* * *

After Jeanne and Marchen left, an awkward silence settled between Jerome and Freya, now alone together.

Jerome approached the shelf where the teacups were stacked and reached for a jar of tea leaves with practiced ease.

“You must have been desperate. Coming here in your condition.”

“You know how dangerous it was this time, don’t you?”

“Was it?”

“I can’t understand your choices. Why do you keep deliberately putting that boy in danger? If you’re doing it just for your amusement, I’ll never forgive you. Ever.”

When Freya had heard that Jeanne was on trial, accused of witchcraft, she had no doubt it was Jerome’s doing.

Toying with people, pushing them to the edge to watch their reactions, was one of Jerome’s long-standing vices.

While Freya admired Jerome’s formidable power, she regarded him as a failure in terms of humanity.

Jerome, sipping well-steeped milk tea, shrugged with a smirk.

“I don’t know why so many people seem to be declaring war on me lately.”

“It just means there are as many people worried about him as I am.”

“Don’t worry. This time, my goal is different.”

Freya eyed him suspiciously before sighing.

“At least he’s wearing the ring I gave him. I was worried you’d forcibly take it off.”

“When his life is at stake, his instincts are sharp enough to be frightening.”

“He’s a bit like you in that regard.”

“They say married couples grow alike.”

Jerome set his teacup down with a laugh.

Freya, studying him closely, suddenly extended her own cup.

“Jerome, pick this up with your left hand.”

“No.”

“If you refuse, I’ll tell Jeanne about the mind control magic you cast.”

At her threat, Jerome raised an eyebrow but reached for the cup.

As his hand moved to grasp the handle, the teacup slipped and shattered on the floor.

Crash!

The shattered cup rolled across the ground as Jerome clenched his trembling left hand with the other.

Freya’s eyes filled with despair as she finally grasped the situation.

“There are two types of aberrations: those where the mind is corrupted first, leading to physical mutation, and those where the body mutates first, followed by mental degradation.”

“…”

“Jeanne’s divine rituals prevented your soul from being corrupted, but… your body has long been undergoing aberration because of Mephisto. Isn’t that right?”

Freya, with her powerful holy abilities, had known the moment she faced Jerome.

His body was already saturated with Mephisto’s malice.

Though she had claimed concern for Jeanne as her reason for visiting, the truth was she was worried about Jerome.

After all, Jerome and Carlisle had fought alongside her in the past as close comrades. Biting her lip, Freya added,

“Let’s try Marchen’s treatment to stop the aberration for now. If you keep using aura in this state, you’ll die.”

“Freya, you know as well as I do. My body has been in this state for a long time. Marchen’s treatment is effective only in the early stages of aberration. It won’t heal me.”

Jerome’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Freya’s voice trembled.

“There has to be another way.”

“There isn’t.”

“…”

“I’ve already decided how to spend the time I have left. If my time is truly limited, I won’t waste it begging for my life. That would be boring.”

His composed demeanor didn’t seem like that of a man facing death.

In a way, it felt like the most “Jerome-like” way to die.

Yet Freya couldn’t help but feel a twinge of resentment toward his complete lack of will to fight for life.

Staring at the shattered teacup, Freya finally spoke.

“Jerome, that boy loves you. I’m not asking for your sake but for Jeanne’s. I can’t let you die, because I don’t want to see Jeanne in pain.”

“No, Jeanne doesn’t love me. He’s just kind, that’s all.”

“…”

“So don’t tell him.”

Jerome tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“My husband is surprisingly prone to tears.”

---

The Day of Departure

Time flew, and the day to depart for the South arrived.

After a send-off by Cedric and the rabbit siblings, the group set out to unravel the mystery.

The South was farther than the North, and despite meticulous preparation, the journey was fraught with challenges.

From near-death encounters with bandits targeting travelers to goblins attacking their carriage and even their coachman losing his way, the journey was anything but smooth.

But the most perplexing challenge was Jerome’s changed demeanor.

“Hang in there, darling. The South is a port city, so it’ll be cooler than the capital.”

Jerome fanned me gently as he spoke.

Though we had set out boldly, the relentless heat wore down both the horses and the travelers.

Eventually, we had to stop under a willow tree to cool off.

Swatting away Jerome’s distracting hand, I asked,

“Have you been to the South before?”

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a halo around Jerome’s face.

He furrowed his brow, as if trying to recall, and muttered,

“No, come to think of it, this will be my first time. The South is usually where couples go for their honeymoon—flowers and the harbor are the main attractions, nothing else.”

“Really?”

I chuckled despite the heat, amused by his unfamiliarity.

Jerome looked puzzled by my reaction.

With a deep sigh, I continued,

“It’s nice to know you have firsts too. I’ve always been the one fumbling, experiencing everything for the first time.”

“…”

“I guess there will always be new things to experience until the day I die.”

His hand, which had been brushing hair from my forehead, suddenly froze.

For a few seconds, our eyes met in a silence that felt oddly heavy.

There was something strange about him—though he was right here, it felt like he might vanish at any moment.

Before I could process it, Jerome pinched my nose lightly and shifted the topic.

“We’re short on time if we want to arrive today. Let’s go.”

Jerome stood and began walking down the slope.

Awkwardly, I got up and brushed grass off my clothes, my thoughts lingering on the fleeting expression I’d seen on his face.

“He hesitated, I’m sure of it.”

The Jerome of the past would have kissed me regardless of my protests.

But lately, he had been deliberately keeping his distance.

My heart felt uneasy, my fists clenching as I bowed my head.

“He’s lost interest in me.”

We didn’t exchange a word until we reached the South.

Jerome seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts, and I was consumed by mine.

Even though I tried to act normal, the heaviness in my heart didn’t lift until the sight of the vast sea beyond the window finally stirred something in me.

“So, this is the South.”

Unlike the snow-covered North, the South had a warm climate year-round.

Its vibrant blue sea, countless ships docked at the harbor, and the faint outline of the Southern Sea’s labyrinth on the horizon created a quintessential coastal landscape.

As I admired the scenery, Jerome, poring over a map, spoke up.

“We need to find a navigator as soon as we reach the harbor.”

“A navigator?”

“The southern seas are rough and treacherous. And to make things worse, there’s a notoriously ill-tempered Kraken living near the labyrinth. By now, other guilds are probably breaking their heads trying to recruit skilled navigators.”

Well, it wasn’t surprising.

Other guilds wanted to uncover the treasures of the southern seas just as much.

Even a slight delay, and all the capable navigators would surely be snatched up by the competition.

Muttering anxiously, I said,

“Please, let us find a skilled navigator.”

The carriage raced down the forest path and soon arrived in a village bustling around the port.

Treasure hunters and guild members who had heard of the treasures hidden in the labyrinth filled the place with energy.

Reaching the village was the easy part—finding a navigator, however, was another challenge.

After some thought, I spoke.

“Jerome, do you think there’s a tavern nearby?”

It was a prejudice of mine to assume sailors would gather where there was liquor.

While the coachman attended to the carriage, Jerome and I headed to the most well-known tavern in the area.

As soon as we pushed through the creaky wooden door, the scene unfolded: sailors stomping their feet and singing a round song at the top of their lungs.

---

The whale that rules the southern seas
Is infamous for its foul temper.
Neither costly rum nor prayers can soothe that wretched beast—
There’s only one way to calm it down.

---

Judging by the lyrics, it seemed to be a traditional song passed down among southern sailors.

The burly men, their faces flushed red from singing, suddenly turned their gaze to Jerome and me.

A tense silence filled the tavern as I swept my eyes across the room, speaking bluntly.

“We’re looking for a skilled navigator to take us to the labyrinth. Anyone interested?”

The men exchanged glances before bursting into raucous laughter.

One particularly large man, holding a tankard as big as my head, spoke with a grin.

“Sorry, kid, but we don’t take children on board. There’s a saying that having a kid on a ship brings down Belges’s wrath.”

Jerome, who had been silently observing, stifled a laugh. Narrowing my eyes, I yelled,

“…Who are you calling a kid? I’m a grown adult!”

“Even if you weren’t a kid, no sane navigator would take a cursed Sakran like you aboard. Sacreans are bad luck, after all.”

At the man’s words, shouts of agreement echoed throughout the tavern.

It seemed that prejudice against Sacreans was just as strong in the south.

Stunned by the blatant discrimination, I was momentarily speechless.

That was when a flowerpot flew across the room and smashed against the man’s head with a clang.

The burly sailor stumbled before collapsing sideways.

A red-haired woman sitting at the bar quietly stood up, her voice laced with menace.

“Who dares insult my one and only comrade?”

At her words, the previously drunken sailors snapped to attention, their expressions sobering.

A few men, now realizing the situation, quickly bowed their heads.

“Y-Your Highness’s comrade?! We had no idea—”

“Please, forgive our rudeness! We beg you!”

The intimidating men trembled as they begged for forgiveness.

Ignoring them, the woman strode toward me and stopped in front of us.

My heart raced as I recognized the familiar face.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Looking for a skilled navigator?”

Layla, wearing a confident smirk and a black eyepatch over one eye, stood proudly.

* * *