Lucy the Undead, needing no sleep by nature, stood with Arnold on the rooftop, gazing at the distant horizon.

“Lord Arnold… do you like that child?”

Bathed in moonlight, Arnold studied Lucy’s semi-transparent form. She had ordinary golden hair—cut short just past her shoulders, likely because she’d died young—and wore a vintage Western-style dress.

She called Caro “that child.”

And truly, it was fitting. If generations were counted, even he should probably address Lucy as “Grandma”… or perhaps “Great-Grandma.”

Her body never aged. Yet across centuries, she’d watched curious children wander here on whims, and lonely elders come to end their lives…

Her heart had matured.

So she saw it. She saw right through Arnold’s thoughts: “That child… she’s surprisingly remarkable.”

Arnold’s cheeks flushed slightly. He scratched his face. “‘Like’… I’m not sure. But—she really is… different.”

Lucy offered a faint, ambiguous smile. “As *you* said… aren’t you afraid of betrayal? Being betrayed by someone you care for… brings deeper pain, you know~”

Arnold fell silent.

It was his deepest fear. Just recalling Cassipero expelling him from the squad sent a quiet ache through his chest.

But this ache felt different.

After drinking deeply with Caro, after hearing her words, the past no longer tangled his heart so tightly. What happened, happened—either release it, or face it. Nothing more.

“Placing expectations on others without permission… isn’t that selfish?” Arnold found his answer. “I selfishly hoped she wouldn’t betray me. I selfishly wished she might one day return my feelings. Isn’t that too much to ask?”

“—You really take her words as gospel,” Lucy said, a hint of helplessness in her tone.

“She doesn’t like me,” Arnold said suddenly. “Maybe… a friend-like fondness. Maybe some admiration for my strength—that I can sense. But romance? It simply isn’t there.”

Surprising. Arnold was the type who drew girls effortlessly. Lucy knew many must adore him.

Yet Caro remained a mystery even to her.

“So what will you do?”

“I like her. Yes, hoping she’ll like me back is presumptuous—but I’ll win her heart through action. In short… I’ll court this girl!”

Arnold the Dragon Slayer. For his age, love bloomed late. But once awakened, it surged like weeds doused in growth serum, wild and overwhelming.

Flushed with shyness, his voice stayed firm: “She’s a Bard. She wants to travel, to witness wondrous tales—I’ll walk beside her. I’ll protect her.”

“So… you’ve let go of the past?”

Arnold shook his head with a wry smile. “I want to. But those years… they’re part of me. If I face it again, sorrow may still come. Yet now—I have the courage to meet it.”

“Is that so?”

Lucy’s gaze drifted from his face to the quiet horizon. This sleepy town held no grand vistas.

“Love… truly is a remarkable emotion.”

…

Caro was lucky. The tavern owner wasn’t angry she’d missed work. He simply asked, “Found a place to stay?”

She nodded. Not being fired was a relief—she needed to save coin. Her savings wouldn’t stretch far for the next journey.

She’d meant to investigate Lucy’s story… yet learned mostly about Arnold. How Lucy died, what she endured across centuries, her heart now—all remained unknown!

How could she write *that*?

Arnold’s tale wasn’t unwritable… but he was a kingdom fugitive. Writing it now would read like whitewashing. If the crown saw defiance…

Not even a god could save her.

This kingdom had *that* girl hailed as the Sword Saint… Caro recalled their standoff. Wait—who was stronger? Sword Saint or Dragon Slayer?

She’d ask tonight.

But—her shift ended abruptly.

No… the tavern was forced shut. Soldiers stormed in—ordering everyone home, as if catastrophe loomed. The owner tried questioning; he was sharply silenced.

Caro rushed to Lucy the Undead’s mansion.

“They’re here for *you*!” she warned Arnold.

Arnold shook his head slightly. “Unless you betrayed me, no one knows I’m here. But I know why they came—the Golden Lily Knights… *sigh*.”

He looked weary. “They’re good people. *Too* good. Hence… meddlesome.”

“What happened in town?”

Arnold nodded. “Haven’t you noticed? Fewer townsfolk. That’s why I stayed. I’d planned to leave after exile—visit the dwarves, hunt new ales. But then… I felt Lucy’s call.”

Caro leaned in. “What’s going on?”

Arnold’s eyes met Lucy’s.

A gentle smile touched Lucy’s lips. “This is the Void Rift phenomenon.”

“Void Rift…?”

A trace of sorrow crossed her face. “My time in this world… has ended.”

“Eh?”

Caro froze.

“I’ve lingered too long. I must be cleansed. Return where I belong. Hence… the Void Rift.”

Lucy explained softly, “It has taken townsfolk. But fear not—once I pass, they’ll return.”

“W-wait! What?!”

Arnold’s lips curved faintly. “Within the Demonhunt Squad… there was the Harmony Weaver. You know her?”

“Melissa—right?”

“Ten years ago, Melissa harmonized the balance between world and Lucy. She delayed the Void Rift meant to claim Lucy then. Sustained her existence. Now the magic fades—or rather, she granted exactly ten years. No more.”

Caro understood… yet her heart rebelled. Moments ago, she’d planned to ask Lucy’s story. Now… vanishing?

“So the legion came to…”

Arnold glanced outside—figures already taking positions. “They likely believe Lucy resists the Rift with forbidden power, causing the disappearances. They intend to eliminate her.”

“Specifically?”

“Voluntarily,” Arnold said. “Townsfolk who knew Lucy came to her. Said they wished to ‘rest awhile’… to grant her more time. They entered the Rift willingly.”

Caro fell silent.

Lucy the Undead—just a girl she’d met. What was she to this town? A two-century legend… children playing in this mansion since youth… Lucy easily receiving food from neighbors…

Perhaps she shouldn’t be called “undead” at all.

To this town, she was a guardian spirit.

Caro felt it. Her Bard’s soul stirred—a need to write this. Not as fact, but as truth she *felt*. To let the world know.

“Honestly… so meddlesome. Golden Lily Knights, the legion… denying us a proper farewell…”

Arnold’s hand closed around his greatsword’s hilt.

“What will you do?”

A bold grin broke across his weathered face. “You said it yourself—I’m branded a fugitive. Isn’t it wasteful *not* to act like one? Today, I’ll show them what kind of vicious criminal this ‘False Hero’ Arnold truly is.”

…

This man… was genuinely cool.

Caro dreamed of one day slinging her lyre, striding away with flair, declaring: “This is Bard Caro!”

Lucy watched Arnold depart, her expression tender.

“He’s always so cool,” she murmured.

Caro nodded earnestly. “Truly. And ‘Dragon Slayer’ was already cool enough! Ugh… such a born winner.”

“Do you like him?”

Caro tilted her head, confused. She propped her chin, eyes drifting upward. “Like? Well… I suppose I do. He’s not dislikeable.”

…

*His romance won’t be smooth,* Lucy thought, silently mourning Arnold. *Lord Arnold’s clueless too. Were my feelings ever noticed? Serves him right.*

She turned to Caro. “Miss Caro… you are a Bard, yes?”

“Yes. Though I’ve only just chosen the path.”

“Could you… play a song for us? At parting, it feels… touching~ I don’t wish to be forgotten too soon.”

“…Alright.”