Vierna backed away slowly, then picked up her gun and shot the girl’s head twice. The smaller figure had already come back after being shot in the heart, so Vierna wasn’t taking any chances. When the body finally lay still, lifeless, she exhaled. The adrenaline drained from her veins, and the heat and pain of battle rushed in. Her legs trembled, and she collapsed to the ground.

  “Haha... HAHA!!! Fenric! We did it! We killed that monster!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the crackle of the fire as she declared her hard-earned victory.

  Her pupils widened, gleaming like stars. Joy and pride washed over her, overtaking the pain and exhaustion—she had finally done something right. All that training, all that extra work had finally paid off. Yes, Fenric had helped, and she had barely used any magic because of Moony’s condition, but in her mind it was still her win.

  Exhaustion took over her. She lay down on the ground and looked up at the sky. The blood in her eyes made the moon appear red—just like it had during the mana beast assault on Einhartturm.

  Even drenched in gore and pierced by shrapnel, the vermilion moonlight was so beautiful that it made her forget the pain. The moon was her witness: proof that she had won, that she had transformed from an abandoned child into a warrior capable of facing monstrosities.

  She couldn’t help but chuckle. How will I tell Lina about this fight? Will she praise me because I won? Or will she worry that I got hurt this badly?

  And yet, her concern was drowned out by the rush. She screamed to the moon,

  “HAHA!!! I’VE NEVER FELT SO ALIVE!!!”

  She didn’t know why she said it, but there was something about the kill that called to something primal within her. All the disguises, the pretending, the lies to gather information—it had built up too much pressure. And when she finally had the chance to open the floodgate, she simply couldn’t resist it.

  Not many survive their first real fight. Some die in the process; others are crushed by the guilt of taking another life. But this time, her enemy had been a cultist—something that could hardly be called human. After all, what kind of human has scaled skin and six arms?

  Moony, we did it—haha!

  ‘Yes… we did it…!’

  Are you all right?

  ‘Hehe… it’s nothing, Vierna…’

  Moony…

  ‘It’s allright, please don’t be worried. The important thing is we won.”

  Moony’s words were enough to snap Vierna out of her victory rush. She had tried to limit her magic to runework only, yet Moony still suffered the consequences. A tinge of guilt snagged her heart.

  ‘Don’t feel bad, Vierna. You did what you had to do. And don’t worry—maybe a little rest will be enough.’

  I’m really sorry, Moony. If only we could find something to heal you quickly. Could you at least tell me how it feels exactly? Maybe I could try to find some information.

  ‘Well… it was like being cut open by something. Yet at the same time, I felt like my body was rotting too. There were these black veins crawling over my skin.

  Vierna wanted to heal Moony—for both their sakes—but she had no idea where to start. She couldn’t risk going to the village healer and explaining Moony’s symptoms, not when there was a chance they’d report her to Loran’del. Especially since the condition was so unusual that even the Vitality Potion from the research facility hadn’t been able to do anything.

  She tried to get up, but the pain lashed through her like a whip, forcing her back down. She fell once, twice, but kept pushing herself upright. They had to return to Rolbart—no matter what.

  Finally, she managed to stand. She started to walk, each step a stagger, her legs trembling beneath her.

  Vierna limped toward Fenric, every movemens were stiff and uneven. The burn on her right arm still stung sharply, the skin raw beneath the soot. Each swing of her arm sent a fresh wave of pain up to her shoulder, yet she kept going, dragging her blade behind her as she closed the distance. The battle haze had thinned, leaving only exhaustion and the faint tremor of adrenaline in her breath.

  Fenric was sitting there on the ground, looking at the blood on his left arm. The grey fur was completely gone along with all the blood lust and ferality on him, leaving him as the trembling, afraid to kill little creature-half deer he was.

  “Fenric,” Vierna called to him softly.

  Despite everything, Fenric had given his all, fighting and killing for her sake. Because of that, Vierna felt both grateful and sad, knowing that Fenric was only a part of her mission, someone she had to deceive to gain information about the revolutionaries. If circumstances had allowed it, Vierna would have wanted to befriend him and tell him everything.

  “I… I can’t,” he said, his voice still trembling. When the battle was finally over, he began to reflect on what he had done. He had killed another sentient being. Back then, even the thought of killing a deer had been enough to make him retch.

  “Shhh… shhh.” Vierna pat Fenric’s head. “You did good, Fenric…”

  She honestly felt pity for him—a na?ve boy trapped in a situation he had never asked for. And all of it was because of her. Vierna thought this was the least she could do.

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  Then Vierna noticed something in Fenric’s aura — the same opening she had seen when Albrecht had let her glimpse his deepest secret. But she decided not to invade Fenric’s mind directly. Moony was already in a precarious state; she couldn’t risk injuring her further by reading Fenric’s thoughts.

  After a while, Fenric’s breathing steadied, and his trembling stopped. He finally seemed to regain some semblance of composure.

  “Thanks, Vierna…” he said weakly.

  “It’s okay. It was my fault that we ended up in that situation.”

  “No, you were right.” Fenric’s voice was steadier now. “If we’d left them alone, there was a chance they would’ve wreaked havoc in the villages. Our militia is already thin because so many people have gone missing.”

  Seeing an opening—a chance to gather information—Vierna went straight to the point. “Gone where, Fenric?”

  Fenric glanced around cautiously. “Vierna, this stays between us, right?”

  “Of course, Fenric. We’re battle siblings now.”

  Fenric tilted his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, back at Arkanpfad Academy, they used to send us to the battlefield to take part in skirmishes. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, the ones who survived started calling each other brothers and sisters, as if surviving a battle together bound them with something. No one wanted to be mine, though, since I basically survived by hiding.” She lied.

  “So in a way, you’re my first, Fenric.” Vierna said as she held his hand. Even though it was a lie, part of her still meant it.

  Fenric blushed when he heard that, then looked away, avoiding her eyes. “They joined a revolutionary group in Schattwald Forest.”

  “A revolutionary group? Does such a thing even exist?”

  “It does, Vierna. Some of them are in the village, trying to recruit people to their cause.”

  “Do you know which one of the—”

  “No, I don’t.”

  The reply came too quickly, and Vierna noticed it. It seemed Fenric was still hiding something from her. She decided not to push him; after all, what she’d learned was already valuable enough. Still, she wondered—had they already contacted Fenric? And what did it take to be approached by them?

  “Vierna, shouldn’t we run? What if there are other cultists around?” Fenric asked.

  She shook her head. “I doubt it. We’ve been fighting for a while, and with all the noise we made—if there were more cultists, they’d already be here.”

  “I see.” He exhaled. “By the way, Vierna, why didn’t you use any magic back then?”

  “Well, like I told you, I’m weak. My only magic is with this gun and a bit of shielding,” she said, showing him her weapon.

  “That reminds me—how can you fire repeatedly? Shouldn’t it need to reload after one shot?”

  “Well, the runes here are for conjuring bullets and gunpowder. If I pour mana into them, they reload automatically. Pretty neat, isn’t it?”

  Fenric smiled then his eyes dropped to the ground. “If someone like you is considered weak in town, then what does that make me?”

  “Hey, you did pretty well with your wood magic. That reflex you showed—if you train it, you could become a decent mage.”

  Vierna meant every word. Looking back, Fenric’s wood magic had saved her repeatedly. Even with only basic spells, he had supported her splendidly. If only he weren’t so hesitant about killing, Vierna might’ve recommended him to the Arkmarschall.

  “Vierna…”

  “Yes, Fenric?”

  “You saw it, didn’t you? My other half…”

  Vierna recalled the feral wolf that had bought her time, fighting the beast on nearly equal ground.

  “Yes, Fenric. I did.”

  “Can you please keep it a secret?”

  His eyes met hers—wide, desperate, and stripped of all defense. The usual gentleness in them was gone, replaced by raw pleading, a silent surrender that seemed to hand his very life into her keeping.

  Vierna brushed his golden fur gently and kissed the top of his head. “I only saw a half deer fighting a monster.”

  His eyes softened, relief washing over him like a breath held for too long. “You’re the best, Vierna.”

  She smiled. “We should go, can you stand up?”

  Fenric shook his head, “No, my legs give up a while ago, that’s why I use roots to move my body when we were fighting that monster. Now I am out of mana too.”

  “Oh well… hrghhh.” Vierna forcer herself to standup, “I’ll try to find something to carry you in the camp. Hopefully they have some herbs to dull the pain. Wait for me here okay?”

  “Okay Vierna be careful.”

  She limped back to the camp. Aside from the smashed herb pots from earlier, most of the supplies were still intact. Vierna examined the area more closely. Several wooden crates stood stacked near the tent, each marked with a faded food icon—grains, dried meat, fruit preserves. They looked like rations meant to resupply a small settlement, maybe even Rolbart itself.

  Among them were bundles of bandages, jars of salve, and bottles of basic medicine. Vierna frowned, confusion smearing across her tired eyes.

  Why the hell would two people need this much? she thought. Is it because they’re monsters? Do they need this much nourishment just to stay alive?

  Then she noticed the purple trail again, it was there the whole time yet the battle took all her attention. It was still coming from the pocket of the larger hooded figure. Lied lifelessly with a hole in his head.

  Vierna stabbed the head again, twisting the blade to make sure it was truly dead. Then, with a slow, wary hand, she lifted the dark veil covering its face.

  The sight beneath made her breath hitch. The skin was stretched too tight, as if it had been sewn over something that didn’t quite fit the shape beneath. Patches of scales glimmered between torn seams of flesh; veins throbbed faintly with a blue glow that refused to fade even after the heart had stopped. The jaw hung crooked, teeth uneven and glassy, like shards of bone forced into place. What should have been a human face looked like someone had tried to remember one from memory and failed.

  A faint, sour stench rose from it: half burnt meat, half alchemical rot. Vierna’s stomach knotted, the smell clawing down her throat. It was disturbingly familiar. She had seen something like this before—she was certain of it—but the memory lingered just beyond reach, a shape in fog she couldn’t grasp.

  She swallowed hard and forced herself to focus.

  Where have I seen you before?

  Her hands shook as she reached into the corpse’s pocket, following the faint trail of violet light seeping from within. When her fingers brushed against cold metal, her pulse quickened. She pulled it free, uncovering a small cylindrical object wrapped in cloth.

  Beneath the wrapping lay a piece of seamless iron, no joints, no hinges, just one unbroken surface. Yet there was no mistaking it: the mana trail came from this. Its surface was covered in runes, thin, looping, and painfully intricate, patterns so dense and alien that her eyes began to ache trying to follow them. It was advanced. Too advanced.

  Vierna hovered her fingers above it, feeling the faint hum beneath the metal, like something alive was trapped inside. Her vision blurred for a second, then steadied as she turned it over.

  Her breath stopped.

  There, etched faintly beneath the rune lines, was a mark she knew all too well. The circle devouring its own tail. The serpent eternal.

  An Ouroboros.