Moonlight pooled across the ground, and the wind rattled the wooden window with a clack-clack. The day’s heat bled away; by deep night, the cool brush of air carried a faint chill.
Night draped the world, and silence settled like ash. The sky turned pale under the moon, while guild banners rode the dark like bright fish, each color shouting its claim.
Same sky, same moon. Different hearts read different things.
Medith sat at Nora’s bedside, her face a knot of feelings. The memory of Nora’s reckless charge stirred a tangle of flavors in her chest, tugging at old, buried threads.
Iling and the others tended Nora with careful hands. The wounds were many, the blood loss heavy; recovery wouldn’t be quick. Luckily, the Elf Clan heals fast, especially for cuts and flesh.
The bleeding had stopped, but weakness still clung to her like frost.
“This was too reckless. Taking that kind of hit head-on? Has she always thrown her life like that?” Medith flicked the towel into the basin, a hint of anger in the motion.
“Nora’s tough. In this world, a woman has to be tough...” Peggy’s tears rimmed those golden, watery eyes, pain shimmering like sunlight on a river.
Medith sighed and stroked Peggy’s hair. This kid carried more weight than her years deserved.
“Take good care of Nora. That little brat—when she’s healed, I’m twisting her ear. We’ll see if she dares to pull a stunt again.” Medith half joked, half promised.
The others gave a bitter smile, unsure it would happen.
...
Back in her room, Medith pulled out the books she carried, feeding her mind in spare hours like tending a lamp. Even busy, she carved at least an hour to read, every single day.
Only when questions came did helplessness rise cold and sudden—the fear of not understanding flooding her like night tide. By then, it was already too late.
Near dawn, Medith set down a war volume published in the Western Kingdom. She tucked it carefully into her satchel, blew out the candle, pulled up the quilt, and drifted into steady sleep...
[Medith, the pieces are in place.]
(?)
(Are you a god?)
[We don’t have much time. The game has begun.]
(What game?)
[The War of Fate.]
(Who are you, really? What are you after?)
[Find the Divine Stone. It will answer everything. I’ll be waiting there.]
(Aren’t you dead? Why—)
[You’re wrong. We were always one. Time is tight, so I’ll risk a little. Take this power. You’ll need it soon.]
(Wait... you—)
Creak—Medith’s bedroom door pushed open.
Morning light slid in like thin blades. Medith sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and found the women at the door, their looks already full of blame.
“What’s up?” Medith asked, baffled.
“Commander, care to check the time?” Sais said, frost in her tone.
Medith grabbed her pocket watch, its plating long scuffed off.
“How is it past eight...” She scrambled out of bed.
...
“You hound us for sleeping in, and now you’re out cold like a dead pig. Gonna ‘make amends’?” Iling grinned, wicked as a cat.
“Yeah, yeah! Lead by example!” the Lita Sisters chimed in.
Melia and Sais watched with bright, expectant eyes. Looked like Medith’s strictness had banked plenty of grievances over time.
Medith knew she was in the wrong. She gave a stiff smile and nodded.
...
“Morning, everyone—” Martina bounced in, ponytail swishing like a playful fox tail. She hadn’t even hopped off the stairs before that sunny smile froze.
Medith was surrounded by Iling and the girls, plus a ring of members. The crowd chanted, “Go! Go!” like a drumline.
“Hey! What’re you doing? Lemme see! Hey— come on, give me a spot!” Martina pouted, her slight frame no match for the crush.
Her eyes flicked, and a little devilish idea sparked.
She cleared her throat and shouted, “Regido—”
“Ah—”
“Hey, hey—”
Just like ants meeting water, everyone heard that name and jolted back several meters in a panic.
“Haha—” Martina laughed in triumph and took the best spot like sunlight claiming a window.
Medith’s right hand was bound behind her back. Her left hand braced on one finger. She was doing push-ups.
Her pace wasn’t fast, but it was steady. Breath and body moved like they were born together. Each motion was textbook clean, her form straight as an iron plank. Her lithe body rose and fell, riding the bend of that lone finger.
Martina suspected that if Medith’s chest weren’t a touch too soft and rounded, limiting how close she could get to the floor, she could go lower. (Don’t tell me you can press them flat and go lower—you little pervs.)
The crowd snapped back to the moment and, seeing Martina’s smug grin, bristled. Still, they surged up again, afraid to miss a second.
Iling sighed and slid her blade back into its sheath. This brat—if she tried that with Medith’s freakish reflexes, a sword might’ve been flying.
Medith’s long left index finger kept tapping the ground, precise as a metronome. At the group’s countdown, she hit fifty, and she still didn’t look the least bit tired. Awe bowed heads and hushes around her.
It was the first time they’d seen it so plainly—the raw, basic terror that was the power of that legend.
...
“Big sis is big sis. We tried to punish her, and it didn’t even count as a warmup.” Iling looked honestly impressed.
“Tch. Look at you slackers. Hear that? Your joints creak like old carts.” Medith’s disdain fell sharp as sleet.
The women took the hint, closed their mouths, and slipped aside without a word.
...
Afternoon, 1/21.
Since yesterday, when a member of Crimson Rose was felled by Nora, Medith’s “Epic Guild” sign took its first real step. Earning the crowd’s trust wouldn’t be easy.
From Olivya’s notes, to officially claim the Epic Guild title, you need recognition from three guilds or one Legendary Guild.
“Recognition” means a custom guildmaster coin, a seal from the highest head—like Uncle Serpent’s black coin.
“A long road, heavy load. Real craft speaks for itself.” Medith looked unconcerned. They’d filled their roster in a day. Now, it was time to plan for the Divine Stone.
