"You can choose to stay. That little girl is in love with you. You helped them defeat the giant beast that invaded, opened up fields for them, and cleared the contamination and hidden dangers from the mineral veins. You saved her twice and her people three times. All you need to do is nod, and this town will be your estate from now on."
Swords had words, but a sword's words were heard by no one else.
And the girl's words were meant only for the sword.
"She doesn't love me. She only loves my strength. She just wants a source of support, using that support to bring prosperity to herself and her town."
"Isn't your strength part of you? Liking you because of your strength is no different from liking you because of your wisdom, character, or appearance. Why are you so opposed to it?"
"That may be true for other people, but not necessarily for me." The girl lightly clenched her fist, and the gravel and weeds before her burned and melted. A path overflowing with flames immediately stretched out from beneath her feet, extending toward the distance.
"Strength is an excellent cosmetic. Under its embellishment, poor eloquence becomes aloofness. Hesitation becomes a deep and calculating mind. Stupidity and shortsightedness are taken for single-minded dedication. Laziness and recklessness are regarded as bravery and biding one's time—I know exactly what kind of person I am. In my previous life, people like me were called losers, wastes, parasites on society. And now, I've merely put on a layer of makeup that is difficult to wash away."
"But you still saved that town. You fought a monster far stronger than you were back then, endured filth despite your aversion to it, and cleansed the corruption and contamination in the Ley Line. You set aside your pride and personally reclaimed the wasteland, using shovels and picks to open up enough land to feed the entire town before the first snow fell—your blood and sweat were by no means false. You have no reason to belittle yourself like this."
"You are a strong person in your own right."
"Strong? I don't think so. I simply don't care whether I live or die." The girl's ankle stepped over the lava, the searing fluid washing over her feet. A cold wind blew from the distance, and the molten fire beneath her feet silently solidified. "This world is like a mayfly's dream. Perhaps when I open my eyes tomorrow, I'll lose all my strength. Perhaps I'll return to that apartment and face that fire once more with a frail body. Perhaps... Perhaps there are many possibilities."
"I'm not afraid of bleeding, because death is something that will inevitably belong to me. I'm not afraid of sweating, because fatigue is something that will inevitably belong to me. I don't fear dirt and don't care about my dignity, because filth and shame are things that are destined to belong to me. But I'm afraid of losing things, because I can't be sure whether love and affection will ever belong to me."
"I'm a coward, Laevateinn. The only thing I learned in my previous life was not to mistake my own feelings for someone else's. And at least until now, no person or thing has been able to prove that lesson wrong."
The cold wind grew sharper, and snow began to drift silently from the sky. Flecks of white stained the barren earth, making the path ahead—which had never existed in the first place—even more indistinct.
"You don't believe in your strength. You don't believe in your wisdom. You don't believe in the experience and blood you've accumulated. You don't believe that you're already completely different from your past self. Is that it?"
"I was so mediocre in my previous life. It's difficult for me to make much progress in this one, either. Flame, body, dream—I can name at least a thousand people who would definitely do better than me after obtaining everything I possess. I know my own limitations, Laevateinn. I know what position I should be in."
"But have you ever considered that perhaps, apart from you, there simply isn't anyone else qualified to draw me?"
"That is for you to decide, not me. Laevateinn, my view from the past hasn't changed—I don't believe justice will naturally triumph over evil. I don't believe that making an effort will necessarily bring a reward. I don't believe tomorrow will be better than today. Even if you left my side right now, taking all my strength, skills, and knowledge with you, I would calmly face the outcome of freezing to death alone in the snow and having my bones gnawed by beasts and vermin. Because from the very beginning, I had prepared myself mentally to lose everything and be left with nothing."
The sword fell silent for a long time, while more and more snow descended from the sky. Before long, the light snowfall became heavy snow, and the heavy snow turned into a violent storm.
And the girl continued forward.
Forward, aimlessly forward.
At the height of the blizzard's fury, the girl heard the sword whisper beside her ear.
"You're truly pitiful, Surtr."
"I won't deny it. Besides, apart from you, there isn't even another person in this world to pity me."
"...You're truly pitiful."
Miss Surtr blinked. Some hazy memory seemed to churn in her mind, then turned to shattered ice and vanished before it could surface like a fish breaking the water. She felt a little familiar, a little melancholy. There was some coldness, yet within that coldness was also a trace of warmth.
Warmth.
The only warmth beside her was the burning sword.
Laevateinn.
Laevateinn always remained silently by her side.
Sometimes, when she was alone, she even felt that Laevateinn might speak. Yet after a long stretch of awkward silence, it proved that she had merely been tense.
Ah... She was getting sidetracked, getting sidetracked. Back to the matter at hand—The girl shook her head, and her consciousness returned to clarity. Her gaze then dropped, looking down upon the earth from the heights.
She stood quietly atop a high-rise, at the point where the winds and clouds gathered above its roof. She looked down at the building, taking in the scene of a parent and child reuniting—W had fulfilled her promise. When Surtr reached the vicinity of Misha's mark, she saw Misha, Misha's father, and Alex, who had removed his mask—the former Reunion Movement executive officer FrostNova's father, sister, and brother. The three of them had put aside their former grievances and embraced one another.
A happy family, a happy ending. The least imposing boss in the Reunion Movement had finally found a place to belong. Perhaps Alex would appear on Rhodes Island's treatment list in the future. But just as in the game, there probably wouldn't be any more scenes of him crossing swords with Rhodes Island.
This was a good thing, something worth celebrating.
"So W can be reliable sometimes after all."
She praised her softly, then silently descended from where the clouds and wind converged. When she landed atop the building, she slightly pivoted her heel. The shift in her position caused a gust of wind to sweep past her.
She reached out and caught it.
"A jack-in-the-box." Miss Surtr's lips twitched. When the small box before her opened, a clown with an exaggerated grin sprang out—this really was an ordinary jack-in-the-box, not W's second skill from the game that planted proximity mines. She immediately closed the box again and put it in her pocket.
"I made it myself. Not bad, right?"
W's voice rang out. The white-haired Sarkaz woman with red highlights was quietly leaning against a pillar at the top of the building. She looked toward the distant Sarcophagus, her eyes filled with reminiscence and confusion.
"If you don't mind, keep it. Someone as stiff as you should find yourself a little fun every now and then."
Stiff? Surtr didn't think so. However, she had no intention of arguing over such an unimportant detail. The flame-haired Sarkaz nodded. Even she could hear the unnaturalness in W's voice. She heard sorrow, hesitation, and a trace of the desire to leave.
W seemed to be planning to leave this place.
"Persephone has woken up. Aren't you going to see her?" Surtr asked directly, without hiding anything.
"I used to want to, but now I'm not sure." W turned her head and looked down at the city beneath her—the streets, once under the threat of a Catastrophe, with everyone in danger and chaos and violence everywhere, had now become orderly and harmonious. Guided by drones, people lined up to head to shelters throughout the city. Soldiers, police, and the 'concerned citizens' who had still been wearing masks not long ago were maintaining order, punishing violence, treating the injured, and transporting supplies—and a city like this was rare even in Victoria or Yan when facing a Catastrophe.
"I originally wanted to find her, grab her by the collar, and choke her while demanding answers—why wasn't she there when Her Highness Theresia was assassinated? Why had Her Highness not had a single guard by her side? Why had Her Highness, despite being one of the world's foremost casters, fallen to such a group of third-rate assassins?"
"I originally wanted to ask her all that... Then, regardless of how she answered, I would punch her in the stomach or stab her. Since you're here, even if I wanted to kill her, I couldn't, right?"
Surtr wanted to say that W could kill her if she wanted, but considering that the timeline would ultimately converge on the one where Persephone survived—and that running through multiple cycles was genuinely boring—she could only leave the question unanswered.
And that seemed to count as tacit agreement.
W shook her head.
"But when I walked along this street and saw what she had done, saw this city on the verge of collapse gradually recover under her guidance—even reaching the point where, even without your intervention, it could preserve most of itself through the Catastrophe—I hesitated."
"If Her Highness were here, facing the same scene, then what she did would definitely be exactly the same as what Persephone did. Or, to be a little fairer, perhaps Her Highness wouldn't have done as well as her. After all, even I can't deny her talent. There are some things she truly can do better than anyone."
"Then... could Persephone, who is doing what Her Highness Theresia would have done, be considered an extension, a remnant, or even... a successor of Her Highness?"
"You can understand this kind of thing too, Surtr. After all, you've already reached the pinnacle of the world. Even if you withdrew from the world right now, the traces you've left behind would not disappear. People would fear you, worship you, and write you into the stories and legends of every civilization. The traces you left behind in battle would become holy sites, and altars or monuments would be built wherever you once set foot... Even if you weren't here, the traces you'd left behind could still represent your will and beliefs. And could those who imitated you and did what you would have done also be considered your continuation?"
Surtr didn't answer—she seemed a little surprised. W didn't notice her expression.
No, W wasn't paying attention to anything at all. She merely kept her head lowered, speaking in a murmur.
"Putting it so fancifully doesn't suit me. But I..." W's expression became conflicted, yet she eventually relaxed her brow with a long sigh.
"...I hesitated."
"Her Highness is gone. No matter how many people I kill, she won't come back. But if she still has successors, if her ideals and path are still being carried on, then could Her Highness... be considered to be living on in another way? I'm not sure about it. But I won't destroy it."
Before you continue