Looking at Elliot's smile, Zebul felt no joy at all—only a deeper ache in her chest.
He was always like this.
As long as he managed to save everyone, even if he was on the brink of death and covered in wounds, he could still smile as if nothing was wrong.
But…
If even one of the dead had the slightest connection to him, he would be consumed by unbearable guilt.
Kindness was his greatest virtue.
And…
also his fatal flaw.
When it came to protecting others, he could stand against anything—unyielding, stronger than anything in this world.
But if he failed to protect even one person within his reach, he would become incredibly fragile… more fragile than the tip of Rupert's Tear.
He was a man full of contradictions.
"Lord Sasayuri, no matter what anyone else says, you are a hero in my eyes. At the very least, you saved my home and my child. Thank you."
"Please, don't blame yourself, my lord. You saved us, you saved this village, you saved Watatsumi Island. Don't carry this burden any longer—we'll feel even worse for you…"
"It was our mistake. Why should you bear the cost? You've done nothing wrong. Please don't blame yourself…"
"We're sorry, my lord. When you first came to Watatsumi Island, we even treated you so poorly…"
At that moment, in the eyes of the people of Watatsumi Island stood the image of a god.
Their god.
And…
their hero.
"I understand."
Meeting their eyes, Elliot gave a faint, gentle smile.
A soft summer breeze brushed against everyone's cheeks.
Leaves drifted down, landing on the water pooled around the wheat fields, sending ripples across the surface.
From the gray skies, warm golden sunlight broke through and spilled across the land.
"General, I'll be back."
"When I return, treat me to fried tofu." Elliot's smile was as warm as the morning sun.
"…Alright."
"I can't win against you—you're as stubborn as a bull."
In the end, Zebul chose to let go.
"Thank you, General," Elliot said in gratitude.
"Come back soon. We'll miss you."
"…And I'll have to figure out how to explain this to Kitsune Saiguu and the others…"
Just the thought made Zebul's head ache. Even having witnessed it herself, it was hard for her to accept—let alone explain clearly to someone else.
"Then I'll leave that to you."
"Enough, enough—if you really want to thank me, just come back early."
Elliot walked past her, stepping up to stand before the villagers.
They parted to make way for him.
Bathed in the glow of the morning sun, the path ahead looked like a stairway to heaven.
Under the silent gaze of the crowd, he walked on—steady, unhurried steps, his resolve unshaken, as if nothing could move his heart.
No one spoke to send him off. They only watched in silence, wordless, as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance.
At the shore, Elliot chose the smallest, most weathered boat. Facing the morning sun, he began to row slowly out to sea.
The dazzling light danced on the waves, spilling across his figure.
He was heading toward the sun—just as calamity had always headed toward him.