It was almost dawn, yet they had to make significant progress before allowing themselves rest.
The forest pressed close around the narrow road, tall trunks rising like pillars while their interwoven crowns dimmed the early light. The air was cool and damp, scented with bark and wet soil. The carriage wheels rolled steadily over uneven ground, cutting shallow grooves into the earth.
Arthur held a small vessel of water as Cellis leaned out and retched again.
After a moment, she returned, wiping her mouth before taking the vessel from him and drinking carefully.
"Why am I vomiting so much?" she muttered weakly. "The previous trips rarely had this effect on me. I am even feeling hungry."
The older escort glanced back from the driver's bench. "Dear, it may be because you are facing opposite to the carriage's movement. Your eyes and your body are in disagreement. Switch places with Herold back there."
Herold complied without complaint. The carriage shifted as they exchanged seats. Now facing forward, Cellis steadied gradually.
"I feel bad that I have to leave him," she murmured. "He must be sad as well."
Arthur's gaze remained outward, watching the trees slide past. "It is already nearing night. Should we not prepare for rest?"
"We will soon," the older escort replied evenly. "Only a short rest is viable. We must maintain our pace."
Arthur fell silent.
Cellis had once taken a full month to complete this journey — four weeks, thirty‑two days. If he subtracted the week they had remained in Lesse and halved the remaining time due to improved travel conditions, it would still require roughly twelve days to reach Advent.
He had never properly calculated it before.
Now that the journey was underway, the distance felt heavier.
If provisions dwindled… if weather worsened… if the road became impassable…
He might need to use his creation — not for study, but for survival.
From the front, Herold groaned softly. "We need to reach one of the cities today. Sleep in comfortable beds. Not on the ground."
Only then did it occur to Arthur that he had been foolish. He had thought only of Lesse and Advent, as though nothing existed between them. Yet there were other territories — smaller cities, trade settlements, guarded crossings. The road was not emptiness between two points. It was inhabited land.
By nightfall, the carriage turned into a narrow clearing within the forest.
A modest campfire was lit at its center. The two horses were unharnessed and led to an open patch of grass, reins secured loosely to low branches while they fed in steady rhythm.
Beyond the circle of firelight, the woods breathed.
In the deeper dark, a lizard‑like creature lurked. Greenish scales caught stray embers between leaves. Two narrow horns curved backward from its skull. Its tongue slipped in and out, tasting the air, following a faint presence.
"It is time to sleep," the older escort said, adjusting the firewood with his boot.
He then turned toward Arthur. "I did not properly introduce myself. Arthur, I am indeed an escort from the academy — but I am also your temporary instructor. My name is Herold Sik Romire. Herold is sufficient."
"Instructor?" Arthur asked calmly.
"It will be official after reaching the academy."
Cellis, seated near the fire, held a thin stick over the flames. Several mushrooms blistered and browned along it. She passed one to Arthur while swallowing a piece of her own.
Arthur accepted it but paused. "Are these not poisonous, Herold?"
At the word poisonous, Cellis stiffened. The memory of her earlier nausea caught up with her. She abruptly stood and moved away from the firelight, disappearing toward the carriage.
Herold remained unconcerned. "No. I survived on these mushrooms for weeks in the wilderness. They are safe."
Arthur nodded and began eating.
Cellis climbed into the carriage, clearly intending to sleep —It was where it would be best to sleep, at least for her.
The forest quieted further. The fire cracked softly. The horses shifted.
From somewhere beyond the trees, something growled.
>>>
From somewhere beyond the trees, something growled. Arthur noticed it first, his gaze shifting into the dark behind him. Herold followed a breath later. Between the trees, half‑veiled in shadow, a wolf stood watching them. Its eyes caught the firelight but did not shine brightly. It remained still. Then it took a step.
The undergrowth shifted softly beneath its weight.
Herold's hand moved to his sword. Wary of the danger.
Two more steps followed. The wolf emerged further, but did not bare its teeth. Herold drew his blade in a single smooth motion, to intimidate the opponent as well to prepare for the worst.
Fourth step.
Herold adjusted his stance, blade angled forward — prepared to kill.
It took its final step. The firelight reached it fully. A thick black mane ran along its neck and down between its shoulders, dense and heavy, distinct from the rest of its coat — coarse ash‑gray and shorter. Its body trembled. Blood darkened its side. Its breathing faltered.
It collapsed before either of them moved. A mixed emotion of ease and wariness flowed.
Herold stepped forward cautiously. The blade descended once, clean and decisive, across its throat. The body jerked, then stilled. Blood soaked into the soil beneath the mane.
"A knightmane," Herold muttered.
Arthur had already moved to the other side. He pressed a hand against the abdomen. It was rounded.
"Female," he said.
"What?",Herold was not expecting such an assessment.
"There are pups.",Arthur said in slight concern.
"Did I hear correctly?",Herold wanted to be sure of the previous words.
"It has pups.",Arthur didnt comply, instead a firmer resolve for the pups followed.
"So what?",Herold was confused, what could they even do at that moment.
"They might still be saved. Give me your knife. Or the dagger.", Arthur clarified his words.
Herold hesitated, then, curious, handed him both.
Arthur tested the knife against bone. It failed. He switched to the dagger. He inserted it low where the flesh yielded, avoiding bone by instinct. He pierced through and drew the blade upward toward the chest, the tearing controlled.
"Have you done this before?" Herold asked quietly.
"I have helped before," Arthur replied evenly. "A sleeping bear , injured a wolf once to help it give birth — it left afterward. Certainly, it did not have intelligence like that hubernating Seragtle." Herold was not surprised at the bear's temperament, and an ordinary wolf was rare, lacking intelligence, unlike the mana beasts, they were not given distinct names to study upon.
He reached inside despite the warmth and resistance. He felt uncomfortable and disgust.
He withdrew the healthier that might have survived first. It did not move.
The second followed. Still and limp.
The third was smaller.
Arthur cleared its mouth and pressed along its ribs.
Nothing.
He pressed again.
A faint twitch answered.
Then a thin cry pierced the quiet.
"Only one survived," he murmured.
The carriage door opened and Cellis stepped out.
Arthur wrapped the living pup in cloth and placed it into her hands.
"Here is the gift you wanted."
"What do I do with it?" she asked.
"Breastfeed," Herold said carefully, choosing the phrasing deliberately so she didn't understand.
She understood the word. Yet she stiffened — reminded she had not grown much even after turning fifteen, a so‑called "flat earther."
"Temporarily give it your mana," Arthur said. "Or let it suck on your finger if you cannot transfer correctly."
She felt slight annoyance that he had noticed that flaw, but no real offense.
Quietly, she let the pup latch onto her finger and guided mana into it. The tiny body twitched, then settled.
The forest remained still.
They departed the next morning, astray from their original route — now with a pup to keep alive.