Chapter 100: Marriage

  After the Battle

  The last goblin fell with a wet thud.

  Garrick wiped his blade against the grass out of habit, then lifted his gaze and swept the perimeter one final time. No movement. No shadows slipping away. No panicked screams echoing into the treeline.

  None slipped through.

  Only then did he allow himself to breathe.

  Veterans began emerging from the den—some limping, some leaning on comrades, armor dented and stained dark—but all of them upright. No stretchers. No bodies dragged behind them.

  That alone loosened something tight in his chest.

  Good.

  Aldric had already moved ahead earlier, sprinting toward the outer line the moment the pressure inside broke. Garrick hadn’t heard shouting. No frantic calls for healers. No screams that cut wrong through the noise of battle.

  That told him enough.

  She’s alive.

  He turned the corner of the battlefield—and saw it.

  The broken blade lay first.

  Half of it embedded in the dirt, snapped clean through.

  The other half rested closer to a small figure seated on the ground, shoulders slumped, chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow.

  Ivaline.

  Her clothes were smeared with dust and sweat, hair clinging to her face. Her hands trembled faintly, fingers still curled as if gripping a weapon that was no longer there.

  “…Tch,” Garrick muttered, equal parts relief and irritation.

  Of course she’d break the blade.

  Of course she’d still be breathing.

  He took a step—

  Then—

  A blur of green shot at her.

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  “…..!”

  Ivaline barely registered it.

  Her limbs felt distant, heavy, like they belonged to someone else. The world had narrowed to breath, sky, the dull ache spreading through her arms. She couldn’t roll away. Couldn’t lift her hands.

  Something collided with her.

  Put her down on a ground.

  Soft.

  Warm.

  Far, far too close.

  She blinked.

  Emerald eyes stared down at her, wide and shining, pupils blown like someone who’d just seen a miracle.

  “I wuv you.”

  “…huh?”

  Her mind stalled completely.

  The scent hit her next—clean wind, crushed grass, faint traces of ozone and flowers.

  Recognition lagged behind confusion.

  Seraphine.

  “I love you!” the mage blurted, words tumbling over each other without pause. “I totally fell for you back there! You were amazing! You saved me! That was so cool and brave and—ugh—marry me, please!”

  Her eye serious, stare deep inside Ivaline eyes.

  “…huh?”

  Ivaline’s brow furrowed faintly.

  Her thoughts moved like syrup.

  “What does… married… mean?”

  Seraphine inhaled sharply, hands flying to her chest like she’d just witnessed divine revelation.

  “That’s even cuter—!”

  Her body bent down, face flush red, and—

  Before she could finish—

  *Yoink.*

  Seraphine was lifted clean off Ivaline by the collar of her robe.

  “Now, now, Sep,” Nyssa said cheerfully, grinning wide, ear twitch with her tail, restraining her with practiced ease. “If you go any further, you’re gonna cross from ‘embarrassing’ into ‘criminal’ real fast.”

  Bram stepped in beside her and nodded with pure solemnity.

  “Very real fast.”

  “But I’m serious!” Seraphine flailed, boots kicking uselessly. “I want to marry her for real!”

  “That makes it worse,” Nyssa replied flatly. Dragging her away.

  Aldric arrived then, breathing hard but smiling, gripping Seraphine’s other arm. “Alright, that’s enough battlefield romance for one lifetime.”

  “Noooooo—!” Seraphine wailed as they dragged her away. “Let me hug her just one more time!”

  “You’re beyond saving,” Bram muttered.

  Garrick finally let out a dry laugh, arms crossing over his chest.

  “Hah. Even I’m not that low. So tell me—who’s the pedophile now?”

  “ME!” Seraphine shouted from a distance. “MEEEE! LET ME EMBRACE HER—! KISSED HER IF SHE PERMITTED IT!”

  “…Yep,” Garrick said, shaking his head. “Beyond saving.”

  Quiet After

  The noise drifted away.

  Orders were given. Wounded were checked. Veterans regrouped. The battlefield slowly transformed from chaos into routine.

  Garrick order newbies to gather equipment from hobgoblin corpse and count the body to report back to the guild.

  Hennel and Ayra could d be seen moving from here to there with other newbies in tow.

  Other veteran moved towards other entrance to check on the other end.

  To make sure that nothing leaks or amiss.

  If even one goblin fled it could amass their number back up in no time.

  Chronicle has observed this entrance and certain that nothing has pass their wall.

  Clean. Clear.

  Ivaline leaned back fully, letting her shoulders sink into the earth. The sky above was clear now, washed pale blue by the rising sun. Clouds drifted lazily, uncaring about goblins, broken blades, or shouted confessions made in poor taste.

  Her breathing slowed.

  The ache in her arms dulled into something manageable.

  “So, Chronicle…” she murmured softly, too tire and stress to use thought communication, voice barely more than a thought.

  “What does ‘married’ mean?”

  “…..”

  For once, Chronicle did not answer.

  Not refusal.

  Not evasion.

  Just… silence.

  Not now.

  Later.

  And somehow—without knowing why—Ivaline understood.

  She closed her eyes.

  And rested.