Blink Spell couldn’t teleport people or objects anywhere at will.
Otherwise, it would’ve been weaponized ages ago.
After all, the human body was so fragile—just slip foreign objects into key spots like the heart, brain, or arteries, and the whole system would collapse.
Saving lives was hard; killing was simple.
Though Lyselle had never killed anyone herself, as a Sorceress, she knew countless ways to end a life.
Blink Spell wasn’t one of them.
It required memorizing destination coordinates, had a long incantation wind-up, was easily interrupted, and everyone had countermeasures anyway. What high-tier mage today didn’t know anti-Blink spells?
So Blink Spell was convenient yet inconvenient—at least now, it couldn’t whisk Lyselle and Shall straight to Lundeheim.
She’d only visited that Elven city once.
“By the way,” the Sorceress looked down at the Champion trudging through the forest, “how did those stingy pointy-eared Elves part with their precious Mother Tree branch?”
Then she gasped, eyes widening as if struck by a thought:
“You didn’t kidnap their Queen, did you?”
Shall, focused on walking, didn’t even lift his head.
“I wouldn’t do that.”
Lyselle figured as much. Shall wasn’t the type to kidnap an Elven Queen for leverage. But she couldn’t recall him ever helping the Elves either.
Suspicious, she pressed:
“Did you help them?”
“Probably… not.”
“Then why give you aid out of nowhere?” Lyselle narrowed her eyes. “Does the Elven Queen have a crush on you?”
“…”
Shall finally stopped walking.
He glanced up at Lyselle floating like a kite high above, then quickly looked down again—worried about glimpsing under her skirt.
“I’ve never been to Lundeheim,” he answered tersely, “or met the Elven Queen.”
Lyselle nodded thoughtfully.
“So those pointy-eared ones are being overly nice for no reason?”
No good deed went unpunished.
Especially with those stingy Elves. She’d dealt with them before, trading for eight bottles of aged wine. They’d left a deep impression—utterly unyielding, soft or hard tactics useless.
If “Shall” described rigid thinking in a person or race, Elves were “Ultra-Shall” and “Super-Shall.”
Or better yet: “The more Shall, the more Shall.” Those six words fit both Shall and the pointy-eared ones perfectly.
Many on the Pan Continent saw Elves as mysterious, elegant nobles. Lyselle disagreed. Last time in Lundeheim, every Elf’s gaze screamed:
“Stinking outsider, begging for scraps in Lundeheim!”
Their eyes held such suspicion, as if the city had never seen a visitor.
—Which might be true. During her three years in the Brave Squad or hiding deep in the Forest Sea, Lyselle rarely heard Elf news.
Those reclusive, stingy pointy-eared ones seldom left Lundeheim. Most tales came from bards’ poems: Elves as divine favorites, nature’s essence, perfect embodiments of beauty.
Lyselle couldn’t fathom how those shut-in misers earned such praise.
“Distance breeds beauty, huh?” she muttered.
Far enough away, even a blockhead like Shall could seem virtuous. He was just an idiot—always shouting “Revive, my love!” while she’d been right beside him, unnoticed.
Hah.
Glancing at the Champion still rushing ahead, Lyselle sighed. Blink Spell couldn’t take them straight to Lundeheim, and she was too lazy to walk. So she’d turned spectral, tied herself to Shall like a kite, and ordered him to carry her through the Forest Sea.
Weightless in spirit form, she added no burden. Shall, tough as he was, cut through the dense woods while she dangled from his head, motionless.
But the Forest Sea was vast. After two full days of travel, they’d barely reached its outskirts. Lundeheim was still far off.
Even kite-flyers needed rest.
After a morning’s march, Shall halted in a forest clearing.
The donkey grinding grain could pause; the mill had no complaints. Lyselle didn’t move anyway—it was all Shall’s effort.
She dispelled her spirit form, landed, and found a fallen tree. With her Magic Wand, she summoned bound elementals, ordering them to scrub off the moss. Then she sat.
Shall had already pulled water and rations from his pack, silently refueling.
Champions always ate heartily.
Such powerful bodies needed fuel. Reasonable. Shall devoured nearly ten times Lyselle’s portions. Between walking and resting, he was always eating.
Before leaving her nest, he’d begged her to visit a human city for supplies. Luckily, she had coordinates and took him.
She’d even “kindly” stored his rations.
Thanks to Magic Nullification, Shall couldn’t carry storage items. Back in the Brave Squad, she’d handled tents and food.
Now, after all this time—her turned Sorceress, him still Champion—she was still doing it…
Complicated feelings stirred.
Lyselle got an idea.
She pushed herself up, crept behind Shall, and slapped his shoulder:
“Oi!”
She’d done this often before. When eating, Shall focused entirely on his food—as if his rations were his whole world. He’d finish every crumb, even picking stray bits from his clothes.
Perfect for scaring. He’d always jumped.
*Battle-hardened Champion, yet so jumpy. Pathetic.*
—She’d planned to tease him exactly like that.
But this time, Shall didn’t flinch.
He’d sensed her approach.
Calmly turning, he asked:
“Can I help you?”
“…”
Lyselle froze.
*Why isn’t he following the script?* She scrambled for an excuse.
“What’re you eating?” she blurted dryly. “Break… break me off a piece!”
“…”
Shall looked even more puzzled.
Still, he obediently broke off a small chunk of ration and handed it over.
“Here.”
Trapped, Lyselle took it and crunched.
Travel rations prioritized preservation over taste. It felt like chewing sawdust—sweet but hard and bitter. She struggled to swallow.
“Water…” she choked out. “Give me water…”
Shall quickly offered an unused waterskin.
Lyselle grabbed it, gulping desperately until the dry lump vanished.
Then she heard Shall say:
“You always need water with rations. Easy to choke otherwise.”
*Damn it, why didn’t you tell me sooner?*
Confusion followed. Why could she scare him before, but not now?
When in doubt, ask.
“You sensed me coming just now?”
Shall paused, then answered honestly:
“Yes. I did.”
“…Since when?”
“The moment you moved.”
“…”
Lyselle fell silent.
*Of course he sensed me. He’s a Champion. Countless battles honed his instincts to near-premonition.*
That’s why he’d caught her Blink Spell outside her home—detecting the magic surge instantly.
But then—
Why had she, as a Priestess, slipped behind him unnoticed before? Why did he jump every time?
The answer was simple.
She just hadn’t realized it until now.
Lyselle snorted coldly, teeth clenched, glaring at Shall.
*Crafty Champion!*
[To Be Continued]
