### Chapter Sixty: Sword Demon (Part 2)
Crackle, crackle—
The campfire sways gently in the night breeze, its flames dancing with glee.
The venison sizzling on the fire is getting a bit charred, the blackened exterior glistening with a mouthwatering golden hue. I sprinkle on the last bit of salt, give it another turn, and remove a stick with some twigs that are on the verge of becoming charcoal. Puffing my cheeks out, I blow a few breaths to clear off some ash that clings to the meat.
The steaming chunks of meat on the stick feel almost cold to me. I grab one, consider it for a moment, and toss it across to the female swordsman sitting opposite me. Then, using both hands, I hold the stick with three hefty pieces of meat—longer than my arm—and proceed to manage the charred bits before opening my mouth wide, eager to take a bite.
“Chew… chew… chew…”
As I chew, my little face scrunches up. “Ugh…”
I might have overdone it with the salt…
But the grimace is just a fleeting moment; my brows quickly relax.
…Salty, but oh so fragrant!
“That night, they thought I wouldn’t survive, so they tossed me into the fire…”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the female swordsman accept the meat, but perhaps she’s not very hungry, or maybe the meat’s too hot to handle because she doesn’t eat it right away. Instead, she gently cradles the chunk in her hands as if it were a precious gem, treating it with utmost care.
It’s almost an unconscious act. Her mind clearly isn’t on food at the moment—she speaks softly while exploring an area on her back concealed by her cloak, and to my surprise, she retrieves a bundle wrapped in red floral cloth that looks a bit hick.
“They don’t know what my original home was like, how many times I’ve been through similar situations. I’ve lost count.”
As she speaks, she hugs her sword tightly, steadies the bundle in her lap, and slowly unwraps it, revealing… is that a flatbread?
Flatbread?
In any case, it looks like a hard, dry disc.
There are two pieces, slightly larger than my palm, thick, and with a sturdy feel. One of them has a bite taken out of it and was wrapped tightly, giving the impression that it was being fussed over as she unwraps it with a strange seriousness.
It’s a bit amusing, a little bittersweet, and with her delivery of seemingly plain yet heavy words, if I had seen this scene in the past, I might have felt a flicker of empathy. But now, I can only occasionally attempt to recall the fiery person I once was, battling against the indifference that has long settled in my heart.
The female swordsman places the chunk of venison on the bitten piece of flatbread, wraps the rest up again, and tucks it away at her waist.
“It was just being burned once; if you can endure the pain, hold your breath, and stay awake, there’s a chance to survive… But those clergymen can’t imagine this. They’re way too careless…”
As she speaks, she slowly rolls up the sleeve of her right arm.
In the firelight, I see her entire right arm covered in a gruesome array of scars with all sorts of nasty shapes. There are kn*fe wounds and old scars likely from beasts, and the ugliness of those scars is nearly overshadowed by even uglier burn marks, with shivers running down my spine as they stretch from her forearm to her upper arm and into what’s hidden by her clothing.
I then notice that even her neck and right ear are marred by nasty-looking scars, faintly tinged with a reddish hue.
“I’ve done wrong, I know.”
She shows me her wounds for just a moment before quickly rolling her sleeve back down. Her hands fidget, as if they don’t know where to go, instinctively shrinking back into her cloak. Despite her effort to appear nonchalant, I catch that brief flash of discomfort and awkwardness she emits.
“Even if they did k*ll me, burn me… I wouldn’t have anything to say about it. That’s just how the world is—survival of the fittest… Once you get in the way of others, you put your life on the line. I understood this from a very young age… So I don’t hate them for trying to k*ll me…”
The female swordsman pauses and looks up at the moonlight.
“I only hate them for killing me too quickly, leaving my sickly mother all alone…”
The cool night breeze seeps in, an unwelcome chill on my heart.
“Glug.”
I swallow a bite of roasted venison, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, the earlier raw bloodlust melting away as I savor the tasty meat mingled with the words she stumbles through.
“So, is that your reason for killing those knights?” I glance at her.
“Not really.”
The female swordsman shakes her head. “They want to send refugees to the Silent Fortress; I just want to save people.”
“…Save people?”
That word piques my interest. “What’s going on at the Silent Fortress?”
I have a rough idea.
From that letter, from Rect’s investigation, the things he had told me about the church, or Angel; what exactly have they been up to in this tragic gathering place after wars and disasters? I have some inkling.
However, I have no clue how serious it has gotten…
But now it seems this female swordsman unexpectedly knows a bit more than I thought; I didn’t expect her reasons for acting to stem from here.
If that’s the case, then whatever is happening over there is something even a “defector” Pope Knight like Rect could be aware of, which means the situation is likely much worse than I anticipated…
I stop eating and lean in to listen.
“…I don’t know.”
The reply catches me off guard.
I’m a bit speechless; it feels like I’ve choked on venison, my eyes rolling involuntarily. “You don’t know?”
“Yeah.”
“And yet you say you want to save people?”
“I do want to save people…”
“You know nothing, so what gives you the right to say you’re saving people?”
“Uh…”
“…What does that ‘uh’ mean?”
“Save people…”
“?”
I stare at her, eyes wide.
“I want to save those refugee children.”
Noticing my odd gaze, the female swordsman lifts her head slightly to meet my eyes. She brushes aside hair blown by the wind, awkwardly placing her hands on her stomach, her seated body shifting uneasily as she draws her knees up tighter while clutching her sword closer.
In her somewhat purplish pupils, I can tell she still feels uneasy—nervousness mixed with a hint of confusion, all clamoring in her mind. It’s as if she’s trying to answer me seriously, yet my apparent misunderstanding leaves her bewildered, unsure of how to continue.
The air hangs thick, and we gaze at each other for a few seconds. Just when I’m about to lose my patience, I suddenly notice her brow lift slightly, as if she finally grasped something.
“It’s very dangerous over there…”
“…Huh?”
The conversation stutters before picking back up, leaving me a bit rattled as I take another bite of the venison and send her a questioning look.
She reiterates, “The Silent Fortress is very dangerous.”
…Very dangerous?
“What exactly is dangerous?” I ask.
The female swordsman thinks for a moment before responding, “I don’t know.”
“……”
After a brief pause, seeing my displeasure, she quickly adds, “It’s just a feeling.”
“……”
…A feeling?
Suddenly, I feel like I’m being played.
