He ate the fruit as he strolled along the forest path.
Not far away, a few rabbits with butterfly wings hopped through the bushes. They weren't afraid of him at all; instead, they curiously came over and sniffed at his boots.
"What, you don't recognize me anymore?" Ian crouched down and reached out to rub one of their heads. The rabbit narrowed its eyes, nuzzled his palm, then hopped away.
He kept walking forward. The forest slowly opened up, and a clear lake appeared before his eyes. A few waterfowl glided leisurely across the surface, occasionally dipping their heads to peck at the small fish below.
Ian sat down by the lakeside. He gazed at the calm water, but his thoughts drifted back to what had just happened—the Raven, the God of Death, the Creator's heart, that infant.
And that line: "There's still a next round."
He stayed by the lake for over ten minutes, but still couldn't sort out his thoughts. Frowning, he felt that there was some important clue he was overlooking.
"Forget it, I'll think about it later."
He shook his head.
Stood up.
He patted at the nonexistent dust on his clothes and decided to head into town to see Ariana. The boy continued forward, passed through the forest, and arrived at the town's entrance.
Everything here was so familiar, yet carried a certain indescribable dreamlike quality. Flowers were planted all along the stone-paved road, and from the tavern at the corner came the steaming aroma of soup.
That was King Arthur's tavern—Pandro's tavern—that he had simply claimed for himself. After all, nobody else lived here; every house in the town was free to enter.
And right in the center of the square.
A familiar figure was sparring with a Knight in silver armor.
"Ariana!"
Ian recognized the girl at a glance.
Even with bad eyesight, he would have recognized her.
There were only two people living here in total.
One boy and one girl.
The girl could only be Ariana.
She was wearing a light training outfit.
A slim sword was gripped in her hand. Her movements were agile, her footing steady; every swing carried both precision and force. Her opponent was a stern-looking blond boy.
It was the legendary king—King Arthur.
Before he even got close, he heard the clash of metal—"Clang! Clang!"
Ariana's blond hair was tied into a neat ponytail that traced a graceful arc through the air with each motion. Her Swordsmanship was clean and sharp; every strike was precise and powerful. King Arthur, on the other hand, was as steady as a mountain, the King's Sword in his hand effortlessly parrying her attacks, occasionally countering and forcing her to retreat again and again.
The two traded blows, blades flashing. Ariana was the same as ever—calm, decisive, and graceful, with a core of resolve—while King Arthur stood like an unshakable mountain range.
Every move carried the bearing of a king, yet never lost its gentleness.
"Keep your wrist steadier!" King Arthur instructed. "You've got enough power, but your control still isn't precise enough."
"Yes, teacher!" Ariana panted, but her eyes were especially bright.
Ian leaned against the fence and quietly watched them. Sunlight poured over the two of them, their blades reflecting dazzling light. The scene was so beautiful it left him slightly dazed.
This kind of life was real life.
The life he wanted.
Not those bizarre black-and-white worlds, not the games between the God of Death and the Raven.
"Looks like they're working on some new tactics," Ian thought. He didn't disturb them; he just stood quietly to the side, savoring this long-missed peace.
The sun slowly dipped westward.
Golden afterglow bathed the town.
When the bout ended, Ariana sheathed her sword and turned, just in time to see Ian standing not far away. She was about to greet him when she saw King Arthur frown and fix his gaze on Ian.
"You've got a strange smell on you."
The blond boy spoke.