At this mont, Frederick's back was smoking.
Literally smoking.
The burn left by the exploding fireball had turned his coat into a charred rag; the edges were still sparking, emitting a pungent burnt sll.
But, did it hurt?
Actually, it was okay.
At least it was far better than the beatings from Instructor Sebastian.
That rather traditional instructor—every punch made him feel like his bones were singing.
By comparison, this little burn?
It could only be considered a warm-up.
He lowered his head and glanced at the Little girl in his arms.
The surrounding orange-red firelight illuminated that small face covered in dust and tear stains.
Bruises.
Abrasions.
And so small wounds cut by gravel.
There was a deep scrape on her arm, the flesh torn and oozing dark red blood.
Her back must have taken a hard fall too; judging by the posture she'd been lying in, her spine might have suffered an impact.
It looked miserable.
Covered in wounds.
But—
Frederick looked closely at her eyes.
Those eyes were looking at him.
With fear, with shock, but also with... clarity.
Pupil response was normal.
Not dilated.
Not out of focus.
Consciousness was still there.
Her spirit was still there.
That was enough.
As long as consciousness remained, everything else was just a superficial injury.
She could live.
“Look at .”
He squatted down, bringing his gaze level with the Little girl's.
His golden left eye flickered in the firelight, and the twisted scar on the right side of his face appeared exceptionally hideous under the orange-red glow.
“Can you hear ?”
The Little girl's lips moved.
No sound.
But she nodded.
“Good.”
Frederick also nodded.
“What is your na?”
“Li... Lillian.”
Her voice was very faint.
As if she had used all her strength.
“Lillian, you did very well.”
Frederick said.
“You're still alive; that's the most important thing.”
Footsteps ca from behind.
Light and fast.
Frederick didn't look back.
He recognized these footsteps.
“Reinhardt.”
“I see it.”
Reinhardt's voice sounded from behind him, with a hint of raspiness.
“There are three more buildings burning over there, with at least twenty people trapped inside. Alicia is trying to find a way—”
“Hold on a mont.”
Frederick interrupted him.
“There's so new trouble here. Take this child away first.”
Reinhardt fell silent for a mont; at this ti, he also saw the man in the sea of fire.
He didn't say much either, simply going around Frederick, taking off his coat, and draping it over the Little girl.
He also squatted down and looked at Lillian,
“Let's go, Little girl.”
His voice was a bit gentler than usual.
“Leave this place to him.”
Lillian glanced at Frederick.
Then she glanced at the man standing in the sea of fire.
She opened her mouth as if she wanted to say sothing.
But in the end, nothing ca out.
Reinhardt picked her up.
Before turning to leave, his gaze swept over the man once more, then landed on Frederick.
“Need help?”
“No need.”
Frederick stood up and turned around to face the man in the sea of fire.
A re Sequence III.
Not necessary.
Reinhardt said nothing more.
Holding Lillian, he disappeared into the firelight.
In the sea of fire, the man finally moved.
He clapped his hands.
The clapping sounded exceptionally clear amidst the crackling flas.
“How touching.”
He said.
“'You're still alive. That's the most important thing.'”
He mimicked Frederick's tone from just now, drawing out the final syllable with an uncomfortable mockery.
“Path of the Chariot.”
He tilted his head.
“Sequence II.”
“Young, impulsive, self-righteous.”
The corner of his mouth curled into an arc.
“You... want to be a hero?”
Frederick didn't respond.
He was carefully observing the man.
Tall and thin.
Hunched.
Those hollow eyes flickered with an abnormal light in the firelight.
Path of the Tower.
Sequence III.
And, not wild.
This person's aura was too stable, the flow of power too smooth, and that control over destruction was too... natural.
He had received training.
Formal training.
Training from so professional organization.
Perhaps even a professional organization exclusive to the Path of the Tower.
“I have a question.”
Frederick spoke.
“Why didn't you continue your attack just now?”
The man raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by the question.
“When I was saving ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) that Little girl, you could have completely thrown a few more fireballs.”
“But you didn't.”
“Why?”
The expression on the man's face changed several tis, and then he laughed.
The laughter was sharp and piercing, as if he had heard so stupid question.
“You actually don't understand such a question?”
He laughed so hard he doubled over.
“And to think you're a Wayfarer, yet you ask such a question.”
“The destruction of an ordinary Little girl, and the destruction of a Wayfarer—”
“Which is more magnificent?”
“Which is more valuable?”
His laughter gradually subsided, but his expression grew increasingly pleasant.
“Besides, you're all going to die anyway.”
“The Little girl will die.”
“You will die too.”
“Now, I can slowly and carefully appreciate your destruction.”
Frederick finished listening to these words.
His expression beca sowhat complex.
“Oh.”
He said.
“So that's how it is.”
“Then I understand.”
“So you're a pervert.”
The man's smile froze.
“What?”
“I said, you're a pervert.”
Frederick reached inside his clothes, feeling for sothing.
“Liking to watch people die and even categorizing it by magnificence and value.”
“Either a pervert or a madman.”
“Or a crazed pervert.”
The man's expression beca even more twisted.
“You—”
“But it doesn't matter.”
Frederick interrupted him.
“Whether it's a pervert or a madman, I've seen enough of them.”
“One more doesn't matter.”
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