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Someone really seemed to be talking beside his ear, their voices indistinct, as though fierce winds had stretched them into shrill sounds.
A scent from his memories rose to his nose: the bitterly cold sea breeze.
Images that belonged to him and images that did not were gradually recovered, fitting together one after another like pieces of a puzzle. That was why Leodero could feel so clearly that he was slowly dying.
Dying on the level of his mind and self.
He remembered the course he had sailed countless years ago, coming from that distant ocean.
What had it been like back then... The brat called Leodero in his memories seemed to have always been barely clinging to life. Perhaps there had also been times when he was full of vigor and confidence. Perhaps it had been too long; even Leodero was somewhat uncertain about those memories of the past.
Starting a new life under this identity had happened after he landed on the Eastern Continent.
Suddenly, scarlet blood dripped onto the cold ground, corroding it like a strong acid and raising faint white vapor.
Leodero suddenly felt the presence of his body again. It had been a long time since he had seen crimson blood. With a touch of curiosity, he touched his face and, sure enough, came away with a hand covered in blood.
The space ahead of him suddenly brightened. Clouds and mist seemed to part, letting light spill down from the sky, and a figure too tall and radiant for him to make out seemed to be approaching along this road forged of sunlight. Leodero fell silent for two seconds before angrily realizing that he had never even thought of raising his head to challenge the other with his gaze. What was even more infuriating