Duke Kashchey was undergoing a peculiar sort of trial.
Every so often, his so-called "free" attendant would fall into another bout of chaotic, overlapping memories. And under the name Grim, Kashchey had no choice but to patiently extract her sense of self from that turbulent sea of recollections.
It wasn't as though he hadn't considered a permanent solution.
But her memories were simply too unpalatable to devour.
Forcing them down would be like the time Kashchey, out of idle curiosity, sampled Victoria's famed delicacy—Stargazy Pie.
Not impossible to swallow, but utterly revolting.
Worse still, her identity was entwined with those memories. Mishandle them even slightly, and her very self could be consumed.
And Kashchey had no intention of staking his own existence on someone he barely knew.
So why, then, did Grim continue to tolerate Surtr's presence at his side?
His gaze flicked, almost absently, toward the enormous sword clutched in her hands. Even with a massive travel pack strapped to her back, she refused to let go of that crimson-gold blade.
It was far too long to be meant for her alone.
And the aura it concealed made even Kashchey uneasy.
This world truly holds more unknowns than I imagined…
---
"Grim, there's a village up ahead. Should we stop and take a look?"
Surtr, sweat-drenched and breathing hard, leaned on her greatsword like a walking stick. Despite hauling his oversized travel bag across the wilderness, she still carried the blade in both hands.
Her strength, Kashchey knew, lay far more in that weapon than in her body.
"Fine. Let's rest there. Your stamina is pathetic."
"That's none of your business!"
They headed toward the village—only to find themselves surrounded by a mob of bounty hunters.
At first it looked as though the pair were about to be beaten senseless. But instead, it was the Kuranta "man" laying waste to the hunters.
With barely a glance, Grim pulled a notebook from Surtr's overloaded pack and began jotting notes with eager strokes of his pen.
"…What are you doing?"
Surtr couldn't help but ask.
After months of traveling together, she'd noticed this so-called "traveler" occasionally scribbling things down.
"I'm writing the travel journal of Terra's greatest adventurer—Mr. Grim. Every detail of my journey must be recorded."
"You? The greatest adventurer? You really are full of yourself."
Grim merely chuckled at the jab.
"Greatness begins with small steps. Even the extraordinary requires the ordinary as its foundation. Besides—what makes you think you know me so well? You're just a mere attendant. Don't question your employer."
Surtr choked on a retort.
She had to admit: she didn't know this man at all.
This strange Kuranta, with his worn brown leather jacket, sand-worn traveler's hat, and stubbled chin, was still a mystery.
But isn't 'the greatest' supposed to be a title others give you, not something you proclaim yourself…?
She bit back the complaint, letting it echo only inside her head. For all her irritation, she couldn't deny she relied on him.
In fact, for the first time she could remember, her mind had been free of chaos for months.
For the first time, she truly felt like herself—not a fragment of someone else lost within that storm of memories.
The battered bounty hunters looked on with fury, realizing these two strangers didn't even place them in their eyes.
The rage they had been holding back—after their target was snatched away by that "man"—finally boiled over, robbing them of reason.
"Damn you! You two bastards really think we don't matter at all!"
"Foolish creatures."
Surtr set her travel pack down and wrapped her hands around the massive sword.
"Laevatain!"
---
"Enya, what kind of gift should one bring when visiting a friend's home?"
Enya was diligently working on translating old texts, all while enduring Kjera's constant interruptions.
She had long grown tired of her endless chatter.
Can't you stop disturbing me every time I work?!
But Enya dared not say it aloud, and instead voiced her protest through silence.
Since that god called Mobius had departed, Lord Kjera was no longer the composed, all-capable chief attendant she once knew.
Now she seemed more like someone facing their first-ever visit to another's home—nervous, restless, and constantly talking to ease the tension.
Though… like this, Lord Kjera feels far less distant. Almost… approachable.
Enya found herself thinking quietly.
"Enya, I'll handle these old records. You just help me think about the gift."
A pen suddenly appeared in Kjera's hand. She took Enya's manuscript, glanced over it once, and then her pen flowed smoothly across the page.
Within moments, she had completed what would normally take Enya a whole day.
"..."
"Don't be discouraged. These ancient tongues are ones I've already mastered. Unlike you, I don't need to look up annotations. With a few decades of effort, you can reach the same level."
Enya looked at Kjera with complicated feelings.
This was the first time she had ever helped her with the duties of a Saintess.
And perhaps… she was the only Saintess who had ever received such help.
Is this question truly so important to Lord Kjera?
No—I mustn't let my thoughts stray. That would be blasphemy against the divine.
So she quickly gathered her mind and asked:
"I wonder… what Lord Mobius might like?"
"Uh…"
At those words, Kjera fell silent, lost in thought.
She realized, to her surprise, that she didn't actually know what Kashchey liked.
Every time Kashchey(Mobius) visited, he would bring tales of distant lands and curiosities from the outside world.
In return, Kjera would prepare the delicacies and books unique to Kjerag.
"…Does that mean she likes food and culture?"
Why does that sound like a question? Aren't you two supposed to be close? Enya muttered inwardly.
But before she could respond, Kjera was already talking to herself again.
"No… she's been here so many times already. By now she's more than familiar with Kjerag's food and culture."
As Kjera sank into deeper thought, Enya hesitantly offered a suggestion:
"Perhaps you could infer her tastes from her identity, my lord."
"Thank you, Enya."
In that instant, inspiration struck Kjera.
For her, the time before she had fully established herself had been an agonizing period.
The clash of instinct and reason, the fractured memories, the incomplete sense of identity—all of it had been torment.
And Mobius… Mobius was likely her kin, of the same kind.
Which meant she too must be enduring that same unimaginable suffering even now.
I must help Mobius establish her true self.
Kjera thought firmly.
That would surely be the perfect gift for her.
"Enya… tell me, is it better to have a close female friend, or a friend of the opposite sex?"
"...Lord Kjera, please reconsider!"