Chapter 132 — Endurance Beyond the Blade

  Another hour passed.

  The road curved lazily through low fields, dust trailing behind the merchant cart in a thin golden veil. The sun had climbed high enough to press warmth against armor and skin alike.

  When the shift rotation came again, Ivaline slowed her pace slightly and glanced back.

  “Nasha,” she said. “Switch with Nicole.”

  Nasha blinked. “I can still walk—”

  “Rest,” Ivaline cut in. Not sharp. Not loud. Just final.

  “Or talk with Bubble. She needs someone.”

  The order weighed more than the words.

  Nasha held her gaze for a moment longer—then nodded once and climbed onto the cart. Her movements were precise, restrained. She didn’t argue.

  Nicole, meanwhile, practically launched himself off the cart.

  “OSU! Glad to be walking with you, Miss Silver Ward!”

  “…Umu.”

  Energetic.

  Loud.

  Persistent.

  “Miss Silver Ward!” he continued, matching her stride. “Could you teach me swordsmanship?”

  “We’re on a mission,” Ivaline replied evenly. “Maybe during a break.”

  “OSU! Then can you tell me about your adventures? Like when you traveled with Four Bastion! Or when you soloed that wild orc! Or when you dueled Iron Spear Rivel—how did that feel!? And Gruthak! The Steel Tusk! How did you beat him!?”

  “….”

  The questions stacked like arrows in rapid fire.

  Chronicle’s voice slipped into her mind, calm as ever.

  “One question at a time. Skip what you don’t want. Give a reason.”

  She exhaled slowly.

  “Seraphine blasted a bandit hideout with a storm,” Ivaline said. “We tied them afterward.”

  “OSU!”

  “The orc was scary. I was injured. But alive.”

  Nicole leaned closer, eyes shining.

  “Rivel had weaknesses. I pointed them out.”

  “And Gruthak!?”

  “I’ll leave Gruthak out.”

  “…OSU! Thank you, MISS SILVER WARD!”

  He did not slow.

  “Then how did you get so strong? There are rumors you’re the Brave’s pupil—is that true? What was your first guild quest? How did you train? What’s your daily routine? Do you meditate? How many hours do you swing your sword per—”

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  “….”

  Minutes stretched.

  The road rolled on.

  She never drew her sword.

  Never raised her voice.

  Never stumbled.

  Yet her shoulders felt heavier than after fighting the wild orc.

  Why…?

  “Mental stamina drains differently,” Chronicle said.

  Then, after a pause:

  “Ask him something.”

  “…?”

  “Make him talk instead.”

  Even if this overseer assignment was meant to refine her communication, Nicole was… overwhelming.

  Still.

  She tried.

  “Why,” Ivaline asked quietly, “did you become an adventurer?”

  Nicole froze mid-step.

  Then his face ignited.

  “To be like you, MISS SILVER WARD!”

  “…Me?”

  “Yes!” His voice rose with pure, unfiltered admiration. “You’re younger than me, but you’ve done things most veterans can’t! You passed the written exam with the fastest flawless score! You landed a clean hit on the Guild Master in combat trials! Garrick vouched for you after the goblin recon! You survived a hobgoblin at nine! You cleared Doctor Suniel’s impossible clinic task—the first ever! Nobody else can even get that stamp and—!”

  He kept going.

  Listing her.

  Like achievements in a ledger.

  Like a legend being recited.

  Chronicle fell silent.

  So did Ivaline.

  This… is how they see me?

  The village appeared ahead before she could respond. Wooden fences. Smoke from chimneys. A watchtower rising above the fields.

  They had arrived without incident.

  The merchant hurried off toward negotiations. Workers approached the cart.

  Ivaline sat on a roadside stone.

  Her shoulders sagged.

  “Chronicle.”

  “Yes?”

  “…Conversation is tiring.”

  “…Sometimes,” Chronicle admitted, “I agree.”

  Nearby, Nicole had already begun retelling his version of events to Bubble and Nasha, gestures wide, voice animated. Both girls listened.

  And occasionally—

  They looked at Ivaline differently.

  Not as a teammate.

  Not just as a young prodigy.

  But as something larger.

  “Chronicle.”

  “Hm?”

  “If they ask me things like that later… help me again.”

  There was a brief pause.

  “…Okay.”

  Even without a body, Chronicle felt something warm settle inside him.

  Because today, Ivaline learned something important.

  Endurance was not only how long you could swing a blade.

  Sometimes—

  It was how long you could listen.

  A while later, as crates were dragged from the cart and stacked near the storehouse—

  The alarm bell rang.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Then fast.

  “Bandits!” someone shouted from the watchtower.

  “Ten of them—mounted!”

  “What!?”

  The village fractured instantly.

  Men were still out hunting.

  The gates stood open.

  The merchant cart blocked half the entrance.

  Goods were half-unloaded.

  Two guards.

  Ten women who could not fight.

  Children.

  Normally they would close the gate and hide.

  But now—

  “Close the gate!” one guard yelled.

  “We can’t! The cart’s still outside!”

  “Then pull it in!”

  “With what manpower!?”

  Voices overlapped. Panic surged. No one acted.

  Dust rose on the distant road.

  Ten riders.

  Poorly armored.

  Wooden clubs.

  Rusted blades.

  No bows.

  No visible spellcasters.

  Desperate.

  Ivaline stood.

  She counted horses.

  Measured spacing.

  Estimated charge speed.

  Calculated terrain slope.

  Judgment settled.

  “…We can do this.”

  Nicole turned toward her, panic still clinging to his face. “Huh?”

  Her voice remained level. Flat. Absolute.

  “Mr. Merchant. Turn the cart sideways. Barricade the gate. Then retreat inside.”

  “W–What?”

  “Nasha. Climb onto the cart. Support the watchtower. Shoot anyone who came in range.”

  “…Me?”

  “You’re steady.”

  Nasha’s jaw tightened. She nodded.

  “Bubble. Behind cover. Healing only. Do not expose yourself.”

  “O–Okay!”

  “Nicole.”

  “Yes!”

  “Protect Bubble. Do not chase. Do not leave her.”

  “…Yes!”

  He moved instantly.

  “And you, Miss Silver Ward?” the merchant asked, voice cracking.

  Ivaline unsheathed her steel sword.

  The sound rang clean.

  “I’ll take them at the front.”

  “…HUH!?”

  She was already walking.

  Not rushing.

  Not dramatic.

  Just placing herself where danger would arrive first.

  “What are you waiting for?” she glanced back once.

  “They’ll be here in a minute.”

  That was enough.

  The merchant hauled the reins.

  The cart lurched sideways.

  Nasha climbed, breath steadying.

  Bubble ducked behind crates.

  Nicole planted himself before her, sword drawn.

  Ivaline stood alone before the gate.

  Dust thickened.

  Hooves thundered closer.

  And in that space—

  A warmth stirred in her chest.

  “…What’s this feeling?”

  “It’s called nostalgia,” Chronicle answered softly.

  “A memory echoing forward.”

  She understood.

  Once—

  She had stood behind Garrick.

  Small.

  Protected.

  being teaches.

  Now—

  She stood in front.

  Steel steady.

  Feet rooted.

  Spine straight.

  Behind her—

  People who would live or die by her decisions.

  Chronicle braced with her.

  Together, they faced the road.