—Miren—
The hallway was quiet after he left.
Count Daeron Valacre stood before the tall study window, his back ramrod straight, arms crossed behind him. The flame from the candelabra cast sharp shadows across the hard lines of his face—cold, calculating, as always.
"He's changed," he said without turning. "You saw it too, didn't you?"
Miren kept her tone neutral. "He walks straighter. Speaks without slurring. Looks people in the eye."
The Count finally turned to glance at her. "And?"
She folded her hands behind her back. "I wouldn't call it hope, my lord. Perhaps... curiosity."
That earned the faintest twitch of an eyebrow.
Miren continued, carefully measured. "He's different. But it could be an act. Or desperation. Or something worse. I'll watch him."
"You'll do more than that," the Count said. "You'll go with him. Quietly. Report back if anything seems… off."
Miren's expression didn't change, but something tightened in her shoulders. "Understood."
Just then, light footsteps clicked down the hall.
Lilith entered, arms crossed, expression pinched in tired contempt. She had removed her fencing jacket and tied her silver-blonde hair into a high tail, sweat still visible on her brow.
She snorted. "You're talking about *him*? That's rich."
The Count said nothing.
Miren lowered her gaze.
Lilith looked toward the window.
"If that man's truly changed, I'll eat my own blade."
She turned to leave. "Let me know when he fails again. I'd hate to miss it."
—Arman—
The carriage was already waiting by the front gate, black and silver like the Valacre crest itself. Sleek. Heavy. Designed for comfort, not speed.
The morning sky was overcast, thick with unmoving clouds.
He stood in front of the estate, gloved hands behind his back. Miren approached quietly, carrying a small travel trunk, her face unreadable as always.
"You'll need rations," she said simply. "And better boots. Those will blister by nightfall."
He smirked faintly. "Are you worried about me?"
"No," she said flatly. "I just hate replacing luggage."
He chuckled. "That's fair."
She shifted the trunk into the carriage's back and began tightening the fastenings. He tilted his head.
"So," he said, tone almost amused, "Father sent you to watch me, didn't he? Make sure I don't go mad with power, or jump off a cliff?"
Miren didn't look up. "Don't flatter yourself. You're barely worth keeping an eye on."
He smiled at that. "Still, nice to have company."
Miren opened the carriage door and stood by it, arms folded.
"I'm not your company. I'm your shadow."
He stepped up into the carriage with a hand on the edge. "Then let's see if you can keep up."
The door closed behind them.
The reins cracked.
And the estate gates opened onto a road that led into uncertainty.
The wheels turned slow beneath the weight of silence. Cobblestone gave way to dirt roads, and the Valacre estate faded behind them like a bad dream. Gray skies stretched endlessly above, thick with the promise of rain that never quite fell.
Arman sat with his elbow on the carriage window, fingers tapping against the wood frame. He didn't look at Miren, who sat opposite him—silent, arms crossed, face turned slightly away.
Still pretending she wasn't watching him.
But she was.
He smiled faintly. "So. They really sent you to babysit me, huh?"
Miren didn't respond immediately.
Then: "Do you usually talk this much when no one's listening?"
"Only when the silence is hostile."
"You'd know a thing or two about hostility," she muttered.
Arman chuckled, low and unbothered. "Well, I'm honored. Of all the people my father could've sent, he chose you. Trusts you more than I thought."
"He doesn't trust you at all. That's why I'm here."
He nodded, accepting the jab without flinching.
"Still. Guess I should consider it progress that he wants me followed instead of thrown in a dungeon."
She looked at him then—briefly.
And quickly looked away.
Arman leaned back, exhaling slowly.
The inside of the carriage was dim. A small oil lantern swayed in its hook with every bump in the road. Outside, tall pines blurred past the windows.
He pulled up the system with a thought.
> [Current Quests: "Fragments of the Forgotten"]
> [Objective 1: Rescue Target – "Unnamed Vulpine Girl"]
> Location: Traveling Slave Caravan, Route 3, South of Mirefall
> Time Remaining: 36 Hours
> Reward: Emotional Echo (Vow Candidate) | Sword Art Synergy (Locked)
The girl.
He remembered now. In the novel, Leon met her far too late. Chapter 18 or 19, maybe. She had already been sold to a noble family—one that made sport of breaking people like her. By the time the hero found her, she was a shell.
Beautiful. Talented. Loyal to a fault.
But fractured.
She'd been a fan favorite. Readers mourned her for what the story didn't allow her to be. She was the Fourth Vow—the Echo of Loyalty.
And now, Arman had the chance to rewrite that.
"She hasn't been sold yet," he muttered. "She's still in the caravan. Still unbroken."
He clenched his fists.
"This time, I get there first."
> [Objective 2: Acquire Passive Skill – "Cycle of the Undying"]
> Location: Sunken Tomb beneath the Scorchvale Canyon
> Danger Rating: High
> Reward: Passive Regeneration (HP, MP, Mental Fortitude)
> [Objective 3: Obtain Rare Physique – "Heart of the Hollow Star"]
> Location: Ruins of the Fallen Sanctum, Outer Ring
> Danger Rating: Critical
> Reward: Constitution Enhancement | Adaptive Body Remodeling | ??? Trait Awakening
That last one would be brutal.
He remembered that dungeon from the novel. Leon never even went near it. Too dangerous for a low-level protagonist. Most fans speculated it was endgame content.
Now?
It was on Arman's to-do list.
He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.
"Three objectives. Twelve days. One idiot noble with no plot armor."
Outside, the sky darkened further. Thunder rumbled, but the rain still held off.
Miren shifted slightly across from him, arms still folded, but her gaze flicked toward him with a whisper of something almost resembling curiosity.
"You talk like someone preparing to die," she said flatly.
"I did that already," Arman replied.
The silence lingered between them.
Then the carriage passed beneath a cracked stone arch, the last sign of Valacre territory. Beyond it lay the broken roads of the outer provinces.
And a world that had already decided he was irrelevant.
He smiled to himself.
Let's prove it wrong.