Sword of Resolve

1

Two days later, after wasting three sheets of drawing paper, Cleo had finally finished a self-portrait. He compared the drawing with his face reflected back in the blade of the adamantite sword. On Roselyne’s request, the Cleo on paper was smiling. But the reflected face was of a furrowed brow.
He wouldn’t call it a failure, but he didn’t think it was well done either.
(In the first place, there’s no way you’d get a good painting, drawing the likes of my face…)
But Roselyne was happy. She held the painting up high, spinning round and round with a delightful laugh. And there, her face suddenly warped—or so it looked. It was a face that looked like it was to burst into tears, taking Cleo by surprised.
Roseyne stopped spinning, she embraced the painting to her chest and looked straight at Cleo

“Thank you, Cleo. I’ll treasure it to the day I die.”

On her face was the usual smile.
(What… was I imagining things?)

Roselyne carefully folded the picture and tucked it away in the pocket of the raincoat.

“So, like, I’m not saying this is a trade, but I’ll take you to a nice place. But could you want a bit? A little bit more, if possible, until the blue roses bloom.”

To Cleo, it was more than enough that his painting brought her joy. By no means did he wish for anything in return. Whatever the case, her secretive tone did draw his interest, and while he asked where she planned to take him, Roselyne shook her head left and right.

“I can’t tell you yet… but it’s a place you wanted to go.”

Beaming off her sharp canines, she wouldn’t give him any further details. There weren’t any bells ringing for Cleo, so he tilted his head. Did he ever say he wanted to go somewhere?

2

Two weeks went by. Day by day, the leaves of the trees were touched by a reddened hue. In no time at all, it had spread through the forest as a whole. Standing on the ‘Cliff with Pretty Sunrise’, gazing out over the full surface of fall colors, Cleo leaked a sky.
(How beautiful…)
The vibrant reds to shock one awake, the somewhat light reds, the dull reds. Or perhaps orange, yellow. Various colors dyed the leaves, flaring up the forest of autumn. The faint remnants of green provided a nice accent. He gazed out over it day after day, but he couldn’t feel himself growing sick of the sights. He painted pictures in a trance. He painted numerous pictures. His red paints were emptying out at an alarming rate. Looking over the finished picture, Cleo was largely satisfied. He would definitely never have been able to paint such a painting if he stayed at the Grant House mansion. Today’s workmanship was especially nice, so he wanted Roselyne to see it with all due haste. He turned and searched her out. Usually, close behind him, she’d been waiting at the edge of her seat for when the painting would be complete.

“… Huh?”

Today’s Roselyne was a little further than usual. On her knees before the grafted blue roses, she fixed her eyes on the still-slender unreliable stalks, a long look on her face.

3

Another week gone by.
They wandered endlessly from the crack of dawn, but in the end, they only managed to find three edible-looking pieces of fruit. On closer inspection, one of them was worm-eaten. From inside the hole, some sort of larva showed its face before hurriedly holding up to hide itself away. Roselyne said this.

“I can eat things apart from fruit, so you can have all of it, Cleo.”

But when it came to finding the fruit, it was all Roselyne’s efforts. Cleo had simply followed along, walking behind her. More than anything, she hadn’t been able to meet any large game these past few days, her mouth filled with a few mice at most. It hurt his heart to take it all off of her.

“No, but…”
“Then I’ll take this one.”

Without the slightest hesitation, Roselyne bit into the worm-eaten fruit. Despite Cleo’s best attempts to restrain her, “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she smashed it worms-and-all with her teeth and swallowed it down.
To Roselyne who ate animal flesh, organs and blood raw, perhaps eating a bug was of little concern. Even so, Cleo felt apologetic. When he bit into the fruit he was handed, it was strangely bitter.

That night, after saying his goodnight to Roselyne and entering the trunk of the great tree, Cleo found he had trouble sleeping as he snuggled into his sleeping bag. The largest reason was hunger. They had spent the afternoon prowling for fruit once more, but in the end, they only found two. Once he ran out of things to eat, when winter came, he’d likely starve to death before the cold could do him in.
(Should I daringly ask her to let me go home…?)
If he returned to the manor, a harsh winter was outside the window. He’d obtain sufficient food, and he wouldn’t feel the cold. But would he be satisfied with that? Could he accept circling back to those old days again?
Cleo was never allowed to go out freely. There was his weak constitution, but more than that, the Grant House was one of the few noble houses in the country, so if the son left the manner, there was a high probability an unruly lot might set their sights. Cleo might have attained freedom on his brother’s birth, but that was a freedom restricted to Grant House grounds. He could see himself inevitably holing up in his room to paint. That wasn’t too bad in and of itself, but now he got the feeling that wouldn’t satisfy him anymore. Because he had met Roselyn.
Something he made had brought joy to another. He had ended up leaning that happiness. He could likely never return to the days of consoling himself painting the paintings no one would ever look at.
(And… even if I do return to the manor, there’s no telling how many years I’ve got left.)
As someone had told him, perhaps he wouldn’t be able to live past the age of twenty.
For argument’s sake, if he reached thirty, if he reached forty—at the time he died, he’d surely be alone. The maid who brought the food would notice the body and silently clean up the mess. When his father heard the report, his brow wouldn’t even twitch. No one would mourn. No one would remember. At such a wretched notion, a tear spilled through the gap in his closed eyelids.
In that case, perhaps he was better off dying here with Roselyne. He thought.

Around that time, under the dim light of the moon, Roselyne stood still over the Cliff with Pretty Sunrise.
She stared fixedly at the grafted blue roses. The buds had yet to sprout.

“Hey, Insteen, you’re smart. Can you tell me when these blue roses will bloom?”
Who knows, Insteen answered. ‘I can’t tell either. But perhaps it’ll be next spring.’
“Next spring? You’re saying it’s that far ahead?”

Panic found its way into Roselyne’s voice.

‘I said perhaps. What flower will bloom when? I don’t know anything that’s not necessary for your survival. All I’ll tell you is you’re better off not getting your hopes up too high. Worst case scenario, those blue roses might not survive the winter.’
“No way…!”

When Cleo went to the trouble of grafting them, and when that even succeeded, was the winter going to render it all pointless?
(… No, that’s not the problem.)
That was to Roselyne, in a sense, something that mattered little in the long run. Roselyne wanted to see the beautiful opening blue roses together with Cleo. If they died in the winter or bloomed next spring, it was already too late by then.

“Do I have to give up on seeing the flowers with Cleo…”

She powerlessly muttered. It did seem Insteen had picked up her sentiment.

‘That’s right, winter is soon upon us. If the cold days go on, he’ll surely grow sick again. His constitution will fail without food to eat, I doubt it’ll go as well as last time.’
“… Yeah.”

A small nod from Roselyne before she hung her head. IF she was to give up, then what day would they part? Tomorrow, or the day after that?
(Tomorrow… I say goodbye to Cleo tomorrow…?)
She thought she had made her resolve. Even so, when she thought of saying her farewell, her chest grew as pained as if it were torn asunder. It suffocated. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want it after all.

“… Hey, Insteen.”

With eyes not focused on one single point, Roselyne mumbled incoherently.

“Maybe… in two days, maybe three, we might at least see a bud, right…?”
‘Roselyne.’ A calm, and yet harsh-toned voice resounded through her brain. ‘You decide what you’re going to do.’ She had been forsaken. But that coldness had brought a level-headedness to Roselyne’s heart. She closed her eyes, sucked in a large breath, spat it out. And she thought. Putting Cleo’s life and her wish on the scales, she sought out an answer that would leave no regrets. Slowly, her eyes opened.

“If it’s cold tomorrow, I’ll lead Cleo out of the forest.”
‘Your cold and his cold are different.’
“I know. It’s cold if Cleo says it’s cold. But if it isn’t…”

Then taking him out of the forest would be deferred to the day after that.

‘And how many times do you plan on repeating that?’
“Three days. If there’s no bud in that time… then that’s when I’ll give up.”

With a face in prayer, Roselyne gazed at the blue rose stalks floating up in the pale light of the moon.

4

Around the time the sky opened to dawn, Cleo woke from his slumber.
The cold air blowing in from the entrance crevice probed through his sleeping bag for a point of entry. His cheek stroked by the flow of chilled atmosphere, perhaps that was what had woken him.
When he crept out of the sack, the cold clad his entire being. His body shook. Struggling with his cold-numbed fingertips, he tied the string of his boots when he heard a voice from outside.

“Cleo, are you awake?”
“Ah, yes.”

Cleo rounded the crevice out.

“Good morning, Roselyne.”
“Good morning, Cleo… is it a good morning to you?”

Cleo couldn’t understand the intent of the question. As he mulled over what to answer, a gust of wind blew through him. He inadvertently ducked his shoulders and huddled his body tight. The outside air was incomparably colder than anything he experienced in the crevice.

“Cleo… are you cold?”

Roselyne asked quite timidly. The second question.
(Could it be she’s looking out for my health?)
Perhaps the first question was her asking about his body’s condition that morning. There was no use in lying, but he didn’t want to worry her, so he responded with as much pep as he could muster.

“Yeah, it is a little cold today. Thanks to that, my head’s cleared right up.”

Ahahaha, he showed a laugh.

“… I see, so its cold.”

Roselyne laughed two. The two of them laughed. But soon, huh? Cleo thought. There was a strange shadow cast over her laugh. Before he could tell what that shadow was, she said this.

“Got it. Then Cleo, we’re going out. Get your belongings together.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ll be waiting at the cliff.”

And Roselyne walked off.

Pain supplies, canteen, adamantite sword, sleeping bag… getting it all in his rucksack and slinging that over his back, Cleo walked off towards the ‘Cliff with Pretty Sunrise’. From the gap in the grove right ahead raced a number of light lines, at times assailing Cleo’s eyes. The morning sun had already shown its face. The dust danced in the warm light, glimmering beautifully.
His eyes narrowing at the radiance, Cleo thought.
(Going out, she says. Where could we be going? A long trip in search of fruit? Or could it be the good place she mentioned before.)
After passing between tree and tree, climbing over a fallen trunk, the surroundings had grown a shade brighter. Cleo made it through the grove to arrive at the Cliff with Pretty Sunrise.
Roselyne stood, bathed in the honey-gold morning son. Her back emphasized by that backlight stood radiant, divine against the backdrop of the great mother nature.
Cleo was momentarily entranced by her splendor. His voice wouldn’t come out.
He felt she was especially beautiful today.
Beautiful—yet be that as it may, she carried a sort of sorrow that tightened his chest.
When he looked at the back, Cleo got the feeling she was crying, making him hesitate to call out. And there, it was Roselyne who noticed his presence and turned.
Roselyne quietly smiled.
She looked at Cleo and nodded.

“Alright, let’s go.”

I was imagining things, Cleo felt relieved as he made for her.

“Umm… so where are we going?”

The next moment came a sound, the swish of the air being sliced.
Something had stuck into the turned around Roselyne, in the space between her back and hip. In a face warped in shock, Roselyne crumbled down at the knees. What stuck in was a single arrow.
Cleo stood dazed, unable to comprehend what was happening before his very eyes.

5

“Kid, now! Hurry over here!”

Came a voice. A man’s voice. When Cleo turned, around ten meters away, stood two men hidden by the forest thicket.

“I coated that arrow in an anti-magic-beast numbing agent! Its movements should be dull, so you’ll be fine! Now hurry, run for it!”

A bow in hand, a man with a large scar across his cheek wrung his voice to its limit and beckoned at him. He suddenly attacked, told him it was safe, and wanted him to come over. Incomprehensible. The inside of his head was pure white. He heard Roselyne groan. That’s right, Roselyne was shot!

“Roselyne, are you okay!?”

Roselyne was prostrate over the ground. Her limbs twitched and convulsed.

“Urrgh… o… owww…”

She reached a vine from the hem of her raincoat. Its movements were dull and weak. She coiled it around the arrow stuck into her. Roselyne clenched her fist, paint moans escaping the gaps in her grit teeth.
Urrgggh…!
The same time as the arrow came out, a sharp shriek gushed out of Roselyne.

“Oy, kid! What are you doing! Hurry and get over here!”

The scarred man cried in a panic. Cleo hurriedly lowered his rucksack, pulled out the adamantite sword, and answered with a stance.

“W… who are you people!”

He covered Roselyne writhing anguished on the ground with his back.
There of the two-man party, the other, a man with an indigo mantle took a step forward.

“Oy, brat, you’re in the way. Move. You wanna be burned with her?”

He said- no attempt at hiding his irritation- as he held out his right hand.

“Wait, wait, Carnac!” The cheek-scarred man hurriedly contained the mantled man’s hand. “Boy, that’s no human! She’s a magic beast called the Maneating Flower! She draws humans close with that form and her words, and eats them up just as the name implies! You’re being led on!”
“I know that! But you’re wrong!”

Cleo cried out. He had finally swallowed the situation. They—or at least the cheek-scarred man—were trying to save him from a maneating magic beast. But that was mistaken.

“She, Roselyne is definitely not human. I know that. But she isn’t trying to eat me. Ah… no, she did try when we first met, but it’s different now! When I got lost in this forest, I only made it safely to this very day—for around two months I presume—thanks to Roselyne’s help!”

He went on and on in one breath.

“Ah? Roselyne, he says?”

The mantled man shrugged his shoulders, before saying something to the man beside him. He was quite likely fed up with someone sticking a name on a magic beast. Cleo’s face grew hot at once, more in anger than embarrassment. While he was one thing, he got the feeling they were making fun as Roselyne as well. When they didn’t know the first thing about her!
Meanwhile, the scared man didn’t respond to the mantled man’s talk, his serious eyes still trained on Cleo. It seemed he was intently trying to confirm something. And he asked this.

“You said you were lost in the first for two months. Boy… are you Cleo Grant?”
“Eh? Y-yes, that’s right…”

Cleo was shocked at the sudden utterance of his name. But the scarred man was even more surprised. “Cleo Grant!” He raised his hands high in celebration, calling out. And once more, he sonorously called Cleo’s name. “Cleo Grant! We did it, Carnac! Two hundred thousand gelt! That’s goodbye poverty right there!”

Cleo couldn’t see what the man was so excited about. Two hundred thousand gelt? The mantled man made a sour face. You want to drag that brat back? We’re here to hunt the Destroyer of the forest—he got the feeling he heard. The cheek-scared man advanced on the mantle with the momentum of a turtle’s snap.

“Of course! This is the first bit of luck that’s fallen into my lap from the moment I was born! If you’re so disinclined, I’ll take responsibility alone, and take him back! In exchange, you’re not getting a single gelt!”

The mantled man winced back a step before clicking his tongue. He scowled long and hard at Cleo.

“Oy, brat! We’ll take you home, so get over here. Quit dilly-dallying!”
“Hey stop that, you’re scaring him,” the scared man forced his way through, pushing the mantled man aside. “Boy, my name is Doggrun, this one is Carnac. We’re hunters. No one suspicious, mind you. I’ll be perfectly honest here. We want to take you to the Grant House Manor for no other reason than the reward. I’m making an earnest plea, could you come with us?”

Cleo felt sincerity in the words of the man who called himself Doggrun. He was honest in his true desire for a reward. Cleo felt he could trust him, but—
At that time, Roselyne raised her body with a groan. It was likely the influence of the numbing agent. Sluggishly, and painfully, the breath she breathed was rough, and finally, she pressed her knees to the ground as she raised her face.

“Are… are you okay, Roselyne?”

Cleo squatted down beside her. Breathing with her shoulders, Roselyne looked at him like she wanted to say something. He waited.

“… se guys…”
“Eh… w-what was that?” He brought his ear by her mouth.
“Those guys… said they would take you… home?”
“Ah… yes, that does seem to be the case…”
“I see…”

Roselyne looked down and spoke.

“That’s good… go home.”
“Eh…?”

Cleo doubted his ears. His mind failed to catch up to such unthinkable words.

“Truth is… that’s what I planned to do today… but I’d only be able to get you out of the forest… those guys say they’ll take you all the way home, right? They piss me off quite a bit, but… if they’ll take you, I’ll put up with it…”
“N-no, but… Roselyne,”
“I’m fine… my body’s moving better now, if I rest a bit more…”

So go—Roselyne said with a smile.
An orb of sweat hung on her forehead, that smile was surely the most she could muster.
Cleo couldn’t move so soon. He desperately collected his chaotic mind. Return home, spend those lonely days again, and someday die in isolation, or have the curtain close on his life with Roselyne worrying over his sick self. Which one would bring more happiness? He thought?
But he had reached his answer the night before.
Rising to his feet, he informed the two men.

“My apologies, but I have no mind to go home. Please give up on the reward.”
“W-what was that?”

Doggrun widened his eyes. The other man, Carnac seemed taken aback as well. And Roselyne was no exception.

“What are you talking about, Cleo…!?”
“I’m talking about not going home.”
“I heard that…! But you said it, didn’t you? When we first met, you wanted me to lead you out of the forest… you wanted to go home…!”
“I did think so back then. But it’s different now. My wish changed. Have you forgotten?”
“… Eh?”
“I want to see the blue roses bloom with you.”

Roselyne lost her words a while.
Her eyelids were wide open, her moist glimmering eyes looked up at Cleo.
Her lovable lips quivered.

“B… but maybe they won’t bloom. Even if they do, it might be a long, long time ahead. If the food runs out before that, Cleo, you’ll die…!”

Cleo’s feelings were firm. He responded at once.

“That’s fine. When it happens, it happens.”
“It’s not fine! Cleo, you can’t die!”

Roselyne was poised to cry at any moment. When he thought of how he was making her cry, Cleo’s chest stung. But he wanted her to understand.
I—

Having heard Cleo and Roselyne’s exchange, the men exchanged words in a whisper.

“Doggrun, you’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“… Yeah, I know, I get it.”

By the time he noticed it, Roselyne’s pained expression had considerably approached the normal. The sweat on her brow had drawn back. Her breath was only a little out of order. There wasn’t long to go until she was completely free from the numbing agent. To Cleo’s relieved back, Carnac called out.

“Oy, brat, I’ve no mind to drag along someone who doesn’t want to go, but that one won’t protect you anymore.”
“… What makes you say that?”

Cleo turned around and sullenly asked.
He had spoken his will, he wanted them to get going already. The other man aside, he couldn’t come to like this Carnac fellow.
With no regard to Cleo’s feelings, he spoke as if it was nothing at all.

“Because we’re going to hunt her.”

Beside him, Doggrun silently spread his bow.

“Wha… wait, wait a minute! What are you talking about!?”
“You don’t get it, brat. We’re hunters. It’s only natural for a hunter to hunt a magic beast.”
“B-but she protected me! There was a time she saved my life when I was about to be eaten by a bear! She’s not just a magic beast!”
“No, a magic beast’s a magic beast.”

Carnac shook his head left and right, brushing aside Cleo’s assertion.

“You said it back there. She tried to eat you at first. You just happened to not be eaten, but the maneating flower’s called the maneating flower because she eats men.”
“T-that’s…”

His words held up. Sure enough, if Roselyne’s whims weren’t stirred, Cleo would have been eaten long ago. And at the time she said this. ‘I ate a swordsman,’ ‘He irritated me, so without killing him first’.

“No, but to Roselyne, that’s simply predatory behavior and…! She’s by no means a malicious existence–”
“I know that.”

Carnac’s words were as cold as ice.

“Listen well. For us hunters, when the hunt is on, we live by the rules of nature. The strong eat the weak to live, that’s just nature. So there’s no guilt to be had in killing a beast. No grudges had in dying by one. Going through with those rules is the pride of a hunter.”

Poised with his bow, Doggrun quietly nodded.
Carnac glared at Roselyne as if setting his aim on his prey.

“That maneating flower lives in nature. We’ll have her follow its rules.”

And he stuck out his right hand. Cleo sensed it. This man held no weapons, he was surely a magician. He posed the question to Roselyne who was still sat on the ground.

“Can you move?”
“I won’t say I can’t, but…”

Roselyne grit her teeth, vexingly shaking her head. It looked like it would take a little more time before she could move normally. Whether it be running or fighting, until she recovered, that was out of the question. Cleo would have to buy time. Carnac’s rage-induced cry thundered out.

“Did you get that, brat!? If you get it, then move! Do you want to stay in this forest even after the Maneating Flower is gone? I’ll ask you one more time when the hunt is over!”

Those words meant, whether Cleo returned home or not, whether he received a reward or not, that was irrelevant to his hunting of Roselyne.
(In that case, this is all I can do…!)

Taking a stance with the adamantite sword, he cried out to encourage himself

“I won’t forgive… anyone who hurts Roselyne!”

The tip turned to the hunters clattered and shook. He grit his teeth, he put as much power as he could muster into his two hands, but it wouldn’t stop. Voices rose up front and behind all at once.

“No! Cleo, it’s dangerous, move!”
“Boy, don’t try anything stupid!”

Doggrun lowered his bow and tried to close the distance with Cleo. But, “Wait, partner,” Carnac stopped him. The sharp eyes of a carnivorous beast pierced through Cleo.

“Brat, I, you see, I hate those guys who talk big, put on airs when they’re not up to it.”

Carnac’s right hand remained aimed at Cleo.

“You’ve got ten seconds. If you don’t move, I’ll have to admit your resolve’s the real deal.”
“Boy, put away your sword and move! This guy isn’t the sort to say, ‘nice resolve, I like you’!”
“Cleo, don’t worry about me! Don’t do anything stupid!”

Ten seconds went by too fast.
Cleo didn’t move.

“Fine. Then you die first.”

A breath in-between, Carnac changed the magic word.

“Blaze.”

In front of his palm, a shimmering red ball of fire appeared. Just as Doggrun cried, “Wait!” the round had been fired. The ball of flame approached at a fearsome pace, dropping altitude, changing its trajectory to crawl along the ground. If Cleo leapt aside, the Roselyne who was still unable to stand would be unable to avoid the impact. So that was the magician’s aim. But,

(Flame magic… then I can do this!)

Cleo felt as if the goddess of luck had saved him. This wouldn’t go for any magic that wasn’t fire. With a lost stance, he thrust the adamantite sword into the ground to suck in the fireball. Unaware it was no goddess, but the mischief of the devil.
It wasn’t as it Roselyne had noticed. She had simply frantically stretched out her vine to protect Cleo. But as she had yet to recover from her paralysis, her dull-moving vine barely fell short.
The fireball was sucked into the adamantite sword, swallowed whole. That much went as Cleo planned. The next instant, a crack ran down the point. Cleo could sense the abnormality from the sensation in his arms. But it was already too late. The tip of the sword—shattered to pieces.

[IMAGE]

From the remaining cross-section of the blade, the compacted heat energy was released all at once. A flash like lightning enveloped both of Cleo’s feet. The words of the swordsman Greg revived in his head.
‘A sword made of Adamantite is brittle, it shatters too easily. They’re not suited for real combat–’

“Carnac, what have you done…!”

Doggrun muttered in a daze. But he knew it would come to this. This magician, his partner, would never turn back on anything he said. If he said he would do it, he’d do it for real. That being the case—

“He was still a child. There was no need to go that far…”

Carnac’s brow didn’t twitch, he simply said this.

“He might be a brat, but he was at an age where he could at least understand the result of the actions he chose for himself. More importantly, it looks like that brat had an adamantite sword. As expected of the rich, I guess.”

Is that why he stood against fire magic? But his aim was off.
Cleo was blown off, he collapsed face-down.
While it was faint, the scent of burnt flesh lingered. He had presumably suffered considerable burns.

“Cleo, Cleo–!”

The maneating flower crawled along the ground to cling onto his body. She shook him. There was no response.

“Don’t worry, Doggrun,” Carnac said. “The one who killed the brat was me. You just watched. No, you tried to stop me. If I’m ever caught, I’ll testify for you.”

And he repeated it again. So don’t worry, partner—

“… Stupid, you think I’m going to sell you out to the guard?”

Doggrun leaked a great sigh.

“You simply lived through the way of a hunter. That’s why… well, nothing you can do about it. As your partner, I’ll make my resolve. What we need to do now is deal with the prey before our–”

Doggrun sent another glance to Cleo. And he was startled.
Clinging to Cleo’s collapsed body, the maneating flower glared towards him with eyes stained in tears.
That wasn’t the look of a magic beast. Having wandered the battlefield as a mercenary, Duggrun knew that face. The grudge of a woman whose beloved was hurt had been carved onto the flower’s face. Even Carnac opened his eyes wide, unmoving for a moment.
The maneating flower’s mouth moved to mutter something.

I’ll kill them—Roselyne said.

‘Wait!’ Insteen cried, but Roselyne didn’t wait.

The maneating flower, still sat on the ground, largely lurched her back. Her green hair restlessly squirmed. Doggrun’s sense as a hunter warned him that was a motion in preparation for an attack. Was she sucking in air? What was she trying to do? No, he could guess…
Right after, the maneating flower breathed a purple breathe. She spat it with force, almost like a dragon breathing fire. The area was, at once, enveloped in a purple-tinted mist.

“Carnac, don’t breathe it! It might be poison! We’re pulling back!”
“Don’t be stupid! The maneating flower’s a rare one that fetches just as much as the destroyer of the forest! Like hell I’ll let her slip away in the smoke!”

Wrapping his mantle around his mouth, Carnac thrust his body out of the thicket. Doggrun lowered his stance to secure a supply of air, searching out his prey’s form from the shadows. If his partner wasn’t giving up, then his role was to do everything in his power to end this hunt as soon as time permitted. He opened his eyes wide. There she was.

“She’s still exactly where she was before! Can you aim?”
“Leave it to me!”

Carnac stuck out his right hand.
At that moment, Doggrun suddenly noticed. Mixed in with the fragrance of a rose in bloom, the purple mist held a scent he had smelled somewhere before. It’s been said that the sense of smell is the easiest to link to memory. The image that floated to mind. Back when he was a mercenary, that was definitely when they were besieged. Doggrun heard the barking of his captain and ran to the powder magazine—

“W-wait, Carnac!”
“Blaze.”

The voices overlapped.
As a matter of fact, the mist Roselyne breathed held no toxicity. Its identity was a simple flammable pollen she produced in her body, mixed in with the oxygen gas she formed through photosynthesis. And now a spark came in the form of fire magic. Between pollen particle and pollen particle, combustion brought forth combustion, as the heat spread throughout the vapor with enough force to create a shockwave.
A dust explosion.
A roar. A tremor. The Cliff with Pretty Sunrise was enveloped in hellfire as a hot wind swept violently over it.

6

Eventually came the still.
A burnt scent hung in the air as a remnant of the incident that had just happened.
Radiating from the spot that became the center of the explosion, countless trees had been smashed and stained in black soot. The disastrous scene was close to ground zero in severity, growing calmer the further one was away. It was like a domino chain that had been stopped half-way through.
The blue roses lay just barely outside the blast radius. It was lucky that the thicket and trees protected them from the winds. That being said, the fact the still-precarious scions didn’t snap off could be called miraculous. Perhaps that alone had been looked over by the goddess of fortune.
And Cleo regained consciousness.
He heard a voice calling out to him.

“Cleo, Cleo, get a grip…”

Timidly, fearfully, his shoulders were shook.

“Cleo, please, open your eyes…”

He slowly raised his eyelids.
It was as if he was looking at the world through a fogged glass. His field of vision wouldn’t set. He vaguely perceived Roselyne’s face. Frantically focusing his eyes, he could tell she was making a relieved smile.
Roselyne’s hair was all over the place, a number of petals had been torn from the flower on her head.
(What happened when I was unconscious…?)
The rucksack lay next to his sprawled-out self. Perhaps Roselyne had brought it over.
Cleo tried to raise his voice and was shocked. His mouth wouldn’t move as he wanted. Earnestly putting power into his jaw, he squeezed air out of his lungs, just managing to spin out a faint voice.

“… Those… people…?”

Roselyne answered.

“Those people… those guys? It’s fine. Even if they survived, they must have suffered terrible injuries. They won’t be able to attack us anymore.”

If they survived—meaning it was that great of an attack. While Cleo was out cold, Roselyne must have fought them off.
(So in the end… I wasn’t able to do anything. How useless can I..)

Self-criticism floated in his heart.
Whatever the case, he thought he should get up. That proved even more difficult than mustering his voice. His body wouldn’t listen to what he wanted to say. It was almost as if it wasn’t his own body at all.
When he groaned in his throat and mustered all his power, Roselyne hurriedly interrupted him.

“Cleo, don’t push yourself! You suffered some serious injuries. Your legs… are bleeding a lot.”

Roselyne sent her eyes to Cleo’s legs, her face grimacing as if she was looking at something repulsing.
(A lot of blood…? I can’t believe it. There’s no way Roselyne would lie, but…)
I mean, it doesn’t hurt at all.
Forget hurt, there wasn’t even any sensation. He even felt as if he lost his legs entirely.
Eventually, his consciousness muddled. Roselyne’s face was even hazier than before. It grew difficult to set the focus of his eyes. Her voice as well, it sounded like he was hearing a conversation in the distance. Cleo instinctually understood. He felt a strange conviction.
(I’m going to die…)
He had lived his life knowing he wouldn’t live long. As long as Roselyne was with him, he didn’t mind losing his life in this forest; he had made his resolve.
Even so, with death right before his eyes, Cleo’s heart was shaken.
(I won’t be able to speak with her, sing with her laugh with her anymore…)
He would have to relinquish the slice of happiness he had finally lain hand on.
That was heart-rending. Sad. Terrifying.
Cleo thought. I don’t want to die like this.
Was there something, anything that could save him as he was?
With all the power left to him, he reached out his hand.
His shaking digits were held. Roselyne gripped them for him.

“Cleo, get a grip. What should I do? What can I do to save you? Tell me like you always do.”

A desperate voice pleaded to him.

“Roselyne…”

Gazing at her face with his unset focus, Cleo called out. Yes, what should I do? Roselyne drew her face close. Cleo informed her in a chipped voice.

“When I die… please eat me.”
“……!?”

Roselyne drew her body back in shock.

“W… what are…!? What are you talking about!” She screamed in rage. “That’s not what I’m asking! What I want you to tell me is—”
“Please… when I die, please eat me. I want you to eat me…”

Cleo repeated regardless. When he was unable to do anything, at the very least, but sating her hunger, he could be useful in the end. And—

“If you eat me, I’ll become your flesh and blood, we can be together forever. When I think of it like that… death isn’t so scary…”

Seeking out his salvation—while he barely had any power left in him— he gripped Roselyne’s hand strongly.

“Stop! No more!” Roselyne’s voice had become a shriek. “I can’t understand what you’re saying! Why are you saying that? I don’t know about flesh and blood, but I wanted to be together with a living Cleo! I wanted you to live! If you were going to die, then… I was fine with not being together anymore!”

It was faint, bit Cleo saw it. The large beads of tears overflowing from Roselyne’s eyes. She gripped his hand back, bending over to draw her body close and cry out.

“Hey, I’m begging you! I’m begging you, don’t die, Cleo!”

Ah, I see—he thought.
At that moment, Cleo understood it clearly.
This itself was his salvation. What he could never obtain at the Grant House. What he finally laid hands on.
(So I… wanted to hear those words.)
A smile graced Cleo’s face. His consciousness slipped away. Wait, just a little more, let me tell her these words. Burning Roselyne’s teary face into his eyes, Cleo spoke his mind.

“Thank you… Roselyne…”

And quietly closed his eyes.

It was practically a tranquil sleeping face.

“… Cleo……?”

Roselyne reached out her hand and gently pat against his cheek.
Twice, three times she repeated.

“Cleo… wake up…”

As if tenderly urging him out of sleep.
But no matter how many times she hit against him, there was no response.

“Cleo…… I’m begging you, open your eyes!”

Roselyne shook his body. A voice resounded in her head.

‘Stop that! If you move him, you’ll just make the blood loss worse!’

She stopped her hands taken aback. Her eyes darted to Cleo’s legs.
His trousers and boots failed to keep their original form, the affected portions revealed. They were serious burns that reached the depths of his flesh. The flesh changed color, burnt black here and there. It was a state that made her want to cover her eyes. On top of that, there were places were fragments of the adamantite sword gouged deep into the flesh, and for a while now, his bleeding wouldn’t stop.
(The blood… aah… so much blood… what do I…)
The bright red color of blood spread and pooled, stealing Roselyne of her rationality.
Her mind was stuck in an endless loop of ‘what do I do’.

‘Calm down! Touch a hand to his chest, quickly!’

Insteen’s words were sharp, returning Roselyne to her senses and making her hurriedly obey.
Faint, a faint pulse was conveyed to her palm.

‘His heart… is still moving, I see.’
“Insteen, do you know? What do I have to do to save Cleo?”

Roselyne closed in on the voice in her head.
But she could imagine the answer. Insteen repeated the words she had heard countless times before.

‘All I know is what’s necessary for you to survive, Roselyne.’ And after stopping for a moment of silence, she continued this, ‘All I can say is perhaps you should honor his will.’
“Honor… what’s that? What do you mean?”
‘I’m saying you should grant his last wish. He said it, didn’t he… he wants you to eat him.’
“Stop it!!”

Roselyne raised a piercing cry, but Insteen didn’t stop. Her voice was one she couldn’t escape even if she covered her ears.

‘His death is only a matter of time. You don’t plan on eating him? Don’t eat him and then what? If you leave him, he’ll rot, the bugs will swarm, he’ll simply dissolve in a muddled mess. If that’s how it will be, don’t you think it’s better that you eat him? It’s what he wishes for as well.’
“Shut up! Shut up! I don’t want to hear that! Be quiet!”

She cried and wept.
She shook her head and smacked it against the ground. She hit the ground a number of times as if to smack in her rage. The surface of the cliff was hard, her forehead split and spouted blood.

‘Fine! I won’t say anything! So just stop that!’

A voice close to a shriek rung out.
Roselyne repeated a rough breath as she finally raised her head. Her blood and tears fell drip by drip from the tip of her chin, spilling out onto the breast of her raincoat. Her head whirled with pain and despair. She cross-examined herself with a hazy mind.
Why did it come to this?

“…… It’s all my fault…”

Slumping down on the ground, she absentmindedly gazed up at the sky.

“If I didn’t wait for the blue roses to bloom… if I returned Cleo at once…”

It wouldn’t have come to this.
It was an answer too cruel.
That was precisely the moment Roselyne came to learn what regret was.
Surely, she would never forget it for the rest of her life. That answer would torment her to the grave.
(No… that’s…)
Roselyne lowered her gaze to Cleo.
If that’s how it’s going to be, then why don’t I also—
At that moment. ‘Ah…!’ came the voice in her head.
A single syllable as if she had noticed something.

“… What is it… Insteen…?”

Insteen didn’t answer. That was all the more suspicious.

“What… did you think of something? Say it! Out with it already!”

If you don’t—Roselyne lowered her head towards the ground again.

‘You stop that! Fine, I’ll say it!’

Her bloody head stopped the moment before it collided.

‘It’s just a fool’s notion. Keep that in mind as you hear. Alright? Your body possesses a superior regenerating power. It’s incomparable to whatever the humans have. The wound from the arrow you got before will close given a night.’
“… And what about it? I don’t care about my wound! Right now, Cleo is—”
‘Just listen! I mean to say, I thought of the blue roses and wondered. If you lop off your legs, and switch them out with his tattered legs… maybe, and just maybe, it’ll stick on like in grafting.’

Lop off your legs.
Roselyne looked at her two legs. If she cut them, they’d bleed, a pain would run through her body. Not just any pain. Perhaps it would be enough… to kill her.

“Thank you, Insteen.”

Even so, Roselyne didn’t hesitate. She looked around again. The adamantite sword that had left Cleo’s hands had fallen around five meters from his body. She reached a vine to retrieve it. The point had shattered, and only around twenty centimeters of the blade remained. But she would manage one way or another. She retrieved the rucksack as well.

‘Wait! You’re seriously doing it? There’s no guarantee it’ll go well.’

Roselyne used her vines and body to gently hold Cleo up.

“Cleo said something similar when he was grafting the roses.”

There’s no guarantee it’ll succeed.
The probability of failure is higher.

“But even so, the grafting succeeded. And now, if I do it, Cleo might be saved.”

She walked with strong steps.

“In that case, of course I’m going to do it.”

After carrying Cleo to his sleeping spot, the great tree, she listened to Insteen’s opinion as she cot the preparations in order. Gather six straight branches. You’re to affix them so the cross section doesn’t slip. With the blue sores, you bound them with thin, long blades of grass, but we’ll need something stronger this time, so we’ll use your vines for thread.
While she swiftly carried out the preparations, Insteen’s monologue resounded sullenly in her head.

‘There’s something wrong with me… I never should have said anything that would put your life in danger…’

Roselyne answered without stopping her hands.

“If you remained silent, if you didn’t tell me how to save Cleo, I’d have never forgiven you. I think I’d curse you for the rest of my life… that’s why, I really am grateful. I love you.”

A while later, Insteen asked.

‘Between me and Cleo, who do you like more?’

Roselyne’s hands stopped for just a short moment, and then she made an apologetic bitter smile.

“Sorry, it’s got to be Cleo.”
‘… Thought so.’

Insteen said resignedly. Even if they were separate personalities, Roselyne and Insteen shared a single body. They were born together and would die together. Roselyne had once denied it, but the two of them were quite likely the same existence.
Yet Roselyne had chosen Cleo.
She valued something more than herself—what could that feeling be called? A magic beast’s instincts such as Insteen couldn’t tell.
By meeting Cleo, Roselyne was gradually changing into an existence Insteen couldn’t comprehend. Insteen felt it just a little lonely. If it were the past Insteen, such a thing would never have moved her head. She had gradually changed. Unaware to it all, Insteen as well.

All the preparations were in order.
After much thought, Roselyne decided to sever her own legs first. As they belonged to a magic beast, she determined they would maintain vitality for a while even when amputated.
Gripping the hilt of the adamantite sword, she pushed the blade up against her thighs. The cold sensation sent a chill down her spine. Her arms shook. Roselyne hated swords. She loathed pain.
(… Stupid! This is to save Cleo!)

She swallowed her spit, she grit her teeth.
Roselyne turned the brutality of a magic beast on herself.
She bared her fangs on the fear in her own heart.
Putting ample power into the blade that let off a dull light. a single stroke.

For the next thirty minutes and then some, Roselyne continued spitting blood and screams.