Grey turned his gaze back to me, his eyes becoming unusually resolute. The fleeting aura of vulnerability vanished from him, instantly replaced by an unquestionable, almost obsessive authority.

"I will not apologize to you for what happened in the church. That would be too hypocritical."
"Mary, you participated in the Human-Demon War. You should understand better than the ignorant commoners or foolish nobles that the judgment was absolutely correct and just."
"Had a high-level evil elf disguised as you infiltrated the town, the consequences would have been unimaginable. By the way, you don't fully understand the purpose of her visit... I will tell you everything about that later."
"As the one who would have been sacrificed, you find it cruel and cold, and you don't want to accept this reality... I understand that deeply and sympathize. If I were in your position, I would undoubtedly be hundreds of times more terrified and angry than you are."
"But..."

Grey's gaze grew sharp and forthright, a slight smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"I love and enjoy everything that comes with the identity of 'the Hero.' Being admired, possessing power, and most importantly—always standing on one side of the chessboard, not a piece to be moved at will. Never having to be the one sacrificed, the one discarded."

...He admitted it, utterly unabashed and straightforward.

His actions might have been correct in outcome, but they had nothing to do with lofty ideals or grand righteousness. They were simply because he "liked" this identity that placed him in an unbeatable position.

Such naked selfishness and cowardice should rightfully be objects of disgust and contempt for both the Star God and warriors.

Yet, after this extremely self-centered confession of his, I felt a strange sense of calm.

I bit my lip and fell silent.

Grey's voice sounded again, interrupting my thoughts.

"Therefore, I will absolutely not change my ways because of so-called 'understanding' or 'sympathy.'"
"This isn't out of some noble sentiment, Mary. It's simply because I don't want to die. I don't want to become 'them.' I hope you can understand that."

I remained silent.

For some reason, his "honesty," his "baseness," his stance of facing his own desires and fears... even if twisted, made me understand him better than any high-sounding rhetoric, and even faintly drew me in.

Grey read words from my silence.

He showed a meaningful smile, his gaze carrying a kind of appreciation... or perhaps a joy at finding a kindred spirit.

He said,
"You see, you hold a grudge, you're full of resentment, but now you remain silent, trying to understand the logic in my words instead of continuing to scream like a shrew or a fool."
"Those mediocre people would have eagerly and recklessly slapped labels like 'heretic' or 'lunatic' on me, tossing aside all the achievements I worked hard for and denying my entire worth."
"But you, Mary, retained the ability to think and understand even in your anger. This proves that in our natures, there must be something similar."

I lowered my head, trying evasively to escape his analysis that made me doubt myself and feel guilty. But his soft, almost mesmerizing words still reached my ears.

"I genuinely admire your struggle. I appreciate your unease, your fear, and the hint of cowardice you unconsciously reveal. In the eyes of self-righteous moralists, these might be flaws, but I know they are proof of being 'human,' more precious and wise than any false courage."

Grey gently grasped my clenched hand, warmth passing from his palm.

"Mary, I wish to trust you completely. I wish for you to come to my side."
"This way, when disaster strikes again, you won't have to be a passive piece waiting for judgment, potentially sacrificed or discarded. You will stand on the side of the decision-makers, free from the unease caused by absurdities and helplessness."

Grey picked up the spoon that had fallen on the tray. A gentle white light flowed from his fingertips, and the spoon instantly became spotlessly clean.

He handed the spoon to me, his movements gentle.
"Allow me to ask you once more, would you like to go to the autumn harvest festival with me?"

The spoon reflected a faint gleam in the dim light.
I raised my heavy arm. My fingertips touched the cool metal.
Then, I accepted the invitation from the person I had secretly admired.

---

In the workshop inside the old watchtower, the faint light from magical objects flickered in the gloom. The air smelled of still-wet ink. Outside the window, the rain continued its peaceful patter.

I sat on a wooden chair opposite Grey, listening to him recount everything.
Modresa's notes. The Three-Eyed Ritual. Necross and her new contractor, whose identity and power were unknown.
The second eyeball in the mines, the undetected third eyeball, and the slaughter that might befall this land once the ritual was completed.

His words were earnest, like an old teacher instructing a student, while occasionally revealing a hint of self-satisfaction and pride.

The matter of the ritual was soon explained, but the not-entirely-relaxed atmosphere lingering in the room made neither of us eager to leave immediately.

The conversation naturally turned to the more distant past.
Grey talked to me about what he had seen and heard during the Human-Demon War. Nobles, commoners, demons, elves... He spoke of almost everything with a tone of sarcasm.
Only once, when he inadvertently mentioned a teammate—whom he had rescued from Modresa's hands, guided to join forces with the God-Chosen Hero, and who ultimately died in the Demon King's castle—did he show a trace of nostalgia.

After the Demon King was defeated, news about the heroes spread throughout the kingdom. Their deeds were compiled into long poems by bards and repeatedly sung.
Strangely, this initial traveling companion left no trace behind.
I tried to ask more, but he remained tight-lipped, unwilling to even state the name.

I also spoke of my own experiences along the way. How I grew up in a family that worshipped the Star God, how I encountered the fire spirit, how I participated in the war, and how I became a nun afterward.
Compared to Grey's experiences filled with conspiracy and violence, my stories were as plain and bland as water.

Yet, he listened attentively, occasionally asking questions about certain details, making me feel a long-lost sense of ease.

The workshop was quiet and warm, piled high with books and scrolls.
Surrounded by this silent knowledge and the past, my mind gradually calmed.

Unconsciously, it was already midnight.
Grey sat on a wooden chair carved with intricate patterns, weariness also showing between his brows.
He snapped his fingers at the air, and a neatly bound notebook flew out from the books scattered on the floor, landing lightly in my hands.

"It's getting late. Let's stop here for today. I've summarized the information about Necross and the ritual inside for your easy reference."
"Thank you."

The notebook still held residual warmth. I opened the first page, and what met my eyes were rows of neat, elegant handwriting.
Completely different from Grey's scribbled notes.
As if sensing my question, Grey said, "That elf lady helped me organize it."

Sylvia's figure appeared in my mind.
She stood before Grey, wearing a helpless smile as if facing a mischievous child, suggesting in a casual tone that she would risk her life to prove my identity.
If not for her, I probably would have died in the church along with my colleagues.
The first time I heard about her from Adam, I was full of wariness toward this potential rival... but now it seems she is perhaps the person furthest from Grey.
However, according to Adam, the two do seem to know each other.

"That Miss Sylvia, able to repel Necross alone—her power is unfathomable. Why would such a powerful being come to the remote Silverleaf Town and contract with Adam?"

Grey was silent for a moment, then smiled and said,
"Regarding that, I have some not-yet-mature speculations, but I haven't planned to tell Adam yet. So, until I allow it, please keep this confidential as well."
I immediately nodded in agreement.
"Of course."

"There are no walls in the world that don't leak, Mary. Those who know the secret of the Three-Eyed Ritual and the whereabouts of those eyeballs... may not be limited to just Modresa."