Ace was watching her in silence, his eyes tracking her every subtle tremble. He didn't need words to sense her turmoil. He had noticed it from the very first glance—that heavy gaze filled more with sorrow than fear. Her feet shook under the weight of something unseen, a suffocating feeling, like invisible chains wrapped around her chest, keeping her from breathing freely. A gnawing emotion tore at her from the inside, squeezing her heart with anxiety and guilt.
This wasn't mere fear. It was the painful realization that she had become part of something far greater than herself—a small cog in a design woven by others. A plan with no room for regret or retreat. She was complicit in deception, even murder. Even if she never raised a weapon, her silence alone was enough to make her an accomplice.
She believed the boy beside her was unaware of the fate awaiting him. For a moment, it felt like she was leading him to the abyss herself, her steps carving the path to his end. She couldn't stop herself from wondering—did he know? Did he see the warning in the eyes of the others? Or was he lost in blind certainty?
The noise—the footsteps, the murmurs—all faded into the background of her consciousness. It became a dull hum, completely disconnected from her.
She was trapped within her mind, swirling in conflicting thoughts. She felt herself drifting away from reality, floating beyond the scene. She struggled to compose herself, to keep a neutral face that wouldn't betray her inner storm. But her eyes gave her away. Her trembling lips nearly revealed everything. There was no room for error. A single misstep, a single wrong glance, could mean her end—and the collapse of the future meant for those children.
Despite her efforts, Ace had read her. He wasn't oblivious. He had sharp eyes, capable of catching the subtle shifts hidden beneath the surface of the heart. It wasn't just suspicion—it was something deeper. A gut feeling that this girl… wasn't okay.
Her badge made it clear she was a recent recruit. He watched her hesitant steps, the sidelong glances she threw at her companions, as if still trying to process her place among them. She didn't seem suited for this world. Neither her body nor her mind was ready for missions of this scale.
What had driven her to enter this field? Was it a need to prove herself? Or was there something darker, more desperate? Perhaps money? Or something even he couldn't name? One thing was certain—she was hiding something. And whatever her secret was, it might hold the key to understanding the truth behind the others.
Ace felt a strong urge to break through the barrier she had built around herself. But he approached slowly, carefully, keeping a distance that wouldn't unsettle her—yet close enough to read the details of her pale face. He gave her a sidelong glance, then asked in a gentle voice, unintentionally warm:
"Are you alright?"
The girl flinched, as if his voice had pulled her from the depths of her own mind. She blinked twice, quickly, as though trying to process his presence beside her. Then, she cast him a brief, awkward glance before her eyes dropped to the ground again, afraid he might see something she didn't want to reveal. She gathered herself hurriedly, swallowed hard, then replied in a low, hesitant voice—unconvincing to anyone listening:
"I… I'm fine."
But the tremble in her voice, that subtle quiver, didn't escape Farland's notice. He watched her silently, waiting for more. She didn't disappoint. After a moment of hesitation, she added in a hushed tone:
"I just… I'm a bit anxious about what will happen when we fight that monster."
With a calm smile, deliberately reassuring, he said:
"Don't worry. I have a feeling everything will go well."
He glanced at the rest of the party walking ahead—shoulders squared, steps confident. He gestured toward them with his head and added, his tone filled with quiet admiration:
"You can tell just by looking—they're strong. I'm sure we'll complete the mission together."
She moved her lips slowly, as if weighing her words with a bitterness that clutched her heart, before allowing them to slip out. Her voice barely audible over the surrounding noise:
"Yeah… They're strong indeed."
But there was no admiration, no respect in her tone. On the contrary—it was cold, neutral to a suspicious degree, laced with a hidden bitterness impossible to ignore. As if she spoke of strangers. Ace noticed. He sensed that pushing the conversation further might unsettle her more, so he subtly changed direction.
His eyes drifted to the small object hanging from her belt—the item she had used to treat his surface burns. Its shape was unfamiliar to him, crafted with remarkable precision, its intricate details suggesting it might serve purposes beyond mere healing. His curiosity piqued, he raised a hand and pointed at it before asking:
"What's that?"
For the first time in days, a faint glimmer of ease slipped into her eyes, as if the spontaneous question he had just asked had pulled her from a deep sea of worry. She gently raised her hand, her fingertips brushing the item hanging from her waist in a motion laced with familiarity and pride. Then, she looked up at the young man who had been watching carefully, her eyes shimmering with a blend of surprise and wonder, before she spoke in a calm voice:
"Is this your first time seeing one of the church scepters?"
Ais's face tightened in astonishment. He nodded; his eyes locked on the small scepter swinging lightly. With a hushed but curious voice, he asked how it worked, his thirst to understand beginning to eclipse everything else around him. The two of them had started falling behind the trio ahead of them, their steps slower. With each step, the surrounding noise seemed to soften, as though the world around them was dissolving, leaving behind a stillness that hadn't been there moments ago.
Then, the girl lifted the scepter with a reverent motion, as if holding something sacred, not just a tool. Her slender fingers glowed as they wrapped around the metallic shaft, while light reflected off its polished surface, revealing a lattice of fine inscriptions etched with great care.
They weren't just decorative engravings, but lines that carried deep-rooted beliefs, ancient and untouchable. She raised her eyes to the young man once more, then offered a soft smile before speaking with pride-laced words:
"First, let me clear up a common misconception many have when they see this type of scepter. It might look like it's made of gold, but it's not. It's actually metal, plated with gold. This kind of scepter is crafted in churches."
She paused for a moment, her gaze returning to her scepter, as if retrieving distant memories. Then she continued:
"Unlike typical magical scepters that enhance the user's ability to channel magical energy, this kind relies on inner clarity and precision in execution, especially in the field of healing blessings. It's not just a tool—it's an extension of the user's soul. Its secret lies in complete harmony between body, energy, and the surrounding world."
A silence followed, heavy with reverence and awe. In that moment, the scepter became more than just an object in Ais's eyes. His eyebrows lifted slightly, reflecting his genuine amazement, and with a voice low yet filled with unusual enthusiasm, he asked:
"Healing blessings? What do you mean by that? Is it like the aura you used on me yesterday?"
Catherine continued to stare at him, as if trying to absorb his words. She blinked slowly a few times, reviewing what she had just heard. Then she tilted her head slightly, a trace of surprise forming on her face, and asked,
"You don't know what healing blessings are?"
Ace shook his head simply, his eyes gleaming with absolute certainty. There was no hint of jest or feigned ignorance—only pure curiosity, like a child discovering something new for the first time. There was no mockery in his gaze, no attempt to mask ignorance with pretense—just a sincere desire to understand, as if he had never lived in a world where such things existed.
At that moment, the girl felt something she couldn't quite explain—a warm comfort seeping into her heart in response to this innocent curiosity, as if something unseen had touched a deep part of her soul. She stared at him for longer than she should have, trying to understand him, to grasp how someone his age could be unaware of something so evident to everyone else.
But instead of feeling disdain, her lips curved into a light smile. Then, as if unable to restrain herself, she raised a hand to her mouth and let out a short, soft laugh—genuine amusement tinged with warmth.
"What is this?" she said in a playful tone, her eyes twinkling with childlike brightness. "I've never met someone who doesn't know what healing blessings are!"
Her words were spontaneous, as though they had illuminated an unexpected corner of their conversation—a corner filled with wonder, curiosity, and perhaps... the beginning of something neither of them had anticipated. Then, speaking in a quieter tone, her eyes sparkled with pride and a sense of duty, as if she carried not just a burden, but a piece of her very identity.
Her words were far from a casual explanation; they felt more like a sacred lesson, a rite reserved for those who had reached true understanding. She spoke while watching him with a penetrating gaze, as if trying to reach into his core to ensure he absorbed each word:
"Alright, to start, healing blessings are quite similar to the therapeutic techniques used by a rare few mages. They share the same foundation—magical energy, or 'blessed power' as we call it in the church. However, it's the method of application that differs, and sometimes the outcomes vary as well."
She paused, her eyes drifting to the sorceress walking ahead of them, her hips swaying with each step. Then she continued:
"We, the healers, don't acquire our scepters like mages do. They buy theirs at steep prices from stores, chase them in black markets, or even dive into the depths of dungeons and ancient tombs, searching for them as if they were mere objects to stumble upon."
Her tone bore a subtle disdain for these methods, as if she saw in them a lack of appreciation for the true worth of owning a scepter. She turned back to the young man, scanning his face for any sign of disagreement. She wanted to be sure he wasn't just listening to her words but feeling their meaning and grasping their essence.
Then, she drew a deep breath, as if preparing to reveal something beyond mere facts—something that carried invisible weight, revealed only to those who could comprehend its depth. She spoke in a lower but firmer voice:
"Our scepters are not just tools. They are extensions of our souls—a testament that we have passed trials others could not. We undergo tests in the church—ones that examine not only our skills but also delve into the very depths of our spirits. These trials test our resilience and our readiness to carry the great responsibility we bear."
She raised the scepter before her, staring into it deeply, then inhaled softly and said in a voice both quiet and steady as steel:
"This scepter… may seem simple at first glance, a modest piece—but it's more than just a symbol. It is the embodiment of my will."
Her voice held fragments of memory, of pain—but it was not broken. It echoed with strength molded by experience. Her tone shifted slightly, as if trying to paint a clearer picture for her listener:
"We are not on the front lines. We don't wield swords, nor do we craft offensive spells like other mages. But even so, we are the unseen pillar that maintains balance when others fall. We are the hand that reaches out when others are about to collapse—the unheard voice that makes the difference between life and death. When shields shatter, when defenses fade, we are the ones who give them another chance. The protective blessings we cast are not just fleeting magical energy—they are invisible walls that shield others. We don't seek glory. We don't wait for applause. We simply offer support... in silence."