"Hello. Do you mind if I sit?"
Clana sat beside Sansa, both of them staring at the field of corpses swarmed by crows.
"We're far from home..."
Clana chuckled softly, reclining against the solid rock she was using as a seat.
"If someone had told me yesterday that I'd end up here … I'd have called them insane."
"It's the worst fate imaginable."
There was a deeper meaning behind Sansa's words—one that Clana immediately picked up on.
"This is your second time here... are you alright?"
Clana asked gently, while Sansa kept her gaze distant and grim.
The princess had no fond memories of this place. She didn't even know what the rest of the Ultras continent looked like, having spent most of her time imprisoned in a cell. But that didn't change the fact that she was back on the land where she once suffered.
Of course it wasn't easy for her heart.
"I'm fine... really."
Clana nodded at her response.
"Do you think we'll survive this time?"
The princess had survived once. But what about now?
"I don't know… I hope we do."
Silence fell between them for a moment as their eyes returned to the bodies scattered before them—particularly one young man dragging a corpse, having found something useful in its pockets.
"I think some of us will survive… the strong ones at least. Like you, Sansa. And Frey—standing over there."
Sansa turned the moment Frey's name was mentioned.
"Tell me, Princess… what does he mean to you?"
"...What?" Sansa asked, a bit surprised by the sudden shift in the conversation.
"I'm talking about Frey. You were watching him the entire time."
"What kind of question is that, all of a sudden…?"
Sansa asked as Clana tilted her head, resting it on her knees.
"Call it curiosity. You're free to ignore it if you'd like."
Sansa frowned. This wasn't the time or place for a question like that.
"What does Frey mean to me…"
Friend. That was the first word that came to mind.
Having lived her entire life as a princess, always pursued by people looking to benefit from her status, Sansa had become used to reading hidden intentions. The manipulation and false smiles left deep scars during her childhood.
She'd developed a strange ability—to read faces.
But Frey... Frey was the only one who approached her without hiding anything.
He was rude. Annoying. But he didn't try to use her. That alone made her consider him her only real friend. Still, things had changed since they entered the Temple.
He saved her. Again and again.
When everything around her fell into darkness and all hope faded—he was there.
At some point, his presence had become as important to her as Oliver Khan, her only other true ally.
So… what exactly was Frey to her?
She wondered, recalling all their moments together. That brooding young man who always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world.
Affection Points: 70… 71… 72… 73… 74…
"Someone I can't afford to lose..."
That was the answer Sansa came up with. And from the surprised reaction beside her, it clearly wasn't the one Clana had expected.
"Seriously... why would you even ask something like that?"
Sansa spoke, finally turning to take a proper look at Clana's face—reading her emotions without even realizing it.
Her eyes slowly widened in surprise.
She was about to say something, but a terrifying scream tore through the air, sending the crows flying in panic.
Everyone immediately turned toward the source, only to see the mage Xevier Adams writhing on the ground—something latched onto him.
Xevier, assuming all enemies were dead, had let his guard down—only to be ambushed by one of the mutants that had somehow survived.
The creature sank its fangs deep into the young mage's chest. Xevier thrashed in agony, unable to muster enough strength to resist.
With a blur of motion, Frey—who had been nearby—sliced the mutant's head clean off in a single strike, ending its assault.
But the damage had already been done.
The creature had bitten deep, infecting Xevier's chest with a strange, spreading black rot.
He winced in agony as everyone rushed over, with Emilia at the front, healing him without hesitation.
"Idiot… did he really drop his guard just because he thought they were all dead?"
Daemon Valerion scoffed, watching as everyone gathered around Xevier while Emilia tended to his wounds.
"They're inexperienced…"
A sudden voice made him turn sharply—Ghost was standing behind him, still looting the corpses with cold efficiency, completely unfazed by the chaos behind him.
Daemon raised an eyebrow. He hadn't sensed anyone nearby—if Ghost hadn't spoken, he would've never realized the silent killer was there.
Apparently, Ghost had assumed Daemon's words were directed at him.
"Inexperienced?" Daemon sneered. "When it comes to experience, I doubt anyone here has more blood on their hands than a filthy assassin like you… Ghost Umbra."
Ghost remained silent.
"Tell me, Umbra. What do you think? Look at them… who do you think will survive? And who's going to die?"
Ghost didn't answer right away. Instead, he finished stripping the nearby bodies, carrying out his task with disturbing precision.
Then, he walked past Daemon, until they stood shoulder to shoulder. Only then did the assassin speak.
"Death spares no one, Daemon Valerion. Whether they have experience like us... or none at all like them... no one truly knows how this will end."
With a dark look, Ghost stepped past him, leaving behind a final remark:
"But if my instincts are right… the number of survivors here won't exceed the fingers on one hand."
Daemon couldn't help but laugh aloud, a chill running down his spine at Ghost's ominous words.
"What a cursed fate you're trying to place on us, Ghost Umbra…"
Between the crows' caws and Xevier's groans of pain…
The hour set by Phoenix had passed—signaling it was time to move again, venturing deeper into enemy territory… into a continent that had been lying in wait all along.
In the midst of a beautiful garden, Beatrice leaned on one hand, gazing at the chessboard before her with a smile.
"The first round is over."
The moment she finished her sentence, the man across from her—an older gentleman in his fifties wearing a tall hat—replied immediately.
He sipped from his cup, savoring the variety of teas Beatrice had offered at her little tea party.
Beatrice smiled calmly.
"Was it really a loss? I achieved what I wanted, after all."
At that, the man's sharp eyes narrowed.
"So the second round has already begun?"
Beatrice nodded, her smile soft but knowing.
"Tch… just how long do you plan on dragging out this silly game?"
"As long as possible," she replied cheerfully. "You know how boring it gets around here."
She truly looked entertained—like a six-year-old who'd just discovered a new game to play for hours on end.
"Gavid Lindman won't be pleased when he hears about this…"
The moment his name was mentioned, Beatrice shrugged.
"Who cares what that pompous man wants? He won't be around anytime soon anyway."
After kidnapping the empire's most precious jewels, the Ultras were expecting a fierce response.
It was only natural for their forces to mobilize, bracing for the all-out war the empire would inevitably launch—a repetition of the war from seventeen years ago.
Only this time, the Ultras were the ones who lured the empire in.
Thanks to the looming conflict...
Beatrice was free to toy with Frey and his companions however she pleased.
The Eternal Witch observed the teenagers with deep interest and careful attention.
She watched as bonds formed between them—friendship, respect, love, hatred, rivalry…
The Elite Class had become fertile ground for every kind of drama, and the witch enjoyed watching every bit of it.
Her gaze reflected Frey and his comrades, from a place much closer than they ever imagined, and her grin widened.
"The second round begins now."