Published: February 1, 2026
The sense of security in a military campsite is wonderful.
Self-defense in groups keeps monsters from approaching in the first place, and on top of that, the unit they were traveling with was the Astarnia demonic bird cavalry—each rider partnered with a fairly high-level demonic bird by monster standards. Monsters will attack humans indiscriminately, but they rarely pick fights with monsters above them on the food chain, and while they will sometimes gang up on a single foe, here was the opposite: demonic birds, who normally wouldn’t flock, were resting together in a group.
Vigilance wasn’t entirely unnecessary, but there was no need to maintain a strict state of alert.
Which meant, in turn, that every last reason for “guests” like Lizel and the others to stand night watch had been stripped away. Lizel could sleep soundly and without guilt.
(He’s not around…)
Despite that, Lizel was strolling leisurely through the camp in the middle of the night.
Even on open plains, once tents were raised in clusters you couldn’t just glance around and spot someone immediately. Still, the cavalry regiment wasn’t that large; if he wandered a bit, he’d find who he was looking for.
He passed by knots of cavalrymen drinking here and there, waving lightly in response to their repeated invitations. As always, they were loud and lively regardless of day or night. They’d been on the Demonic Bird Carriage for almost three full days now, and although Lizel turned them down every time—“I don’t drink”—they never seemed to get discouraged.
(Oh, there he is.)
Passing a row of pitched tents, he happened to glance to the side and finally spotted the person he’d been looking for. Gill was talking with several cavalrymen.
On the first day, a truly lethal-strength local sake had been shoved at him in something like a challenge, and he’d downed it, looking a little annoyed but deciding free good liquor was still good liquor. Since then, people had been challenging him to drinking contests now and then. He seemed to accept the alcohol but never the invitations to hang around afterward.
On top of that, the name “One-Cut” was apparently known even in Astarnia, and he was occasionally asked for a sparring match. The fact that they didn’t shrink back from Gill was impressive, but Gill himself looked sincerely put out by it.
Judging from the scene now, they were either challenging him to another drinking contest or, emboldened by drink, asking for a bout.
Gill might not be interested in other people, but that didn’t mean he disliked them. So long as you weren’t afraid of him and, as a matter of national character, talked to him cheerfully, he wouldn’t ignore you and walk off. He would at least give you a one- or two-word reply.
In the case of the cavalry regiment, they were transporting Lizel’s group, and Gill knew Lizel was interested in them. He probably thought that deliberately earning their resentment would only be more trouble than it was worth, so he always slipped past them deftly enough.
(If he’s in the middle of something, I can just talk to him later.)
Earlier would have been better, but Gill would just come back to their tent later anyway. Nodding to himself as he watched Gill’s profile, Lizel turned on his heel. Just then, he noticed Gill’s gaze swing in his direction.
Before Lizel could raise a hand to say “Nothing,” the man in black was already walking his way. Lizel glanced past him—Gill’s drinking companions were shrugging as if to say, “Thought so,” clearly used to having their invitations turned aside.
“What is it?”
“Sorry, did I interrupt?”
“It’s fine.”
Naturally, Gill felt no guilt whatsoever over abruptly cutting off a conversation.
Watching him walk over so calmly, Lizel gave a wry smile and decided to get to the main reason he’d come.
“I had something I wanted to ask you about our route.”
“Don’t tell me you wanna swing by Sars now.”
“I do not.”
Lizel laughed, amused, and started toward the Demonic Bird Carriage, figuring it was better than standing around talking.