Knowing Altria's personality, she won't give up easily just because she can't find me right away. She'll probably comb through Salisbury for days. That means I'll need to be gone a long while. Fortunately, Corral gave me far more money than a month's salary, so even after stocking up I'll have leftovers.
As for where to go next… the British wilderness is dangerous. With my mediocre skills, I can't camp out long. I need a city base. Manchester is out—too risky. Oxford treats humans poorly, so no. Camelot? Full of high-and-mighty faeries who'd kill a human without hesitation. Sheffield is nice but too far. The closest viable option is Gloucester: expensive but manageable for a short stay, and since everyone there thinks newcomers are level 1, I might actually make a name for myself.
So I'm checking the market, buying supplies, mapping the route. Just as I'm about to leave Salisbury, something in a glass case catches my eye: a shiny hair ornament. Without a doubt, it's by Echter— I've seen it many times in past simulations. I step inside the shop, lift it in my hands almost unconsciously.
"Oh, you have good taste," the shop assistant says. "You picked the most special piece right away. You know its origin? From Tintagel—the little village rumored to hide the Chosen One. It was just razed by Lord Woodsworth's patrol from Oxford."
He leans in, lowering his voice: "Between us, they found this ornament among the ruins. Maybe it belonged to the Chosen One? If you buy it, you might pick up some of that future-queen's luck."
Honestly, before he mentioned that, I hadn't considered buying it. Plenty of reasons not to: it's expensive, beyond what I can comfortably spend. And Altria is no longer part of my plans—I've decided to say goodbye to her. Buying this might draw her attention and make her search for it, which I want to avoid. Yet despite all those reasons, I find myself calculating my remaining coins and bargaining:
"You've got to be kidding with that price. This thing isn't worth that much!"
The assistant's face falls. "Sir, come on—this came from Tintagel's ruins…"
"I doubt its luck-charm powers," I shoot back. "It reeks of blood—found on dead faeries, right? How could that bring good fortune?"
The assistant hesitates: indeed, the item came from patrolmen, and they didn't hide that fact. "Still, it might have belonged to the Chosen One—if she becomes queen, offering it could bring reward…"
"Do you believe your own words?" I give him a sidelong glance. "This ornament is just decoration. The craftsmanship is superb, so it looks fancy, but it's essentially a trinket." I mention how Echter once said these were mass-produced for a village festival. But to drive down the price, I add: "Surely the Chosen One will be a radiant faerie you can spot a mile off; why would she wear something so humble?"
Unbeknownst to me, Altria—guided by Blanca—slips into the doorway and overhears. She pulls back into the shadows, unseen, but I don't notice. She thinks: No wonder at first he had such high hopes for the Chosen One. When he first met me, he must've been disappointed. Disappointed that the Chosen One was just some ordinary faerie—but because he's such a kind person, even though I'm so worthless, he tried to comfort me.
Clutching her staff, Altria murmurs, "I really was a fool…" Why did I insist on keeping Guinevere (my name in that world) by my side? Staying with me can only bring him trouble.
He's such a great person—anywhere else he'd have a good life. If I truly wanted his happiness, I should have avoided meeting him from the start. After all, it was never that he needed me; it was always me depending on him.
At that moment, Blanca flutters wings again to get Altria's attention. Altria peeks and sees I've finished bargaining and am leaving the shop with my purchases. Oddly, she doesn't immediately chase after me.
"I wonder," Altria whispers to Blanca, "would it have been better never to meet him in the first place?" Blanca says nothing, just watches with those big dark eyes. Altria sighs deeply. "Alright, let's go back. From now on I won't be impulsive—I'll just set out on the journey quietly."
Yeah, that sounds right. If every possible ending is tragic, it'd be better never to start. That voice in her head says so. But then memories flicker—scenes from simulations where knights died for her, heroes fell protecting her, guardians sacrificed themselves. So if I truly want him happy, I shouldn't have started this at all.
Yet memories of happier times surface: the knight who watched over me when I was down, the companion who kept vigil all night, the partner who shared simple daily life, the lover who made every moment precious. If I cancel everything just because the ending might be sad, what about those shining memories?
Altria stops mid-step, recalling something she once said: "Because no matter what others say, traveling with Guinevere and the others has been the most brilliant journey." Exactly: every moment was precious. That's why the sword we forged shone so brightly.
She turns on her heel. "Enough! To hell with it!" she snaps, answering the doubts: "What happens later is later's problem! I am the Wild Boar Princess—charge!" After all, I have the simulator. Isn't that what it's for? Even if their ending is tough, I can re-run it thousands of times until I find the path where all the choices align. Altria, full speed ahead!
I realize something's off when the ground seems to quake beneath my feet. Of course, it's not the ground; it's my own legs trembling. Instinctively, I look back—and there's a faerie of the Wild Boar clan charging at me, staff raised.
My emotions are a tangled mess. Facing a romance I never expected, my first impulse isn't excitement but panic: Do I deserve her? Can I make her happy? I drifted through life in games; the idea of real-life fantasy feels incompatible with my shut-in self. I want to run away.
But now that fantasy is chasing me. I flee, she pursues—I can't outrun her. I thought I could, but I can't. After racing half of Salisbury, her steps close in: "Stop right there, you handsome scoundrel!" I turn—and she barrels into me like a cannonball, knocking me off balance and sending me sprawling.
My armor soaks most of the impact, but bearing both our weights leaves me dazed. My immediate reaction is concern for her safety, but she scrambles up faster than I do. It's as if she thinks if she stands first, I won't flee again—so she sits on me, using her slight weight to pin me down.
"Ahem ahem! So… you! The human who drifted here from across human history!" she pants, clutching my face, glaring with fierce determination.
Though instinctively I glare back: "Why chase me if you don't want me to run?" I notice her sweat-soaked hair sticking to my face—sticky and awkward. A drop of sweat rolls off her cheek onto my face, making me blink.
She realizes the awkwardness: "Ah." She lightly squeezes my waist in embarrassment, then quickly pulls back. But she stays seated, like she's afraid if she stands, I'll bolt again.
"Cough, cough… anyway—yes, it's you! That human from across human history! I… am the Chosen One, and I… I choose you! You must join my party!" She avoids my eyes at first, then forces herself to meet my gaze: "Running away won't help! Surrender peacefully! If you flee to the ends of the earth, I will bring you back!"
Her face is bright red; she shouts with all her might, then makes a self-pitying expression as if to say, "I can't believe I said that!" My brain buzzes—but then I can't hold it: I burst out laughing.
"Okay, okay, I get it. You win. Since you went this far, I'll join your party." I lie there on the ground, raising my hands in mock surrender. "I admit defeat."
At this, Altria feels like a million flowers bloom in her heart—despite the mortifying moment, if I stay by her side, it's worth it. But wait—why does my expression change? I notice panic flash across my face as I try to speak, then… thud. Everything goes black.
"Wait, what?!" Inside the tavern, Oberon leaps up when Blanca reports back: "Tristan knocked Altria out and forcibly took her and Guinevere away?!"