For a moment, Ritchie was at a loss for words. A faint realization stirred in him about what it meant to be a comrade, what it meant to uphold a knight's honor.
"What should we do now?" Ritchie asked.
Marilyn hesitated, glancing at the disc on the ground before pointing at Ritchie. "Keep carrying that thing. We don't know if it'll be useful, but better to have it. Take all the energy crystals too. No sense wasting them."
Suddenly, she frowned, remembering something. "Did you hide the supply cart well? We can't let the enemy find it."
Randy, the logistics officer, was ready for the question. "I'm not some battlefield rookie. The cart's well hidden. Even if they find it, it doesn't matter. We stashed the energy crystals elsewhere, buried underground."
"Good," Marilyn said, visibly relieved. "We took a risk destroying those Valedin vehicles, especially their energy crystals. Even if some survived, they won't have enough to keep going. They'll have to retreat or wait for reinforcements."
She gave Ritchie a playful pat. "Speaking of battlefield rookies, we've got one here, but he's not doing too badly."
With a teasing glance, Marilyn's expression turned serious. She noticed an unnatural flush on Ritchie's cheeks and his labored breathing.
"What's wrong? Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.
Randy, who doubled as a medic, hadn't noticed until now. She slipped her hand through a gap in Ritchie's battle armor, pressing it against his chest. Using her psychic senses to scan his body, she relaxed slightly. "He's fine. Just grazed by a shockwave's aftermath. As long as it doesn't flare up on the way, some rest back at base will fix him."
A light drizzle made the already cold winter even more bone-chilling, turning the rugged mountain path slick and treacherous.
Thankfully, Ritchie had brought a tarp, originally meant to shield the energy crystals' glow. Now it served as a makeshift barrier against wind and rain.
The tarp wasn't large, so the three had to huddle close.
Suddenly, Ritchie slipped, stumbling and dropping to one knee. Miss Marilyn reacted swiftly, grabbing his arm to keep him from sliding down the slope.
Glancing back and then ahead, Marilyn set Randy down from her shoulder. "Let's find a spot to pitch camp for the night. It's getting dark, and we won't get much farther."
Randy nodded and set off. Finding a campsite was her usual task. Unencumbered by battle armor, her steps were light, leaving no broken branches or obvious tracks. Plus, her psychic senses could scan a twenty-meter radius, making it easy to spot caves or other shelters.
Braving the rain, Randy darted from tree to tree, dodging the downpour while searching the surroundings.
Their luck held. Within fifteen minutes, Randy returned, soaked but triumphant. She'd found a well-hidden cave.
The cave's entrance was a narrow, horizontal slit—three meters long but barely a foot and a half high, just wide enough to crawl through sideways. Bushes concealed it completely. Inside, the space was surprisingly roomy, twisting and turning in a maze-like layout.
The battle armor wouldn't fit. Ritchie and Marilyn left theirs outside, piling branches, rocks, and mud to camouflage them.
After finishing their tasks, Ritchie felt dizzy, his steps unsteady. His chest ached, a nauseating sensation rising, but worst of all was a chilling current coursing through his body. Each time it passed his heart, it lingered, causing the suffocating pressure in his chest.
Crawling into the cave, Ritchie found a clean spot and collapsed.
"Don't lie directly on the ground. You'll catch a chill," Randy said, grabbing the tarp and shaking off the rainwater. Though still damp, she spread it out—a better option than the cold stone floor.
Ritchie, drained of strength, didn't even stand. He crawled to the tarp and collapsed, longing for sleep. Within a minute, he was out cold.
Randy sat beside him, her expression heavy. Her hand brushed over him, performing her third psychic scan.
Marilyn approached, kneeling to check Ritchie's chest. Though untrained in psychic arts, knights had their own ways of assessing injuries.
Their faces grew grim.
"This is trouble. He's a complete rookie, first time in battle. Randy, how could you forget to leave him a chest plate?" Marilyn said, frowning.
Randy stayed silent, unable to argue. It wasn't that she forgot. She just hadn't thought a chest plate would matter. When they chose to enter the mountains, she hadn't expected to survive.
Marilyn sensed Randy's thoughts. As the one indebted, she knew when to stop pressing. "It's not entirely bad," she said, softening. "If the kid pulls through, it'll make him stronger."
"The problem is if he pulls through," Randy muttered.
Silence fell, the air heavy with tension.
After a long pause, Randy nudged Marilyn. "Can you step outside?"
She'd recalled a rumor within the team: an uncertain guess that Ritchie practiced a rare technique, one that could boost his power through intimacy with a woman, potentially regulating his body's energy flow.
Ritchie's body was now invaded by hostile fighting aura. To expel it, he needed to stimulate his internal energy cycle.
Marilyn glanced at Randy, aware of the rumors. She'd long suspected Randy had been intimate with Ritchie. When Randy had removed the tarp from her waist to shield them from rain, a tear in her pants revealed more than intended.
"You're really going to do it?" Marilyn asked quietly.
Randy's face was unreadable, but Marilyn knew her resolve. Despite Randy's aloof, almost careless demeanor, those close to her knew her stubbornness. Once she decided something, no one could sway her.
Like this mission. Entering the mountains was a near-certain death sentence, yet she'd come anyway.
The only unexpected thing was that Ritchie had foolishly followed her in, and whether this was fortunate or unfortunate remained unclear.
Marilyn suddenly thought of herself. If these two hadn't arrived just in time to save her, she might already be…
Death in battle wouldn't be the worst fate. The worst was being captured. These days, knights had long abandoned their virtues, becoming symbols of tyranny and slaughter. If she were taken prisoner, she'd face relentless violation, then be dragged to a camp to become some scum's personal toy.
The thought made Marilyn hesitate.