The Man Who Embodied the Very Essence of a Protagonist—only now did Lilithia finally understand why such people became the heroes of their stories.

It didn’t even matter if Fiore wasn’t technically the protagonist. In Lilithia’s heart, this man was undeniably the hero of this world, of this era.

Facing a woman whose very status was declared by the rare gems adorning her staff—a woman who could command the knight corps—he had chosen the harder path. The path Lilithia herself would have abandoned without hesitation. Yet Fiore had followed his will without flinching.

She was cradled in his arms.

Fiore’s swordsmanship was flawless. With just his blade, he deflected every spell and knightly assault from all directions—all while holding Lilithia with one arm.

And his strength was undeniable.

"Give up, Fiore," a voice called. "With that girl weighing you down, you can’t move at speed. A swordsman without mobility is doomed to lose."

—The old Lilithia, the one untouched by a transmigrator’s soul, would have urged him then: *"Put me down and flee alone, Lord Fiore."*

Such words would only burden him.

If he’d meant to abandon her, he wouldn’t have drawn his sword at all. As a warrior, how could he not know carrying her crippled his agility? That the strain would break her fragile bones?

But Lilithia understood.

She couldn’t match his strength, yet she felt his resolve. Having once been a man herself, she knew his heart.

"Lord Fiore…"

Focused on fending off enemies, Fiore’s expression tightened. "Are you asking me to abandon you?"

Lilithia only shook her head, gripping his sleeve tighter. "Please—protect me!"

A selfish plea. Yet the very words that fueled him now. The girl he shielded at the risk of betrayal had answered his heart’s desire with her own will.

*This* was what Fiore had longed for.

"Don’t hold back for my sake. Let me witness your strength. Let me know your will. Let me… let these eyes forever burn your image into my soul. I *will* watch you!"

After repelling a knight, Fiore glanced down at the girl in his arms. Her crimson eyes held only his reflection—clear, unwavering.

His blood surged. Heat flooded his veins. Something erupted from within him.

*What was this?*

"Hold on tight," Fiore murmured. Pure white vapor enveloped them, pressing against Lilithia like a physical force.

Nausea hit her instantly.

*So this was "qi"?*

A tangible manifestation of life force—distinct from magic, a fusion of will and power. She’d only heard whispers of it. Now she felt Fiore’s essence, raw and intimate, rejecting her very being.

*He’d been holding back this entire time?*

Lilithia activated a minor Life Magic technique—a basic healing art even village children could use. Among its byproducts was a way to suppress nausea.

Understanding its cause, she forced the sickness down.

Her arms locked tighter around Fiore.

"Just a little longer. I’ll heal you after," he promised.

Her resolve steeled his own. Then—he *leapt*.

Soaring—no, *jumping*!

Could human strength truly achieve this? Fiore carried Lilithia straight up a hundred meters. White vapor coalesced beneath his feet like stepping stones, letting him run across the sky itself.

Mephas looked up at the man dancing on air. She raised a hand, hesitated, then lowered it. Unleashing powerful magic here would cause unacceptable collateral damage. This wasn’t her territory. The nobles would never permit it.

"You’ll fall into my hands eventually, Fiore," she declared coldly before vanishing into shadow.

…

"*Gag!*"

Lilithia couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Honestly—even with her blacksmith-honed stamina, this was *way* beyond her paygrade.

And—

Her bones were broken.

Fiore’s high-speed maneuvers had shattered her still-growing frame. Nausea warred with agony as fractured bones ground against nerves, each wave of pain triggering fresh retching.

Gentle light washed over her.

The pain faded swiftly.

Lilithia saw a glowing badge in Fiore’s hand, radiating healing energy.

*A Church artifact?*

The idea flickered in her mind—engraving healing magic onto badges wasn’t easy.

"Lilithia, you were brave."

Fiore’s sudden words caught her off guard. As pain receded, she managed a cocky grin. "Joking, right? This level of—"

***CRACK!***

Her dislocated bones snapped back into place. Fiore pinned her still before she could thrash.

A shriek tore from her throat.

When she calmed, Fiore began bandaging her. "Apologies. Without resetting the fractures first, this healing would leave you deformed. I had to be firm."

*Much like setting broken bones.*

"You couldn’t warn me first?" Lilithia grumbled. Standard procedure was to distract patients—to prevent reflexive resistance.

Fiore opened his mouth to explain, then stopped. Her teasing eyes held full understanding. She was just messing with him.

He flicked her forehead.

"*Ow!* Is this how you treat the injured? You look like a saint but you’re a total sadist!" She rubbed her forehead, scowling.

Even Fiore was surprised. He rarely acted so casually with others. But this girl… she was different. Being near her felt effortless. Like those rare moments on campaign with comrades—where laughter came easy and burdens lifted.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly. "For dragging you into this. It was my fight—"

Lilithia dropped her hand, frowning. "Why so serious all of a sudden? This wasn’t your fault."

She patted his shoulder. "I asked you to escort me to town to find my father. You didn’t force me. And *you’re* the victim here too! The villain is that woman Mephas. Why apologize?"

"But if I hadn’t come to your village—"

"Then someone else would’ve suffered. Dwelling on blame solves nothing." Lilithia’s crimson eyes gleamed. "Hey! Stand tall! You were dazzling back there—don’t shrink into some gloomy side character now! Be proud. That madwoman covets you for a reason. And you *saved* me from her. Your path has no hesitation. I see your conviction… So just be *you*. I’ve memorized that woman’s face. One day, I’ll make her pay."

She truly was unlike anyone he knew.

Not like his childhood friend, who’d lecture him about consequences. Not like his sister, who’d sigh, "*Typical idiot brother…*"

This girl understood his heart. Believed in his ideals.

"Are you sincere?"

Lilithia rolled her eyes. "Why would I lie to you? What’s in it for me?"

"I’ve been deceived before."

"Oh~?" Her grin turned mischievous. Those crimson eyes scanned him like a puzzle. "Deceived, huh~?"

Fiore felt utterly exposed. A nine-year-old girl made him flush.

Then she seized his hand and pressed it against her chest.

"Feel my heartbeat?"

"Eh?"

Her gaze locked onto his. "I, Lilithia, swear this: I will *never* lie to you."

Wind rustled through the forest clearing. Silver hair danced in the breeze. Sunlight turned her crimson eyes to molten gemstones—and in their depths, Fiore saw only himself.

He vowed he’d never forget this moment.

…

"So~" Lilithia teased, poking his arm. "Did your heart skip a beat back there? Admit it—you’re totally the type who gets flustered over little girls!"