Meruem had already rejected the carriage twice.
The first had arrived with one wheel slightly misaligned.
The defect was minor enough that Edrin did not notice it until Meruem crouched beside the axle and rotated the wheel by hand. Each revolution produced a faint lateral deviation, barely the width of a fingernail.
To Edrin, it was an inconvenience.
To Meruem, it was repetition.
A single vibration meant nothing. Thousands accumulated over the course of a day were another matter entirely.
The driver attempted to argue that the carriage had traversed half the region in worse condition. Meruem looked at him once, and the discussion ended shortly thereafter.
The second carriage was mechanically sound.
The horse was not.
Meruem detected the asymmetry in its gait before the animal had fully entered the yard. The right hind leg remained grounded a fraction longer than the left. Not an injury severe enough to prevent travel, but sufficient to create uneven pacing on descending roads.
Rejected.
By the time Edrin returned with a third carriage, the merchant had ceased voicing complaints.
"This," he announced as he dismounted from the driver's bench, "is the quietest carriage within twenty kilometers, drawn by the healthiest animal I could legally acquire without purchasing the entire stable."
Meruem circled it.
Edrin observed him.
Meruem tested the suspension.
Edrin continued observing.
He inspected the wheels, the harness, the interior padding, and the clearance beneath the seats.
"Acceptable."
Edrin closed his eyes briefly.
"Excellent. I was beginning to think we would have to carry the road ourselves."
Meruem ignored him and opened the carriage door.
The interior had been modified during the morning. Blankets covered the bench. A folded mattress had been secured along one side, and Mitu had installed two straps designed to stabilize a passenger without restricting movement. Small cloth pouches containing herbs hung near the windows.
Meruem touched one.
A bitter scent escaped through the fabric.
"What is this?"
Mitu descended the steps behind him, a wooden case tucked beneath one arm.
"Something to reduce nausea."
"Does it affect Nen?"
"No."
"Heart rate?"
"Not significantly."
"Respiration?"
"Meruem."
He looked at her.
"If you interrogate every leaf I place in that carriage, we will still be here tomorrow."
"If any of them can influence her condition, the questions are necessary."
Mitu set the case down with more force than required.
"And you know what else influences her condition?"
He waited.
"Stress."
Edrin found something extremely interesting near the horse's reins.
Meruem glanced toward the house.
Komugi was still inside.
He had not seen her since dawn.
That had not been his decision.
Mitu had prohibited it during what she described as a functional examination. Meruem had initially considered disregarding the restriction until the old woman explained that Komugi's behavior changed when he was present.
He had found the claim implausible.
Then Mitu had asked what Komugi did when she felt weak in front of him.
She joked.
Changed the subject.
Insisted she was fine.
Meruem had stopped arguing.
He disliked information that proved useful against him.
The door opened.
His attention shifted immediately.
Komugi stood in the doorway.
Not alone.
Mitu's assistant—an elderly neighbor who had arrived shortly after sunrise—supported her lightly beneath one arm without bearing her weight.
Meruem's gaze lowered.
Komugi was standing.
He counted automatically.
One.
Her shoulders remained level.
Two.
Her left knee trembled.
Three.
Her fingers tightened against the doorframe.
Four.
Her body collapsed.
Meruem crossed the distance before the neighbor could react.
One moment Komugi was falling. The next she was against his chest, his arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her back.
She exhaled sharply.
Not frightened.
Annoyed.
"Four."
Meruem looked at Mitu.
The old woman was already consulting a small pocket watch.
"Yes."
"Yesterday she lasted longer."
"Yesterday she forced herself longer."
"That is not an answer."
"It is precisely the answer."
Komugi lifted her head slightly. "Could I be consulted while you are discussing my legs?"
"No," Meruem said.
"Yes," Mitu said simultaneously.
Komugi looked between them.
"This is going well."
Meruem carried her back inside.
The examination room was little more than Mitu's dining space cleared of furniture. A narrow rug had been rolled against the wall, exposing the wooden floor. Three chalk marks had been drawn across it at increasing distances from a chair.
Meruem noticed them immediately.
"You made her walk."
"I asked her to try."
"How far?"
"Less than two meters."
His gaze sharpened.
Mitu did not move.
"She requested the test."
Meruem looked down at Komugi.
She avoided his eyes.
That alone confirmed it.
"Why?"
Komugi considered pretending not to understand.
She abandoned the attempt quickly.
"Because we are leaving today."
"That was already decided."
"Yes."
"And?"
"And I wanted to know whether I could walk to the carriage."
"You cannot."
"I know that now."
Meruem placed her on the chair.
There was something distinctly irritating about the simplicity of her answer.
She had wanted information.
So she had tested the problem.
It was precisely what he would have done.
Which made objection more difficult.
Mitu crouched in front of her and placed two fingers against her neck.
"Any dizziness?"
"A little."
"When?"
"After the third step."
"Nausea?"
"No."
"Pressure behind the eyes?"
Komugi hesitated.
Meruem noticed.
Mitu noticed as well.
"How much?"
"Not much."
"That is meaningless."
"It is less than a lot."
Mitu exhaled through her nose.
Meruem understood, suddenly, why the old woman seemed perpetually irritated around Komugi.
They were similar in one specific and unfortunate way.
Both could weaponize imprecision when precision became inconvenient.
Mitu reached for Komugi's wrist.
A faint pulse of aura moved from her fingertips.
Death Judge.
Meruem observed more closely than before.
He had seen diagnostic Nen abilities before. Most produced visible effects: color shifts, constructs, measurable outputs. Death Judge produced almost nothing observable.
Its danger—or utility—was subtler.
Mitu's aura did not overwhelm Komugi's.
It moved into the spaces between fluctuations.
Listened.
That was the only term Meruem could assign to it.
Not probing.
Listening.
Mitu's expression tightened.
Meruem saw it.
"What?"
"Quiet."
"You found something."
"I said quiet."
He considered refusing.
Then Komugi's pulse shifted beneath Mitu's fingers.
Meruem heard it.
One beat arrived too early.
Then another.
The third returned to normal.
Mitu's thumb adjusted slightly.
Her aura shifted with it.
The irregularity ceased.
Meruem's focus narrowed.
"What happened?"
Mitu did not respond for several seconds.
When she finally withdrew her hand, she remained crouched.
"The standing is not the important part."
Meruem said nothing.
Komugi's expression had changed.
She understood the implication as well.
Mitu looked toward the four chalk marks Komugi had attempted earlier.
"Her muscles are weak, yes. That is expected after what her body has endured."
She rose.
"But weakness alone does not explain what occurred."
Meruem followed her gaze.
"What occurred?"
"Her aura responded before her body failed."
That altered the problem.
Meruem's mind adjusted immediately.
"Sequence."
Mitu nodded.
"The first step was normal. During the second, her aura output increased slightly."
"Due to exertion."
"That was my assumption."
"Incorrect?"
"Possibly."
She walked toward the chalk marks.
"Third step: the output did not simply increase. It concentrated."
"Where?"
"Lower spine. Then chest."
Meruem looked at Komugi.
She appeared more curious than afraid.
"Fourth step?"
Mitu paused for a fraction too long.
"It reversed."
Edrin, who had entered quietly behind them, frowned.
"Reversed?"
Mitu looked at him.
"The circulation."
That was enough to make even him still.
Meruem's eyes narrowed.
Nen followed circulation through aura nodes, but "direction" was an imprecise human construct. Aura did not flow like blood through fixed vessels. Still, experienced users recognized patterns: output, reinforcement, redistribution.
Reversal without conscious control suggested something else entirely.
"A reflex?"
Mitu shook her head.
"Not one I recognize."
"Could Death Judge have caused it?"
"No. I was not maintaining contact."
Meruem returned his attention to Komugi.
She was staring at her hands.
"You felt something."
Komugi looked up.
"Maybe."
"Describe it."
She considered carefully.
"On the third step, my chest felt… full."
"Pain?"
"No."
"Pressure?"
"Not exactly."
Mitu waited.
Komugi frowned, searching for a comparison.
"Like when you are about to remember something, but it has not arrived yet."
Edrin looked confused.
Meruem did not.
A sensation of anticipation without defined information.
"Then?"
"When I tried the fourth step, it disappeared."
"And you fell."
"Yes."
"No sensation before losing strength?"
Komugi shook her head.
Meruem looked toward Mitu.
The old woman was already studying him.
They had reached the same conclusion.
The collapse might not be simple exhaustion.
Something in Komugi's Nen was responding to effort.
Or intention.
The distinction mattered.
"How many times was this tested?"
Meruem asked.
"Once," Mitu replied.
"Again."
"No."
"We require confirmation."
"And if the second test produces a stronger reaction?"
"We need to know whether it is reproducible."
"We need her alive more."
Meruem's expression hardened.
Mitu's did not.
The room remained still.
Komugi broke the silence.
"She is right."
Meruem turned.
Komugi leaned back against the chair, visibly fatigued.
"If we test it again just because we are curious and something happens, then we learned something useless."
Meruem almost objected to the phrasing.
Instead, he considered the board.
Information had value.
But information carried acquisition cost.
He had long believed sufficient power could reduce that cost to zero.
Komugi's body disagreed.
"We postpone the second test."
Mitu nodded once.
No satisfaction.
Meruem found that acceptable.
Edrin unfolded the route map on the table.
"Then the question is whether we still depart today."
Meruem looked at Mitu.
"Do we?"
The old woman hesitated.
That was more concerning than refusal.
"I need another hour."
"For what?"
"To determine whether the reversal was transient."
"You can determine that?"
"Possibly."
Meruem disliked the answer.
Mitu noticed.
"You will hear it frequently before this is over."
He said nothing.
Outside, the carriage horse stamped against the ground.
Everything was prepared.
Food packed.
Medicine arranged.
Route selected.
Transport secured.
Every problem Meruem had identified during the night had been resolved.
And now, four steps across a wooden floor had introduced another.
He looked at the chalk marks.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Nothing about them appeared significant.
That was precisely what made them dangerous.
In Gungi, the obvious move was rarely the one that ended the game. The lethal move was often the piece advanced quietly several turns earlier, seemingly insignificant.
Komugi's collapse might be weakness.
Or it might be the first visible consequence of something not yet understood.
Meruem looked toward the carriage waiting beyond the window.
For the first time since deciding to leave for Whale Island, he considered that they might not depart today.
The thought met immediate resistance.
Every hour mattered.
Every delay reduced the time available on the road to Folklore.
But moving Komugi at the wrong moment could cost far more.
Once again, the board offered no favorable move.
Only different forms of loss.
Meruem turned away from the window.
"One hour."
Mitu raised an eyebrow.
"No more."
"I will use whatever is necessary."
"One hour," he repeated, "then we reassess."
That was different.
Not an order to depart.
Not yet.
Mitu appeared to recognize it.
She gathered her instruments without comment.
Komugi watched Meruem from the chair.
"You are improving."
"At what?"
"Choosing unpleasant moves."
Meruem regarded her.
She smiled faintly.
Outside, the road toward Whale Island waited beneath a clear morning sky.
For now, they did not take it.
Four seconds had changed the plan.