In this world that worships appearances, crying yields very different results depending on who's doing it. You can't expect people to fawn over a burly man sobbing his heart out the same way they would a cute girl with tear-filled eyes and a trembling voice.
So, even though Ivan's complaints were heart-wrenching, enough to make men go silent and women tear up, Allen remained utterly unmoved.
What could he do? First of all, Ivan simply didn't have the tear-streaked, rain-kissed charm of an adorable girl. It was hard to feel sympathy for a guy like him.
But more importantly, and this was the real reason, Allen knew how it all ended.
Sure, he only knew what had happened in the Muggle world, but that was more than enough for him to speculate on what went down in the wizarding world. Without a doubt, Ivan's side was the one that won in the end!
This was like someone crying to you after an exam, saying how impossible the test was, how many questions they couldn't answer, how they were going to fail for sure, only for the results to come back and they're ranked second in the whole class!
People like that deserve to be throttled!
Knowing how things turned out, Allen had absolutely no interest in getting involved.
What kind of joke was this? In a war that could reshape the world, trying to stir things up was the fastest way to get yourself killed. You could kill one person, ten people, even a hundred, but the enemy would just keep coming. That's the nasty part of fighting against an organized force.
Not to mention, Allen hadn't even inherited Sun Wukong's power yet, and even if he had, it would've been the nerfed version from Valoran. By the time it got nerfed again for this world? Yeah... forget it. He was no match.
In a conflict between two powerful factions, someone like Allen would be considered a mercenary, officially. Unofficially? Cannon fodder. Don't even think about playing hero or reaping easy benefits.
So, after Ivan's long and passionate monologue, all he got in return was a dozen yawns and a dry "Good night" from Allen.
Patting Tibbers on the head, Allen lay down next to the makeshift haystack and quickly drifted off to sleep.
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The next morning,
Allen awoke to the faint light of dawn. He stretched out his sore muscles, compliments of the less-than-comfortable bed, and freshened up with conjured water. As always: Magic, making life better.
It was only now that he had a moment to observe his surroundings. A thin layer of mist hung in the air, and the sharp chill of the forest wind cut through his clothes like knives.
...Hmm? Something felt off.
Allen scanned the area again. They were in a sparse stretch of wilderness, barely any grass, just lots of exposed stone. Not far away was a small forest, the one where they'd collected firewood the day before.
Annie was still fast asleep. She wasn't like Allen, his body had recovered thanks to the battle-born energy pulsing in his veins. Not only had it healed his injuries, but the excess magic left behind from his blood magic ritual still granted him a decent power boost.
Unlike other disciplines, blood magic requires one's blood to circulate in a very specific way. It prevented the body from being overwhelmed by the influx of power, exactly what Allen was doing now.
Even though his body had mostly recovered, his magic reserves were still less than 30%. So, despite not seeing any immediate danger, the unease in his gut prompted him to enter his blood mage state.
But still... nothing out of place. The only large lifeforms he could detect were himself, Annie, Ivan, and Tibbers. So where was that creeping sense of dread coming from?
"Sir! I found food!" Ivan came bounding over, proudly holding two rabbits.
...Again with the rabbits? Was he at war with them or something?
Wait, rabbits?
Why was a rabbit-like magical signature coming from... up in a tree?
What kind of rabbit climbs trees like a monkey?! What is this, some new species called "monkey-rabbit"?
A streak of blood-red light flew out from Allen's hand toward the source of the anomaly. Anyone that well-hidden and that sneaky wasn't coming over to say good morning. No way. If that was their idea of a greeting, then Allen's spell was the equivalent of a friendly slap on the shoulder.
But the moment his spell launched, Allen realized something worse, the fog wasn't natural. It was magical. And in it, his blood spell quickly lost control and dissolved into the mist.
Damn it! That idiot Ivan, we're surrounded and he still has time to go rabbit hunting?
With fog this thick, how could he not realize something was wrong? The wind had picked up, fog shouldn't even be here right now!
To Allen's surprise, though, there was no incoming attack. Instead, the shadow he'd sensed bolted, darting from the tree like a startled squirrel.
...Seriously? They went to all the trouble of conjuring magic-blocking fog just to sneak a peek at him and then flee?
What, was he supposed to clutch his heart and blush like his heart was fluttering because of some mysterious admirer?
Allen didn't think he was ugly, sure, but he wasn't that handsome either. He wasn't going to save the world with his looks. Come on, how good-looking would you have to be for that? Even a golden boy like Lancelot only ever attracted sorceresses and cursed queens, not a single dark lord, and he had the 'plot armor' buff going for him
After confirming no enemies remained, a frustrated Allen marched over, ready to chew Ivan out. This was for his own good, being so careless in a warzone was a one-way ticket to an early grave. They were only months away from the final conflict. Didn't he want to live to see it?
But before Allen could begin his scolding, he learned he'd made a mistake.
The mist wasn't conjured at all. It was natural.
"This forest is exactly why that traitor dared to escape here," Ivan explained. "In the early morning, the fog erases all traces of magic. What he didn't count on was us sticking so close to him. Too bad... for Lord Valentine."
His voice cracked with emotion.
And it wasn't fake, Allen noticed a faint trace of crushed cornflower petals on Ivan's wizard robes.
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