Then, a sudden flicker crossed my vision—
a new system notification appeared.
> [Alice’s Demise Progress]
[35% → 33%]
My eyes narrowed. As I thought... these two weren’t part of the cause behind Alice’s demise.
It wasn’t the people—it was the place itself.
This entire area reeked of danger. We were standing right in the middle of enemy territory, and the system was reacting to that.
> [35% → 32%]
[35% → 36%]
[35% → 34%]
[35% → 31%]
The numbers glitched, flickering wildly across the screen like a broken compass.
Each fluctuation sent a cold chill down my spine.
’The surroundings themselves are affecting her... the longer we stay here, the higher the risk.’
The sooner we leave, the better—for both our lives, but especially for Alice’s.
Still, something about it bothered me.
’Why has the status window—something always so precise—suddenly become so erratic?’
If there were a clear cause, I could deal with it.
But this uncertainty—the invisible danger creeping around us—was far worse.
"Are you sure you don’t need help?" Alice asked suddenly, breaking my train of thought. "Now that the battlefield is nearly cleared, we could ask another knight."
I blinked, realizing she was changing the subject.
So, she doesn’t want to talk about it either.
That was fine by me.
I forced a grin, flexing my arm as if I were still full of strength.
"Heave, ho! No, my lady, you’re of knightly status now. Asking someone else would only incur a debt. Better that I handle it myself."
Even as I said it, I could hardly believe my own words.
It was ridiculous bravado—but she didn’t need to know that.
Just one last person to save.
Then we could finally get out of this cursed place alive.
Once we rescued the man tied to the stake at the far end of the tent, the campaign against the Ravran tribe would finally be over.
[35% → 38%]
But as I drew closer to him—
[38% → 40%]
—the warning bells in my chest rang louder and louder.
"...It’s him."
"Julies? Why are you acting like that? He’s one of ours, isn’t he? You’re being strangely tense."
"...Ha. I’m just being cautious."
"That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. Since when are you cautious? You’re the first to smile at strangers and the last to suspect anyone."
Alice’s words were light, but her tone was firm. Unlike me, she didn’t hesitate. She moved toward the captive without a trace of doubt.
"Wait—!"
Before I could stop her, she knelt beside him.
"Please... water..." His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.
"Don’t just stand there," Alice said, shooting me a glance. "We can question him later. For now, he needs help."
She uncorked her flask and carefully poured water into his mouth, tilting it just enough for him to swallow.
"Ugh..." The man blinked, dazed, his eyes darting between us. "Where... am I?"
"You’re safe now," Alice said gently. Then her voice hardened, her instincts as a noble officer taking over. "Who are you? State your name and affiliation."
He coughed twice before managing to speak. "I’m... Freedman. Squad leader of the 4th Guerrilla Unit... northern army."
"I see." Alice nodded. "You’ve endured much. We’ll make sure you’re escorted back to your unit soon."
She reached out to help him up, but as he slumped, she leaned in closer to support his weight.
"Ah—allow me to take care of that," I said quickly, stepping forward before anyone else could move. "This sort of thing is best left to a servant, after all."
Of course, it wasn’t really about etiquette.
It was about trust—or, to be more precise, my complete lack of it.
There was something in the way his eyes moved. The faint glimmer of calculation behind the calm. The way he held himself—not like a man who had barely survived captivity, but like someone pretending to.
Even with bruises marring his skin and wrists still marked from restraints, he didn’t seem broken.
No, he looked composed. Controlled.
Almost... amused.
’Should I just kill him right here and now?’
The thought came unbidden, dark and sharp. For a moment, it almost made sense. One clean strike and the uncertainty would vanish. No risks, no surprises later.
But then reality crashed back in.
I couldn’t.
The North valued camaraderie more than anything else—killing one of our own without evidence would make me no better than a traitor. The Duke would have me executed before I could even utter an excuse.
And if Alice found out?
Her trust in me—something I’d built carefully, step by step—would crumble in an instant.
No. Not yet.
"...Fine," I muttered under my breath, lowering my hand as I watched the man’s steady breathing. "Let’s see what kind of game you’re playing."
The words were barely audible, lost in the faint hum of the fire. But inside, the decision was made.
I’d observe him. Quietly. Closely.
Until the mask he wore cracked—and the truth beneath finally showed itself.
And when it did...
He’d wish I’d killed him today.
My hand stayed under the man’s shoulders because if I pulled away now, Alice would notice.
Better to be the quiet, dutiful servant than the man who snatches the thread of an unraveling scene and yanks it into ruin. So I supported him, breathed in the scent of sweat and resin from his bindings, and watched.
He lied with his eyes, not his words. There was a calmness there that didn’t belong to someone who’d just been left to rot on a stake.
The way his breath hitched when the door creaked reminded me of a soldier trained to stake out exits, not beg for water. Small things, but thieves survive on small things. So do soldiers and liars.
Part of me wanted to act on the dark impulse that crossed my mind earlier — one clean strike, no questions — but those sorts of quick endings are for men with no debts and women with no faces to protect. Alice trusts me. I couldn’t trade that trust for the false comfort of instant certainty.
Not yet.