Chapter 1152

Yuder quietly scanned the faded signboard, reading the symbols and village names carved into the worn wood. Every name was familiar. It had been a year ago—but in reality, closer to twelve—since he’d last left home, and this might well have been the final signpost he saw back then.

Feels... strange.

He turned his head and gave a small nod to the man beside him, whose face was lit with anticipation.

“It looks like we’ve found the right place. Everything looks familiar.”

“I’ve never been to this region before, so I had to rely solely on the map in my memory. I’m glad it paid off. Spotting it from above was worth it.”

“Even residents have a hard time navigating this area, but you found it well.”

“Seems desperation has its uses.”

Even if Kishiar had lost his way, Yuder could have found it easily, so it wouldn’t have been a problem. Still, was he really that desperate? It was hard to understand. But maybe this was the same feeling Kishiar had when Yuder appreciated one of his old tactics—it was about resonance, maybe.

If that’s the case... I can accept that.

Watching Kishiar unable to hide his excitement, Yuder’s heart softened a little. That strange heaviness from earlier quietly dissolved as he turned away.

“We need to go this way. Let’s go.”

If the winter of the North was a war of endless snowstorms, the winter in these central mountains was a series of bone-chilling days that froze everything to the marrow. Though the cold had eased somewhat, that deep chill still lingered in the air.

It feels like it’s been a long time since I last felt this.

Yuder walked on, the cold air stinging his cheeks and ears, stirring up blurred memories. Walking a narrow mountain path barely wide enough for one person, hearing the crunch of old leaves underfoot—all of it was long overdue.

It was so similar to the past, he almost felt like a boy again—until Kishiar’s voice grounded him back in reality.

“Which village are we heading to now?”

“Mm... it’s not a village. The place I lived was a bit isolated, away from where people lived. We’ll be going there directly.”

“If it’s really been that long since you came here, are you sure the path isn’t too hard to find?”

He meant: are you worried you’ll get lost? Kishiar’s tone was teasing, but the question carried a gentle understanding, showing how well he grasped Yuder’s circumstances.

Someone else who knew how long it had been since Yuder last came here... that felt oddly precious.

“Well, I was a little concerned, but...”

Yuder raised his hand to the air. A thin stream of wind stirred from somewhere, gently curled around his hand, then slipped past a branch overhead and disappeared.

“But seeing things like this makes me think we can just follow wherever our feet take us. Don’t worry.”

“What was that just now? Did you find the path with wind?”

“Something like that.”

Yuder Aile’s ability was to manipulate natural elements. But even when he wasn’t actively using his powers, there were times when nature seemed unusually kind to him.

Like when he’d fallen off a cliff into water and washed ashore on his own—or when branches and grass moved out of his way before he could bump into them. It didn’t happen every time, but ever since awakening his powers, things like that occurred now and then.

The wind just now was one such phenomenon. Every time he came home, wind would often blow at his back, guiding him in the right direction. Even in the darkest nights, following that breeze led him home easily.

After a brief explanation, Kishiar looked deeply intrigued.

“You’re like someone from an old legend, blessed by the spirits.”

“I’m not quite that special.”

“So the great nature itself is my rival in love. And I’m just a mere mortal... what do I do.”

Compete with nature itself? Yuder almost laughed at the absurdity but held it back.

While they talked, they’d continued walking, and familiar sights began to emerge.

That big tree. The peak beyond the path... I’ll be hearing the sound of the stream soon, too.

He’d thought he’d forgotten everything. But no—getting closer to home revived all the memories. In the awkward yet familiar sensations, Yuder pressed on.

How long had they climbed?

Finally, a small house came into view.

A shabby, old place made of stacked wood. The covered chimney, showing no one was home, the overgrown yard, and the carelessly stacked crates—all exactly as Yuder remembered them.

It felt as if he’d left just yesterday. Moving forward slowly, he reached into a gap behind the crates and retrieved a hidden axe handle. It was the same axe he’d used for chopping firewood, passed down since his grandfather’s time. Well-worn with use, its grip was familiar.

As he stared at it in silence, Kishiar approached, touched the handle too, and spoke.

“Grabbing a weapon the moment you arrive—your way of welcoming is quite... unique.”

“...Ah. I’m sorry. I just wanted to check if this really was the place I remembered. It was always close at hand.”

“Haha. No need to apologize. It looks ancient. You used it often?”

“Yes. My grandfather carved the handle himself. It was sturdy and very useful for chopping wood.”

“It’s been left here for years, yet it’s neither rotten nor dull. A fine piece. But it must’ve been heavy to handle as a child.”

“Hearing you say that... I guess it was.”

After his grandfather passed, Yuder had to manage the axe on his own. It had been hard at first. Only after learning that handling an axe was about technique, not strength, had he gotten the hang of it. He recalled the many failed swings before that realization.

Yuder placed the axe back where it belonged. As he walked toward the door, Kishiar followed and asked,

“How long did you live here?”

“Well... ever since I can remember. As far back as my first memories go, I’ve lived here.”

“Goodness. It really is your hometown. Living in one place for so long, it must’ve been hard to leave.”

“I was younger then. I was curious about the world. Still... If the Cavalry hadn’t been formed, I might still be living here.”

It might have sounded odd—someone who still looked so young talking like that. But Kishiar didn’t laugh. Yuder paused, then added,

“Of course, I’m glad that didn’t happen.”

The man, who’d been staring down with his long lashes lowered, slowly raised his head at those unexpected words. He blinked and quietly asked,

“Do you really think that? If it were me, I think I’d have missed this place terribly.”

“If you had lived here... I doubt you’d feel that way. Not to be rude, but this place is incredibly boring. And if I’d stayed...”

He wouldn’t have met Kishiar la Orr.

He would’ve lived his life never knowing who Kishiar was, never feeling the warmth of those crimson eyes.

Just the thought of it felt unbearably dull.

Yuder conveyed it all with a single sentence:

“You never would’ve come here either.”

“...”

To Yuder, this was a place he'd lived long, one he was attached to—but not a place he missed. That didn’t mean he hated it. He just didn’t long to return.

“The place I belong is not here, but the Cavalry in the Capital. It was then, and it still is now.”

Even when he’d died and returned to life, convinced there was no point in going back to the Cavalry, he still ended up there. Back then, he told himself it was «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» for practical reasons. But the truth was, no matter what excuse he made, he would’ve found his way there anyway.

When he thought of the Cavalry, he always pictured the top floor of the building in the Capital’s 7th District. The light pouring through the windows. That familiar scent. The odd urge to stand there, close his eyes, and take a deep breath.

That feeling—wasn’t it what people called longing?

He pulled out the long iron rod looped around the doorknob instead of a lock. The small door opened with ease. Fortunately, there were no signs of theft.

Well, even if someone had come, there’s nothing worth taking.

The scent of old dust filled the air. Feeling a rare awkwardness, Yuder turned his head.

“As you saw outside, the inside isn’t exactly clean. But if you don’t mind...”

“Of course I don’t.”

“...Please, come in.”

Even before Yuder finished his sentence, Kishiar cut in eagerly, making the conversation feel oddly lighthearted. Yuder stepped aside to let him in. Kishiar bowed his head to pass through the door—shorter than his height—and slowly entered.

For some reason, he looked more nervous and tense than usual. Almost reverent. With a solemn pace, he stepped inside and finally raised his head to look around the darkened house.

“Am I your first guest here? The first one you’ve invited in?”

“Um... yes. That’s right.”

He hadn’t thought about it before, but hearing it out loud made him realize: yes, Kishiar was the first person Yuder had ever invited into this home.

I suppose this is the opposite of what happened at Peleta.

This house was nothing compared to Kishiar’s vast, luxurious estate. There were no welcoming soldiers, no kind retainers, no fine food prepared in advance.

And yet, upon hearing Yuder’s reply, Kishiar lowered his gaze and smiled with such overwhelming happiness, it was beyond words.

“I’m honored.”