"How much longer do we have to wait? I'm going to go mad if I stay in this forest any longer…"
Ella sighed, leaning against the cabin wall, annoyance tugging at her mouth. Marco, all severity and second thoughts, hesitated before speaking.
"…He's with the real village chief—a Grandmaster, at that. If he's keeping us waiting, it must be important."
"Do you hear how ridiculous that sounds? Prince or not, he's still that prince. For all we know, he's dead already. If I were the village chief and some outsider planted mana bombs under my tunnels and used my people as leverage, I'd be furious." Ella grumbled, and Marco looked away at that.
"…Watch your words," he muttered. "Whatever we feel, he's still her little brother."
In the cramped room, Ranni sat on a wooden chair. On the sofa, Nol shared space with an expert-ranked old man missing an arm. An old woman perched on another chair—the one who sells those strange pink fruits—fingers laced with a small child's hand.
