A Reckless Rescue and a Familiar Scent

“Wasn’t that a little too reckless of you?”

“I’m sorry…”

Faced with Gwynevere’s questioning, Edith could only lower her head in apology.

After Edith’s divine art pierced the chest of the leading Horned Beast, the battle turned into a one-sided advantage. The lesser Horned Beasts fled frantically into the forest. Those too slow were killed on the spot.

It was only when Gwynevere’s retinue, returning north to Kohl Town, arrived that she and the Squires’ Guard led by the Templar Knights brought the already undisputed battle to an end.

A total of two town guards died on the spot from the Horned Beasts’ attacks. Three guards were severely wounded, while the rest sustained only minor injuries.

Aside from a slight concussion, Upton suffered no major incidents. His armor had saved his life.

Judging solely by the battle’s outcome, it was an overwhelming victory.

Horned Beasts possessed strength dozens of times that of an ordinary adult male. Just one such beast could easily wipe out a defensive force like that of Oliver Village.

To kill a Horned Beast in an unprepared skirmish, sacrificing only two guards, was a feat impressive enough to warrant a personal audience with the Emperor himself.

The surviving caravan members had been sent back to town earlier. The remaining people stayed behind to clear the battlefield, and the first thing Gwynevere did upon finding Edith was to criticize her mercilessly.

Hedy shook the frost from her fur, then nudged Edith’s back with her head from behind. Edith, losing her balance, stumbled into Gwynevere’s embrace.

Gwynevere reached out and caught Edith.

She looked down at her adopted sister. Edith’s fair, delicate face was smeared with blood from treating wounds, and her bright, soft golden curls were matted together with congealed blood. The words that had risen to Gwynevere’s throat were swallowed back down.

Gwynevere used her gloved hand to wipe the blood from Edith’s forehead and cheeks. “It’s a good thing nothing worse happened, or I wouldn’t know how to explain it to Father.”

“But people still died. I was supposed to be saving them.” Edith’s expression was grim. She glanced at the indistinct figures covered by white cloths nearby. “They trusted me and followed me, and the result…”

“They are soldiers. Protecting the townspeople is their duty, and a soldier’s sacrifice is an honor.” Upton sat cross-legged by the roadside, a bandage wrapped around his head, blood staining his forehead. The dark-skinned man lit a hand-rolled cigarette and exhaled a puff of smoke towards the icy blue sky of the Northmarch. “Miss Edith, do you understand the meaning of ‘guard’? Fighting these monsters on the edge of the frontier is the duty of a guard. They serve the Empire, not you—forgive my bluntness, but I hope you understand what I mean.”

Though he had beaten around the bush, his true intention was to comfort Edith, to tell her that the fault was not hers. Edith, of course, understood perfectly.

“I understand. Thank you, Mr. Upton.” Edith sniffled.

“At least the outcome was good.” Gwynevere removed her glove and gently stroked Edith’s head. “Go back and get some rest. Everyone will understand.”

The sound of a horse snorting came from behind them. Edith and Gwynevere turned their heads simultaneously to see a silver-grey Northland Snow Steed nuzzling Hedy’s chin. Hedy didn’t resist, simply playing along.

This silver-grey warhorse was Gwynevere’s mount, a mare named Emma.

Emma and Hedy had always shared an unusually close bond. Though they were both mares, their affectionate nuzzling wouldn’t lead to foals.

Their knightly comrades often joked about it, but Gwynevere and Edith themselves didn’t mind. They were quite pleased to see Hedy and Emma getting along so well.

The familiar, relaxed atmosphere finally allowed Edith’s anxious heart to settle. She let out a long sigh of relief.

‘Though she sometimes felt a pang of jealousy towards Gwynevere, at other times, the sense of security Gwynevere provided was simply unparalleled.’

Gwynevere moved away from Edith and approached the Horned Beast, its entire body encased in frost. She meticulously examined the corpse, noting its peculiar death.

She had already made a preliminary observation of the scene and could roughly deduce what had transpired.

Mathew’s caravan had been cornered into a desperate situation. Edith led the guards, fighting their way through the encirclement. However, the sheer number of lesser Horned Beasts was overwhelming, constantly tightening the noose and shrinking the defensive perimeter.

Then came the Horned Beast’s decisive charge.

The beast was on the verge of success, having torn through the defenses and charged directly towards Edith. Yet, at the very last moment, Edith had turned the tables, checking the “general” before he could deliver his final blow.

‘This was clearly a trap: encircle one group, deliberately let one escape, lure another group, then capture them all.’

‘The beast had decided to reveal itself and charge because it judged Edith to be different from the others. It had indeed been targeting Edith directly.’

However, Gwynevere knew that Edith had never learned frost-attribute magic.

‘So, whose masterpiece was this frost?’

As she pondered, Gwynevere unexpectedly noticed a strand of dark red hair near the beast’s hooves. She knelt, picked it up, and brought it to her nose.

It carried none of the overwhelming stench of a beastman. Instead, it bore the faint, sweet scent of roses.

‘Such a familiar scent.’

Instantly, Gwynevere’s mind locked onto a single target: the half-blood girl who had once offended her. It was almost certainly her.

‘Had she secretly saved Edith?’

Gwynevere couldn’t fathom her motive, but it was ultimately irrelevant. She only needed to capture the half-blood girl again; the remaining answers, she would personally extract.

Her heart pounded.

Gwynevere felt her dormant soul stirring with unrest. She yearned for that moment.

“Sister, is something wrong?” Edith asked, noticing Gwynevere’s strange expression.

“Those lesser Horned Beasts fled into the woods to the west, correct?” Gwynevere asked, pointing towards the depths of the dark pine forest.

Edith nodded instinctively. “Yes, they all ran in that direction.” But quickly, the observant Edith realized she might have made a mistake. She saw the strand of dark red hair clutched in Gwynevere’s palm.

‘That was Daphne’s hair.’

“If that’s the case, then I’ll go take another look alone. You all head back for now; there’s no need to wait for me,” Gwynevere whistled, and Emma, obeying her mistress’s call, left Hedy’s side to stand by Gwynevere. “There are some things that truly pique my interest, and I must see them with my own eyes to be at ease.”

‘Interested? Gwynevere?’

Edith could hardly believe her ears. She had never imagined that her perpetually expressionless sister could find anything interesting. Yet, the subtle curve that unintentionally lifted Gwynevere’s lips forced Edith to believe it.

This was likely the first time in six years that Edith had seen a genuine smile from Gwynevere.

Gwynevere adjusted her cloak, placed her foot in the stirrup, and mounted Emma. After exchanging a brief word with the accompanying Templar Knight, she and Emma plunged into the depths of the pine forest like a silver-grey blade.

Edith remained rooted to the spot, lost in thought. Countless possibilities sprang into her mind. ‘Had Gwynevere met Daphne before? Was Daphne herself the “thing” that interested her?’

A peculiar sense of apprehension suddenly arose in the younger sister’s heart.