Shall was taking Lyselle to the Forest Sea.

Lyselle herself had no objections.

After all, the Forest Sea was her home. Even if Shall didn’t bring her back, she’d find a way to return on her own.

Yet Lyselle *did* have objections.

As everyone knew, Lyselle had a flexible identity—more flexible than that troublesome Master Servant Pact. In the Forest Sea, she was the reclusive DawnDusk Witch. In the Brave Squad, she was the beloved Priestess.

The only pity was these two identities rarely overlapped. Like tokusatsu heroes, she’d vanish when villains appeared, only to respawn lazily after the battle ended.

Lyselle could handle being the hero. But she didn’t dare gamble on whether Shall might be one of those clueless teammates. Even in tokusatsu shows, heroes’ secret identities got exposed all the time.

*What now?*

Lyselle nearly broke into a cold sweat. Yet she couldn’t reveal herself to Shall. She had to hold it together.

So in Shall’s eyes, the girl lying in the coffin remained his departed beloved.

Her brilliant golden hair spilled freely over her slender frame. Those usually lively emerald eyes stayed shut, never to open again.

Her hands rested folded over her chest. Her expression was serene, a faint smile lingering on her lips—as if she were merely asleep, not dead.

Shall stared at her, suddenly recalling their final moments:

Back then, the dying girl lay in his arms. Her vitality slipped through his fingers like sand, irreversibly fading.

Her face grew paler. Her breaths grew fainter. Crimson blood seeped from her lips. Shall’s trembling hand reached to wipe it away—but she caught his wrist.

"Shall," she whispered, shaking her head slightly. "Don’t bother…"

He could only let her hold his hand. His mind went blank. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to save Lyselle, but he couldn’t. All he knew were three things: swinging a sword, casting Luminous Spell, and Magic Nullification.

He couldn’t save her.

He could only watch her die in his arms.

It felt like a hammer blow to his skull. His head buzzed. He felt powerless, dazed, furious. He wanted to cry—but no tears came.

He knelt there helplessly, like the Happy Prince from fairy tales, heartbroken over a frozen sparrow.

Then Lyselle gently touched his cheek.

Instinctively, he lowered his head. The girl managed a playful smile, just like old times.

"You know…" Her voice was a thread. "I never… *never* liked you…"

Shall froze.

He didn’t understand why she’d say this. When she—

But the warmth against his cheek was real—Lyselle cupped his face.

Summoning her last strength, a radiant yet lonely smile bloomed on her face like fleeting fireworks.

Leaning close to his ear, she whispered:

"So after I’m gone… *please*… don’t grieve for me…"

…

Memories surged like a tide, drowning Shall.

Long after, he surfaced from the weight of remembrance.

But the past still gripped him. He bent down, studying the girl’s face in the coffin.

"Cunning," he murmured with a bitter smile.

Then he reached toward Lyselle.

Every hair on Lyselle’s body stood on end inside the coffin.

*What does ‘cunning’ mean? Did he see through me all along? Playing the long game?*

*Is he finally done pretending? Ready to expose me?*

*Why else would he reach for me?*

She couldn’t confirm her suspicions. So she stayed "dead," silently cursing Shall while letting his hand descend.

Of course, she had limits. If his hand strayed where it shouldn’t, she’d stop playing dead and blast him with her Magic Wand.

Tense as a coiled spring, Lyselle felt the Champion’s hesitant fingers brush her cheek.

Like a dragonfly skimming water—tingling.

Unsettling. No man had touched her body without permission since she became like this.

Especially not her cheek.

Where his skin met hers, a tiny electric shock spread. As his whole palm pressed against her face, the sensation flared—up her neck, behind her ears.

Heat rose.

Lyselle instinctively wanted to slap his hand away. But she couldn’t. She wanted to clench her fists. But she couldn’t.

She was just a corpse. A half-dead, motionless corpse.

So she endured Shall’s touch.

The situation was so awful, her mind spun endless *doujinshi* scenarios.

But every path led to the same ending:

Being filled with cream like a cream puff.

She could only pray Shall was a gentleman who’d keep his hands to himself. Or asexual—that’d work too.

At least asexuals wouldn’t want a pretty girl like her.

Maybe her prayer worked. Shall didn’t grope further.

He only stroked her cheek once before closing the coffin lid.

Only after the last nail was hammered shut did Lyselle exhale in relief.

*Phew.*

Shall was a Champion. He wouldn’t do anything monstrous to a corpse. This crisis was over.

But popping champagne was premature.

The real trouble began now—she had to sneak out of the coffin before reaching the Forest Sea, then craft a decoy body for Shall’s inspection.

Not impossible.

A lone Champion needed five or six days to travel from the graveyard to the Forest Sea. With her coffin slowing him down? Ten days minimum.

That was optimistic. She hadn’t even factored in the coffin itself—her "corpse" couldn’t leave this casket carved from the Mother Tree of Elves’ wood.

Plenty of time to slip away and wait for him in the Forest Sea.

But Lyselle miscalculated again.

She hadn’t lain in the coffin long when she sensed magical ripples outside—not the familiar pulse of Magic Nullification, but a Blink Spell.

She remembered: magic scrolls existed.

Mark precise coordinates on a scroll, infuse it with mana—some were pre-charged—and even a magicless muggle could activate it.

Shall used a Blink Spell scroll on himself and Lyselle’s coffin.

In the next breath, a gentle wind carried them from the graveyard to the Forest Sea—the DawnDusk Witch’s sanctuary.

The heavy coffin sank deep into soft soil. Shall shook off the dizziness of teleportation. He lightly caressed the coffin’s side—a silent *wait here*—before walking toward the witch’s cottage.

The cottage door was shut tight.

Shall stood before it, knocking politely: *knock-knock-knock*. He waited for the DawnDusk Witch to open it.

Minutes passed. No answer.

Shall frowned up at the sun. Afternoon already. Even a sleepy witch should be awake…

Raising his voice, he called:

"Mist—*Master*! Are you awake? It’s me!"

The new title felt awkward on his tongue. But his volume was clear enough. She must have heard.

Silence answered from behind the door.

*Is she out?* Shall wondered. *Where would the witch go?*

He didn’t know—he barely understood the mysterious sorceress.

He decided to return to Lyselle’s coffin, guarding it while waiting for the witch.

But before he could turn—

The door flew open.

The DawnDusk Witch stood before him, silver hair wild and tangled. She’d rushed out half-dressed—her nightgown strap slipped off one shoulder, revealing smooth, tempting skin. Only one slipper covered her foot; the other bare foot pressed into the earth, toes plump and round like curled white dumplings. Adorably messy.

"What?" she snapped, gripping the doorframe. Her brows knotted in irritation. "Shouting at dawn? Let people sleep!"

In that instant, Shall realized this witch—his only hope to revive his love—was also a stunningly beautiful girl. At least in appearance.

Eyes darting away, he stammered:

"It’s afternoon already…"

"Don’t measure long-life races by your short-life clocks," she cut in sharply. "Spit it out. What do you want?"

Since she asked, Shall answered honestly:

"I’ve brought Lyselle’s body. Can you help me—"

"*No!*" The witch’s refusal was absolute.

Shall blinked, stunned by her sudden vehemence. "Why?"

*Why indeed?* Lyselle—inside the witch’s body—panicked.

*How do I make up a believable excuse?!*

[To Be Continued]