Shall crouched beside Lyselle.

His head hung low, unkempt hair spilling over his face like scribbled ink. Lyselle couldn’t read his expression.

The more she couldn’t see it, the heavier his presence felt—oppressive, inexplicable.

After all, fear thrives in the unknown.

Yet Lyselle remembered Shall drank well. Really well.

Countless nights they’d shared bottles. If he turned into a drunken beast, she wouldn’t have survived unscathed.

Not when they’d passed out together so many times—fully clothed, yes, but she’d braced for assault every time.

The worst he’d ever done? Using her as a body pillow.

Back then, she’d called it a sacrifice for her grand revenge. Now? Unforgivable.

Just recalling his arms around her made her skin crawl.

*Are you kidding me? I’m gonna puke. .jpg*

*Get lost, you stinky man!*

Lyselle straightened up, eyes sharp. She subtly drew her Magic Wand. *One step closer, and I’ll turn you into a pig.*

Even if his Magic Nullification would block it—she’d at least shock him sober.

But Shall didn’t move closer. Instead, his voice cut through the silence, eerily calm:

"Any more wine?"

"*Huh?*"

Lyselle glanced at him.

Shock hit her. Despite drowning memories in two bottles of liquor, Shall was lucid. Polite. Restrained.

His sudden closeness? Just to ask for wine. Nothing more.

*Why not shout across the fire?* Suspicion still coiled in her chest.

She looked away, grabbing a skewer of grilled fish. "Plenty left... but you sure you can handle more? You’ve already downed two bottles."

The Sorceress pretended to watch the flames, stealing glances at his face.

His eyes were hollow. Firelight danced in them, but they held no warmth—just a terrifying numbness.

A chilling thought struck her:

*The real Shall died long ago. This is just an empty shell.*

Like the coffin behind her.

No Priestess inside it. No soul inside him. The true Champion had vanished with the woman he loved.

That’s why he’d leaned in. Not to threaten—to numb the pain.

He’d crumbled.

Stubble shadowed his jaw. His hair was wild, his clothes torn and bloodied. He’d stopped caring about anything but resurrecting his love. Exhausted, he’d finally paused when Lyselle promised to help. But the moment he sat by the fire, drinking, the past caught up.

Like racing shadows.

Only constant motion kept grief at bay—spinning like a whipped top. Stop, and the shadow of his lost love would swallow him whole.

Shall lifted his head. His gaze focused on Lyselle.

"I’m fine," he repeated. Then again, firmer: "I’m *fine*."

A smile flickered on his lips—pale, brittle. Lyselle sucked in a tiny breath.

*This guy’s terrifying!*

*Classic heartbreak. Only a fool drowns himself like this.*

She’d had a real friend once—not her fake persona—who’d begged her to drink after a breakup.

She’d watched a burly man chug beer after beer, sobbing into a table. The memory still burned.

*If I ever fall in love,* she’d vowed that night, *I’ll win everything. Break up? I’ll be a stone-hearted tough guy.*

Now, opportunity sat beside her.

*Restore the glory of True Men! My duty calls!*

Lyselle slapped Shall’s shoulder.

He blinked at her, alcohol slowing his thoughts.

She met his eyes, face set with warrior resolve.

"Bro! Don’t cry!" She thrust the grilled fish into his hand. "Snap out of it!"

"...?"

Shall froze. His wine-fogged mind couldn’t parse this.

Lyselle pressed on, gripping his wrist to guide the fish toward his mouth:

"Life’s full of hurdles. So your wife died—big deal! Stop obsessing over wine. Eat."

Miraculously, the fish had few bones. He didn’t resist, too dazed to pull away. Still, intimacy with any woman but the Priestess made him stiffen.

Before he could protest, she released him. Her voice turned oddly sage-like:

"Life’s like this. People come and go. Right now, loss feels like the end of the world. Pain. Grief. You’d die for it..."

She patted his thigh.

"But years from now? You’ll look back and think, *That was it?*"

"Birth, aging, sickness, death. Joy and sorrow. Today’s blazing passion is tomorrow’s frozen grave. Young hearts weep endless tears—but time erases everything. Time is the only true eternity."

"You lost a lover, not the whole world. Plenty still love you. Think of them. Think of the Priestess—whatever she whispered before dying, she’d want you *alive*."

Honestly? Lyselle sucked at comforting people.

She’d always walked alone. No one to soothe. No one to soothe her. This was her all.

*Brotherly duty fulfilled.*

She couldn’t afford a broken Champion. Dead weight meant no debt repayment.

A sword-wielding Shall was useful. A shattered one? Worthless.

So she fumbled through this, words spilling without thought.

Then—a memory surfaced.

*When was that?*

A year or two ago. Back in the Brave Squad.

She’d comforted Shall then too. He’d been hollow-eyed, listless.

*Perfect chance!* she’d thought. Men crave soft arms when weary—someone to whisper, *"Rest now."*

She’d dragged him drinking, hoping to exploit his weakness. He never shared his pain. She’d babbled on like a goldfish blowing bubbles—*blub blub blub*—words long forgotten.

*Fish only remember seven seconds.*

History repeated.

Lyselle’s throat tightened. She added softly:

"Carrying too much breaks you. Trust me. Pour your heart out—I’m a vault! I’ll be your forever treehole."

Silence.

Her blood turned to ice.

*Crap.*

*Those were the exact words I used last time.*

[To Be Continued]

—