After the wine touched her lips, Caro felt a wave of nostalgia she hadn’t experienced in ages. The wine here resembled fruit wine—but then again, who knew? It might contain premium ingredients nonexistent in her original world.

Still, the longing remained, as if she’d slipped back into her old life.

“Good wine!”

She slapped the table. In the deep silence of the night, her exclamation rang clear. Her body didn’t go light-headed right away—she clearly had decent tolerance.

A flicker of light returned to Arnold’s previously dull eyes. “Oho~” He pulled another bottle from his coat. “Here! Let’s drink!”

“Cheers” was a loose term—they both drank straight from the bottles. No cups in sight. (Though in a mansion this size, one *could* find some… if they cared to look.)

“Sure!”

Bottles raised, they tipped back and drank.

This world’s wine wasn’t strong. Without distillation—which clearly hadn’t been invented here—alcohol content stayed low. Their understanding of alcohol and water might differ… but none of that mattered now.

They drank.

“Hey~ Caro, right?” Arnold, thoroughly drunk, slung an arm around her shoulders. “Life’s been so hard~~~~"

He was the type who turned unexpectedly clingy after drinking—outwardly strong and mighty, yet far more fragile than he seemed.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!!” Caro’s face flushed crimson. She slapped his shoulder hard. “Youth~! Seize joy while you can! Don’t dwell on useless things! Just drink!!!!”

Caro, it turned out, became boldly unrestrained when tipsy.

“More wine? You got any left?!!!”

Arnold kept pulling out bottle after bottle.

Between gulps, tears streamed down his face. “I tried so hard! But… but why?! Why did they say I wasn’t *good enough*?!”

“You’re a simp, aren’t you? I’ve got a condition—I die the second I see one!”

That was their last coherent exchange.

Soon, they clung to each other, drinking, weeping, babbling nonsense. Even the wisest scholar couldn’t have deciphered their slurred words. Utterly, completely wasted.

Then Caro… skipped her shift.

Not her fault. When she opened her eyes, dusk had already fallen.

Time reversed?

No. Clearly, she’d slept straight through the hangover.

“Ugh!!!!”

First thing upon waking: vomit. Nausea, queasiness, stomachache, headache—the full hangover misery crashed down.

Damn, we really can hold our liquor!

She eyed the scattered bottles and the Dragon Slayer still snoring nearby. Caro sighed. *Boss is gonna fire me… Eh, whatever. I was never cut out for steady work anyway.*

*Just find a new town. New job.*

She shook Arnold. “Hey! Hey, wake up!!”

After much shaking, he stirred. His face paled. He stumbled off to vomit. Only after did he seem remotely human.

He gave her a thumbs-up. “You *can* drink. I planned to savor these over a month… gone in one night.”

“…You won’t charge me, right?”

“Huh?” Arnold waved a hand. “Yeah, the wine’s valuable. But what’s money to a wanted man?”

He slumped into a corner. “When the bounty hit… I kept wondering. Am I truly that despicable? That evil? I don’t think I am.”

Caro pursed her lips and sat beside him. Vaguely, she recalled swearing brotherhood with him last night—maybe? Anyway, the Dragon Slayer didn’t seem so scary. “Well… if they call you a villain, you might as well *be* one.”

Less advice, more offhand remark.

Arnold blinked. “What kind of logic is that?”

Caro sniffed her wine-stained clothes and sighed. *Hope this place has a bath…*

“You believe you didn’t do wrong?”

Arnold scratched his head. “Not exactly… I just feel my sins don’t deserve *this* punishment.”

Caro scratched her own head casually. “If the punishment outweighs the crime… why not *earn* it? Otherwise, what a waste!”

Arnold froze. No one had ever said that. Memories flashed—

*One month ago.*

“Arnold… I don’t think we can move forward together.”

Cassipero, the Demon Hunter, had spoken those words. They’d built the “Demon Extermination” party from their hometown, filled with memories. Yet this girl—his most cherished companion—said the unthinkable.

A crack echoed from his heart upward, threatening to split him in two. His body stayed icy calm: “Why?”

His soul burned: *Why?! What is this feeling?!*

“You’ve done too many wrong things,” Cassipero said, gaze unwavering. Always blunt. Usually admirable. Now unbearable.

“I know your intentions were good. But that doesn’t excuse it. Our goal is to slay the Demon King. If the Chosen Hero appears, they’ll join a Heroic Rank party. We can’t carry your stain.”

*Chosen Hero.*

When the Hero emerged, they’d elevate one Heroic Rank party to destiny. None had appeared yet—but all prepared.

“Were my actions truly unforgivable?”

“A Heroic Rank party cannot bear such a stain.”

Their final words.

…

Arnold stared at Caro. “You talk like *you* might not turn out ‘good’ either.”

“Hah? Good? Evil?” Caro sighed, regarding him with gentle pity. “Arnold~ You might not believe me—I’m younger, after all—but personally? I don’t care.”

“?”

“I just want to live freely! Travel this world—to see, observe, record, tell stories! A hero’s light, a villain’s shadow… all fascinating! I don’t care about morality—I want *interest*! Life must be interesting! A dull life? Suffering without joy? That’s worse than death!”

She patted his shoulder instinctively, just like last night.

“I’m not saying copy me… um… take it as reference? Learn? Try?” She fumbled for words. She just couldn’t stand seeing the mighty Dragon Slayer drown in despair.

Finally: “Anyway… your old life already failed, right?”

*Your old life already failed.*

The words struck. The fracture Cassipero left shattered—but without pain. Like popping a stubborn pimple: brief sting, then relief. Liberation.

“Remember that poem? *Heaven gave me talents for a reason; spent gold returns in time.*" Caro grinned. “What you built? Gone. Want it back? What for? Let go. Embrace new life. Seek revenge. Dwell in shadows—*anything* beats lying here, living boringly!”

Her eyes gleamed. “I’m a Bard. I sensed a story and came to Lucy the Lich’s home. I met someone who *should* have had epic tales—Dragon Slayer, False Hero… I drank hoping to hear them! But *nothing*! You won’t face your past! Right now? You’re just… boring. I don’t care good or evil—but boring people? I *hate* them.”

Selfish words. Almost heretical.

“I hope you become interesting. *Then* I’ll be your friend!”

Yet in that moment, the girl shone dazzlingly—wine-stained breath, wrinkled clothes, unwashed face…

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

He’d met many “beautiful” women. The Holy Maiden. The Demon King’s daughter.

They were merely pretty.

But Caro—her features only gently pleasant—radiated irresistible charm.

Arnold, Dragon Slayer, twenty-six years old, who had never once felt romance…

felt a tiny seed take root.