[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Outskirts]

"You know," Tamamo-no-Mae began as she walked beside him, "I probably should have asked much earlier—but why are you covering your face this time?"

Dante said nothing immediately. His gaze—or what passed for it behind that faceless helm—remained fixed ahead.

Tamamo continued, a faint smile touching her maw. "I remember you when you were younger. You hated seeing your own reflection, true, but I doubt that's the reason now. You've long since outgrown that kind of vanity."

"My reasoning," Dante said finally, "are my own."

Just that simple, impenetrable statement.

Tamamo exhaled softly through her nose, amused but not deterred. "Curt as ever," she mused. "Though I'll admit, I didn't expect you to go as far as weaving a spell just to keep your face hidden. That's quite the effort for a man who used to despise magic."

He didn't turn toward her, but there was a faint movement in the tilt of his helm—perhaps acknowledgement. "It was not my craft," he said. "Merely something taught to me by another."

Tamamo's ears twitched. "Oh? You actually learned from someone? That means you had to talk to them." Her voice carried humor. "So the mighty knight has finally learned to socialize."

A low sound left him. "Hmph."

She smiled at that. For him, that was practically a laugh.

For a while, only the sound of their footsteps filled the silence between them. Then, as if picking up an old thread of conversation, Tamamo murmured, "Still, I thought you fancied the blade more than your fists."

"I did," Dante replied, his tone thoughtful now. "But I lost my blade some time ago. The weapons I've used since… they don't last. Not against what I face."

Tamamo tilted her head, studying the reflections that moed over the metallic filigree of his gauntlets. "But not those," she noted.

He raised one gauntleted hand, studying the curve of the alloy as if seeing it for the first time. "No. Not these." He flexed his fingers. "The second spell I know," he continued quietly. "It binds my attire—armor, coat, all of it—to the resilience of my own body. As long as I stand, they will not break." He paused briefly, lowering his hand. "But I can't extend the enchantment to anything external. Weapons shatter, metal corrodes, even enchanted steel fails me. Magic," he said with a trace of dry self-awareness, "is an uncooperative art."

Tamamo laughed softly under her breath. "You're not wrong there. It's stubborn, unpredictable, and always chooses when to listen." Her gaze softened slightly. "And yet, you managed to make it obey you enough to hide your face and turn your armor into your skin. You must have learned more than you admit."

He gave no answer this time as they came to a slow halt as the trees opened up into a wide overlook. Below, nestled deep within a hollow valley, Rumpelstadt lay shrouded beneath black hills and an old forest. Even from this distance, the town looked subdued.

Tamamo's gaze lingered on the valley for a long moment. "A town, huh," she said at last. "What are you planning on doing down there?"

Dante stood at the edge, the fur lining of his coat bristling in the breeze. "Information," he replied. "Before I continue, I need to understand the shape of the conflict. The old battles between Albion and Ddraig left scars across this land. If this town holds survivors or records… it may tell me something I need to know."

Tamamo hummed quietly, folding her tails. "You're as cautious as ever. Always looking for patterns, studying every thread before you pull it." She glanced at him sidelong. "I suppose that's what made you the Gods' personal conqueror."

Dante's head turned slightly toward her, his tone sharp. "That title belongs to a past I have no wish to revisit."

The violet glow of his lenses dimmed at the thought.

Tamamo's smirk faded. She watched him for a moment, then her expression softened, her tails quieting behind her. "Perhaps," she said gently. "But the past doesn't vanish just because we stop speaking of it. It lingers the same way you hide your face. Not to conceal who you are now, but to escape what you were."

There was silence for a long moment. Only the sound of the wind moving through the valley below.

Dante finally spoke. "I hide nothing worth knowing."

Tamamo turned her gaze back to the town, a wistful smile playing faintly on her maw. "If that were true," she murmured, "you wouldn't wear the mask at all."

He didn't respond, and she didn't push.

--------------------

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Rumpelstadt]

The town of Rumpelstadt was as dead as ever—or near enough to make no difference.

Dante's boots struck the dead stone as he moved. And perched upon his shoulder, in striking contrast to all the gray and decay, sat the radiant Tamamo-no-Mae.

"As dead as this place is," Tamamo murmured softly, ears twitching as she scanned the crowd, "I can still feel their eyes. A little town, yet it is filled with unease."

Dante's tone was flat. "You're the one drawing them, not I."

"Mm, perhaps," she said, the corner of her muzzle quirking upward. "Or perhaps they simply sense the gloom that follows you."

He gave no reply, only continued walking.

After a moment, her voice turned playful again. "Is there a reason you insist on letting me ride your shoulder?"

He turned his head slightly toward her. "You climbed up there yourself."

"I'm but a delicate fox," Tamamo said airily, as if offended. "Look around you—humans stare with such greed in their eyes. What if one of them were to attempt to kidnap me?"

His head tilted faintly, as if weighing the absurdity of the claim. "I would be more concerned for the would-be kidnapper."

A soft laugh escaped her. "So you do have a sense of humor after all."

"I merely stated the truth," he replied simply, turning his gaze forward again.

Around them, the townsfolk continued to move like ghosts—heads bowed, eyes vacant, their motions mechanical.

"This place feels wrong," Tamamo whispered. "So quiet, yet it's not peace. More like exhaustion. I look into their faces, and it's as if they've already decided to stop living."

Dante's violet lenses dimmed at her words. "A byproduct of the world's decay. When the skies fall and destruction tear through nations, it is easy for mortals to lose their will. They see no reason to rebuild what will crumble again."

Her tails flicked behind her. "You sound almost sympathetic."

"I am realistic," he corrected. "Hope is admirable, but seldom rational."

Tamamo's expression softened slightly. Though her features were vulpine, her voice held a human tenderness. "And even so, you walk among them still."

He didn't answer.

She tilted her head, studying him. "You think too much," she said finally. "Even now, I can feel you questioning me."

He gave no outward reaction, but inwardly, his thoughts turned.

("She has not changed… not truly. The leyline disturbances might have drawn her here, but I doubt that is her sole purpose. She was never one to act without reason.")

Tamamo's ears twitched, as though reading his silence. "You know," she said with a small smirk, "I might not see your face beneath that helmet, but I can sense suspicion. You've always been so terribly transparent."

"One would not fault me for harboring any," Dante said evenly. "I do not trust easily."

"Not even an old friend?" she asked, her voice softening.

"Trust," he said after a pause, "is not something to be given freely. I placed mine in the Gods once. I learned what came of that. And you, Tamamo—" he turned his head slightly toward her "—are no saint. You claim to preserve this realm, yet I cannot believe that is your only motive."

Her tails slowed their movement. She looked forward, expression unreadable. "Who knows?" she said at last. "Mortals change. Gods change. Even dragons change. Why shouldn't spirits be allowed the same?"

"Hmph."

The sound was dismissive, but not cruel.

Neither spoke. The silence stretched, filled only by the sound of wind brushing across rooftops and the creak of wooden signs swaying above empty shops. Then, from further ahead, murmurs rose from the town square.

Dante's attention shifted instantly. Tamamo followed his gaze.

They approached a small crowd gathered around a worn podium in the square. At its center stood three figures, their presence standing out in the gray monotony of Rumpelstadt.

Two of them—identical in height and build—wore sleek, militarized uniforms of black alloy-threaded fabric, dull gray plating tracing their shoulders and chest. Their helmets were smooth, visor-thin, and featureless. Curved swords hung at their sides.

Between them stood a man of flesh and face—a neatly groomed beard, slicked-back brown hair, and a tailored uniform that marked him as their superior. His gloved hands rested on the edge of the podium, posture composed but filled with authority.

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

"The Retorta Guild… again?" someone muttered.

"What could they possibly want now?" came another voice.

"I have a bad feeling about this," said a third.

The murmurs quieted when the bearded man raised his hand. His voice carried easily over the square.

"Ahem. Attention! Attention, people of Rumpelstadt!" he called. "By decree of our gracious lady—the Seventh Seat of the Retorta Guild, the Seat of Admah—we are here to deliver her message."

The name drew uncertain murmurs. Tamamo's tails flicked thoughtfully. "The Retorta Guild," she said under her breath. "They've been… busy lately."

"You've heard of them?" Dante asked without turning his head.

"I have," she replied. "A friend told me they've begun meddling in other realms. Dangerous work. Realm-travel of that scale should be impossible under the Divine Principles. It tears at the structure of Astrea's anchors."

He filed that thought away, saying nothing. His focus remained fixed on the man speaking.

"As you all know," the guild envoy continued, "our radiant lady has purchased the rights to these lands. The Retorta Guild has taken interest in your mines and allowed you to continue operations thus far. However—" his voice sharpened slightly "—that arrangement ends today. From this moment forward, only Retorta personnel will occupy the mines."

The words hung in the air, and then the silence broke.

"What?!" someone shouted from the crowd.

"That's not fair!" another cried.

"That mine's the only way we can survive!"

"The mayor never even owned it!"

The bearded man didn't flinch. He merely raised a hand for quiet, his tone calm—almost amused. "If you are unhappy with the arrangement, that is your burden to bear. But if you wish to make it a physical matter…"

The two guards at his sides moved as one, drawing their blades with precision. The sound of steel sliding free sliced through the air.

The crowd recoiled instinctively. No one dared move closer. The guards didn't need to speak; their posture alone was enough.

Tamamo's tails curled inward slightly, her voice quiet as she leaned toward Dante's helmet. "Two men, and yet the whole town trembles. That's the power of reputation, I suppose."

"Or the decay of courage," Dante replied.

His violet lenses narrowed as he studied the scene.

("Such is the way of this world… conflict breeding conflict. Fear masquerading as order. Mortals repeating the same cycle, long after reason has fled.")

"How pitiful."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.