After sending the red-robed mage flying with a single punch, Roland spotted… little Yenoa in the crowd.

Even as a child, Yenoa was adorable—serene and aloof despite her youth, far from the cold indifference and lifeless dead-fish eyes of her adult self.

Had she grown up healthy and happy, she’d never have become that hollow, emotionally distant woman. At the very least, she’d have blossomed into a goddess on par with Silva.

Roland guessed some crushing trauma had broken her, driving her into withdrawal—indifferent to all but Silva.

Now it was clear: *this* catastrophe was that trauma. Yenoa’s presence proved she’d lived through it.

She survived… but the nightmare haunted her forever.

Little Silva, overjoyed to see her best friend, ran over and hugged her. Then she turned to Roland:

"Yaya, that big brother’s a dependable grown-up! His name sounds weird, but he’s super strong—a real adventurer *and* an amazing seer!"

Little Yenoa glanced at Roland with quiet indifference, then offered Silva a faint smile. "I know him."

"Eh? Yaya, you *know* big brother?" Silva gasped in surprise.

"Yep. Quite well."

In that moment, little Yenoa seemed no child at all. The lively spark in her eyes dimmed rapidly—like red-hot iron quenched in cold water.

Roland froze. *She’s always known she’s dreaming? How?!*

"Xiao Ya… these people…" Yenoa’s father—the last clan head of the Augustine family—began softly.

"My friends now." Little Yenoa took Silva’s hand, walked to Roland, then bowed deeply to her parents, uncles, and aunts. A decade of buried emotion surged within her.

All words condensed into one:

"Thank you. I’ll carry on the family’s legacy. I won’t let you down."

As she spoke, her relatives froze like statues. Their bodies crumbled grain by grain—sand swept by time’s river. Faster. Faster. Until only dust remained.

Yet the dream held.

The castle stood. Outside, war still raged under a starless, gloomy sky.

But the crimson legion—once a red tsunami—vanished. No corpses. No blood. As if the battle never happened.

Roland shielded the two little girls, eyes sharp.

"Don’t touch me." Little Yenoa’s voice was icy, yet oddly cute for her age.

"Fine, fine. No good deed goes unpunished," Roland grumbled, shifting to guard Silva instead.

Yenoa frowned slightly, glancing where the red-robed Cultist leader had fallen. *Gone.*

Confusion flickered across her face. *He was the key—the one meant to kill me. Without Roland, I’d have died… and my real self too. But if he’s gone… was he never the key?*

She knew dream magic: realize you’re dreaming, believe you can wake—and the realm shatters.

But only the dream-people vanished. They remained trapped.

*How do we escape? Is this Cultist’s dream… inescapable?*

Her gaze drifted to Silva—trembling in Roland’s coat, tears stubbornly held back. A wave of irritation rose.

"Big brother… they… they…" Silva stammered, clutching his coat, staring at the dust piles.

"It’s okay. I’ve got you," Roland murmured, patting her head. He met Yenoa’s eyes.

"If I’m right… *you’re* the anchor of this dream. Your unforgettable nightmare. That Cultist—Dimensional Dream—is using it to kill you and Silva."

Little Yenoa gave a slight nod.

"Then… where’s the thing meant to kill you?"

She shook her head.

Roland clicked his tongue. *Same old silent Yenoa.*

Suddenly—

A violent magical surge erupted outside. Murky clouds swirled into a colossal vortex. Black skies pressed down. Winds howled. Gray lightning ripped the heavens like primordial beasts roaring.

At the vortex’s heart hovered a robed figure—six shadowy cyclone wings beating behind him.

"Yo-ho. Found you," Roland grinned, eyebrow raised. "Dream mage got impatient. His dream failed? Time to get hands dirty."

Yenoa’s face stayed blank, eyes still as deep water.

Roland ruffled Silva’s hair. "Time to go."

He scooped her up, leaped from Augustine Castle’s heights, landed smoothly, and strode toward the storm.

Little Yenoa followed—plummeting just as he had, untouched by the fall, as if power hummed within her tiny frame.

"Big brother… what *is* that?" Silva whispered, clinging to his coat, eyes wide at the apocalyptic clouds.

She was only five. No dream-memory like Yenoa. Just a terrified child—yet holding back tears, trusting Roland’s quiet strength.

"Just a dead man," Roland said calmly.

"Don’t be overconfident. He’s a Grand Sage," little Yenoa’s flat voice cut in. "And this is *his* territory."

Roland snorted. *Dream realm ain’t his kingdom. Why fear?*

Charge recklessly.

He’d already decided: today, someone dies.

He might not want to marry Silva—but months together bred care. He wasn’t some emotionless immortal. And Silva? A flawless, radiant goddess many dreamed of.

The moment Dimensional Dream targeted her, Roland marked him for death.

Seeing Roland’s sudden seriousness, Yenoa blinked.

This calm, confident, world-commanding aura… she’d only seen it on Onid, her father, continent-shaking legends.

*Onid alone overshadowed half the Human Empire.*

But the Augustine clan fell to cults. Her father erased from history. Only elders remembered him.

A quiet ache stirred in her chest—

"—I underestimated you," a voice boomed from above.

Dimensional Dream, one of the Church of Annihilation’s Three Heavenly Kings, gazed down.

Roland stood hands-in-pockets, coat whipping in the wind.

Yenoa pulled Silva aside. *Dying here = real death. I won’t risk it.*

Dimensional Dream shuddered at the sight of Roland. Eyes blazing with fervor, greed, delight.

"So handsome… such presence… Prey like this is rare," he purred, licking crimson lips. "Only conquering a man like this brings true joy."

*Real men should conquer♂ men!*

Roland’s spine went cold. *Wait… he’s—?!*

*Gay?!*

*That flamboyantly gay gaze… Ew————!*

*I knew I was handsome… but "appealing to both genders"?*

*…Should I be flattered?*

(•́ω•̀ ٥)