Lyselle returned to the Forest Sea.

The first thing she did was check if Shall had tampered with her coffin while she was away.

Fortunately, he hadn’t.

Shall was surprisingly obedient. She’d warned him that moving the coffin might endanger the Priestess inside, and he actually believed her. So during her absence, he hadn’t touched it once.

The coffin still sat there, but now it was sheltered under a crude shed.

Someone had built it from nearby trees—just a simple frame covered with canvas, sturdy enough to block wind and rain.

Lyselle tested the shed’s stability. The four posts were deeply wedged into the ground, making it unlikely to collapse. Even in a storm, it would protect the coffin well.

But that coffin didn’t need protection.

It was the Mother Tree of Elves. Shielding its coffin was like her protecting Shall.

—Not that she couldn’t, but what was the point?

Lyselle sighed, rubbing her forehead.

With a Champion like this, she worried for the future of the Pan Continent.

Suddenly, a thunderous crash echoed from the dense woods nearby. Something heavy and massive had slammed into the ground. Even from a distance, Lyselle felt the earth tremble beneath her feet.

“What the hell was that?”

She squinted suspiciously into the forest depths.

Only Shall could cause such a ruckus.

She headed toward the sound.

Soon, she found its source—a fallen tree, thick enough for two people to hug.

That crash must’ve been it hitting the ground.

But only storms felled giants like this. Why was Shall chopping trees? The shed was already built.

Lyselle’s gaze swept along the trunk.

Sure enough, by the stump, she spotted Shall—

shirtless.

He’d probably stripped off his top to stay cool and move freely while chopping. His lean, powerful muscles gleamed under the sun.

Shall’s physique was impressive, blessed by the Champion’s legacy. Every swing of his axe made his muscles ripple with raw, violent beauty—yet not overly bulky, just naturally strong.

Lyselle noticed bandages wrapped sloppily around his wrists and torso. With the Brave Squad’s only healer dead, he’d had to tend his own wounds. The messy bindings looked almost careless.

*Amusing.*

Some people really couldn’t function without her.

After she left, even simple tasks like bandaging wounds turned into disasters…

Lyselle opened her mouth to mock his incompetence, but Shall spotted her first.

“Master!”

He waved from afar.

She smirked.

Shall seemed resigned to her teasing. He’d even started calling her “Master” instead of “Sorceress,” looking oddly cheerful about it.

—Though she wondered how long that cheer would last once he learned his “Master” was actually the dead Priestess.

As she walked closer, Shall finished his task. He tossed the axe she’d lent him onto the tree trunk, then effortlessly hoisted the stripped log onto his shoulder.

“You’re back?” he greeted.

She’d always known about his monstrous strength, but seeing him haul such a massive tree after three months still stunned her. Champions truly were freaks of nature.

*Good thing I ran away,* she thought, eyeing his abs. *Who could resist that?*

Champions should stay single. She shuddered imagining his future wife’s fate—no field, however fertile, could survive plowing by an armored bull like him. Being bedridden would be the least of it.

But Lyselle kept those thoughts to herself. Instead, she scolded him sternly:

“Why aren’t you dressed? Have no decency!”

Shall froze. He glanced down, realizing he’d forgotten his shirt after chopping. He dropped the log and scrambled to pull his clothes on.

Lyselle watched, waiting until he was fully dressed before asking:

“The shed’s already built. Why cut another tree?”

Shall heaved the log back onto his shoulder, looking sheepish.

“If reviving Lyselle takes a long time, I’ll need to stay in the Forest Sea. I didn’t want to trouble you, so I thought I’d build a treehouse for myself—a place to live.”

Lyselle raised an eyebrow.

*Oh, so he’s getting carried away now? A little kindness and he’s overflowing with demands.*

She’d allowed the shed, not a treehouse neighbor.

She narrowed her eyes, deliberately unreasonable.

“Who gave you permission to build a treehouse here?”

Shall’s face fell. He stood frozen, unsure whether to keep carrying the log or drop it.

“You… you don’t want me to build it?” he asked hesitantly.

Lyselle nodded.

“Of course not. I don’t need a random neighbor.”

Mostly, she dreaded stepping outside every noon or afternoon to see his stupid face greeting her. That had been her daily nightmare in the Brave Squad.

If she had to deal with Shall even after faking her death, what was the point of faking it at all?

She cut him off firmly:

“You should be grateful I let you bring the Priestess’s coffin here. Don’t push your luck. I came to the Forest Sea to live alone—no neighbors.”

*Thud—*

The log hit the ground.

Shall’s expression darkened. Lyselle guessed he realized his tree-cutting was pointless—or worse, that she didn’t welcome him.

As the de facto ruler of the Forest Sea, her rejection meant he couldn’t stay near the deceased Priestess.

She expected him to beg.

And he did. His voice turned hoarse as he pleaded:

“I… I can’t leave Lyselle. I want to stay by her side…”

He paused, lowering his head and eyes.

“Lyselle was actually quite timid. But she felt safe when I was near. So I thought…”

“I want her to open her eyes after revival and see me right there.”

“?”

Lyselle’s eyebrows shot up.

*Timid? Me? This clueless Champion dares to judge me without knowing a thing?*

It felt bizarre. Hearing her name in such tender words was surreal—like she was a bystander while blondie Shall invoked her ghost for effect.

Ridiculous.

She brushed it aside and sighed dramatically.

“This is tricky… I understand wanting to stay with the Priestess. But I don’t want a neighbor either. What to do?”

She watched Shall’s face closely.

His expression soured like bitter gourd, strained but trying to stay calm.

He hadn’t been like this before.

Back then, after her pranks, he’d retaliate—like turning into a bottomless pit during meals, eating until she nearly collapsed from cooking.

But now…

Losing someone close must mature a man fast.

She’d sacrificed herself to make Shall this quiet, serious adult—less boy, more man.

But she didn’t care.

She disliked all versions of Shall.

Still, seeing his crushed, weary face, she smirked.

“Actually, I came to the Forest Sea to escape noisy human cities. So… if the Forest Sea stays as peaceful as before…”

She left it hanging.

Sometimes, half-spoken words worked best. Let him fill in the blanks.

Shall’s eyes lit up.

Not just that—he bowed deeply, solemnly.

“Thank you.”

He was genuinely grateful for her “leniency.”

But Lyselle felt no softness.

She was thrilled.

Because Shall’s treehouse would be useless. On her way back from the Old Sage, she’d already planned to take him away soon—to gather materials for “reviving” the Priestess.

He’d never live in that treehouse.

She’d harshly refused his request, yet—

*Heh heh!*

With just two simple sentences—

Shall not only didn’t resent her, he thanked her.