver them into Elven territory.

Why? With the way she spat “long-ears,” Orcs and Elves shouldn’t be on friendly terms.

Varie finished with the leader while Adelaide considered the thin thread of clues.

Then she beckoned Adelaide and turned toward the largest tent in camp, canvas billowing like a whale’s belly.

Not enough threads; pull later.

Adelaide tucked the knowns away and followed. “What are we doing?”

“An experiment.”

Varie didn’t explain; she looked aside. “Beanpole. Time’s up. Come.”

The name didn’t fit the man.

A burly male Orc thumped a fist to his chest and followed, silent as a boulder rolling.

He wasn’t the last.

Varie walked and called others; by the time they entered the tent, six more Orcs had gathered behind them.

Men and women. Ears sharp and ears flat. All muscle coiled like ropes, each one looking able to tear a human man to rags.

They stepped inside and, without a word, ringed Adelaide like standing stones.

Adelaide’s eyes narrowed, and her hand slid behind her back.

Her fingertips sparked with a faint red glow, like fireflies caught in blood.

“Just in case, a reminder, Lioness,” she said, voice cool as iron. “Numbers don’t work on me.

The more small fry, the more a Blood Mage dominates—if I wish it, they’re all offerings.”

Varie blinked half a beat, then let out a pfft of laughter.

“You’re right. I did invite you to make offerings of them.”

“…?”

The answer struck sideways. Adelaide watched as Varie lifted a finger toward Beanpole’s ear—tall, proud, sharply pointed.

“I want you to sacrifice all their ears.”