Ramina’s day began with a prayer to Utoska, the Storm God.
After prayer, she proceeded with her daily training, washed herself, checked her weapons for wear and tear. It was her brother’s turn to cook today—and as expected, it was stewed silverback fish with mam fruit and roasted marla. Disgusting.
She finished breakfast and reported to the hunting team. Baza’s condition wasn’t good—still unconscious. She was worried.
Tasks were assigned, and a squad was formed to install some kind of “anti-dragon net.” The black-haired noble would be tagging along—ugh, irritating.
“Break time’s over.”
The Natalin warriors silently and swiftly packed their gear. From her perch in the tree where she had been surveying the route, Ramina leapt down lightly, gazing down at the black-haired noble still seated in the shade. Her eyes fixed on the unhealthy flush on his face and the sweat beading on his brow, and she began to frown.
“How are you? Can you keep going?”
He looked up at her without answering, then used a nearby tree for support and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.
Since this mission required venturing deep into the eastern side of the valley’s primeval forest—an area rarely touched by humans, dense with vegetation and without any paths—the giant-horned deer couldn’t pass through, so the squad had to proceed entirely on foot.
Most of the Natalin warriors in the hunting team were fighters, with a few spellcasters. All of them were in excellent physical condition. Even carrying equipment, this stretch of road was no real challenge for them.
But it was rough on the noble lord, who looked like he hadn’t used his own two feet much since birth.
However, to Ramina’s surprise, he never complained or tried to quit. Though she had intentionally slowed the team’s pace, he still did his best to keep up—despite looking like he was about to keel over.
That did make Ramina somewhat revise her opinion of him—though that slight goodwill was soon utterly shattered.
“Do you not understand plain speech?” the red-haired girl forced down her temper, clearly itching to throw a punch. “Go any farther and we’ll be in the territory of a Level-Seven magic beast—a Thunder Python. There are only five of us right now, and I’m the strongest, a High Apostle warrior. I’m not risking my team for nothing!”
On the continent of Ambrose, combat power was classified into four tiers: Acolyte, Apostle, Praysayer, and Saint, each further divided into low, mid, and high levels. A High Apostle roughly equaled a Level-Six magic beast in strength.
“I understand just fine.” The man’s local language was now fluent, without a trace of the earlier stammering. “But the terrain here is unsuitable for setting up foundations and support poles. To achieve the intended outcome, we need to move about five hundred meters farther. The field survey should’ve been completed beforehand. You told me you lacked manpower—that’s why I’m here.”
“For fuck’s sake, it’s just five hundred meters?” Ramina snapped.
“A seemingly minor gap can collapse the entire setup,” he shot back with a frosty expression. “Don’t question my conclusions based on unfounded assumptions or untested intuition.”
Ramina: “…”
The nearby Natalin warriors, shocked that this foreigner actually dared to talk back to their boss, quietly exclaimed: Whoa!
Ramina was even more tempted to punch him—but judging by his fragile appearance, one hit from her would have him on the ground. And under three seconds, she’d be kneeling and praying over him trying to revive the bastard.
Nova also took a deep breath. His foot hurt like hell, he could barely catch his breath, and now he had to patiently explain a load of crap to a stranger who didn’t trust him—his irritation mounted, and his tone grew even sharper.
“Time is tight. We still have other pylons to erect, and the Thunder Python needs to be dealt with anyway—snakes climb, it’s likely to damage the equipment. Its presence is a massive risk. What, are you planning to send someone out every day to check and fix the setup, risking lives each time? Frankly, that’s an enormous waste of manpower. Impractical. And stupid.”
…Sure, what he said made sense, but why did it have to come out so damn annoying?
Ramina took a deep breath. “…I’ll scout ahead and take point in the attack. The rest of you flank and assist.”
“Wait ten minutes before you move. That Thunder Python last fed around six hours ago—it ate a mountain goat and gorged itself. Full digestion will take at least two days.” The black-haired youth clicked his tongue in mild irritation, meeting their stunned stares. “Drag marks, tufts of fur, soil variation, broken branches—you guys should be better at reading those than I am.”
“When startled, snakes prioritize vomiting up what they’ve eaten before fleeing or fighting—magical beasts included.” The professor’s face remained impassive, but his voice left no room for doubt, as if he were recounting something already seen. “I brought gunpowder. Give me ten minutes to set up a simple dispersal device and ignite it. We’re far enough from the snowcaps, no risk of an avalanche. The sudden loud sound will spook the Thunder Python—faced with uncertainty, it will regurgitate its meal before anything else, not unleash lightning. That version of the beast will be easier to handle.”
“You don’t have to trust my judgment.” Those gray eyes were cold and sharp, carrying the aloof tyranny of a sovereign. “But if you don’t want casualties, you have no other choice.”
…
The Divine Chosen encountered his old nemesis again in the tribe’s healer’s hut. He was in the middle of inspecting Baza’s injuries when several members of the hunting party marched in, practically dragging the pale-faced professor, and unceremoniously pinned him onto a bed.
The man clearly hadn’t come willingly—his brow was furrowed, and each time he tried to get up, the others shoved him back down like a cat caught against its will.
Azukar looked mildly surprised. “What happened? Didn’t go smoothly this time?”
Ramina was capable—granted, a little hot-tempered—but she was methodical and careful. Things shouldn’t have gone wrong.
“Divine Chosen?” Only then did the tribespeople notice him. They quickly lowered their heads in respect, receiving a gentle nod in return.
“No, everything went smoothly. Thanks to the professor, no one in the hunting party got hurt, and we even brought back a Thunder Python!” one Natalin warrior couldn’t hide his excitement. Thunder Python meat was tender, flavorful, and enormous—a rare and delicious prize.
The Divine Chosen raised an eyebrow and cast a pointed glance at the sulking professor—then what’s with the face?
Another Natalin warrior, stifling a grin, answered, “He twisted his ankle on the way back.”
Azukar: “…”
He forcibly smoothed out the corners of his lips to avoid provoking the man. Once the others had left, he gently but firmly pressed a hand to the professor’s shoulder to stop him from getting up. “Sit and wait a bit. Nana Naka went to get the medicine. She’ll be back soon.”
“No need to trouble yourselves. I can go find the ship’s doctor.” Nova frowned. He’d rather trust old Jason’s medical skills than stay here inhaling the pungent stench of these strange herbs.
“Do you still have spare medicine onboard?” the Divine Chosen asked mildly. Without waiting for an answer, he casually pinched the back of Nova’s neck—his palm felt so hot that it made Nova flinch involuntarily.
“Don’t move.”
He said quietly, releasing his grip, then bent down and rolled up Nova’s pants leg to inspect the nasty bruise spreading around his ankle. Nova could only sit there, eyes wide, not knowing how to react.
Then, a sudden sharp pain stabbed through his ankle. Nova let out a muffled grunt before he could help it and instinctively grabbed the other man’s arm, trying to pull his leg back—but he was held down, unable to budge.
“Still the same foot. The previous injury never fully healed,” the man said, letting go and pulling Nova’s pant leg back down.
“Thankfully, no bones are broken. But you’ll have to apply medicine on time, or you’ll keep twisting it—or worse, it could dislocate,” the Divine Chosen said calmly. For some reason, Nova found his demeanor… vaguely disturbing.
Fortunately, someone lifted the door curtain and walked in, breaking the oddly tense atmosphere.
“Nana Naka.” The Divine Chosen turned away from Nova and rose to support the elderly, trembling woman, deftly taking the items from her hands.
The old woman squinted her watery eyes, stared at him for a long moment, then smiled kindly and patted his arm.
“Elena, my sweet child.”
He paused briefly, then replied with a sigh, “Nana, you’ve got it wrong again. I’m Azukar—Elena’s son.”
“Oh dear, getting old, getting old. Isn’t this Little Bird?—Don’t help me, I’m not that old yet.”
The old healer scooped out some powdered medicine from the fresh jar she had brought and carefully sprinkled it onto the wound of the unconscious patient lying on the other bed. The person gave a faint groan and twitched slightly in pain, but Azukar held his arm down gently.
“There we go, this one works better—he should wake up by tonight at the latest.” The old woman clapped her hands in satisfaction and turned her cheerful eyes toward the dark-haired youth. “Good dear, what happened to you?”
Nova stiffened—he was never good at dealing with overly kind elders. Fortunately, the other man spoke up for him, “He twisted the same ankle twice in a short time. Could you take a look?”
“Hm, let me see…”
The old healer leaned over, inspected it, then gave a few expert squeezes. At last, she grabbed a small jar of ointment from the packed shelves behind her and told Nova to apply it twice daily.
The ointment smelled different from what Rambda had given him—specifically, much stronger and much more foul.
Nova: “…”
The Divine Chosen wasn’t letting him off. After escorting the old healer to the inner room to rest, he returned, washed his hands, and began preparing the bandages and ointment—clearly planning to personally administer the medicine himself.
“This ointment is quite strong, so it may sting a bit,” he said softly, in a voice so gentle it was almost like coaxing a child. “Hang in there. I’ll try to be gentle.”
The professor finally lost it. “What’s the problem with you?”
Were they close or something? This overly gentle, considerate demeanor was creeping Nova out. Even though he himself often got called a“lunatic,” he genuinely couldn’t make sense of the other man’s logic this time.
