Grani and her companions had managed to escape some distance.
"Big Bob, your leg is injured."
"…It's fine. You all go on ahead, I'll find a place to rest for a while… just remember, the treasure's mine by one-third."
"Uh… you really are a bounty hunter, still so fixated on the treasure… but I see you don't have any medical supplies. Luckily, I've got some—let me at least give you a quick treatment."
Without waiting for his reply, Grani took out the medical bandages she carried with her. Kneeling down, she pressed on Bob's wounded leg and began to wrap it carefully.
"Don't! Listen, I'm an Infected!"
Big Bob tried to push her away, but to his surprise, Grani didn't flinch. She kept bandaging his wound with steady hands.
"I'm an Operator from the medical company Rhodes Island. The Infected are exactly the people we rescue. Besides, I've had proper training. There's no danger."
"…"
Big Bob was stunned, watching her focused expression as she bound his wound. A faint emotion stirred in his chest.
He hesitated for a long moment but ultimately said nothing.
After all, it wasn't just his own life he was carrying anymore—he bore the future of those comrades who had followed him in leaving Reunion.
---
"Big Bob, are we really going to leave?"
"…Mudrock, you should know this dream of theirs is nothing more than a pretty bubble—it will burst sooner or later. We just want to live quietly, without fear. Is that really so wrong?"
"…You're right. The leader's goals are far too idealistic. Following her means our lives could end up being nothing more than stepping stones toward her dream… No, worse than that—our deaths might lead only to a dead end, our sacrifice meaningless."
"You see it clearly. If we're fighting only to survive, then why should we throw our lives away in battle?"
"…"
"Besides, our leader is just an immature child. If she clings to these fantasies of hers, she'll doom us all! Reunion is stable for now only because Ursus's army is uncertain of Duke Kashchey's attitude toward her. But the moment Reunion grows strong enough to threaten the interests of the nations, she might be spared by her father's influence as a duke—but us? We'll all be dead."
"…I understand. I'll take responsibility for my people."
---
Carol told Big Bob where the treasure was hidden, then urged him to rest before heading to the meeting point.
Not long after parting ways with Grani and Carol, a group of Reunion soldiers emerged from the shadows.
"Big Bob, are you alright?" one of them asked with concern.
"I'm fine."
To reassure them, Bob even stretched his injured leg.
Forgive me. For the sake of my comrades' future—and my own—I can't let go of the treasure.
"Carol already told me the treasure's location. We'll head straight to the cave and intercept them there… If we can avoid a fight, we will. Ideally, we'll pressure them into handing over the treasure."
There was a pang of guilt in Bob's heart.
Deceiving someone like Grani, who had shown such kindness to an Infected, made him feel utterly despicable.
But he had no choice.
"Understood."
His Reunion comrades nodded. When they saw the bandage on Bob's leg—so neatly tied, so unlike his usual rough dressings—they instantly understood what it meant.
Still, for the chance to live under the sun, they had no other choice.
Big Bob and his comrades from Reunion never noticed that two strangers, completely unknown to them, had been openly eavesdropping on their secret plotting.
"…Are you sure you're really a traveler, and not just some kind of deranged voyeur?"
Surtr glared at Grim, who was crouched beside Big Bob's bandaged wound, observing closely. Her tone was sharp and hostile.
To her, Grim's air of aloof detachment and his manner of treating everything like some passing amusement gave off an instinctive feeling of disgust.
It made her uneasy on a primal level.
And yet… he had been the one to help her reorganize her memories. At the very least, she ought to treat him with some measure of courtesy.
'…But then why is Laevatain burning up like this?'
"Miss Surtr, if you want to call me a perverted voyeur, then please also remember—you're the one who willingly lets a perverted voyeur peer into your memories. That makes you the real exhibitionist here."
Grim didn't even look up from his notes as he fired back casually, leaving Surtr speechless.
'Why does this guy always pick fights like this? Is it because my disordered memories have made me unstable?'
Grim himself was puzzled. By all logic, shouldn't a normal person cling tightly to their lifeline, careful not to provoke the one holding it?
But in the months he had spent with her, Surtr had indeed carried his pack, run errands, even kept watch over him while he slept…
Ah. Perhaps he finally understood why her tone toward him was always so sharp.
'Well, whatever. Surtr can't win an argument with me anyway. Let her keep doing the tasks a proper attendant should do.'
As for why he didn't just read her mind?
Because her memories were all fragmented, scattered like loose pages in the wind. He had to painstakingly sort through which were truly hers and which belonged to others, then piece them together.
It was exhausting.
Kashchey would never waste so much energy on something so trivial.
Not when Ishar'mla was still close at hand.
---
The scene shifts back—
To the time when Kashchey served as a hidden strategist among the Seaborn in the depths of the sea.
Under his constant meddling, meant to "alleviate the burdens" of the swarm, the evolutionary pace of most Seaborn began to slow.
Some of them even turned against each other, fighting to seize nutrients for themselves.
Ishar'mla had never encountered anything like this before.
It did not know how to respond.
In its eyes, wasting nutrients was wrong. Internal strife only led to meaningless consumption of resources.
And so, Ishar'mla resolved to purge those parasites—those Seaborn who squandered food and disrupted the collective.
But standing before it, blocking its path with his own frail body, was Ig.
"Ishar'mla, you mustn't do this."
"…Why not?"
Through its exchanges with Kashchey, Ishar'mla's ability to use language had become surprisingly refined.
Whether this was a blessing or a curse for the land of Terra, none could say.
Even so, Ishar'mla still longed for that earlier state—when it had fused completely with Ig, sharing one heart, one mind.
It was an instinct born of Seaborn biology: the impulse to merge, to dedicate oneself wholly to the swarm.
"This will benefit the collective…"
Kashchey then began to whisper words into its mind: "Natural selection, survival of the fittest… intelligence is also a form of strength… show more tolerance toward your kin… give me just a little more time, and I will prove to you that this is the right path."
He sought to dissuade Ishar'mla from striking down these "buds of corruption."
And hearing Ig's words, Ishar'mla hesitated.
After all, internecine conflict among the swarm—this had never happened before.
The only possible explanation was that this Ig, who claimed to have "studied abroad" upon the land and now wished to revitalize his people, had caused it.
And Ig had already made his intentions clear to the swarm: he wished to share the knowledge he had gained of how certain land-dwelling races organized their societies, so that the swarm might adopt what was useful, discard what was not.
In this way, he would still contribute to the greater whole, without directly interfering in his kin's dedication.
'(Ursus curse)… This Seaborn is sharper than I thought. She's actually gotten much more clever… Could it be because of my communication with her? …Looks like I'd better find a chance to slip away.'