At the very lowest level of Pendrox, there were only two cells. This place was deliberately isolated from the rest, and between those two chambers lay nothing but empty space. Ordinary criminals were never brought here. Even high-ranking members of Night Raven, branded as the most dangerous heretics, were kept on higher floors. The same went for high priests who had worshiped the old gods.
Only those who posed a real, tangible threat to the very existence of Luthien were imprisoned here. Only those who met that brutal criterion ended up in this place.
And yet, despite the danger of its occupant, the first cell was filled with deathly silence. The walls, floor, and ceiling were densely inscribed with hundreds of high-level divine magic circles. Some induced tranquility, others suppressed consciousness, and still others dulled neural responses. The prisoner in this cell would never awaken. He was condemned to lie on the bed forever, submerged in endless sleep. A golden-haired youth rested in that deep oblivion.
But the second cell was different.
Magic circles covered it as well, but of an entirely different purpose. Not for rest—for interrogation. Circles that clouded the mind, shattered mental defenses, and ultimately forced every secret to spill out. On top of that, the prisoner was constantly injected with countless drugs.
Perhaps because of that, the woman spent most of her time in complete silence, staring into emptiness. Some guards even believed her mind had already been destroyed. The faint whispers that occasionally drifted from the cell only reinforced that belief—whether she was speaking to someone unseen or simply muttering to herself.
Today had been no different.
But at some point, the muttering stopped... and in its place came a reaction the prisoner had never shown before—laughter.
Not a short chuckle. A loud, ringing laugh from deep in her chest. Her voice was melodic, pleasant to the ear, yet it sent cold dread crawling through the guard’s bones. As he fled in panic to report what had happened, the laughter did not cease.
At last, having laughed her fill, the black-haired beauty of incomparable elegance fell silent and softly spoke a single name:
— ...Hello, Gunther.
There was so much compassion and love in that voice.
— ...So this is your homeland?
Ryan Parker slowly looked around. His gaze slid over fishing nets and boats scattered carelessly along the shore before stopping.
— Pretty bleak place to grow up...
Gunther Sirhe smirked at the bluntness.
— Not exactly the best thing to say when visiting a friend’s hometown for the first time, don’t [N O V E L I G H T] you think?
The others chimed in as well. Cecile and Servan whispered to each other:
— I was sure he was some kind of noble...
— If he became such a respectable man under these harsh conditions, Cecile, that only makes him more admirable.
Tarsha and Levain Bernecker, who had also grown up in coastal villages, nodded.
— Suddenly I feel a sense of kinship with Gunther.
— Me too.
— Honestly... I think our village was richer.
Parco burst out laughing and smacked Gunther on the back.
— What a squad we’ve got! Not a single delicate noble among us?
Despite the criticism, Gunther didn’t get angry. The important thing was that he saw no immediate threats. The village looked exactly as he remembered.
“I was worried Luthien might have destroyed everything here... but thankfully, it’s fine.”
His homeland lay where the coastline met the forest almost directly. Where the sand ended, dense vegetation began, and a single narrow path led inward. Walk a short distance along it, and a small village would appear.
— This way.
Gunther confidently stepped forward. But at that very moment, Cheonmae’s sharp voice cut in:
— ...Someone’s ahead.
In an instant, the light mood vanished. The group immediately slipped into nearby cover. Only Gunther remained unconcerned. That slow, harmless presence was far too familiar.
— ...A villager?
— Shh.
An old woman came into view. She slowly emerged from the forest toward the shore, completely unaware of Gunther and the others. A small pouch for herbs hung from her waist. The group glanced at Gunther, wondering if he recognized her.
But he had already called out:
— Grandma Berta.
Old memories stirred. Nearly four years had passed, yet they were vividly clear. Unconditional kindness had always meant a great deal to him. In those days, when he had first arrived in this world, broken and nearly losing his sanity, he would never forget the hands that had gently fed him.
— Oh, Gunther... you can’t go on like this. You have to eat something.
The dear face of the woman who had treated him like her own grandson. Grandma Berta had hardly changed. If anything, her complexion seemed even better. She looked... younger.
“Looks like she’s been living well.”
...But the moment Gunther removed his mask and stepped toward her, something unexpected happened.
— Oh my!
The old woman recoiled in fear and fell. The herbs she had gathered scattered across the ground. At first, he thought she was simply startled with joy—but then came a voice filled with terror:
— W-who are you?!
Gunther froze, his chest tightening. It didn’t take long to understand why.
“Dementia...”
Four years. Long enough for memories to begin fading. A time when the mind grows clouded, and familiar things gradually become strangers.
As Gunther watched in quiet sorrow, Grandma Berta hurriedly began gathering the scattered herbs.
— Oh dear, I have to feed Gunther... it’s all covered in sand, what a mess.
Gunther silently knelt beside her and helped. The others, understanding the situation, stayed hidden. If they all appeared at once, the poor woman would surely panic.
Shrrk, shrrk.
After a moment, her movements grew calmer. She glanced sideways at him, then cautiously spoke:
— Such a handsome young man... and kind, too.
— ......
— Let me see... your face looks familiar... Have you been to our village before? Or do you have relatives here?
Gunther’s gaze wavered.
What were the villagers thinking, leaving an elderly woman like this alone? Even if the area was relatively safe, that was no excuse.
— Grandma, let’s head back to the village slowly.
— Hm? Why? I still need to gather herbs... this isn’t enough.
— Then keep gathering here. I’ll go get the villagers.
— ...Eh? Why would you need them?
Instead of answering, Gunther gave a brief nod to his companions. A signal to stay nearby. Then he rose and ran toward the village.
— Moonless, don’t go alone.
Moon Wolf silently fell in beside him. They ran along the path in silence for a while.
— Did you miss this place?
Gunther answered simply:
— I liked it. There were a lot of good people here.
Which made this all the more strange. No matter how busy they were, they weren’t the kind of people who would abandon an old woman. They had been warm, responsible, tightly-knit—so much so that when Gunther decided to leave as a mercenary, they had practically tried to hold him back.
— You can’t, Gunther! If anything, go... go be a host!!
— If you want money, become a gigolo for some noble lady!!! They were looking for one at the neighboring estate!
...Something had definitely happened in the village.
Gunther quickened his pace.
Soon, he reached the outskirts.
— ...At first glance, everything looks peaceful.
— It does...?
Everything seemed ordinary. Smoke rose from chimneys as food was prepared. Women cleaned fish caught by fishermen. A completely typical coastal village scene.
Then, in the corner of his vision, Gunther spotted a familiar face.
Uncle Mason. The very man who had once suggested he become a gigolo. A former mercenary—and the first person to teach him the basics of swordsmanship.
Gunther rushed over immediately.
— Uncle, what are you doing? Why is Grandma Berta out there alone?!
— ...Huh?
But the reaction was nothing like he expected.
— Who the hell are you? What Grandma Berta?
The man’s gaze was filled with suspicion. He shifted his stance slightly, ready to strike at any moment.
— And how did you even get here? This place isn’t on any map. Huh? Something’s off.
Gunther blinked in confusion.
What is going on? He doesn’t recognize me? Has the entire village lost their minds? There’s no way this is some hidden camera. Brainwashing? A trap?
As his confusion reached its peak—
— Gunther! What are you doing over there?!
A voice called his name from deeper within the village.
For a moment, he couldn’t place it. But it was familiar.
Someone knows me.
Relief pushed back the creeping dread. Gunther turned eagerly—
—and met the eyes of a child.
— Mom, Mom, I can’t find you! Where are you~?
A boy, about six or seven years old, speaking a little clumsily. Hair black as ebony. Blue eyes shining like gemstones. A child who would break countless hearts when he grew up.
Gunther’s breath caught.
— Eh...?
The child tilted his head at him curiously—but only for a moment. He quickly lost interest and walked past as if nothing had happened.
— Mom, I said I can’t find you! Come out already~~!
He toddled away, unsteady on his feet.
Beside Gunther, Moon Wolf murmured in astonishment:
— ...What a cute kid.
The sheer mismatch between her usual demeanor and those words snapped Gunther back to reality. He turned.
The boy’s small figure was getting farther away. The villagers’ gazes followed him—warm eyes, smiling faces. All familiar.
And yet... all of them looked at least ten years younger than he remembered.
“...Again?”
Gunther’s pupils trembled.
— Mom! Found you! You were here?
— Hey! Where do you think you’re going? Stop right there! Touch him and we’ll—
— Step aside, Mason.
— Huh? How do you know my—wait. That face... Hm? You one of ours?
Gunther shoved past him and walked toward the forest, following the boy’s voice.
— Mom! Hehe, now it’s your turn.
The boy’s chatter made it easy to find them.
A black-haired woman sat by a tree. Her empty gaze stared into space. The child, oblivious, pressed himself against her chest.
“......”
Then the woman slowly lifted her head.
“......”
Their eyes met.
Something began to return to her vacant gaze. Focus. Presence. A will and wisdom so vast it defied explanation.
A strange sensation ran through Gunther’s entire body.
He whispered:
— ...Ellen Beyra.
She gave a faint nod.
On her face was the exhaustion of someone who had endured endless time.
— I’m glad to see you, Gunther.
