Even in her half-conscious state, the girl's grip on Revy's hand remained impossibly strong.
Of course she didn't really want to die. It was just that the exhaustion, the trauma, and the emotional whiplash between hope and despair—once inflamed by fear of her illness—had all erupted at once.
"Sigh…"
Revy gently freed his hand, tucking Misha's arms back into her sleeping bag. He pulled the insulated outerwear snugly around her before letting out a quiet sigh. His eyes then shifted to the still-bound Kingslayer in the distance.
She returned his gaze without hesitation, eyes sharp and cold.
After a brief pause, Revy stood and pulled out a short blade the length of his forearm—the very same blade Lyudmila had tried to kill him with.
"What? Finally decided to kill me?"
Kingslayer's pupils contracted slightly, but she forced a crooked smile, as if unafraid of death."Well, fine. At least I'll die at the hands of the 'Prophet' himself—"
The flash of a blade.
But the pain she braced for never came. Instead, the ropes binding her fell away, neatly severed.
"…What's this supposed to mean?"
The moment her limbs were free, Kingslayer instinctively assumed a defensive stance—then suddenly remembered where she was. Her arms dropped with a sigh.
"Lyudmila, wasn't it?" Revy's voice was calm. "You also go by Kingslayer, correct?"
He raised both hands slightly to show he meant no harm. She relaxed, slowly stretching her sore, numb limbs.
"First of all, I should thank you. If not for you, I wouldn't have found the supply camp left behind by the evac team so quickly."
"So what, you're letting me go out of gratitude? You're not afraid I'll kill you the moment your back's turned?"
"Please." Revy scoffed, shaking his head. His disdain was plain, and it made Kingslayer clench her fists.
"…Then what? Why release me?"
"I want to let you go."
She stared, wide-eyed.
"Ha? You kidding me?" The assassin snapped to her feet, glaring at the Sarkaz standing across from her."You're letting me walk? Aren't you worried I'll just come back with reinforcements and take Misha by force?"
Revy held her gaze, eyes narrowing slightly with the faintest edge of mockery.
"Not even a little. And if you do come back—none of you will be walking out alive."
"You…!"
She was furious—but calmed almost immediately.
Kingslayer knew all too well what one person could accomplish. Her superior officer was that kind of monster.
And this man… Even without overwhelming force, just remembering how effortlessly he'd subdued her—that ghostlike movement—told her he wasn't bluffing.
"…What's the catch, then?"
"Take your people and go back the way you came. I don't care about your mission. I don't care whether you live or die. My job is to protect the girl. You're free to leave—just don't come back and cause trouble."
Revy's words were devoid of warmth, but they carried a pressure she couldn't ignore."If you do, you're dead. Bring five, I'll leave five bodies. Bring fifty, I'll leave a battlefield."
"…"
Kingslayer hesitated.
She wanted to complete the mission. But she wasn't stupid enough to bet on it.
If even she—one of the best assassins—was no match, dragging others in would be meaningless. Just like Revy said: all it would do is increase the body count.
"…Fine. Let's call it a deal."
After a long silence, she gave a reluctant nod."I, Kingslayer, promise—until that girl reaches Lungmen, we won't come after you."
She paused again, her voice softening just slightly:
"But if you can't make it… come to Tomsk. We'll make sure Misha survives."
With that, the infamous assassin named Kingslayer turned and vanished into the snowy wilderness, without a single glance back.
Misha had a long dream.
In it, she was once again that carefree girl protected by her parents. Her days were filled with school, playing with Alex, and laughing with her friends. She dreamed of the future, where a prince riding a white bear might come to marry her someday.
Natural disasters, Oripathy, death—those were things from another world.
But like all dreams, this one shattered too soon.
She remembered Ursus soldiers and rioters. Her brother being taken, crying helplessly. Her mother wasting away in agony. And her own body… slowly forming crystal-like Oripathy lesions.
Misha felt as if she'd fallen into a bottomless abyss. The icy chill that gripped her limbs felt like Death's scythe pressed to her neck.
But then—there was a warm hand.
Someone pulled her back from the brink.
She had escaped the mines, hadn't she?
"It was just a dream," she whispered to herself."I dreamed of someone named Revy, who said he'd save me, take me to Lungmen… even adopt me, be my big brother. But the moment I open my eyes, I'll still be in that cursed mine."
...Misha! Misha!
"Stop yelling, foreman. I'm going…" she mumbled, clinging to the warmth, refusing to wake. That dream was just too beautiful.
Her body was so warm now—nothing like the cold she used to shiver through in those rags at the worksite.
—Misha!
The voice grew louder. She knew if she didn't get up soon, she'd feel the crack of the foreman's whip.
"Alright, alright, I'm up…"
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes.
As she sat up, the makeshift clothing packed around her sleeping bag slid away. The crisp, icy air bit her skin. But in the distance, golden sunlight pierced the horizon, lighting up the hidden camp.
Morning had come.
Near the still-burning campfire, a small cooking pot released an enticing aroma. That Sarkaz man named Revy stood nearby, holding a steaming bowl and smiling softly.
Misha's lips curled upward—just a little, just enough.
Her eyes glistened with tears.
But she smiled.