[Possible Spacetimes] Intersect

The operational meeting had ended a while ago, and the air in the room relaxed.

Sense sat in the chair, her long brown hair falling to the ground. She suddenly felt something above her head, not heavy, but definitely present. She raised her hand and touched it—the texture was soft velvet, and there were two pointed, upright triangles.

She lowered her hand and looked up. Although she couldn't see, her expression clearly showed her confusion.

"... What's this?"

Ubel stood in front of her, arms outstretched, fingers curled like a cat's claws, a bright smile spreading across his face.

"Hehe, I bought it before. Say 'meow' now~"

Sense stared at her expressionlessly, his droopy eyelids not even twitching.

"..."

Fern stood to the side, his pale purple eyes calmly turning to Ubel.

"Miss Ubel."

Ubel turned his head to the side, his smile unchanged, his hands still teasing Sense.

"What's wrong?"

"Could you tell me more details about the battle with the Magical Special Forces?"

"Didn't the Glasses Guy already say that?"

"I'd like to hear Miss Ubel's insights," Fern's voice was steady and clear. "Also, during the battle, did you hear any sounds like the flapping of insect wings or some kind of continuous low chirping?"

Ubel's smile deepened, a knowing glint in her purple eyes. She lowered her hands, which had been making cat paw shapes, and crossed them over her chest.

"I see... No wonder I always felt something was off when I was playing. In other words, my gut feeling was right."

She tilted her head slightly.

"But even if I knew the principle behind that magic, I don't think there's any way to specifically counter it... Well, where should I begin? Well, first, I went to the Glasses Guy's village and invited him to join me in this mission--"

She drew out her words, as if she was about to launch into a long speech.

Fern interrupted her, his tone flat.

Please keep it brief.

Ubel took two steps forward, reached out a finger, and gently poked Fern's cheek. Her movement was natural, with a touch of familiar intimacy.

"Hey~ It's been so long since we last met, let's chat a little longer~"

Fern didn't flinch, but simply looked up at her, his pale purple eyes devoid of emotion.

On the other side, Red Hair leaned against the wall, his gaze still fixed on the portraits spread out on the table. His shoulder wound had been bandaged, but his movements were still somewhat hesitant.

"Find the people on the list..." he muttered, as if talking to himself, "The Imperial Capital is ridiculously big. And we've already met; the other party will definitely be hiding even more deeply."

Frieren sat in the chair opposite him, holding one of the portraits in her hand. The painting depicted a nun with her eyes closed, the brushstrokes capturing the vacant tranquility on her face.

"It's the only way we can do it," Frieren said, her gaze falling on the name label next to the portrait— Lore.

"It's better than doing nothing. This person should be the monk we encountered today. If only Fern could have locked onto her magic back then. But she was discovered by the Magical Special Forces first... When their stance is unclear, prioritizing evacuation is the right thing to do. Fern did a good job."

She looked up at the other side of the room— Fern was being poked in the face with Ubel's finger, listening quietly. Ubel, on the other hand, seemed to have started talking non-stop, gesturing as he spoke.

"You've been chatting for a long time," Frieren said softly, then turned to the red-haired man, "By the way, where's Sein?"

"They've already set off," Redhead said, his gaze sweeping over another portrait on the table—the one of the blond warrior. "After all..."

He didn't finish speaking, but his meaning was clear.

On the street, the evening breeze carried a chill.

Sein sweat beaded on his forehead. The hem of his dark blue monk's robe swayed with each step. He placed one hand on the Holy Scripture at his waist, which swayed as he ran, and his eyes quickly scanned the shops, alleyways, and sparse pedestrians on both sides of the street.

"Ha... Damn it..."

He was panting, cursing under his breath, though it was unclear who he was cursing. Sweat streamed down his face and onto his goatee, but he didn't bother to wipe it away.

"Gorilla... where the hell have you been...?"

Inside the blacksmith's shop, the furnace was blazing, casting a dark red glow on the walls.

Varos walked in, bringing with him a gust of cold street wind. He had changed into relatively clean coarse cloth clothes, but the dust and wandering air of the past years seemed to have seeped into his bones.

Kleis stood with his back to the door, hammering a red-hot iron billet. He was tall and muscular, his blond hair gleaming a dark gold in the furnace fire. Each strike was steady and heavy, sparks flying everywhere.

Varos walked to a spot a short distance behind him and stopped.

"Kleis, you can close the shop for now."

Kleis didn't stop; the hammer fell, sending another shower of sparks flying.

"What do you mean?" His voice, steady but tinged with impatience, mingled with the clanging of metal. "I need to live too, okay? Because of the Shadow Warriors mission, all my meager earnings went to pay for some drunkard's 'sister's' drinks. If I don't work, who will give me money? Especially you, you penniless vagrant."

In the shadows of the corner, Schritt sat on the ground, clutching several empty bottles, leaning against a pile of firewood. Her cheeks were flushed. Hearing this, she tilted her head back and took a swig of the half-empty bottle in her hand, then chuckled.

"Hahaha... who told me to be your most... most... most beloved little sister?" She drawled out the words, but her enunciation was still fairly clear, "Watashino-ni-sama~"

Kleis didn't even turn his head.

"How disgusting, go drink your wine."

Schritt didn't seem to mind, took another swig, and let out a satisfied sigh.

"Hahaha... That's so unfair! We're best siblings, we share joys and sorrows..."

"Go to hell, I don't drink."

Varos watched Kleis's retreating figure as he pounded his fists, and continued, "Even if Schritt is a drunkard, her swordsmanship would still rank among the top five in the entire empire."

Kleis stopped hammering, picked up the red-hot iron billet with tongs, and dipped it into a bucket of cold water beside him. A loud sizzle followed, and a plume of white steam billowed up, blurring his figure. He then turned to look at Varos. The firelight illuminated half of his rugged face; his eyes were calm, yet deep within them seemed to conceal a sharpened blade yet to be sheathed.

"You seem to know a lot. That's why that guy hasn't died yet, and he'll be perfectly fine for tomorrow's mission. But you've seen how much alcohol she drinks every day, haven't you?" He wiped the sweat from his brow. "If you've seen it, then get lost, you homeless vagrant who's interfering with our work."

Varos met his gaze, his face expressionless.

Someone is asking about you.

Kleis hung the pliers back on the shelf and picked up a cloth to wipe his hands.

"Really? Did you take care of him?"

"No," Varos said, "That was a monk with a goatee."

"..." Kleis's movements paused noticeably, but almost instantly resumed their fluidity. "So? I'm asking you, did you take care of him?"

"There were too many people around. I tried to lure him to a deserted alley, but I didn't succeed. And that guy... insisted that you were some weirdo called 'Gorilla Warrior'."

Kleis's hand-wiping motions became slow and meticulous, as if he were wiping some fragile vessel.

"... Is that so?" he said calmly. "I really had a ridiculous name when I was young. Luckily, I stopped using it a long time ago."

Varos was silent for a few seconds, as if recalling something or organizing his thoughts. The firewood crackled in the hearth.

"... He said, 'To become a hero who is forever remembered, you must have a memorable name. If someone calls him by a name other than Gorilla Warrior, he gets angry and says that he'll be forgotten.'" Varos repeated, his voice flat, but every word clear. "'That's why I forgot that guy's real name, which is completely backwards. So the person I'm looking for is Gorilla Warrior. If that guy has given up on his dream and is living happily somewhere, that's fine too. But if he's still calling himself Gorilla Warrior... then I can't fall behind him.'"

He paused, looked up, and stared at Kleis.

"'We swore an oath to become heroes remembered by posterity. By the way, I am the Goatee Priest.' -- That's what he said. It sounded like a joke, but I remember his name clearly."

The blacksmith shop fell silent. Only the Burning of the furnace and the faint, distant clamor of the marketplace drifted in from outside.

Kleis tossed the dirty rag he'd used to wipe his hands into a corner thick with coal dust. He turned around, scooped half a ladle of water from the bucket, and gulped it down. His Adam's apple bobbed powerfully.

The cool water slid down my throat.

He put down the ladle, the edge of the wooden ladle tapping against the rim of the bucket with a soft sound.

A while later...

"Why are you telling me all this?" he asked, putting down the water ladle.

"Wolf's report mentioned that the man was a monk in Frieren's group. His name is on the newly obtained list," Varos said, his tone as if stating an upcoming trivial matter. "Next time we meet, we'll deal with him."

Kleis walked back to the heavy anvil, picked up a smaller hammer, and began to trim the edge of another unfinished blade. The crisp, rhythmic clanging of the hammering resumed, filling the brief silence.

"So?" His voice mingled with the crisp tapping. "Why are you telling me this on purpose? What do you want to hear from me? Do you expect me to say 'Don't kill him'? Or 'You absolutely have to let me come'?"

Varos looked at him for a few seconds, then looked away, gazing at the tireless flames in the hearth that were relentlessly leaping and devouring the firewood.

"Really?" he said. "Then I was being nosy."

He turned and walked out of the blacksmith's shop. His footsteps made almost no sound on the ground covered with coal dust and iron filings.

He stopped at the doorway and turned half his face to the side.

"Oh, Schritt," he called to the person in the corner.

"Hmm~?" Schritt replied, her eyes glazed with drunkenness as she held the bottle of wine.

Drink less. You have a mission tomorrow.

"Okay, okay..." Schritt shook the bottle, the remaining liquid inside making a soft sloshing sound. "The last bottle, really... the last bottle..."

Varos said nothing more, pushed open the door and went out. The door hinges creaked dryly, and a gust of cold wind swept in, stirring up a small pile of ashes on the ground, before settling down as the door closed.

Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle bells.

Kleis was still hammering. The small hammer rose and fell, producing a crisp, steady, and continuous sound.

Schritt finished the last bit of wine, let out a long, satisfied sigh, hugged the completely empty bottle, curled up in the warm corner piled with firewood, closed her eyes, and seemed to fall asleep.

Only the clanging of hammering continued, filling the silence of the blacksmith's shop.

Another outpost, the rooms were small but clean.

Lore curled up on the bed, wrapping herself up tightly in the thick quilt from head to toe, forming an airtight ball. Soft, continuous rustling sounds came from under the quilt, like someone tossing and turning restlessly, or perhaps trembling.

Iris sat on the edge of the bed, holding a sandwich carefully wrapped in parchment paper. Her face wore her usual sweet, untroubled smile, and her two pale golden braids hung smoothly over her shoulders.

"Here you go, Lore, eat slowly. You need to replenish your energy~"

From the edge of the blanket, a pale, almost transparent hand timidly reached out, its fingers groping for the oil paper of the sandwich, quickly grabbing it, and then "whoosh," it retracted as fast as the antennae of a startled snail. The bundle of blankets then wriggled a few times, followed by very soft, cautious chewing sounds.

Iris looked at the bulging, slightly moving blanket and laughed even harder, her eyes curving into crescents.

"Haha~ You really won't get out of bed! So funny, so funny!" She clapped her hands gently. "Are you scared? Want to hold hands? I can give you strength~"

As she spoke, she actually extended her clean and slender hand towards the group.

Lutine stood in the shadows of the corner of the room, clutching her ever-present thick book. Her head was bowed, and her long hair fell down, obscuring most of her face.

"... No wonder." Her voice was low and her tone flat. "Miss Lore is a commander, an extremely excellent commander. In all the battles so far, no one has ever been able to truly attack her or pinpoint her location. This incident... even I find it a bit unbelievable. It's normal to be terrified in the face of that kind of attack."

Iris turned to look at her, her big eyes blinking innocently.

"Eh... but she was only hit once, right? She didn't die, Lore is actually quite lucky."

At this moment, from the edge of the ball, that fair hand quietly reached out again, its fingertips trembling slightly, hovering in the air, seemingly hesitant, or perhaps searching for something.

"Huh? Hahaha... You really let me hold it! How interesting... Then Iris will be the 'older sister'~ Lore the 'younger sister'~"

She naturally reached out and grasped that cold hand. She squeezed it gently, then used her other hand to stroke the back of Lore's hand with tenderness.

Then, she looked down at her own hands, which were holding Lore's. Her fingers were slender, her skin smooth, and her nails neatly trimmed, glowing a healthy pink in the indoor light.

"When I was caught before," Iris suddenly spoke, her voice still so sweet and light, as if telling someone else's somewhat comical story, "First the enemy used sharp iron nails, one by one, to drive into every single one of my fingernails. Then, they just... pried up all the fingernails on both my hands and peeled them off!"

As she spoke, she even looked up and smiled at Lutine, as if sharing some interesting anecdote.

"Haha, even so, I couldn't possibly reveal my comrades' locations. The commander at the time was Clematis. Although he rescued me shortly afterward and even treated me..."

"But do you know what the first thing that guy said after he healed my hand?" She tilted her head, her expression innocent. "It was, 'Okay, your hand can hold a weapon now. Let's continue the mission immediately.'"

"Hahaha, that guy's brain is definitely messed up. He wasn't fixing a broken Golem... I was in so much pain I almost cried!"

Lutine's expression remained unchanged, but she silently walked to her side and reached out to touch Iris's pale golden hair.

Iris lifted her face and gave her an even brighter smile, one that seemed to dispel all gloom.

"Hmm? Don't be like that, Lutine, haha." She withdrew her hand from Lore's and patted the back of Lutine's hand that was on her head instead. "Anyway, it's right for Lore to stay hidden. Otherwise, that guy would definitely send her on a mission without saying a word! To him, we're just pawns for carrying out missions! Okay, okay, Lore, be good, your sisters will go ask for leave for you~ You should rest well."

The scene changes.

Clematis stood in the corridor, his black priest's robes neatly pressed. He watched Iris and Lutine emerge from the room.

"Iris, how is Lore? Has she returned to her post?"

Iris's face still wore that sweet, innocent smile that seemed to never fade, as she shook her head vigorously.

"Absolutely not! She's in terrible shape; she can't concentrate at all!"

Clematis nodded, his expression solemn and contemplative, like that of a priest.

"I see. Well, gathering combat data on a mage of that level, verifying their range and accuracy, is a valuable gain. We need to rearrange the formation..." He suddenly remembered something, looked up, "Ah, speaking of which, Iris."

Iris had already grasped the doorknob, ready to leave with Lutine. Hearing the call, she turned around, her smile unchanged.

"How?"

Clematis asked with an air of matter-of-fact seriousness, "If Lore is like that, what will I do for dinner?"

Iris blinked her large, clear eyes, her smile as sweet as ever, her voice clear and melodious, her words articulated perfectly.

"I don't know, you'll starve to death."

She opened the door, walked out with Lutine, and then slammed the door shut.