179. Counting the Stars.
*
-Rustle.
In the dense coniferous forest, men cloaked in white moved silently through the snow-covered mountains, their steps muffled. They were on edge, wary of any noise that might give them away, advancing cautiously.
-Caw, caw.
A crow cawed. Since ancient times, crows were considered sacred messengers of Botan, a good omen for warriors. The lead warrior nodded, looking straight ahead.
He wiped the snow off his axe to dull its reflection, then slowly raised it. Beyond the bushes, a few cabins came into view.
“Count to three, then charge.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Around the cabins, the stumps of felled trees were visible. The cabins were neatly maintained, showing no signs of age except for the snow covering them. They hadn’t been built long ago.
“One.”
This pursuit had been meticulously planned. They had backtracked every possible escape route the survivors of Hazart Devan could have taken, finally arriving here.
The warriors of Hazart Kazal were certain that today would bring glorious slaughter.
“Two, three. Charge!”
“For Sadarkelisa!!”
“For Botan! Die, you losers!!”
The men hidden in the bushes surged forward, weapons raised. They expected the enemy to panic, scatter, and be torn apart in a bloody mess.
“…?”
But there was no response. Thrown axes and daggers shattered the cabin windows, and flaming arrows pierced the roof, yet the area remained eerily silent.
“Break down the door!!”
The warrior gritted his teeth and shouted. This couldn’t be happening! There was no other place for them to hide. Any other suitable hiding spots were uninhabitable.
It was simple logic. A place easy to hide in, easy to escape from, with abundant resources to survive for months. The warrior was known for his sharp mind within the clan, and this mission should have been a straightforward task.
-Thud, crash!
The warriors hacked at the door with their axes, and finally, the interior was revealed. Broken furniture and scattered throwing axes filled the space… but no one was there. Absolutely no one.
“Damn it!”
-Crash!
The warrior angrily struck a nearby tree stump. Snow cascaded down, covering his head.
“Damn it, again! Again! These damn rats!!”
He should have calmly searched for traces of life inside the cabin or tracked nearby signs, but the warrior had lost his composure. Days of exhausting pursuit had led to nothing but failure.
Seven raids, seven failures. The warrior brushed the snow off his face and sighed.
“I’m going to die of frustration.”
Above the warrior’s head, on a massive coniferous tree branch, a small bud peeked out, ready to bloom.
*
-Pop!
A red rose burst forth among the white mist flowers. Freya sat cross-legged, eyes closed, and spoke softly across the flower-covered table.
“Hazart Devan, total 342. Combat-ready personnel: 127. Expected to join in three days.”
The fact that over half of the 350 refugees could be mobilized for war was a testament to the northerners’ warlike nature. Kirhas felt a mix of confusion and amusement at this unexpected calculation.
For over a thousand years, perhaps nearly two thousand, the Asir clan had exerted vast influence over the north. They instilled a culture of paranoia, bordering on madness, beyond mere martial spirit.
Every individual was a potential soldier. A culture that revered strength. A religion that worshipped warriors. Though it began as a defense against demons, now, even farmers or women drawing water could become elite soldiers if handed a weapon.
She quickly glanced at other parts of the map. Yellow dots, like blooming forsythia, represented potential allies. Scattered across the southern region were remnants and refugees fleeing Hazart Kazal’s war of extermination.
-Pop!
A blue iris joined the forsythia. Soon, both flowers faded, replaced by mist flowers. It signaled that allies were attempting to contact and merge with other refugees.
-Creak.
On the massive table, the blooming flowers constantly shifted. Irises, snowdrops, chrysanthemums, yellow roses, sunflowers, dandelions. Cosmos, lilies, foxgloves, snowdrops… A riot of colors bloomed, wilted, and bloomed again, their fragrances dizzying.
Amidst the tangled leaves and branches, withered flowers served as the foundation for new buds. This map, viewed by the gods, depicted the entire northern region…
‘Your Excellency…’
A gloomy blue claw moved slowly across the table. Its movement on the map indicated an impossibly fast maneuver, considering the scale.
Among the blue flowers representing allies, a deep indigo claw stood out, almost black. It symbolized Fernandez.
‘Stay safe.’
Kirhas closed her eyes briefly, praying for her master, who was relentlessly advancing northward beyond the red flower graves at the map’s center.
When she opened her eyes again, simply checking Fernandez’s location was enough rest for her.
“Arne. Take twelve warriors and head east for two days, ignoring all obstacles. Search the valley along the northern ridge of the seventh hill you encounter, rescue the refugees, and rejoin the main force. You must follow the southern ridge for a day before turning toward the main force.”
“Yes, Commander.”
A warrior waiting behind her for orders bowed and left after hearing the interpreter’s words. Kirhas didn’t bother to turn and watch them go.
Next, next, and next. As long as Fernandez didn’t stop, neither would she. She would eat and sleep right here, in front of the map.
Fernandez’s last command before leaving was to secure as many allies as possible with minimal losses. That was all, and the words he had spoken the night before.
‘I believe in you.’
To repay that trust. To repay the warmth of his hand that had caressed her. Kirhas continued the command while looking at the map.
*
Up in the tree, Fernandez was slowly catching his breath. He had been running at full speed for two days straight while also avoiding the eyes of others. It wasn’t an easy march for Diemonica either.
For someone in the body of an ordinary person, it could even be called harsh. He looked at Abel, who was panting with a pale complexion.
Considering the backlash after using magic, Abel is the best companion. The use of Rune Glyphs burns the nerves, and from his perspective, it greatly weakens him in direct combat afterward. He needed the support of solid strength rather than magic or other means.
From that point of view, he could never leave Abel behind, who holds an advantage over Diemonica in swordsmanship and close combat. However, when not in the form of a dragon, she only has the stamina of an ordinary person.
“Are you okay?”
“Romantic… Huh, sorry. I’m a bit out of breath. Hmm. Isn’t it romantic?”
Abel, sitting against a thick branch, caught her breath and looked at Fernandez. The dense coniferous forest, the grueling march running across trees, required not just simple strength and stamina but also immense concentration to avoid slipping on the wet tree trunks.
Even in the midst of that, she smiled softly, her eyes shining.
“Romantic?”
“Yes. The air is cold, and the forest is clear. If it were the time when I held fire, I wouldn’t know, but now I can feel this scenery as it is… No. I can feel it from the perspective of you humans. The human perspective and human senses… This is the world you see.”
Abel stretched with a sigh. Her straight back trembled slightly as her muscles relaxed.
“Sharing the same view, tasting the same air, leaving the same memories. Fernandez. I find this moment incredibly romantic. Do you feel the same?”
Fernandez took a moment to choose his words. She was always direct, yet never lost her elegance as she approached him. It wouldn’t be right to answer lightly or carelessly.
But… He recalled the first time he met Freya. She had said, ‘The appearance of the one you love most.’ It was Aria’s face, and the anger and regret he felt upon seeing it were more than just memories.
The Great Wilderness, the life in Mumto’s illusions came to mind. Moments that couldn’t be called mere fantasies or distorted memories and experiences. The trigger that allowed him to escape that space was the memory of Abel…
Even if it was just an illusion. Even if it was just an illusion built on the memories of his past life… Could the masterpiece of a master painter be a mere imitation of reality?
Faijashi had assured him, ‘We are no longer the same people.’ Yet, his past life was his foundation and basis. He couldn’t deny the past, nor did he want to. Regret was his driving force, and remorse was his justification.
“I can tell what you’re thinking.”
Abel smiled warmly. Her blue eyes seemed to hold a tinge of sadness, yet also sparkled with joy. In truth, she was feeling both conflicting emotions simultaneously.
At this moment, resentment and sorrow for a man thinking of another woman. And joy in the fact that his sincerity was evident in his refusal to hide his purity and earnestness.
“I don’t want to paint over your thoughts and feelings with my colors. Fernandez. I don’t want to force only myself upon you.”
Dragons are a long-lived race, closer to still life than living beings. In ancient times, dragons were as natural as the scenery, simply existing in their place. They had a different perspective, a different texture from the fleeting mortals who sparkled with the joys and sorrows of life.
Humans expressed this as the unique leisureliness of long-lived races, but that’s not true. Dragons are a race that brews and savors their emotions more deeply and intensely.
“The night sky is beautiful.”
“…Indeed.”
Abel turned her gaze to the sky. She reached out her finger to point at a corner of the night sky. Towards the constellation she had once pointed out on a night in the wasteland, not so long ago.
The Abelas constellation. She traced a long line of golden and blue stars with her finger.
“There are so many stars. Do you know? The northern constellations are in different positions from those on the continent.”
“I know. The celestial sphere changes shape depending on latitude.”
“That’s not the complicated story I meant… You sometimes use words that are too unromantic.”
Abel muttered quietly. Fernandez chuckled at her. She spread her palm and waved it over the night sky as if painting over it.
“Once, long ago, while gazing at the sky, I suddenly thought this. The further north I go, the more stars I don’t know. And if I go south, it would be the same. How many new stars are there in that night sky? And how many new constellations could be drawn?”
Abel’s hair fell and brushed against her cheek. She gently swept it back and turned her head towards Fernandez. Her wheat-like hair swayed in the night breeze, and her sky-blue eyes sparkled in the darkness.
“You know a lot, so can you tell me?”
“…Countless.”
From the perspective of modern astronomy, no. From the perspective of near-future astronomy. The stars in the night sky are more numerous than what the eye can see. In Faijashi’s time, when magic was advanced, there were many observation tools superior to the naked eye.
Therefore, Fernandez knew that counting them would be meaningless. A single point of light could be three stars clustered together or just a small dust cloud.
As Fernandez was about to give a different answer, Abel’s fingers brushed against the hair by his ear.
“I know there’s someone else in your heart. And that there’s no time to pour into personal feelings. I already know. But Fernandez… The number of stars in that one night sky, even half of that. No, even if that’s too much, just half of that…”
Or even just half of that half.
“Just think of me that much.”
“Abel…”
“I won’t hear an answer. You bad guy. I was the first, and now I have to be the one to say this to the man who boldly took it away.”
Abel turned her gaze back to the sky. The wind blew. Her hair scattered like a canopy. Diemonica’s unique dynamic vision caught the glimmering teardrops among her hair.
What should I say? As I pondered over the words, it felt like the time to answer had already passed. Silence lingered between them. It wasn’t an awkward or uncomfortable silence, but a quietness like the sweet dream of a deep night.
The night deepened, and a meteor streaked across the sky, drawing a long line.
It was a northern winter night.
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