About an hour later, Alexandra and Ophelia stepped out of the cart, their appearances refreshed with clean clothes from the supply carts. Ophelia had opted for yet another pair of trousers, this time paired with a flowy white dress shirt. The fabric was slightly oversized, pooling at her wrists where the cuffs were fastened snugly.
Alexandra, on the other hand, had donned more traditional knight attire—a fitted tunic reinforced with light armor plating over her shoulders and chest, accompanied by sturdy dark trousers and knee-high boots. A dark golden cloak, embroidered with faint golden patterns, draped over her shoulders, adding a subtle elegance to her otherwise practical outfit.
As they reached a quiet part of the camp, they exchanged a brief kiss before parting ways. Alexandra strode toward the Holy Knights and Tridra who were just conversing with some of the Workers, while Ophelia moved toward a nearby bench where Edwin sat, a cup of coffee in hand.
She eased onto the bench beside him, stretching her legs out slightly as the warmth of the fire in front of them licked at the chill in the air. Edwin glanced at her with a small grin, amusement flickering in his sharp, golden eyes.
"What a time to be young… huh?" he mused.
Ophelia let out a long sigh, but a grin soon followed. "Inside, you are still in your thirties. Please stop talking like you are an old man already."
Edwin chuckled, taking a slow sip of his coffee before his expression turned thoughtful. "I need to be stronger, My Lady."
Ophelia studied him for a moment, then let her gaze drift to the fire. The flames flickered, crackling softly as she considered her words. "I have nothing to say to that, except—keep training. The form you witnessed—eyes, body, and mind in unison—is something that is obtainable. And do not worry about your age. I have something for that," she muttered.
Edwin raised a brow, a hint of curiosity playing in his features. "Oh? Something that'll return me to my youth?"
"Yes," Ophelia replied. "But it will not be for a while."
Edwin exhaled a quiet laugh, cupping his coffee between both hands. He sat in silence for a moment before finally speaking again. "You didn't tell us much… but why didn't you try to settle the fight diplomatically? The Bandit King didn't seem so bad… With enough time, I feel he would've liked to support you."
Ophelia's expression didn't change. "You talked to him?"
Edwin tilted his head slightly. "Fighting is another way of conversing, My Lady… though I'm sure you already know that."
She allowed a small smile to cross her lips before shaking her head. "Unfortunately, the numbers between us were too great. If I wanted to settle things diplomatically, I would have needed an army of at least a hundred men—not because of the manpower itself, but because of how the bandits would perceive my strength at first glance. Most of them are not aware of the power of a Holy Knight. And even though the Bandit Kings may be, their men are not. That ignorance is a dangerous problem, especially in an unorganized group such as a bandit troupe."
Edwin listened intently as she continued.
"It would have been ideal to take them under me," she admitted. "But in the end, they are still bandits. They would try to betray me. And if we had walked into that fortress hoping for peace, even with a backup plan, at least one of us was bound to die."
Edwin's eyes widened slightly before softening. He looked at Ophelia, watching as she absentmindedly picked up a few sticks from the ground and tossed them into the fire. The flames flared briefly, consuming them in an instant.
"You are not as cold anymore," he noted.
Ophelia's expression remained neutral as she responded, her voice steady. "I am a leader. I am a ruler. There is no greater duty than to take care of my subordinates. That is what separates a great leader from an exceptional one."
Edwin chuckled lightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He took another sip of his coffee before setting the cup down on his knee.
"I have indeed picked a good Master to serve," he expressed.
Ophelia, however, didn't let the moment linger. She turned her gaze back to the fire, watching the flames dance and flicker before speaking again.
"Yet, on the battlefield… on a real battlefield," she began, her tone steady. "Not some path between two cliffs. Not some fortress. But an open landscape or a mountain where thousands upon thousands of men are mine to command, there are bound to be deaths."
She exhaled slowly, the weight of her words settling between them.
"But in a group like this, where every asset around me is important, taking care of them is what is needed."
Edwin nudged Ophelia's arm lightly, his grin unwavering.
"No need to make excuses for your change in demeanor," he said. "No matter what, I will still serve you, so just do not die, okay?"
He flashed her a big smile, but Ophelia turned to him with a stern, almost irritated expression. An utterly annoyed expression. Edwin instinctively leaned back slightly, a single drop of sweat trailing down his temple.
"So, the previous vessel was strong enough for the mark to jump to my Holy Knight Captain, huh?" she said, her tone sharp.
Edwin blinked. "What are you talking about, My Lady?"
Her frown deepened. "Acheron. How bold of you."
The shift was immediate. Edwin's nervous expression vanished, replaced by a blank, hollow stare. The air around him grew heavy and dark, and then, slowly, his lips curled into a wide, unsettling grin—one filled with sadistic amusement.
"How did you know?" he asked, his voice carrying an almost childlike joy.
Ophelia clicked her tongue. "The moment he stopped using conjugations…"
Acheron laughed, the sound light and carefree, yet dripping with malice. "Whatever… anyways… Ophelia~ I am going to beat you to the Sole Point Discovery~" he sang, his golden eyes narrowing into slits, his smile stretching even wider.
Ophelia rolled her eyes. "You must be in the Holy Capital, huh? I assume you were in the Sunbolt Mountains seeing as how some of the bandits here have your mark and then I guess you left for the capital… or were you captured? You were never the best at fighting."
Acheron's grin remained unchanged. "That pawn this man managed to kill was quite useful. His memories held such important, valuable information. I had not quite extracted all of it yet… but hey… it is what it is…"
Ophelia clicked her tongue again. "Let us make a deal."
Acheron chuckled as his eyes thinned to the point where his golden pupils were barely visible. "I am not stupid, Ophelia~… unlike that bastard Stegertath. He really believes he made a fair deal with you through that magical contract… poor thing… little does he know that Little Miss Empress has a way of worming out of any deal she makes… just so she is the sole winner in the end."
Ophelia sighed. "Stay in his body as long as you want. As soon as I obtain the Anti-Crystal, I will make sure to destroy the piece of your soul you placed in him."
Acheron's expression turned to ice. The grin vanished, his golden irises spiraling with darkness. The air around them thickened, a cold, oppressive force pressing down.
"Yeah, right," he said, voice devoid of its earlier playfulness. "I am not fucking idiotic, Your Highness. I know you obtained the Supreme Command… and I am not going to let you extract any information using this vessel as a median to me, so I will leave it at that."
Then, just as quickly as it had faded, his vicious smile returned. "I hope we can meet again… but just know, your oh-so-famous Aubessecian Constant will soon be called the Acherconian Constant."
Ophelia remained as calm as ever. She flicked her gaze back to the fire, watching the embers pulse with heat. "Do as you please. I have more important priorities at hand."
Acheron's smile dropped once more, his features twisting into something truly vile. He reached out, giving Ophelia's arm another light push, "I fucking hate you, you arrogant cock-sucking bitch."
A sudden spark of darkness crackled across Edwin's head before vanishing in an instant. His body swayed slightly, then his head drooped. When he lifted it again, he rubbed his temple, wincing.
Ophelia studied him, her mind sharpening as she thought to herself, 'He has improved. No longer are the scars reserved for their face. He can move them across their entire head and hide them in the hair. That is dangerous… very dangerous.'
Edwin let out a groan. "Ugh… sorry, My Lady. I'm not feeling too well. I think I'm gonna get some more rest."
Ophelia's stern expression softened slightly, and she offered a gentle smile. "Go ahead. We are resting tomorrow as well, so get as much rest as you need."
Edwin nodded, rising to his feet. He bowed before turning toward the carts, walking away without another word.
Ophelia sat in silence, her eyes locked on the fire, unblinking. She took in all the information, compressed it, and tucked it away in a far corner of her mind. Then, tilting her head back, she gazed up at the cloudy sky above and muttered,
"I cannot wait to kill him."
…
(Tridra POV)
(Later that night)
The night stretched on, quiet and cold. Everyone had long since retired, leaving me alone on watch. The Holy Knights were still drained from the battle, so I volunteered to take the shift alone. They accepted without hesitation, and Ophelia had no objections. So here I was.
Bored, I decided to get some practice in.
My daggers cut against the stone cliff, each strike precise, controlled. Over and over again, I moved through the motions, drilling the sequence into my muscles. But no matter how many times I repeated it, the same image proceeded to be burned in my mind—the moment I was knocked out. It replayed without mercy, filling me with a seething frustration that twisted deep in my gut.
I gritted my teeth, swung harder. The sound of metal against stone rang out, sharper than before. Then, a snap. I froze, glancing down at my left dagger. A chunk of the blade had chipped off.
"Damn it," I muttered, clicking my tongue.
I sheathed the damaged weapon and dropped onto a wooden log near the fire, staring out into the dark horizon. My backpack sat beside me. Without thinking, I reached in, pulling out two pieces of metal to resharpen my blade. The rhythmic motion of grinding steel against steel helped me focus, helped me push the frustration down.
'Breathe. Control,' She repeated in her mind.
However, the scene played again. And again. My grip tightened. Anger surged up like a fire I couldn't extinguish. My movements sped up, the sharpening more forceful, more desperate—
A hand touched my shoulder.
I jerked, heart pounding, snapping out of my trance. For a moment, I thought it was Alexandra, checking in on me. A flicker of excitement sparked in my chest, only to die just as quickly when I turned and met Ophelia's gaze instead.
My smile faltered. Just slightly.
"Your dagger is basically gone now," she said, voice calm as ever.
I glanced down at the blade in my hands, realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. I had sharpened it down to the point of uselessness. The edge was thin, brittle—one more strike and it would probably snap in half.
"I—I'm sorry, My Lady," I stammered, setting the blade and sharpener down onto the dirt. "I was just lost in thought."
Ophelia sat beside me. Close. Too close.
I kept my eyes down, staring at the ground as tension settled between us. My stomach twisted. Earlier at breakfast, my thoughts had wandered to places they shouldn't have. I liked Alexandra. I really liked her… yet she liked this woman beside me.
The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
I didn't know what to say. And for a minute, it seemed as though neither did she.
The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I kept my eyes down, staring at my ruined dagger like it held all the answers I needed. It didn't.
I clenched my fists. The scene replayed in my mind—losing, failing, being too weak to even react. The way he had taken me down so easily like I wasn't even a challenge. My body burned with frustration.
Ophelia finally spoke. "You must feel horrible."
I swallowed. My throat was tight. I nodded stiffly, not trusting my voice.
"I know that feeling," she continued. "More than you think."
I scoffed under my breath. Ophelia, feeling like a failure? That was impossible. She was untouchable. Unshakable.
"You think I have not failed before?" she asked as if she had read my mind. "I have failed more times than I can count, Tridra. Not just small things, either. Failures that took things away from me—pieces of me. And each time, I thought I would never recover."
Something in her voice made me look up. She wasn't meeting my eyes, but her expression was distant as if she was somewhere else entirely.
"For years, every failure chipped away at me, turning me into something I could not recognize. Someone colder. Harsher. A worse person. Because I believed that if I just stopped feeling, if I just hardened myself enough, nothing could hurt me again. But no matter how much I tried, I kept failing anyway. And it kept hurting."
Her voice had no anger, no bitterness. Just something deep and tired.
I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening around the dagger handle. "But you got stronger," I said through clenched teeth. "You learned from it. I just can't bring myself to—" I exhaled sharply.
"And you think I have not been in that exact place before?" Ophelia said. "You think I have not stood where you are, full of rage at my own weakness? Wishing I had done something different, anything to change what happened?"
Her voice wasn't raised, but it was steady. Unshakable in a way that made something in my chest twist.
I wanted to argue. To tell her she didn't understand. But her words kept hammering into me, each one pressing harder against the wall of frustration that had been building inside me since the fight.
"One failure is no death sentence, Tridra. It is not even a setback. It is a lesson. And if you let yourself be consumed by anger every time you fall, you will never move forward. You will stay exactly where you are, blaming yourself for something you can no longer change."
I clenched my jaw, the wild rampage of emotions within me taking the reigns of my mind. "That's easy for you to say," I spat before quickly silencing my breath. "I—I apologize, My Lady."
She let out a soft breath. Then, for the first time in the conversation, she went quiet. She didn't argue. Didn't scold me. Just let the silence settle again.
"I'm… I'm sorry… My Lady."
Still more silence.
"My Lady, please forgive me, I didn't mean it…"
I did, but still, there was more silence.
And for some reason, that made it worse.
The anger had been boiling up inside me the entire time, filling my chest like fire, but now—now she had taken something away from me. The ability to lash out. To fight against her words.
I hated that she was right. I hated it.
And then, in the quiet, she spoke again. Softly.
"You are allowed to be angry."
I inhaled sharply.
"You are allowed to hate this. You are allowed to feel like it was not fair. But do not let it stop you from growing."
Just like that, something snapped inside me. The frustration didn't explode—it dissolved, like it had never truly been real to begin with. All that was left was something raw, something I couldn't quite name.
I blinked hard, looking down at my hands. My knuckles were white from balling my fists so hard. I hadn't even realized.
Ophelia sighed and leaned back slightly. "I know you are stubborn," she said, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "So I will not tell you to stop being hard on yourself. I just hope, one day, you will see yourself the way I see you."
My fists unballed. I looked at her then. Really looked at her. And when she turned her gaze toward me, she smiled.
Not the sharp, calculated, cold look she gave in battle. Not the forced, polite smile she would wear in front of the Workers and Holy Knights.
A real, genuine smile. Soft, unguarded.
My heart stopped.
It was only for a second. A single, fleeting moment. But it happened.
I looked away quickly, heat creeping up my neck.
"You ruined your dagger," she said, her voice teasing now. "I suppose I will have to get you another one."
I cleared my throat, trying to shove down whatever I had just felt. "I—I can get it on my own."
She chuckled, standing up and stretching. "Come on. You have had enough self-loathing for one night. Get some rest."
I hesitated. Then, quietly, I nodded.
And as she walked away, I stared down at the broken blade in my hands—feeling just a little less broken myself.