Clearly, Lance’s answer left Shadia disappointed, like dusk spilling over still water.

“A quiet life?” Her words held calm anger, an undercurrent beneath glassy waves, heating the air till it trembled.

“Yeah. A quiet life.” Lance’s voice stayed open and steady, like a clear bell in winter.

Shadia pressed down her temper. Curiosity flickered like a moth at a lamp. “Specifically what? Your own retreat into ease, or peace for all Nordland?”

“Neither.”

“Then what is it?” Lance frowned, troubled, like a traveler lost in mist. “It’s a question of the way of living. It’s hard to answer.”

“Enough!” Her cry cracked like ice. Then she sighed, a reed bending in wind. “Setting that aside… Blazing Fire Knight, you refused my invitation. I’m truly sorry.”

“I’ll respect your choice,” she added, voice cooling like embers gone gray.

Lance bowed. “Thank you for understanding, Miss Shadia.”

She looked at him with a pitying softness, like dew on a blade of grass that won’t last till noon.

They drifted back to the matter at hand.

“Human knight,” Shadia asked, wary as a falcon on a cliff, “after you take treasure from me, what then?”

“Return to the Doran Kingdom,” Lance said, without overthinking, like a stone dropped straight into a well.

“So, you’ll head back to Doran.” Her breath eased, like a knot loosened.

“That’s right.”

Her tone grew heavy again, like thunder behind hills. “You’re Doran. You can’t board an airship. If you’d agreed to my invitation, you could ride as my retainer. Now you’ll go on foot, across the impassable Doomspine. Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“All right… all right…” Shadia closed her eyes, head aching like a storm pressing on temples.

After a long pause, her brow smoothed. Her voice went light, like snow settling on fir. “Human knight, you have the Eternal War Armor. It can carry at least three. It won’t be fast, but it’ll stand against wind and snow—”

“Take it as my blessing. May it guard you home in peace, human knight.”

She sighed, pointed toward the door, then turned to the window and left him to the world beyond, like a heron refusing a second glance.

“Much obliged. Farewell, Miss Shadia.” Lance bowed and left the room.

He’d barely reached the small garden to clear his head when Thunderlight Knight Liya caught up, walking beside him like bright weather joining a traveler.

“Lance, you made my master unhappy…” Liya’s face fell, huge hopes collapsing like a paper lantern in rain.

“Did I…” Lance felt guilty, a thorn under the nail, yet not regretful. “I’m sorry.”

Sun gilded the eaves like coins, and Liya’s sadness blew away. Her smile turned simple and clear, the kind that forgets shadows when it sees light.

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, small joy ringing like a bell.

“You don’t?” Lance blinked, puzzled, like a fisherman staring at a net with no catch.

“Mm-hmm… because…” Liya fidgeted, a cool knight suddenly shy, like a cat pretending indifference.

“Because what?” Lance asked, curious as a boy at a temple fair.

Liya looked up at the blue sky, memory drifting like a white cloud. “Because you reminded me of when we first met.”

“At the Knight Festival?” Lance asked, lost as if the past were smoke.

“Yeah. You told me, ‘I live for myself.’ I was so mad then! Now, thinking back, it’s kinda admirable.”

“Admirable?” Lance scratched his head, like a sparrow ruffling feathers.

“Sure. To live for yourself, and chase a quiet life. That’s pretty free, isn’t it?” Liya smiled bright, like sunlight on ripples.

“To be honest, you could live like that too,” Lance said, a little embarrassed, like a secret spoken too loud.

Liya shook her head, regret soft as a falling petal. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

Their quiet was split by shouts from beyond the chapel wall, a wind of voices whipping flags. “Down with Celestial Race privilege! Down with elven favoritism!”

Liya glanced toward the noise, then looked back at Lance. Her smile held regret without remorse, like a blade polished clean. “Because I’m a knight too.”

After their talk, Lance packed for the road, aiming to leave before sundown, his mood steady as a traveler counting the miles.

The bags were for mountains, not markets. Yuna would be with him, so food and clothing piled up like neat cairns.

On the way, he bought Yuna a new outfit from a clothier, foreign threads with local spice, like a river wearing a new color.

“Thank you for caring, Master.” Yuna’s tone stayed cool as a shaded spring, but her amber eyes glinted, fireflies in glass. She twirled before the mirror, then slipped back into her usual clothes and returned to work.

The mountain prep took little time, but one problem still weighed on Lance, a stone in the boot.

The Eternal War Armor.

“Can you understand me?” In the church basement, Lance tried to speak with the giant.

The piloted construct called Eternal War Armor nodded, metal joints squealing like winter cranes.

Ownership papers granted legal title, not a binding pact. If it had its own will, rebellion was possible, like a stallion tasting wind.

“So, do you truly accept me as your master?” Lance asked.

The Eternal War Armor nodded again. Its movement rasped, like chalk on slate.

Lance didn’t quite trust it. He gave a string of orders, each a pebble tossed to test depth.

“Go prone.”

It obeyed, iron mass settling to the floor like a fallen cliff.

“Up. Stand on one leg.”

It obeyed, holding perfect balance, a stork on ice.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

No response. Silence hung, a pond without ripples.

“Do you long for freedom?”

Still no response, quiet thick as velvet.

“Will you allow anyone else to destroy you?”

The Eternal War Armor shook its head, slow and heavy, like a bell refusing a strike.

“I see.”

After tests and commands, Lance pieced together its mind: alchemical life, intelligent, with some selfhood. Elven alchemy could birth such things—mirrors breathing mist.

His understanding went only so far, like steps ending at a cliff.

“How do I pilot you?” he asked.

The Eternal War Armor’s gaze brightened, joy like lanterns lit at dusk. Its chest plates opened, revealing the cockpit’s inner heart.

Lance climbed in. The plates closed. Darkness fell like a curtain, then gentle light bloomed, a soft lamp in a cave. The inner walls turned transparent, clear as river ice. He could see the world outside as if holding it in his palm.

A fighter’s cockpit, Fulin murmured in his mind, voice like a ribbon.

But Lance found no stick, no wheel, no reins—only silence ready to listen.

Suddenly his body went weak, strength leaking like water from a cracked jar. The big guy was drinking his Battle Aura.

And more—his spell power flowed too, twin streams emptied, moon and sun both dimmed.

Fatigue crashed down, a mountain on his shoulders. Breath turned heavy, like iron in lungs.

Then came the link—mind threaded to metal, spirit stitched to steel. He thought of moving a hand, and the giant’s hand stirred. He imagined walking, and it stepped forward, obedient as shadow.

“Just as I thought.” Lance’s certainty rose like dawn. The feeling was new and intoxicating, a hawk catching first wind.

Under human control, it moved sharper, faster, stronger. Its stance blazed grand, like a war banner snapping in storm.

Now he understood the Eternal War Armor. It drew power from its pilot, feeding on energy like a whale drinking the sea.

For Lance, the drain was a cauldron emptied from below. In less than three minutes, the weakness ran deep, like roots in cold soil.

He had to stop, or “die” inside the cockpit like a candle snuffed in a jar.

“Enough. I’m getting out,” he ordered.

The Eternal War Armor didn’t react. The link held tight, energy siphoned without restraint, a vine clutching a tree.

“Didn’t you hear I’m getting out?!” Lance shouted, voice like a cracked thunderclap.

It worked. The light within dulled, transparency faded, a star-cloud going dark. The chest opened, slow as old doors.

The fierce aura of moments ago vanished, like a storm spent.

Lance climbed out. His legs buckled, nearly crumpling to the floor. The cost bit hard, teeth right to bone.

The Eternal War Armor saw and dimmed its gaze, shame like ash in the eyes.

It reached out a heavy hand to steady him, but misjudged the motion. It bumped Lance down, a mountain nudging a reed.

“Enough,” Lance said from the floor, half plea, half surrender, like a traveler asking rain to stop.

The giant stilled.

Lance lay there for about thirty minutes, strength pooling back drop by drop, a cistern refilling after drought.

Now he understood why Shadia would part with the Eternal War Armor.

It drains the pilot severely. And the Heavenly Spirit Empire likely has a superior model, a higher seat on the ladder. Shadia handed him an antique, a relic with iron pride.

Fulin bristled in Lance’s mind, temper flashing like a match. Then the spark cooled, and Lance pushed himself up.

“Come on, big guy,” he said.

The giant followed, its movements awkward, crawling up stairs like a bear squeezing through roots, until they reached the open air.

On the surface, the Eternal War Armor looked up. Its gaze brightened again, sky pouring into its eyes like blue wine.

It stood there, drinking the heavens, like someone starved of horizon.

“Let’s go. Someone’s waiting,” Lance urged.

The light in its eyes dimmed. It moved to follow, obedient as a tide following the moon.

Passersby cried out, a chorus scattering like sparrows. Yet shock didn’t rule them; reactions varied, rain on different roofs.

“It’s the Empire’s giant Divine Warrior!”

“So the royal house is here to scare us!”

“No, I heard Shadia gave some treasure to a human…”

“Damn, to counter our Titan-blooded protest, they’d even court humans…”

Curiosity swelled. Celestial Spirits gathered, a tide rolling in the street.

The way clogged, water jammed behind rocks. No one tried to clear a path.

Lance hesitated, lost as a boat in reeds. Then Thunderlight Knight Liya arrived with a squad, lightning in order’s shape.

She rode ahead, scattering the crowd like wind plowing fog. “Priority convoy! Make way!”

Seeing a knight detachment—mostly Celestial Spirits of Titan blood—faces changed like clouds, and a lane opened wide enough for the Eternal War Armor, a river cut through ice. The escort held till the city’s edge.

“Ah—Master!” Yuna, guarding the luggage, shoved away a few Celestial Spirits trying to chat her up, then waved, palm bright as a flag.

“Yo, kept you waiting,” Lance called back, voice like a grin on a road.

The would-be flirts saw a knight squad and fled, color draining like dye in rain.

Here, Lance would part from Liya.

“Thanks for seeing me off.” He bowed again, courtesy like a well-cut blade.

“No need. Think of it as a farewell gift.” Before her troop, Liya wore her cool mask again, formal words laid like tiles.

“Take care.”

“You too, my friend.” She waved toward the path Lance would take, hand like a white wing.

“See you.” The sun slanted west, gold poured thin.

Before sundown, Lance set out toward Doran.

By full dark, they entered the foothills of the Doomspine.

It was mountains, but only the foot. The air wasn’t too cold. On both sides, a broad tundra stretched like gray velvet.

Lance led with a torch, flame a small sun cupped in hand. Yuna sat on the Eternal War Armor’s shoulder, a perched swallow above iron.

They climbed slowly and carefully, the ascending road a patient serpent on stone.

At night the tundra was quiet, peace like a blanket. No travelers, no beasts, only wind stitching the edges of silence.

They eased a taut mind, muscles unwinding like knots.

After two more hours, tundra turned to a steep slope of broken rock. Wind rose, a whoosh in the ears like riffling silk. The road underfoot became frozen mud mixed with snow, a rough mosaic of white and brown.

Even with danger underfoot, Lance still held the torch and walked ahead alone, flame steady as a vow.

Perched on the Eternal War Armor’s shoulder like a swallow on a bronze mountain, Yuna watched the scene unfold. “Truly worthy of you, Master,” she breathed, her voice light as a moth’s wing.

Lance asked, “Why the sudden praise?” as the wind rose like a river of cold knives. The group tucked into a windbreak cupped by rock and shadow, and began to make camp.

“No,” Yuna said, warmth and ache mixing like fire and snow. “I just remembered how you shoulder everything alone, like a lone pine bearing winter snow; it’s incredible, like a beacon in a storm.”

“Is that so?” Lance’s tone was flat as still water; he passed her a cup of porridge, steam curling like pale incense.

Yuna murmured thanks and took it, watching the steam coil like a small dragon; then a thought struck like a spark. She dug out a roll of parchment, dry as autumn bark, and handed it to Lance.

“Miss Shelika asked me to give this to you,” Yuna said, her words light as falling ash. Overhead, the night bloomed with cold, bright stars.