Several days passed after he collapsed on the mountain.
Aeternus recovered quickly.
But something had changed.
The haze shrouding him had not dispersed. Instead, it had settled, merging with his soul.
Diablo’s memories were no longer mere fragments.
They began falling into place in the depths of his consciousness like organized files. The details remained blurred, but their weight and chill had become an inescapable backdrop.
Busch felt terribly guilty.
He believed he was responsible for frightening Aeternus into fainting. A forthright man like him could not bear owing a friend—especially a child.
After thinking it over for a long time, he finally came up with an idea: find Aeternus an easy job at the pasture—helping watch over several of the gentlest dairy cows.
It would give the boy something to do and distract him, let him earn a little money, and, more importantly, allow Busch to keep an eye on him.
"No! Aeternus has only just recovered! And he’s still so young!" Luna objected immediately.
A mother’s instincts made her raise every defense.
"Luna." Sander set down the farm tool he had been repairing, a thoughtful look on his face. "Busch means well. The boy has to grow up someday; we can’t keep him shut in the house forever. Seeing more of the world, doing some light work, breathing the fresh air of the pasture—it has to be better than staying home and brooding."
He crouched down and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.
"Would you like to help out at the pasture, Aeternus?"
Aeternus was silent for a moment.
His thoughts churned.
A pasture meant leaving the village’s isolation and stepping into a wider social network.
He could hear rumors, observe power structures, and encounter different people.
He might have a chance to learn about the political situation inside the Walls.
Conceal his own abnormalities. Gather intelligence.
That was the survival code laid down by the fragments of Diablo’s soul.
Without intelligence, there could be no judgment. Without judgment, no action. Without action, one could only be at the mercy of others.
He could never again be the man standing outside the glass, capable only of recording events while powerless to change them.
This was not merely a job.
It was the first step he would take of his own accord.
But another voice echoed even louder in his mind: he needed to leave the house. He needed to stay busy, to fight the cold images in his mind with the tangible reality around him.
The warmth of home was good, but excessive quiet could sometimes make the noise within one’s heart all the clearer.
"I want to go, Dad."
He lifted his head, doing his best to make his eyes clear and eager, like an ordinary boy yearning for adventure.
He needed this excuse.
Under Aeternus’s insistence and Sander’s persuasion, Luna finally agreed, though reluctantly.
This was followed by no shortage of careful instructions.
The next morning, Busch set out with Aeternus.
The pasture lay on the other side of the mountain, roughly an hour away on foot. Along the way, Busch continued apologizing for what had happened last time while enthusiastically explaining how simple the work was—just lead several assigned cows to the grazing grounds, make sure they did not wander too far, then bring them back at dusk.
"Don’t worry. Those old dairy cows are even gentler than the sheep Luna keeps!"
Aeternus listened quietly.
Most of his attention was devoted to observing his surroundings.
The condition of the road. The layout of the fields. Smoke rising from distant farmhouses. And farther still, the dense woodland belonging to the Reiss family, the local lords.
He silently drew a map in his head, assessing potential resources and dangers.
It was a habit belonging to Diablo the researcher.
They crossed the final ridge.
The view suddenly opened before them.
A vast plain stretched out, green waves rolling across it.
Rough wooden fences divided the pasture into sections. Horses galloped in the distance, kicking up yellow dust. Sheep drifted slowly like floating clouds. Large stretches belonged to herds of cattle—standing placidly as they grazed, like heavy brown patches set into an endless green carpet.
Animal pens, granaries, and low cottages stood scattered across the land.
The air carried the mingled scents of fresh grass, pungent manure, and damp earth.
It was the smell of life itself.
Raw and vigorous.
Busch raised a hand and pointed toward one corner of the herd. "See those three spotted ones? You’ll be watching them today. Just make sure they don’t smash up the fences."
Then—
A burst of piercing laughter tore through the peace.
Like stones thrown into the center of a lake.
Near the feeding trough at the edge of the cattle yard, several older children had formed a semicircle. Laughing and jeering, they bent down to pick up small stones and clods of dirt, then threw them into the enclosure.
"Hey! You fatherless bastard! Get lost!"
"You’re not welcome here! Filthy thing!"
"Bleh! Bleh! Bleh! You pitiful little stray nobody cares about!"
Trapped in the center was a small blonde girl in an old dress washed nearly white and covered in patches.
She carried a heavy wooden bucket nearly half as tall as she was, darting anxiously from side to side. Pebbles and clods of dirt struck her body and dress from time to time, leaving stains and faint red marks.
She bit her lower lip, desperately holding back her tears.
Her blue eyes were full of grievance and fear, as well as a deep confusion.
As though she could not understand why her mere existence was reason enough to be attacked.
Time froze.
The sounds of the world receded, leaving only the pounding of his heart.
The scene before him violently overlapped with an image buried deep in his memories—
Behind reinforced glass, the fading light in the eyes of an Eldian boy bound in iron chains.
His mother screaming through the glass, her voice twisting into an inhuman wail.
And himself—Diablo Clark—in a white coat, holding a clipboard and calmly writing: "Test subject emotional fluctuation level: High."
As though that was not a life, but a set of data to be analyzed.
He had once been a cog in the system of violence.
Even if he had never personally hurt anyone, he had still been a cold and indifferent witness.
And now...
The same helplessness. The same humiliation. The same violence of being denied merely for existing was unfolding again.
The victim wore a different face.
The location had become a pasture.
The aggressors were now children.
Scalding emotion surged to his head—
Anger. Hatred for the bullies.
Shame. Judgment upon his former self.
And, more than anything, a heartrending pain born from resonance in the depths of his soul.
This was not sympathy.
It was the instinct to atone.
The instinct of a man who had once stood outside the glass and could finally no longer stand by.
"Hey! You little brats! What do you think you’re doing?!"
Busch’s booming voice cracked like thunder.
The smile vanished from his face, instantly replaced by fury. He charged over in long strides like an enraged lion.
The children scattered like startled sparrows. Even after running a distance away, they turned back to make a few resentful faces at them.
Busch hurried forward, his broad back completely shielding the girl.
He crouched down and tried to soften his voice.
"Historia, are you all right? Does anything hurt?"
The girl—Historia—shook her head faintly, never lifting it. Her hair fell over her eyes.
Her lips moved, and her voice was thin as a thread.
"Th-thank you, Mr. Busch."
That word of thanks was so quiet, as though she feared disturbing the air itself.
As though even expressing gratitude was an improper transgression.
She silently bent down, lifted the heavy wooden bucket again, and trudged toward the feeding trough. Bundle by bundle, she added hay, then laboriously poured in water.
Her slight figure was nearly swallowed by the vast pasture.
Like a blade of grass abandoned in a crack between rocks—unnoticed by anyone, yet still striving to spread its leaves and grow toward the sun.
Busch watched her back with a helpless sigh, his fist clenching and loosening.
He returned to Aeternus and lowered his voice.
"Did you see that? Her name is Historia. She was born to the daughter of the Lenz family—the pasture owners. They say her father may have been some important noble, but who knows? No one acknowledges her. A lot of people at the pasture dislike her. Even her own family..."
He paused, his eyes filled with simple, unvarnished pity.
"She isn’t even allowed to leave the pasture fence. It’s like... like she’s a bird locked in a cage, without even the freedom to fly to the little stream beside it for a drink."
Busch patted Aeternus’s thin shoulder.
He would soon be heading to work at the distant horse pasture and could not keep watch over this area at all times.
His tone turned solemn, carrying a trace of appeal.
"Aeternus, I’m asking you—if you can, look after her a little. That child is too pitiful. Don’t let her... get bullied too badly."
Aeternus stood where he was.
His gaze followed that small golden figure for a long while as she worked, busy and alone.
Historia...
The name sent ripples through his heart.
It was not one of Aeternus’s memories.
Some vague impression connected to that name seemed to exist in the depths of Diablo’s memory, but its specifics remained impossible to see through the dense fog.
Yet he could clearly feel it—
Deep within him, the reason of the twenty-eight-year-old researcher calmly analyzed the situation: getting close to a girl who might possess an unusual background could yield vital information.
But stronger and more primal was the nearly desperate urge to protect her, erupting from the soul that had once stood by in that laboratory.
This was not merely a promise to Busch.
It was an attempt to redeem his own dark past.
He raised his head to meet Busch’s gaze, which held both expectation and concern.
His answer was no longer the ignorant agreement of a child.
In a tone far too solemn for his age, he replied clearly,
"Yes. I will, Busch."
This was not a weightless promise.
It was a boundary drawn and an oath made by a soul that had crossed two centuries of time, when faced with similar injustice and suffering.
Sunlight spilled across the pasture.
The cattle gave contented moos.
On this day, in this seemingly tranquil pasture, the paths of a soul burdened with a heavy past and a girl abandoned by the entire world intersected for the first time.
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