Noon. The weather was clear, the sun shining brightly.
Lyselle stood behind Shall, accompanying him as he bid farewell to the Priestess.
She’d expected Shall to chatter endlessly. So she’d prepared for a long battle.
—She’d cast a soundproofing spell on her ears beforehand. Then she stood there with a sorrowful expression, planning to lift the spell only after Shall finished his tearful goodbye to his late wife.
Shall loved the Priestess so deeply. He must have had a heart full of words to share. Starting at noon, he might talk until evening.
Of course, overwhelmed by emotion, he might even hug the coffin and shed a few tears.
Though men aren’t supposed to cry easily, the one in the coffin was the Priestess—another version of herself. Lyselle knew the wounds she’d inflicted on Shall. So whatever emotions he showed toward her coffin wouldn’t surprise her.
But to her surprise, Shall only leaned down and whispered two quiet words to the coffin. Then he straightened his back, turned around, and looked at her.
The Champion moved his lips, saying something to Lyselle.
Lyselle quickly canceled the soundproofing spell. She pretended not to have heard clearly and asked:
“What did you say?”
Shall didn’t suspect her. Seeing her confusion, he repeated:
“I said—‘Let’s go.’”
This time, Lyselle didn’t pretend. She doubted her own ears.
She blurted out instinctively:
“So soon?”
Shall looked puzzled. “What?”
“I mean how fast you finished saying goodbye to the Priestess,” Lyselle said suspiciously. “Don’t you want to say more to her?”
Shall grew even more confused.
“Say more? Why would I… There’s nothing left to say.”
“…”
Lyselle clicked her tongue.
She almost joked, “Wow, you’re quick,” and teased that men shouldn’t be so hasty. But saying that before the Priestess’s coffin felt utterly heartless. So she casually asked:
“What did you say to her just now?”
Shall scratched his head.
“What did I say… You didn’t hear?”
Lyselle thought, *Dude, I had a soundproofing spell on my ears—of course I couldn’t hear!* But she kept a serious face and told Shall:
“Eavesdropping on someone’s private words to a lost love is wrong. But asking directly, like I am, is different.”
She even acted accommodating:
“Of course, if those words aren’t meant for my ears, forget it.”
After this, the Champion trusted her. He answered honestly:
“It’s nothing much… I just told her I’m going to find materials to revive her. I told her to wait patiently for my return.”
“…That’s all?”
“Exactly.”
Lyselle had no more questions.
Shall’s reply was overly simple, but it made sense. Maybe the chatty, drunk Shall from yesterday was the odd one. This quiet Champion was the real him.
As Shall himself said—
Exactly. It should be this way.
Lyselle stopped doubting. She only felt a little regret.
If only Shall had clung to the coffin again today, rambling and shedding tears like yesterday. She’d been too busy plying him with wine to record his drunken antics with a recording spell.
If he’d broken down today, she could’ve captured his tearful face. Then, when Shall learned the truth someday, she’d use that recording to tease him mercilessly!
Blackmail material like that was the perfect weapon for mockery.
But missed chances were missed.
Lyselle sighed regretfully and asked Shall:
“Shall we go then?”
Shall agreed. He slowly stepped back from the coffin to Lyselle’s side. Then he checked his gear.
The Holy Sword, some paper money, a few magic scrolls—nearly all he owned.
Of course, there was also…
Shall raised his hand, pressing through his clothes against the handkerchief tucked close to his chest.
A faint, fleeting smile touched his lips.
Then, for some reason, the Champion turned back toward the coffin holding the Priestess’s body.
He seemed lost in thought. He covered the handkerchief with his palm, took a deep breath, and his smile widened until it filled his whole face.
The smile was heavy.
Yet he felt light, as if shedding a thousand-pound burden. His expression remained gentle.
“Take care…”
The Champion whispered:
“Wait well… for me.”
This time, Lyselle heard Shall speak but couldn’t make out the words. She frowned and asked:
“What did you say?”
Shall turned back. But this time, he didn’t obey. Silently, he activated Magic Nullification.
The Champion used Magic Nullification to cancel the power of his Master Servant Pact with the Sorceress. Then he shook his head and told Lyselle:
“Nothing. I was just thinking—”
He glanced at his lover’s coffin, then at Lyselle, still smiling:
“It’s a relief to know someone in this world can truly revive the dead. I’m lucky to have met you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t know what to do…”
Lyselle felt a pang of guilt. She chuckled awkwardly:
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a small thing.”
But she didn’t get carried away. Mid-laugh, she turned serious and warned Shall:
“Still, I’ll help you—but after I revive the Priestess, you must never tell anyone I can bring back the dead.”
“Reviving the dead is… well, you understand. If word spreads, I’ll never have peace again. People from all over the Pan Continent will come begging. I hate that more than anything.”
Shall paused, then nodded.
“Understood. I’ll keep your identity hidden.”
Lyselle hummed in approval, saying nothing more.
She didn’t particularly like Shall. But even she had to admit a Champion’s promise carried weight. Across the Pan Continent, many prized such vows as honors.
Like gold, silver, or rare spell scrolls, Shall’s promise was a widely recognized, valuable “tradable item.”
This meant she wouldn’t worry about others like Shall seeking her to revive their dead after she “revived” the Priestess.
Because she truly couldn’t bring back the dead.
But that was for later. Now, something else mattered—
Lyselle looked up to speak. But seeing the towering Champion beside her, her words stuck in her throat.
Damn Champion!
The Sorceress fumed inwardly.
Why was he so tall and strong, while she was stuck as a short, frail thing easily knocked over?
Lyselle almost stomped on Shall’s shoes—but she suppressed this height-fueled resentment.
“Shall,” she called to the Champion, “where should we start gathering materials?”
Shall lowered his head to her, instinctively replying:
“I don’t know. You understand this better than I do. I’ll follow your lead.”
Because of their height difference, Lyselle always had to look up when talking to Shall, while he looked down at her. Her suppressed resentment flared again.
Luckily, she had strong emotional control. She showed little outward reaction.
She just huffed and said:
“The closest places for gathering materials near the Forest Sea are two: a human city and the Elves’ home.”
“I’ve forgotten that human city’s name. I only recall it belongs to some rising human empire. Honestly, I’m curious about both the city and its empire.”
Lyselle gazed toward the city she mentioned.
Then she murmured a few terms:
“Difference engines, Steam Armor, secret guards, ironclad warships, pollution, technology, combustion, pistons and gears…”
“—Even deep in the Forest Sea, I often hear about that city… and that nation. They worship no gods. They trust only in human strength. Yet they’ve never lost to any god-fearing country. From nothing, they built a whole… ah, if I recall right, it’s called industry—they built nearly a complete industrial system.”
Lyselle turned to Shall, her eyes sparkling:
“Coincidentally, I’ve always been fascinated by such things.”
Shall blinked, replying instinctively:
“Then… should we go to that city?”
To his surprise, Lyselle shook her head firmly:
“No. We won’t go there—science and mysticism aren’t enemies. But if there’s a better choice, why insist on finding rare mystical materials in an industrial city?”
Lyselle turned toward the opposite direction, away from that city.
“We go there!”
She pointed her Magic Wand toward the other side of the Forest Sea.
The Sorceress declared:
“Materials for mystical rituals belong in cities steeped in mysticism—”
“On the other side of the Forest Sea lies the Elves’ home, Lundeheim. There, we’ll surely find what we need!”
Then she tapped the Champion’s knee with her wand, like whipping a horse. She commanded:
“Move! Let’s go!”
[To be continued]
