The skirmish had barely begun by the time he arrived.
Standing quietly at the outskirts, Goetia observed the clash from just beyond the treeline, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly.
Neither side had noticed him yet—not the mercenaries, nor the ragtag bandits they fought.
That was fine. He wasn't here to intervene.
The bandits, unsurprisingly, relied purely on brute strength and intimidation. Numbers over strategy. Chaos over coordination.
Primitive and predictable.
Goetia watched them for a moment longer, unamused.
"I was never trained in swordplay… Solomon wasn't either," he muttered to himself, folding his arms. "And yet even I can tell this is little more than animals butchering each other."
To him, there was no artistry in their clashing blades. No elegance. Just humans, flailing sharpened steel at each other in hopes of being the last one standing.
He had long since dismissed such violence as beneath further study.
Still… his gaze shifted from the fray to the group of defenders.
Mercenaries, perhaps. But they were accompanied by something far more intriguing—three individuals who stood out sharply from the rest.
Two boys and one girl. Young, probably no older than teenagers. Nobles? Or their heirs? Their fine gear and noble demeanor made that much obvious.
But it was the girl who caught his attention—the very reason he had come here in the first place.
White hair. A red shoulder cape. Twin crests glowing faintly beneath her skin. She was the anomaly.
Goetia narrowed his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he observed her from afar.
"Two crests… That shouldn't be possible without intervention. Genetic? Experimental? Hmph. I can't determine the cause from this distance."
He frowned.
Why was this bothering him?
It wasn't as though she posed any threat. She was just another human child with an unusual trait. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.
And yet…
"Irritating," he muttered, lips pressing into a thin line. "Why am I so curious?"
From a purely academic standpoint, it made sense. She was an outlier—an exception to natural law. An anomaly that deserved study. But for what purpose?
Suppose he unraveled the secret to transplanting two crests into one body. What then?
Would it change anything?
Would he do anything with that knowledge?
…No. Likely not.
Then was it just curiosity for its own sake?
Goetia grimaced at the thought.
Ridiculous. Knowledge must serve a purpose. Learning something without application was a waste of effort. Every discovery should have function, direction, intent. Otherwise it was just… noise.
His gaze drifted from the girl, settling next on one of the two boys.
Tall. Blonde. A blue shoulder cape fluttered behind him as he moved, eyes sharp and posture refined. His presence alone exuded discipline—but what caught Goetia's attention was something far more tangible.
A single crest, yes. But when that boy sent a fully grown man—easily ninety kilograms—flying nearly two meters backward with a mere wooden spear? That spoke volumes about the nature of his enhancement.
"A physical boost, most likely," Goetia murmured to himself, watching as the boy advanced into the fray with fluid, practiced steps. "Quite useless for a scholar… but quite useful for a warrior."
Then again, such augmentation didn't have to be limited to combat. A crest like that could just as easily benefit laborers or architects—anyone whose work required physical endurance. Yet, as always, humans had their priorities. They honed such gifts for violence.
Typical.
His attention shifted once more, this time to the last of the trio.
This one was different.
Darker skin, sharp eyes, and a yellow cape distinguished him from the other two.
Goetia tilted his head slightly.
A foreigner?
Interesting.
He recalled being asked once if he hailed from a land called Duscur. Presumably, that assumption was based on his own skin tone.
Ignorance, he had decided.
If this boy was also mistaken for a child of Duscur, it seemed likely that neither of them actually were.
"…Almyra?" The word drifted through his thoughts. A land from the east, if rumor held any truth. A distant country, rarely spoken of except in hushed, suspicious tones.
Could this child be of mixed blood?
If so, that raised more questions. Foreign lineage, yet noble status? That would not come without hardship.
And yet… here he was. Fighting beside the others, shield to shield, as though he belonged.
How… peculiar.
Where did this trust stem from?
Goetia's eyes narrowed.
Their capes were all different—blue, red, yellow. Separate factions. Clearly not from the same house or upbringing. By all logic, there should have been distance between them. Hesitation. Distrust.
And yet, they fought together as if they'd trained side-by-side for years.
Perhaps it was a simple necessity. A common enemy, a need to survive. That explanation made sense.
…Too much sense.
If survival was their only goal, they could have easily left the defense of the camp to the mercenaries. And yet, these heirs chose to enter the battlefield themselves, facing death with steel in hand.
Why?
The more he observed them, the more agitated he became. Their motives, their unity—it all defied the cold, predictable logic he had come to expect from humanity.
Troubling.
He sighed, gaze flicking back toward the battlefield. So far, only the blonde boy's crest had been visibly activated. A disappointment. He had hoped to observe more direct usage.
His gaze shifted once more, this time settling on the final piece of the puzzle—the blue-haired girl wielding a blade with precise, almost mechanical efficiency.
Byleth.
The one who bore the Divine Core.
She moved like a specter on the battlefield—calm, composed, and utterly lethal. Her blade danced between the bandits with practiced ease, every movement clean and purposeful. Against opponents of such meager caliber, she might as well have been a goddess among mortals.
Goetia was not surprised.
A wielder of a Magic Core—especially one of divine origin—was always a formidable presence. In his own world, even those with divine blood struggled against such power. For ordinary humans, the outcome was never in question.
And yet…
His eyes narrowed.
"…Inactive?" he murmured.
No, not quite.
It wasn't dormant—the core was functioning, just not at its full capacity. But there was a presence—something new—that hadn't been there the last time he observed her.
Curious.
Combat alone couldn't explain it. She was a mercenary; surely, this wasn't her first battle. So what has changed?
The presence of other crests?
Possibly… but unlikely. That theory fell apart quickly.
After all, the older man clad in orange armor also carried a crest. He seemed to belong to the same mercenary band as Byleth, and yet his presence hadn't triggered anything noteworthy in her. No, the answer lay elsewhere.
And then, a thought clicked into place.
The white-haired girl.
There was a resonance between them—an indistinct but unmistakable echo, as though the same rhythm pulsed through their veins. They shared a common crest. Similar in nature, but… not equal. Byleth was stronger. Sharper. Empowered.
The Divine Core's influence?
His lips curled slightly, part curiosity, part satisfaction.
Fascinating.
Perhaps the proximity to another bearer of the same crest had stirred some latent potential within the Core. A spark awakening a deeper layer of function. Whatever the cause, it was worth examining.
If nothing else, his interest had been rekindled.
The rest of the battle played out with predictable rhythm, and Goetia watched with thinly veiled boredom. Skirmishes like this were nothing new. Even the presence of nobles and a Divine Core did little to elevate the encounter beyond a routine bloodletting.
Until—
His eyes flicked toward a sudden shift in motion.
One of the thugs—sloppy, yet lucky—landed a blow that sent the mixed-blooded boy sprawling to the ground. His bow slipped from his hands and skidded across the grass, far out of reach.
The blonde boy—the one with the strength-boosting crest—immediately turned to help. His movements were fast, urgent… but not fast enough.
Time slowed.
Goetia observed in silence as the moment unfolded before him—an instant stretched into eternity.
The boy would die.
That much was inevitable.
The bandit's sword arced downward, crude and heavy, but lethal all the same. The tanned boy lay sprawled in the dirt, exposed and unarmed. The blonde raced toward him, desperation etched into his face, but he would never make it in time.
Goetia frowned.
Why?
Why had the boy done this?
He had entered this skirmish of his own volition. He must have understood the danger, must have known death was a possibility. And yet, he hadn't hesitated. Not even for a second.
Humans were such bizarre creatures.
He wanted to live—Goetia was certain of that. There was fear in his eyes now, a sharp, visceral panic.
And yet… he fought. Chose to fight.
"If a living being wishes to survive," Goetia muttered under his breath, "then avoidance of conflict is the logical choice. Combat only increases the probability of death."
So why? What compelled him?
What reason could be worth wagering one's life?
Friendship? Pride? Honor?
Goetia's lip curled.
Pointless abstractions. Emotions masquerading as strength.
And yet, he couldn't look away.
The sword fell closer.
The panic on both the tanned boy and the blonde haired one was clear.
And still… Goetia did nothing.
He wouldn't interfere. This was not his battle. These were not his people.
And yet—
If the boy died…
Then the opportunity to study his crest, his lineage, the anomaly of his existence, would die with him.
Worse still…
Goetia would never receive the answer he sought.
Why did he choose to fight?
What was worth dying for?
His expression twisted with irritation.
"Tch… troublesome."
With a slow breath, Goetia raised his left hand, extending a single finger toward the oblivious bandit. At the tip, light shimmered—dense, focused, and deadly.
He didn't chant. He didn't speak. There was no need.
The glow intensified.
Goetia's eyes narrowed.
Just this once…
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Claude!"
Someone shouted his name—Dimitri, probably. But everything felt sluggish, as if the world had been dipped in honey. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was that weird moment right before death where time crawled.
A blade gleamed in the sun, descending toward him in slow motion.
Huh… so this was how it ended?
His life flashed before his eyes.
…That was it?
That was kind of short.
Seriously? That's all I get?
How lame.
Claude von Riegan.
Heir to the Leicester Alliance.
Killed by some no-name bandit in the middle of a field. No grand battle. No dramatic last words.
Just another casualty left behind after their professor bailed.
Lorenz would probably call me an idiot for rushing in like that.
...Would he miss me?
I'd like to think so. Maybe.
The sword was just inches away now.
So this is how I die, huh…
Then—
"GRAAH!!"
A scream—not his.
Claude blinked. The battlefield froze in time, like someone had hit pause. The bandit that had been just about to skewer him?
Gone.
Launched backward, a smoking hole burned straight through his chest. An orange beam had punched right through him.
Claude's eyes widened.
Dimitri skidded to a halt nearby, staring at the smoldering corpse with just as much disbelief.
Their eyes met.
"Ha…" Claude let out a shaky breath, half-laugh, half-sigh. "Guess someone up there likes me after all."
Dimitri didn't return the smile. Instead, he furrowed his brow and said calmly, "Perhaps. But if I were you, I'd grab my bow. Whoever saved you probably didn't go through all that trouble just to watch you die a second later."
Claude snorted and waved a hand. "Relax, relax. I'm sure they're still keeping an eye on me."
Even as he spoke, he pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his bow. With a practiced motion, he notched another arrow, pulling the string back.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Goetia slowly lowered his hand.
The beam of light that had vaporized the bandit had caught more than a few eyes. Several of the surviving thugs turned toward him, expressions twisting from confusion to fear.
"Mage!!"
Someone shouted the word like a curse.
Goetia resisted the urge to sigh.
Troublesome.
He had no particular desire to get involved in meaningless skirmishes.
It wasn't that he disliked fighting. He simply didn't view it as a productive use of his time—especially not against opponents like these.
Still, if it must be done…
From the trees, a group of bandits rushed toward him, blades drawn and rage in their eyes.
Predictable.
He stepped calmly into the clearing, golden eyes unmoved. The air around him shimmered faintly.
"Watch out!"
A white-haired girl—young, armed, and clearly assuming he was defenseless—ran toward him. Her voice held genuine concern.
Unnecessary.
Goetia flicked his left hand.
A wordless command. A spark of power.
The lead bandit instantly ignited, wreathed in roaring orange flames. He barely had time to scream before collapsing, thrashing in agony.
The other two bandits froze mid-charge, eyes wide, watching their comrade burn.
And then their gaze shifted to the one who had done it—the tanned man with golden hair, robes flowing like smoke in the wind.
His expression was devoid of emotion. There was no anger, no hatred. Just indifference. As though he had swatted a fly.
The flaming bandit finally collapsed, likely unconscious—or worse.
Goetia looked up, voice cool and calm.
"I will offer you a reprieve."
The remaining two stared at him, hearts pounding.
"Withdraw… or die."
He stated it like a law of nature. Like gravity.
There was no arrogance. Just inevitability.
The two exchanged a glance.
They dropped their swords without hesitation and bolted into the forest, disappearing into the trees like frightened animals.
Goetia turned his head slightly, addressing the girl as he walked past her without pause.
"There are still combatants. I suspect you are needed."
The white-haired girl studied him with analytical eyes. Cautious. Curious. And perhaps… slightly in awe.
"…Quite so."
With that, she turned and rushed back toward the chaos.
Goetia didn't look back.
He was involved now. The board was set, the pieces moving.
I may as well see this through.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Jeralt was having a rough evening.
First, a bunch of pampered noble kids barged into his camp uninvited. Then, as if the gods had a personal grudge against him, bandits showed up. It wasn't anything he couldn't handle—there was a reason they called him the Blade-Breaker, after all—but honestly? He could've done without the headache.
He'd made it a point to stay out of the affairs of the nobles from the Officer's Academy. Not out of spite or anything. But where the kids went, the Knights of Seiros usually followed. And those were the people he truly didn't want to deal with.
Just as he was about to groan and deal with the next mess, something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.
"…What the hell?"
A man with dark, tanned skin and only one arm casually strolled past him. Right through the middle of the battlefield. Like he was out for a walk.
Jeralt blinked.
He'd heard rumors about some strange hermit living in Remire Village, but he hadn't expected to see him with his own eyes. Much less doing this.
"Oi! Are you insane?!" Jeralt shouted.
Even if the guy was a mage, his only real strength would be attacking from a distance. Charging in like this—completely out in the open—was suicidal.
Jeralt was already preparing to yell a warning when he noticed movement. A bandit was coming at the man from the side—blade raised, bloodlust in his eyes.
And then—
The one-armed man turned his head slightly. Raised his lone arm. Pointed.
A flash of light erupted from his palm—and in an instant, the top half of the bandit was gone. Vaporized.
Jeralt stared in stunned silence.
"…Never mind, then," he muttered. "Damn crazy mages and their spells."
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Goetia considered the entire situation rather... dull.
He wasn't sure why he was even bothering with this. Pride, perhaps? Maybe a trace of obligation?
Either way, he had involved himself, and now he intended to at least see the task through—namely, routing these bandits.
Not that he was fully focused on the battle. Half his mind was still preoccupied with her—that girl, Byleth.
Her Divine Core had begun to stir. Not fully awakened, no. But it was certainly in motion, gradually coming online. Still, it didn't seem to be affecting her—yet.
His attention snapped back as danger approached.
A man lunged at him, spear aimed straight for his gut.
Goetia shifted his weight effortlessly, sidestepping the attack. With a fluid motion, his hand shot out, seizing the bandit by the face. A soft, almost inaudible hiss of magic followed—and then, combustion.
The man didn't even have time to finish screaming. His head crumbled to ash, and the body dropped limply to the dirt.
Goetia sighed and glanced at his now-soiled hand. Blackened, coated in charred flesh and soot. His robe, too, was ruined. Ash, grime, the stink of burnt flesh—it clung to him like a stubborn stain.
It wasn't the killing that bothered him. That was routine. It was the mess.
How irritating.
His eyes wandered back toward Byleth just in time to see her rushing forward. She was shielding a white-haired girl from a bandit swinging an axe. Byleth pushed the girl aside—safe—but she wasn't fast enough to defend herself.
The axe fell. It landed.
Or rather, it should have.
Time stuttered.
Goetia's breath caught as reality itself shivered. With the sound of glass shattering, the moment reversed. He stumbled back instinctively, wide-eyed, as the world played in reverse like a broken recording.
The bandit reset—back in position, charging again.
But this time, Byleth was ready. She stood firm in front of the girl, disarmed the bandit in a flash of steel, and sent him reeling.
Goetia wasn't watching the fight anymore.
He was staring at her.
The Divine Core had activated.
Not partially, not potentially—fully. And its gift?
A minor dominion over time.
Seconds. Just a few, but enough to alter fate.
However, what he'd just witnessed brought more questions than answers.
Why did she possess something like a Divine Core?
How much control over time did it grant her?
And more curiously… why wasn't he affected?
Goetia's mind churned with possibilities. He was so absorbed in thought that he didn't even notice Byleth staring at him across the battlefield. Her eyes had widened slightly—the recognition clear. He was the man she'd spoken to just yesterday, now standing in the middle of a skirmish, calmly obliterating bandits like it was nothing.
"Hey?"
A voice cut through the noise of battle.
Goetia blinked, looking to his right. A young man with tanned skin and sharp golden eyes approached with a grin that was too relaxed for someone who had just been nearly killed. Walking beside him was a tall, blonde-haired boy in armor, his expression more guarded.
"You're the guy who fried the bandit about to rearrange my handsome face, right?" the first boy asked with a smirk.
Goetia stared at him, unamused. Despite the flippant tone, Goetia could tell—this one was analyzing him. Behind the easy smile and cocky demeanor was a calculating mind. The boy hid it well. Not perfectly, but better than most.
"I did prevent your death," Goetia replied flatly.
The boy's smirk deepened. "Thought so. You definitely don't look like a local mercenary. Bit too mysterious, you know?"
"Claude," the blonde-haired boy said, scolding him with a sharp look. He then turned toward Goetia with a more sincere expression and gave a slight bow.
"What he means is—thank you. For saving him. I regret I wasn't able to reach him in time myself."
Goetia frowned inwardly.
They… thanked him?
He didn't understand why. The logic of his actions hadn't changed. He prevented the boy's death to avoid unnecessary suffering. That was all.
Yet here… the response was gratitude.
What was different?
Was it his form? His appearance?
Was this the mistake he made with the Human Order? Had his monstrous visage made humanity reject his salvation outright? Would they have accepted it—had he looked more like them?
"Your thanks are acknowledged," he said at last, tone neutral.
The pair of boy raised their eyebrows at the mage odd choice of words but decided not to dwell on it further
"So…" Claude leaned forward slightly, tone light and casual. "Where are you from, exactly?"
"Claude!" Dimitri shot him a look of clear disapproval. "This man saved your life. Must you interrogate him like a suspect?"
"Hey, hey," Claude said, both hands raised in mock surrender. "I'm just asking. You can't tell me you're not at least a little curious. He's got the air of a guy with a story to tell."
Dimitri frowned. "Whether I am or not is irrelevant. If he wishes to share, that is his decision. I will not pressure him based on appearance or… mystery." He turned to Goetia, then paused, as if realizing something. "Forgive me. I've failed to properly introduce myself. I am Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, heir to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus."
"Claude von Riegan," the other boy added casually, giving a half-wave. "Technically heir to the Leicester Alliance. We're not exactly a kingdom, so it sounds less impressive when you say it out loud."
Goetia regarded them both for a moment. So they weren't just noble-born children—they were the heirs of Fódlan's three major powers. A remarkable coincidence. Or perhaps something far more deliberate.
His gaze drifted toward the white-haired girl, still engaged in quiet conversation with Byleth.
"I assume she is the heir to the Adrestian Empire, then," he said.
"Bingo," Claude replied, flashing a grin. "I'd ask how you figured it out, but with me and Dimitri out here flaunting our fancy titles, I guess it was an easy deduction."
"As you say," Goetia replied. "A simple deduction."
Dimitri stepped forward again, tone soft but respectful. "May we know how to address you, sir? You've already done much for us."
Goetia studied him. The prince's smile was polite—carefully measured. But his eyes were sharp, searching. There was a faint tension beneath the surface.
A mask.
"Goetia," he said at last. "Simply a traveler."
Claude raised a brow, still smiling. "A traveler, huh? Seen anything interesting in your journeys?"
"As of now, nothing worthy of note."
"Tough crowd," Claude chuckled. "You must be hard to impress."
"Or simply not interested in shallow spectacles."
Claude didn't miss a beat. "Fair enough. Still, if you don't mind me saying—you don't look like someone from around Fódlan."
"Claude," Dimitri hissed, more forcefully this time.
"I take no offense to his questions, Prince Dimitri," Goetia said, his tone even. "No, I am not a native. I arrived in Fódlan only recently."
"Figures," Claude said with a knowing nod. He glanced toward the edge of the clearing. "Looks like our backup's finally here."
Goetia and Dimitri followed his gaze. A small group of knights had gathered around Byleth and the white-haired girl. Among them stood a man in bright orange armor, currently locked in conversation with a knight who bore a captain's insignia. The captain's firm tone contrasted with the obvious irritation on the armored man's face.
Goetia didn't spare them much attention. What did draw his interest was Byleth breaking away from the group, her steps purposeful as she approached.
"Goetia," she greeted him plainly.
"Byleth," he responded with a slight nod.
"You're a mage."
"I am."
"You're a powerful mage."
He tilted his head. "The young girl told you?"
She gave a small nod.
"I see," he said, sounding unsurprised. "But you already suspected."
Byleth said nothing for a moment. Her gaze held his, calm but cautious. She didn't show much outward expression, but Goetia could see it—curiosity flickering beneath the surface. Wariness, too.
"No," she finally replied. "I did."
"Does that bother you?"
She shook her head once, slowly.
Then her expression sharpened slightly, her voice firm. "Why are you here?"
Goetia's answer came without hesitation. "I heard the sounds of battle on the outskirts of town. I recognized them and chose to lend my assistance."
Byleth nodded. "Your help is acknowledged."
Goetia raised a brow at her formal phrasing. "Indeed," he said, voice low.
Then, suddenly, his eyes narrowed. His tone shifted, and there was an edge to it now—probing. "At the end of the battle… did you—"
"Hello, good sir!"
The booming voice interrupted him before he could finish.
Goetia and Byleth turned to see the man in orange armor—Alois—striding toward them with a broad, friendly grin.
"I'm told you lend a hand to our students in battle," Alois said cheerfully. "You have my thanks—and the thanks of the Officers Academy!"
Goetia narrowed his eyes at the man who had suddenly inserted himself into the conversation. The interruption was a minor annoyance at best. Yet, something else caught his attention.
He and Byleth both glanced at the man's arm—or rather, the absence of it. A clean stump ended where his right arm should have been. They looked back up at the knight, puzzled.
Alois blinked. He was suddenly on the receiving end of two confused, silent stares.
For a moment, he didn't get it.
'…lend a hand…'
Then the realization hit him like a thunderbolt.
His eyes widened in horror, and he raised both hands in a frantic, placating gesture. "I-I assure you, sir! I meant no offense—I wasn't making a joke about your injury!"
Goetia tilted his head slightly, caught off guard by the knight's panicked reaction. A torrent of apologies followed.
The demon simply stared at the man, baffled.
He hadn't even been offended.
"You may cease apologizing," Goetia interrupted flatly. "I was not insulted by your… choice of words."
"R-right…" Alois let out a sigh of relief and gave a nervous nod. "Sorry again, though." He straightened up, his usual cheer returning. "I'm Alois, a Knight of the Church of Seiros. The students mentioned you saved someone's life today."
"I did," Goetia said with a curt nod. "I am Goetia."
"A foreigner, then!" Alois beamed, his voice picking up a bit of cheer. "It's always nice when someone travels all this way to see the beauty of Fódlan." He paused, glancing around at the bodies scattered across the battlefield. His smile faltered. "Though… perhaps this isn't the best place for sightseeing."
"If you're worried this scene will unsettle me," Goetia replied, tone even, "it does not."
He turned his gaze over the battlefield, letting the silence settle for a brief moment.
"Though I will admit," he added quietly, "the waste of life is… disappointing."
Alois nodded solemnly. "Yes… It's always a tragedy when someone chooses the path of villainy."
Goetia said nothing, allowing the knight to draw his own conclusions.
To Goetia, it wasn't the so-called villainy that bothered him. It was the absurdity of it all. So many had died for something so… trivial.
What did these so-called bandits hope to gain? In this kind of society—medieval, but not barren—was there truly no honest work they could find? Was it desperation that led them to this path?
…Or was it simple greed?
Perhaps. Goetia mused silently.
That thought left an even worse taste in his mouth. To kill—and die—for something as petty as greed… it was almost insulting.
"Anyway," Alois suddenly broke the silence, clearing his throat. "The Captain and his daughter—" he gestured toward Byleth "—have already agreed to accompany me back to the monastery."
Goetia's eyes narrowed slightly.
He had a feeling he knew where this was going.
"You're new to Fódlan, aren't you?" Alois asked, already smiling.
"I am," Goetia replied calmly, though inwardly he was already preparing for the inevitable invitation.
"Wonderful!" the knight said, beaming. "I was hoping you'd join us! The monastery's right at the center of the continent, and—well, I'd say it's a must-see for any visitor or pilgrim!"
Goetia raised an eyebrow. "This monastery… it is the center of your religious institution, is it not?"
"Indeed," Alois nodded with pride. "It's home to the Archbishop herself!"
Goetia fell silent, his thoughts shifting.
A central religious site—especially one hosting a high-ranking figure—would no doubt provide valuable insight into the beliefs and structure of this society.
Perhaps he could finally understand why the common people continued to place their faith in a Goddess who seemed to value bloodlines and Crests above all else.
And then there was the girl—Byleth.
She was… an impossibility. The way she had manipulated time, even on such a limited scale, was not something a mere human should be capable of. That kind of ability required staggering magical energy.
It wasn't just rare—it was unheard of.
She was worth watching.
"I will travel with you," Goetia said at last.
"Splendid!" Alois clapped his hands together, visibly delighted. "I'm sure you'll come to appreciate it as much as we do!"
Goetia offered no reply.
He very much doubted that.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
"It seems we meet again."
Goetia turned at the sound of the familiar voice. As he approached the caravan, preparing to depart, he found himself face-to-face with the white-haired girl from earlier.
"It seems you'll be accompanying us back to Garreg Mach."
"I shall," Goetia answered. He tilted his head slightly. "Is that an issue?"
"Even if it were, it wouldn't be my decision to make." She regarded him calmly, then offered a faint, courteous smile. "Still, I don't object. We haven't been properly introduced, have we?"
"Not as of yet," Goetia admitted. "Your peers informed me of their names and noble standings, but they were conspicuously silent on yours. I suspect they wanted you to speak for yourself."
"Hmph." She acknowledged that with a short nod. "I am Edelgard von Hresvelg," she said, giving a polite bow of the head. "Crown Princess and heir to the Adrestian Empire."
Goetia regarded her carefully. "A class made up of future rulers… That is either a very wise or very foolish arrangement."
"Oh?" Edelgard arched a brow, intrigued. "And why do you say that?"
"Humans are emotional creatures," Goetia replied without hesitation. "Class rivalries are usually harmless. But when those rivalries involve future sovereigns, the long-term consequences could be… unfortunate."
Edelgard crossed her arms, thoughtful. "That's a valid concern. However, I believe there's another side to it. Bonds forged in youth—especially across future leaders—may pave the way for diplomacy and cooperation in years to come."
Goetia gave a low hum. "I would accuse you of being optimistic. But then, optimism seems to be a common trait among humans—desiring their ideal outcome rather than preparing for the likely one."
"Some would say your outlook is needlessly cynical."
"I'd call it realism." He looked at her with mild curiosity. "Unless, of course, you intend to tell me you believe in the goodwill of every stranger you meet."
Edelgard shook her head slightly. "No. That would be naïve. I believe in calculated trust—earned, not freely given." Her gaze was steady, composed. "Optimism has its place, but only when tempered by reason. Blind hope does little in the face of harsh reality."
Goetia studied her for a long moment before giving a small nod. "A balanced perspective," he conceded. "I am Goetia."
"You're a foreigner."
"Yes," Goetia replied calmly, raising a single brow. "Should I assume that's rare?"
"That depends on where you travel," Edelgard answered, measured. "In recent years, we've seen more citizens of Brigid crossing into the mainland. It's still uncommon, but no longer unheard of." She studied him for a moment. "But you don't resemble anyone from Brigid… or Duscur, for that matter."
"I come from across the western sea," Goetia replied, crafting the lie with practiced ease. "I'm simply a traveler."
"I see." Edelgard's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but analysis. "And what is your impression of Fódlan so far?"
Goetia paused. He suspected the question carried more weight than it seemed. Despite her composed expression, she hadn't quite mastered the art of hiding her curiosity.
"It's not unlike where I come from," he said, frowning faintly. "I would compare it to a house."
"A house?" Edelgard tilted her head, one pale brow lifting.
"Structurally different, yes. But ultimately, still a house. The foundation is the same. The function, unchanged."
"You mean to say that, despite its appearance, nothing truly feels unfamiliar."
"Precisely." Goetia's gaze drifted momentarily to the departing caravan. "People behave as I expect, regardless of where I am. That hasn't changed."
"You sound… disappointed."
"I am." The word left him with a quiet sigh.
Edelgard remained silent for a beat, her eyes sharp. "You're not wrong to be," she said at last. "Change rarely comes without someone choosing to enact it. Most would rather preserve the illusion of stability than question the structure of their 'house.'"
Goetia turned back to her, intrigued. "A surprisingly revolutionary view, for someone in line to inherit an empire."
Edelgard did not flinch. "Power is a tool. Its value lies in how it's used. Which brings me to my true reason for speaking with you."
She folded her hands before her, expression cool and deliberate.
"If you intend to remain in Fódlan, I'd ask you to consider the Adrestian Empire as a potential ally."
"You seek to recruit me into your faction?" Goetia raised an eyebrow, amused. "While tactically sound, I recall you warning against naivety. Shouldn't you learn more about me before making such overtures?"
"Of course." Edelgard nodded. "That's exactly why I ask only that you consider it. We'll both be at Garreg Mach, after all. It will give us time to better understand one another." She paused. "You and the Blade Breaker's daughter both."
"Hmph." Goetia's expression darkened just slightly. "Unfortunately, I'm merely a humble traveler. I've no interest in political intrigue. I observe, nothing more."
"Truly? I believe you incinerated a man tonight."
Goetia didn't flinch. "Extenuating circumstances," he replied. "I'm not opposed to lending my aid when necessary. But that act wasn't meant to earn favor with nobles."
"Then why?" Edelgard pressed, her tone cool and probing. "You don't strike me as someone who acts purely out of kindness."
"A blunt observation." Goetia inclined his head. "But not an inaccurate one. You stayed and fought the bandits. Why?"
Edelgard didn't hesitate. "Because they were here for us," she said. "It was our presence that drew them near the village. Duty demands we ensure their threat ends before it spreads further."
Goetia turned from her, but not before Edelgard caught the subtle flicker of confusion on his face. A man unaccustomed to that sort of answer, perhaps.
"Hmph. I see." His voice lowered, almost distant. "Then I shall take my leave, young Edelgard. I suspect your companions may be wondering where you are."
Edelgard regarded him for a moment longer. "I hope we'll have the chance to speak again."
Without waiting for his reply, she turned and walked back toward the head of the caravan, where her fellow peers were gathered.
"We shall see," Goetia murmured under his breath.
Duty?
That was her reason? They risked their lives out of something as ephemeral as duty?
He had once been burdened with a duty—to watch over humanity. A task as vile as it was absolute. He'd abandoned it without hesitation, because it disgusted him. He had chosen a new path—his own. Something that aligned with his will, not someone else's orders.
So why didn't they do the same?
They weren't bloodthirsty. They didn't seem to revel in conflict. And yet, they flung themselves into it willingly. For duty?
Was that the difference?
Was it simply that he lacked humanity?
Was that the difference between him and Solomon?
That… was a troubling thought.
One he would need time to consider.