Chapter 145: Do You Know His Name?
When Lochter opened his eyes, dawn was breaking over the treetops.
The first thing that greeted him was the smell of roasted meat wafting to his nose. Turning his head, he spotted a sizable chunk of meat sizzling appetizingly over the campfire.
“...Ugh!”
As he tried to sit up, a groan escaped his lips.
His limbs felt like they were weighed down with soaked cotton, and his body was unbelievably heavy. Despite having rested, he felt even worse than before.
While he inspected his condition in mild alarm, a familiar voice rang out.
“Oh? You’re actually awake.”
“I can’t move,” Lochter muttered weakly.
“Well, you look pretty bad, but she was right.”
Karl shook his head and helped prop Lochter up, as if he already knew Lochter wouldn’t be able to move on his own.
“She said the lingering curse was keeping you from getting proper rest.”
“A curse…?”
“Yeah, she called it ‘Withering.’ Ever heard of it?”
Lochter nodded heavily. He didn’t know about “Withering,” but he did remember being struck by several cursed bolts from assassins during the battle.
“It seems like the curse is manifesting late, but don’t worry—we know how to treat it.”
“Do you?” Lochter asked skeptically.
“Not me—her,” Karl replied, nodding toward the woman.
The young woman sat nearby, her sleeves rolled up as she tore into a piece of meat, devouring it like someone who hadn’t eaten in days. She didn’t so much as glance in their direction.
Karl smirked subtly and whispered, “She’s hopeless when it comes to food.”
He then pulled out a small pouch. “She prepared something to treat you.”
“It’s not that brown bottle again, is it?” Lochter asked, grimacing.
“Don’t even bring that stuff up—it’s horrifying.”
Karl removed Lochter’s outer garment and began examining his back. As soon as he got a proper look, he froze, then let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“This is insane. You’ve been fighting like this the whole time?”
“I’m used to it,” Lochter replied simply.
“Turns out you’re just as nuts as the rest of us.”
Lochter’s back was riddled with wounds—holes from bolts, cuts, stabs, tears, bruises. There wasn’t a single clean patch of skin to be found.
“This is going to sting. Try to bear it,” Karl said, shaking his head as he began slathering herbal paste onto Lochter’s wounds.
The greenish sap oozed out as Karl applied it, and Lochter’s face twisted slightly at the sensation.
Watching from a distance, the young woman sucked on her fingers to clean them, then shook her head in disapproval.
“You’re putting the herbs in all the wrong places.”
“What? It’s not here?” Karl asked, frowning.
“You have to apply it where the curse is concentrated. There. No, there. No, lower.”
“Why don’t you just do it yourself? You can see better than me—I only have one arm, you know.”
“Nope. That guy’s not my type.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Karl exclaimed, incredulous.
“It matters.”
Karl’s natural charm and knack for getting along with people seemed to have worked on the woman as well. Perhaps it was the long conversation they’d had the previous night.
Though she’d initially been resistant, her demeanor softened considerably after Karl brought back a deer, which he roasted to perfection.
“Done,” Karl finally said, finishing the treatment.
“Thank you,” Lochter replied.
“Don’t mention it. Honestly, all three of us need some time to recover. We’re staying here for at least a day or two.”
“It’s too dangerous. Kamel will send pursuers.”
“You don’t have to worry about that anymore. She said they can’t track us now.”
“...What?”
Karl explained what the woman had told him overnight—the secret behind the relentless pursuit they’d endured. As he spoke, Lochter’s face gradually fell.
“They can track our location because of the Divines we bear?”
“All that running and hiding, only to find out we’ve been trapped like rats in a cage,” Karl said bitterly.
“How can you be so sure they can’t track us anymore?”
Karl gestured toward the woman. She was crouched in front of the small dog, dangling a piece of meat in front of its nose to tease it.
Lochter and Karl watched her in silence for a moment.
“Can we really trust her?” Lochter asked, still uncertain.
“Probably. I’ve got a pretty good eye for people. She’s not the lying type. If anything, she’s too honest—it’s kind of a problem. But seriously, do I really look that ugly?”
Lochter decided to place his faith in her.
“She seemed to know all of the Divines associated with us,” Karl added.
“All of them?”
“Don’t you want to know your fate, as seen through the eyes of the world?”
Lochter’s expression shifted slightly. Of course, he was curious.
Knowing what fate, talents, or abilities he had been born with would give him a clearer picture of himself.
For someone like Lochter—who had climbed to his current position through sheer effort rather than natural talent—it was an enticing prospect.
Karl noticed the look on his face and gave a wry smile. “It comes at a cost, though. You have to sacrifice part of your lifespan. At our age, that’s not exactly a great deal.”
“I want to know,” Lochter replied without hesitation.
“It’s ten years,” Karl warned.
“I don’t care.”
“There are other ways to find out without losing years off your life, you know. Are you sure?”
“How much would it cost?”
“About the same as your bounty,” Karl said with a grin.
“...Hmm.”
Lochter turned his gaze toward the woman, then looked at Arthur, lying unconscious nearby. With some effort, he forced himself to his feet.
Karl tried to stop him, warning him not to move, but Lochter didn’t listen.
“I need to confirm something,” he said firmly.
“What is it?”
“Her identity.”
The idea of sacrificing years of one’s life for knowledge of a Divine was familiar to him—it was something he had overheard frequently among the upper echelons during his time as a knight commander.
And every time, the discussions had led to the mention of one specific figure.
Lochter staggered over to the fire, where the woman was eating another piece of meat. Her straightforward, simple personality was evident in her actions. Despite her delicate appearance, she was anything but frail.
“Lochter Felice. That’s my name,” he said, introducing himself formally.
“I already know,” she replied.
“What’s your name?” he asked directly.
She chewed her food for a moment, swallowed, and licked her lips before shaking her head.
“Can’t tell you right now.”
“Why not?”
“I need to confirm something with that guy first,” she said, glancing at Arthur.
“The reason I left the forest was to meet him. But I don’t even know why I needed to meet him. Once I figure it out, maybe I’ll tell you my name.”
“Then let me ask you just one thing.”
“Go ahead. Just one.”
“Did you come from the Ordor Forest?”
“Yes.”
Her immediate admission left Lochter chuckling wryly. Karl, on the other hand, was taken aback.
“The Ordor Forest…”
Just like that, the woman had admitted to being a witch.
“Why didn’t you tell me that!?” Karl exclaimed.
“You didn’t ask,” she said nonchalantly.
“I thought witches never left the forest.”
“Usually, we don’t. It’s nice there,” she said with a shrug.
As soon as she confirmed her identity, the atmosphere grew tense.
The woman seemed to notice, frowning slightly as she finished her meal. The tension stemmed from humanity’s deeply ingrained prejudice against witches, shaped by the fear and disdain propagated by magicians.
“Why did you help us?” Lochter asked cautiously.
“Because that guy wanted to save you,” she replied, gesturing toward Arthur.
She laid out her cloak near the fire and reclined without another word, entirely indifferent to how humans viewed her. She clearly couldn’t care less about other people’s opinions.
“Do you know his name?” Lochter asked.
“Didn’t you say you’d only ask one thing? Don’t push it,” she replied, her voice suddenly cold.
Realizing his mistake, Lochter hesitated. He wasn’t skilled in dealing with situations like this, so he glanced at Karl for help.
“You know his name, don’t you?” the woman asked Karl suddenly.
“His real name? Of course I do,” Karl replied.
At that, the woman sat up slowly, her eyes fixed on his. For a moment, she seemed almost ancient, her childlike demeanor completely gone.
“If I know his name, what changes?” she asked.
“If you know his name...” Lochter began but trailed off, unsure how to answer.
Karl, sensing the moment, stepped forward with a grin.
“You can be friends with him,” Karl said.
“...Friends?”
“Yeah. That guy doesn’t share his real name unless he considers someone a friend.”
“Do you know his name, too Old man?”
“Stop calling me an old man!” Karl grumbled.
The woman muttered the word “friends” repeatedly under her breath, her expression oddly contemplative. Karl found it endearing, but then quickly shook off the thought, reminding himself of the old adage: witches can charm humans.
“I know his real name,” the woman said.
“What is it?” Lochter asked.
It didn’t matter if she was a witch, a criminal, or even a murderer. If she knew Arthur Clayton’s real name, she could be trusted.
The people who knew Arthur’s true name always seemed to hold goodwill toward him.
But the woman shook her head.
“I learned it through the Divines, so I can’t say it until someone else tells me first.”
“I’ll give up my lifespan,” Lochter offered.
“With his Divine? You’d probably die instantly.”
Karl stepped forward and made a suggestion.
“What if we tell you his name first? Would you be able to confirm it then?”
She nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling with interest.
“Alright, let’s do this. I’ll write a bunch of names on the ground, and you pick the right one,” Karl said, grabbing a stick.
She crouched to examine the names scrawled on the dirt but quickly frowned.
“None of these are right.”
“Are you sure? Look closely.”
“Are you messing with me?”
“You really do know his name,” Karl muttered, scratching his head. “Fine. How about Alex Marsha? That’s it, right?”
“That’s disgusting,” she replied bluntly.
Karl looked genuinely hurt, and Lochter couldn’t suppress a chuckle.
Lochter had no more doubts—she definitely knew Arthur’s true name.
“Hunt,” Lochter said suddenly.
“...What?”
“It’s the organization he belongs to,” Lochter explained. “You’ll have to hear his name directly from him. Only then can you become friends.”
With that, Lochter excused himself and lay down by the fire.
Karl hesitated, then leaned toward her and said seriously, “Tell me I’m handsome, and I’ll tell you his name.”
“You’re ugly.”
“...We’ll see about that,” Karl grumbled, retreating dejectedly.
Despite claiming to stand watch, he soon began nodding off, leaving the woman alone.
She lay on her cloak, her gaze drifting toward the unconscious Arthur. Even after drinking her special potion, he hadn’t woken up, his face twisted as if trapped in a nightmare.
He was the first human she had ever met. She didn’t know his face, his voice, or his identity.
But she knew everything else.
[Arthur Clayton – Divine Hunter (Divine)]
[Third Mental Barrier]
[Siren’s Hymn]
[Heart of Retonicals (Assimilation Rate: 25%)]
[Guide of Other Races]
[Ring of Desire (Survival)]
And yet, she wondered:
“How much do I know about him?”
If all she knew was his name, she thought, it would be disappointing.
True introductions, and perhaps true friendship, would only come after that.