It had been thirteen hours since Party 5's encounter with Lieutenant Hans—the Hare of the Dototore. The dawn had long since broken, and by 7:12 a.m., the group had settled into the amber embrace of the Jullio Route.
Mina stirred first beneath the wagon. The autumn grass was still wet with dew, clinging to the blanket she had borrowed. She blinked her eyes open, only to sit up too quickly and crack her head against the wagon's underframe.
"Ugh—!" She hissed, hand snapping to her forehead. The dull throb instantly reminded her why she should've stayed still a moment longer.
With a groggy yawn, she crawled out into the cool morning light. The Jullio Route stretched around her, wide and open—a land draped in autumn hues. Copper leaves carpeted the ground, while rows of trees swayed under a golden breeze. The air here was different than Heinirirc's icy bite: softer, calmer, touched with earth and woodsmoke.
She rubbed her eyes, then stretched with another yawn, scratching lazily at her lower back as she looked around.
The rest of Party 5 was already awake and busy.
Trevus crouched by a shallow pond, guiding Beck and Betty to drink. His hands ran along their manes with practiced care, his sharp features softened in the morning calm.
Out in the nearby field, Harlen and Camylle jogged in slow laps. Harlen looked half-dead, puffing and stumbling on his feet, while Camylle paced herself with the discipline of a soldier—her strides measured, her face stern.
Closer to the wagon, Lotha and Nira knelt by a pot set over a simple firepit. The aroma of simmering chicken bisque drifted into the air. Nira had proudly dumped five wild chickens into the mix, boasting earlier about her skill with snares. Lotha, patient as ever, stirred the broth, adjusting the fire with small bursts of mana.
And finally—Mina's eyes landed on Ashe. He was seated inside the cabin, hunched slightly over a small leather-bound book. His pen scratched faintly against the page, his expression focused, brows furrowed with the quiet intensity of someone weaving thoughts into structure.
Her curiosity sharpened, even through her morning haze. She knew that book—his spellbook.
Dragging her feet, Mina peeked over the wagon's step, only for Ashe to glance up. He didn't even need to look directly at her to know what had happened. His lips tugged into a smirk.
"I heard that thud," he said lightly, voice low and teasing. "Hit your head pretty hard under there, huh?"
Mina froze mid-step, her cheeks puffing red, and then scowled. "I didn't hit it that hard!"
"Sure you didn't," Ashe replied, turning a page, pen scratching again.
Mina brushed her coral-red hair out of her eyes as she stretched, arms rising high above her head. The motion lifted her brown shirt just enough for Ashe to catch a glimpse of her stomach—firm, defined lines of muscle flashing briefly in the golden morning light.
His eyes widened before he quickly darted them back to his notebook. His mouth had even parted slightly, though he snapped it shut with a small cough, pretending to adjust the angle of his pen.
Mina, unaware, let out a long yawn and casually padded toward the firepit, drawn by the smell of breakfast.
Ashe exhaled slowly, rubbing at his snow-white hair, his mind unexpectedly tangled. He had always known Mina was strong—her Null condition never dulled her determination. But seeing it so plainly, in the lines of her body, struck him harder than any sparring match ever could.
He realized, with a twinge of something sour and something admiring all at once, that in just three short years she had carved herself into this shape.
Meanwhile, he looked at himself. Lean. Bookish. Someone who spent more time with ink than with iron.
He tapped the pen absently against the margin of his spellbook, staring at his own handwriting as if it could measure up.
Three years. he thought bitterly. That's all it took her…
And despite the envy prickling at his chest, he couldn't deny the flicker of admiration that warmed alongside it.
Harlen jogged back from the far field, his breath heavy but steady, with Camylle keeping pace just a step behind him. Both slowed as the aroma of simmering chicken bisque reached them—thick, creamy steam rising from the pot Lotha and Nira had set up by the fire.
"Smells like heaven," Harlen muttered, rolling his shoulders loose. His gaze wandered toward Mina, who was crouched beside the fire, idly scratching her arm as she waited.
Without thinking, Harlen dropped a hand on her shoulder in greeting. Instead of the soft give of a teenage frame, his palm met solid resistance. He squeezed once, blinking.
"…What the—woah, kid." He chuckled, crouching beside her.
"What've you been doing? You're carved out like a soldier's training dummy!"
Mina tilted her head at him, blinking once, but Harlen's grin only widened, more amused than surprised. He had seen her run missions, sure, but had never really taken note of her strength—until now.
"C'mon," he said with a playful grin, nudging her elbow, "gimme a flex."
Mina sighed, half-exasperated but deciding to humor him. She raised her right arm and pulled back her sleeve, clenching her fist. A distinct swell of muscle rose against the skin, hard lines pressing beneath the fabric.
Harlen barked out a laugh. "Hah! Look at that! You're hiding steel under all that baggy cloth!"
Camylle leaned in, a smile tugging at her lips. "Not bad at all, Mina."
But Mina only shook her head, letting her arm drop. "It's… not enough. Not against mana-reinforced opponents. I'm still a Null." Her voice softened, matter-of-fact rather than bitter.
"Strength only carries so far in this world. That's why… I'm not aiming to be some frontliner Adventurer. My dream is to be a Guide. To use what I've learned, my scars, my experience… and pass it down to apprentices who can actually wield magic."
Her eyes flicked toward the fire, the steam clouding her face. "I'll never have that spark. So the least I can do is help others light theirs."
For a moment, silence lingered.
Camylle broke it with a warm firmness. "Don't sell yourself short kid. You've carried your weight on campaigns, especially on A-ranked & B-ranked operations, fighting side by side with people who did have mana hearts. That's nothing to dismiss."
Mina opened her mouth to reply, but another voice cut in.
"You're right," Trevus said, striding toward them after tethering Betty and Beck to a nearby oak. He rested his sabers at his hips and stood by the fire, his tone steady.
"Your choice isn't bad. A Guide can shape generations of Adventurers. And…" he glanced at Mina, eyes narrowing slightly, "Null or not, anyone who survived those campaigns has no business thinking they're weak."
Mina blinked at him, surprised by the straightforward endorsement. Then, faintly, she smiled.
Harlen slapped his knee, laughing again. "See? Even the big man himself says it's a good path. So stop frowning, kid. Adventurer, Guide—hell, I don't care what you call it. You've got the grit for either."
Mina's smile deepened, and though she didn't say it, something in her chest lightened.
The morning meal wrapped them in warmth—the creamy bisque steaming from tin canteens, the scent of herbs and roast chicken blending with the crisp autumn air of the Jullio Route. Even Beck and Betty seemed at ease, snorting softly as they chewed grass under the oak.
Ashe and Mina sat shoulder to shoulder on the wagon's step, blowing carefully on their portions, while the rest formed a loose circle around the fire. Harlen's boots stretched out, Camylle sat cross-legged sharpening her spearhead, and Lotha held a ladle over the pot for seconds.
The conversation, however, wasn't so leisurely.
"Alright," Harlen said between mouthfuls, "we've got… what, twenty-eight hours left to reach the dungeon?"
"Closer to that, yes," Trevus confirmed, wiping his mouth with a gloved thumb. "Once we finish crossing the Jullio Route, we'll leave the Alpinato Region behind and enter Yuneseppi. From there, the Grandpolle Route leads us straight to Dungeon #89J."
Nira leaned back on her palms, shadow crow feathers still faintly dusting her sleeve. "If it's Yuneseppi, then we should be fine. Tropico Guild territory. Patrols everywhere, checkpoints, posted maps—practically a paved road." Her tone was casual, but her eyes cut toward Trevus with curiosity. "Though… what I don't get is why this dungeon specifically. You never did say."
The question hung in the air.
Trevus's brow furrowed. He shot her a sidelong glare. "You're only asking that now? Why not back in Tuesday's briefing, when it would have mattered?"
Nira shrugged, her grin sharp. "Because I like seeing your face scrunch up when you're irritated."
A faint chuckle rippled through the group, but Trevus only exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Fine. I'll make this clear once more." He reached into his satchel, tugging free a packet of folded papers, edges frayed from travel. "This dungeon is newly discovered. Barely mapped. And every nearby Tropico outpost I checked was 'occupied'—their words, not mine. From what my reports say, they've shifted their manpower to something else."
"Something else?" Camylle echoed, pausing her sharpening.
Trevus's jaw tightened. "I don't know. Files were redacted. But orders are orders: Party 5 is to investigate, secure the perimeter, and hold until reinforcements cycle through. That's all."
Silence lingered, broken only by the bubbling of the pot.
Lotha finally ladled herself another serving and stirred thoughtfully. "So we're the fallback team."
"Call it that if you like," Trevus said. His tone carried finality, though his eyes flicked briefly toward the horizon.
Mina lowered her canteen, glancing at Ashe. He said nothing, but the faint crease of his brow showed he was already calculating risks.
Harlen clapped his hands together. "Well, fallback team or not, we still need to eat and breathe. And the way I see it, we're low on rations."
"Agreed," Trevus replied. "Our next step is a resupply run at Jullisso—the capital town of Alpinato. From there, we cut through into Yuneseppi and follow the Grandpolle Route."
"Jullisso, huh?" Nira hummed, resting her chin on her hand. "Big city. Lots of eyes. And not all friendly."
"Then we keep sharp," Trevus said flatly.
The bisque had cooled, but the air between them stayed taut, threaded with questions none of them could yet answer.
The wagon creaked steadily over the packed earth path, its wheels crunching on frosted soil as Party 5 made their way south toward Jullisso.
At the front bench, Harlen kept a loose grip on the reins. His blond hair caught the wind, strands dancing as he squinted against the chill. Beside him, Camylle hunched in her guild overcoat, shoulders trembling despite the layers. Her fiery orange hair whipped across her face every time the wind shifted.
"You alright there?" Harlen asked, raising a brow.
"I hate the cold," Camylle muttered, rubbing her gloved hands together. "Give me swamps, deserts, even choking ashfields—anything but this frost."
Harlen grinned, teeth flashing. "And yet, you picked Alpinato campaigns three times this year. Don't tell me you just like suffering."
Camylle shot him a glare that would've gutted a lesser man. "You were the one who signed us up."
Harlen laughed, steering Betty and Beck through a mild bend in the road. "Fair enough."
Behind them, inside the wagon, the mood was quieter. The constant rocking lulled most of them into drowsy silence. Ashe had dozed off, his head tilted sideways against Mina's shoulder.
Mina shifted uncomfortably at first, half tempted to nudge him awake, but let him stay. His snow-white hair brushed against her sleeve, his breathing even. Her own eyelids grew heavy, though she resisted, staring absently at the wooden beams above the cabin. She wasn't sure if it was fatigue or stubbornness keeping her awake.
Opposite them, Lotha sat cross-legged with her journal open on her lap, quietly sketching runic notations by the dim morning light that seeped in through the wagon's shutters. Nira leaned against the other wall, eyes closed, arms folded, though her fingers tapped restlessly against her daggers as if her body refused to relax.
The road ahead promised the noise and bustle of Jullisso—the capital of Alpinato, a city where gold and gossip exchanged hands just as quickly. But for now, the wagon's cabin carried only the hush of weary travelers, the faint rumble of wheels, and the steady rhythm of two horses carrying them forward.
By noon the air had warmed only slightly, though the winds of the ridges still carried a bite. Party 5's carriage rattled to a stop beneath a sprawling oak tree just outside the rise, its branches catching the sunlight like a great crown. From here, the land dipped downward into a valley, and there—sprawled across the basin—was the town of Jullisso.
The settlement stretched wide along the Jullio Route, its rooftops tiled in slate and clay, the autumn fields beyond it swaying like bronze seas. Smoke plumes curled lazily from chimneys, a dozen bakeries and blacksmiths adding their haze to the midday sky. Wagons came and went along the main road, and the faint toll of a distant bell carried up the hill.
Yet Trevus's gaze stayed wary. His eyes scanned the walls—wooden palisades reinforced with stone, more for show than true defense—and the streets that thrummed with market traffic. He dismounted from the carriage and folded his arms, expression set like iron.
"We leave the wagon here," he said. "Jullisso isn't Tropico's ground. The Guild's banner doesn't hold sway in this town. Too many local hands in too many local pockets. Best we don't tempt notice."
Harlen swung down from the bench, brushing straw from his blond hair. "Agreed. I don't like the look of the watchtowers anyway. Mercenaries, not militia. They'll sniff coin if we stroll in flying guild colors."
Lotha cleared her throat and unrolled a parchment, her handwriting neat and deliberate. She read aloud, every syllable crisp in the open air:
"Rations and supplies for Dungeon #89J, Grandpolle Route—three days' worth. Dried meats and hard bread, twenty-one meals minimum. Dried legumes. Root vegetables—carrots, turnips, onions. Herbs and spices: salt, bay, peppers. Waterskins and refill satchels—Maw's streams won't be drinkable. Tallow candles. Beeswax candles. Sack of charcoal. Whetstones. Rope coils. Iron pitons."
She paused, eyes flicking toward Trevus. "You forgot those last ones."
Trevus grunted, rubbing the scar that cut across his temple. "A lapse I won't repeat."
Plans were quickly divided. Trevus and Lotha would stay to guard the wagon and horses, while the rest would break into two groups. Harlen, Camylle, and Nira would see to the bulk of the food supplies. Ashe and Mina, carrying lighter packs, would search for tools, candles, rope, and anything else Lotha listed.
Ashe shed his guild coat and folded it carefully into the wagon, left only in a plain grey longsleeve. Mina followed suit, tugging free her brown overshirt and strapping her twin daggers—Ruth and Less—at her sides. Without the Tropico insignia, they looked like any other young travelers, though Mina's restless fingers along her hilts betrayed her nerves.
"Remember," Trevus said, his tone low. "No Guild talk. Jullisso watches strangers the way a wolf watches lambs. Keep your heads down, buy what we need, and return."
The five nodded, each adjusting cloaks and belts as the path into town stretched before them, sunlit and deceptively calm.
Harlen, Nira, and Camylle led the way down the sloping path, their boots crunching the autumn-thinned grass. Nira stretched with a yawn, her hands linked behind her head, the posture careless as if the weight of the trip was nothing to her. The wind caught at her hair as she tilted her chin toward the town ahead.
A few paces behind, Mina and Ashe kept stride with one another. Mina's eyes stayed on the road but her voice broke the silence, low but thoughtful.
"Y'know," she murmured, "I still don't get why Jullisso is the capital of Alpinato. Wouldn't it make more sense if it were Alpime? It's closer to Western III, the names even sound alike—Alpime, Alpinato. But no, it's Jullisso."
Ashe winced, dragging a palm down his face. "Why… why do you even ask things like that?"
"What?" Mina blinked at him, feigning innocence. "It's a fair question. Feels like someone just picked the wrong town by accident and stuck with it."
Ashe groaned. "Mina, not everything's a mystery waiting for you to solve. Capitals aren't chosen for their names. There's probably… history or politics or trade routes involved."
"Or maybe," she said with a sly smile, "the people of Jullisso bribed their way into being capital. Can't trust a town with too many mercenaries."
Nira twisted halfway around to glance back at them, her grin wide. "Oi, don't knock Jullisso too hard yet. At least wait until we've bought food that won't rot in two days."
Harlen gave a laugh from the front. "She's not wrong, though. Capitals rise where coin flows, not where it sounds pretty."
Camylle, pulling her coat tighter against the wind, muttered softly, "And coin in Alpinato flows through Jullisso's markets. Always has. Always will."
Mina folded her arms but gave no further retort, though Ashe could tell from the gleam in her eyes she wasn't entirely convinced.
Ashe shifted uneasily as the road wound lower toward Jullisso's outskirts. His eyes darted between Harlen's broad shoulders at the front and Mina's steady stride beside him before finally blurting out,
"So… um. About Trevus. Everyone keeps mentioning he's a former Legionnaire, right? Was he really from the Imperium of Barryl? The home of the Legion?"
The words dropped like a pebble into still water. Harlen, Camylle, and Nira all slowed their steps in unison, trading glances that made Ashe's stomach drop.
"You're only asking that now?" Harlen said, half laughing, half groaning.
Camylle sighed, tugging her scarf higher against her mouth. "Ashe… you really didn't know?"
Nira wagged a finger at him with a foxlike grin. "We've mentioned it a dozen times. At least. It should've been so obvious by now!"
Ashe raised both hands defensively. "I knew! I swear I knew! I just—wanted confirmation. That's all."
Even Mina gave him a flat stare, her coral hair catching the morning light. "C'mon, Ashe. He's our party leader and you don't even know where he's from?"
"Ugh…" Ashe shrank into his collar, cheeks warm.
Harlen chuckled, clapping his hands together. "Y'know what? Let's settle this properly. I know where everyone's from. Every single one of you."
Camylle narrowed her eyes, curious. "Do you, now?"
"Of course I do." Harlen's grin turned sharp with pride. He raised a finger, counting off each name. "Trevus Regulus—Central East. Imperium of Barryl, the Legion's old nest."
Nira made a mock salute. "Correct."
"Next," Harlen continued, "Mina Orlean and Ashe Vaxille—both born and raised in the Capital City of Elynthi. Easy."
Mina nodded slowly. "Not bad…" Ashe only muttered something under his breath.
"Camylle Aursburst—straight from the Tropico Region, heiress of the Burst Company."
Harlen gave a theatrical bow toward her.
Camylle's lips pressed tight, but there was a faint blush of embarrassment. "You didn't have to add that last part."
"Nira Hollows," Harlen went on, "hails from the Mediya Region. And, as far as I know, she's the only one here who speaks proper Medish."
Nira puffed up proudly. "Someone has to keep culture alive."
"And Lotha," Harlen's tone softened a fraction, "from Elynthi as well. The Capital. Not that she brags about it."
Both Mina and Ashe turned, blinking in surprise in thought of their quiet priestess turned paladin. Lotha was the kind of person who'd only smiled faintly, hands folded in front of her, the warmth in her eyes gentler than any words.
Mina tilted her head. "I… never knew."
"She doesn't talk much," Ashe murmured.
"That's why you should pay attention," Nira teased.
Finally, Mina glanced at Harlen with a playful smirk. "Alright then, smart guy. What about you? Where's home?"
Harlen's grin faltered just a little. He brushed his blond hair back with his fingers and exhaled through his nose.
"Far north. The Koosali Region—the very tip of the Monarchy's reach. My father was Central, my mother Northern. A clan of swordsmen, through and through."
His eyes turned ahead again, sharper now. "But I left that hell hole a long time ago. No point in dwelling on it."
The air grew quiet at that, his words heavier than any jest. Even Nira, always ready with a quip, kept her tongue still. Mina's smirk faded as she studied the proud swordsman's back, and Ashe found himself lowering his gaze to the dirt path beneath his boots.
The sound of Jullisso's distant market bells reached them then, breaking the silence.
The five descended the slope and approached the tall wooden gates of Jullisso, the capital town of the Alpinato Region. The smell of smoke and tannery already clung to the air, a reminder that this was not a quaint town like Alpime but a bustling seat of trade and politics.
Two city enforcers in blue-grey coats stepped forward, their halberds crossed to block the entrance.
"Hold. Identification," one barked, eyeing their travel-stained boots and packs.
Harlen, ever the frontliner, pulled his papers from a leather satchel at his belt and handed them over first. Camylle followed suit with a confident smirk, Nira with an idle toss of her hand as though the whole formality bored her, and finally Mina and Ashe fished theirs out. Ashe's hands trembled slightly—he wasn't fond of strangers in authority—but Mina gave him a quick nudge of reassurance before handing hers over.
The guard thumbed through them one by one, pausing at the Affiliation Section. His brows pinched.
"…Tropico Guild, all of you," he muttered, as though the name left a sour taste. He double-checked each stamp before sighing through his nose and handing them back.
"Listen well," the guard said, his tone low but firm. "You're clear to pass, but mind yourselves. The enforcers of Jullisso don't meddle in guild politics. The people, however—different story. This town belongs to the Grille Guild. Locals respect them, depend on them, and they don't take kindly to outsiders flaunting another banner." His gaze lingered on Mina's guild coat until she hastily folded it under her arm.
"Just don't make yourselves obvious. And don't cause trouble."
Harlen nodded, his hand resting lightly on his sword hilt—not in threat, but as the casual weight of a soldier used to orders. "We're only here to resupply. Nothing more."
"See that you are," the guard said, stepping aside. The halberds lifted, the gates creaked, and Jullisso spread open before them.
The town was alive with the hum of autumn trade—vendors calling out their wares, children darting between carts, smiths hammering at open-air forges. Yet there was a weight to the eyes that followed them; whispers fluttered on the breeze like gnats. Outsiders. Guilders. Tropico.
Camylle muttered under her breath, "Feels like walking through a nest of cats ready to claw."
Nira grinned, stretching her arms behind her head. "Relax. We're just shopping. Not like we're here to recruit & flaunt around our banner."
Harlen took command quickly, splitting tasks before suspicion could mount.
"Camylle, with me. General store first—we'll need dried meat, bread, and legumes. Nira, you'll have our waterskins and flasks refilled."
Nira gave a lazy salute before sauntering off toward the sound of flowing water.
"Mina, Ashe," Harlen added, meeting their eyes with the same authority Trevus usually carried.
"You two handle the guild shops. Candles, charcoal, whetstones, rope, pitons. Don't linger."
Mina nodded sharply. Ashe hesitated, then adjusted the strap of his satchel. The list was straightforward, but stepping into a rival guild's territory carried risks, even for errands.
As they split, Mina glanced back at Ashe with a small grin. "Cheer up, Illusory boy. It's just shopping."
"Right," Ashe muttered, his hand brushing over the notebook in his coat pocket.
"Shopping. In a town that hates us."
Mina chuckled, walking a step ahead into the streets of Jullisso.