My Grim Reaper Class: I can kill anything.

When lunch ended, Lord Erenn stood up.

"Liaraen. Hunter Voss. The conversation has concluded. Preparations begin today. The tailors will take Liaraen’s measurements this afternoon. The servants will prepare the trunks tonight. Lady Marell will supervise the provisions’ preparation tomorrow."

"Acceptable," Liaraen replied.

"Acceptable," Nathan replied.

"Rest. Apparently the coming days are going to be specifically busy."

Nathan and Liaraen withdrew from the dining room.

They went out into the main hallway.

And once outside of the uncles’ hearing range, Nathan turned to Liaraen.

"Sprout."

"Yes."

"We need to talk."

"Alright."

They walked to a small balcony overlooking the forest. The afternoon light illuminated the treetops in golden tones. The air had the specific scent of Aelthoren’s forest—the mix of herbs and moss Nathan already recognized after four days.

They both leaned on the balcony railing.

Nathan spoke first.

"Sprout."

"Yes."

"The conversation with your uncles."

"Yes."

"They understood the informal guardianship as something different from what it was."

"Yes."

"And you didn’t correct them."

"I didn’t correct them."

"Why?"

Liaraen paused to process the question for a moment.

Then she spoke with a calm voice.

"Nathan. I’m going to be honest with you."

"Go ahead."

"If I had explained to them that the informal guardianship was strictly logistical, they would have insisted on formal elven guardianship procedures. With quarterly supervision. With reports to the tribunal. With mandatory visits. With specific requirements about my location and my activities. Apparently that would have reduced the autonomy I specifically need over the coming months."

"Understood."

"If instead they interpreted the guardianship as a love bond approved by the house, the procedures are considerably lighter. House Vaelith assumes diplomatic responsibility for the arrangement. The tribunal steps aside. I have autonomy. You have resources. And apparently the arrangement works without institutional friction."

Nathan looked at her.

"Sprout."

"Yes."

"You used them."

"I used them, yes."

"With your uncles. Who were dramatically crying over what they interpreted as the greatest act of love they’ve witnessed in decades."

"I used them, yes. With personal pain. With awareness that I was manipulating information. But I used them."

"Understood."

"Nathan."

"Yes."

"It’s not that it isn’t real."

"What?"

"The bond between you and me. It’s not what they interpreted. But it’s also not just informal guardianship. It’s a very deep friendship built in very little time under very intense circumstances. And that friendship is going to last much longer—after all, you sacrificed yourself for me. The uncles saw the bond. They interpreted it as they thought. And I didn’t correct them because over the next ten months, I have to take advantage over Sella."

"Understood."

"Are you upset?"

Nathan thought about it for a moment.

Then he spoke with a calm voice.

"Sprout. Honestly, I’m not upset. I’m surprised. Apparently I hadn’t considered that you felt that way, though it’s strange to see you like that considering that in human years you’d be my great-great-grandmother—it wouldn’t be strange to have children with someone 118 years older than me who acts like someone younger..."

"Ouch!"

Liaraen hit him on the head with the sword’s pommel.

"That was very rude... Comparing me to a grandmother. If you weren’t you, I’d have sliced you open with the sword."

However, Liaraen blushed and looked at the ground.

"Besides, why do you assume we’d have children when I’m 118? I’d prefer to wait a bit longer."

"I admit that sounded better in my head. However, I’m updating my estimate of your diplomatic skills. Considerably upward."

Liaraen laughed softly.

"I appreciate the update."

"I appreciate the honesty about the manipulation and everything else."

"Acceptable."

"Acceptable."

Silence.

Then Nathan added, with his cynical tone slightly different.

"Sprout."

"Yes."

"About your uncles’ threat."

"Yes."

"About what I can’t do with you for the next ten months."

"Yes."

"I have no intention of doing any of that."

"Understood."

"Not now. Not in ten months. Not ideally ever—it’s not that you’re not attractive... that sounded worse."

"Understood."

"But for now, to me, you’re Sprout. You’re like a little sister. You’re a person for whom I’m assuming responsibility."

"Understood."

"The category the uncles interpreted the arrangement with isn’t the one that actually applies."

"Understood."

"Are we agreed?"

Liaraen looked at him for a full moment.

Then she nodded.

"We’re agreed, Nathan."

"Good."

Liaraen smiled.

"For now..."

Silence again.

Nathan looked at the forest.

Then he spoke in a different tone.

"Sprout."

"Yes."

"The advice about sword training."

"Yes."

"It’s sensible."

"I know."

"You’re going to learn to use your father’s sword."

"Obviously someone has to keep you out of danger."

"And I’m going to train too."

"Yes."

"Acceptable."

"Acceptable."

Nathan added, with his usual cynical smile.

"The coming months are going to include quite a bit of formal training for both of us."

"Apparently yes."

"And apparently daily life isn’t going to be exactly what I’d planned when I left the warehouse a month ago."

"Apparently not."

"Maybe I should find a cute girl to train me in using the class."

"The sword option is still available."

Silence again.

Then Liaraen spoke, with a softer voice.

"Nathan."

"Yes."

"I appreciate that you’re doing this."

"Sprout. You already told me."

"I’m saying it again."

"Understood."

"I deeply appreciate that you’re doing this."

Nathan looked at her.

Then he inclined his head with the aristocratic approximation he’d learned during the journey.

"Sprout. It’s what’s appropriate. Don’t thank me more than necessary. We’re just going to do it, and I promise you we’ll find your sister."

"Thank you."

"No problem."

They stayed on the balcony in silence for several more minutes.

Looking at the forest.

With the afternoon sun slowly descending behind the western peaks.

And with the feeling that the next stage of the journey—though no longer toward Aelthoren but toward Greywall, toward training, toward the search for Aelinne, toward everything coming in the next few months—began in three days.

And that apparently it was going to be worth living.

---

The three days of preparations passed.

The tailors took Liaraen’s measurements that same afternoon. A team of five master seamstresses worked over the next forty-eight hours to produce the full wardrobe. Formal clothing in five variants. Everyday clothing in seven. Travel clothing in three. All packed in four large polished wooden trunks with ceremonial locks.

Nathan also received new clothes at Lord Erenn’s insistence.

Apparently an informal guardian of a major house heiress couldn’t wear the clothes Nathan had used during his first months as a Hunter. He had to dress appropriately to represent the position.

Nathan accepted with diplomatic neutrality.

He received two outfits adjusted to the conventions acceptable for an A-Rank Hunter. One sturdy travel set. And everyday clothing of better quality than what he’d had in Greywall.

Lord Erenn prepared the formal documents. Informal guardianship certificate signed by two elven collateral houses. Recognition of Liaraen’s lineage as the sole heir of House Sael’thoryn. International travel authorization. And a letter of recommendation addressed to Selene with instructions about contacts for fencing masters and combat instructors.

Lady Marell supervised the provisions. Food for two weeks of travel. Elven ceremonial water that apparently stayed fresh for months. Basic medicines. Writing materials. A small deck of elven cards that Lady Marell apparently thought might entertain during rest stops.

The new cart arrived on the second day. Considerably larger than the one Nathan had used on the outbound journey. Double traction with two elven horses that Lord Erenn included in the package. Internal space for the four trunks, provisions, and two foldable beds. A covered roof to protect from rain and sun. And with the small shield of House Vaelith engraved on one side as a marker of diplomatic origin.

Nathan looked at all of it.

*Apparently this is going to be my life for the next ten months.*

*Apparently I’m going to travel with Sprout in a formal elven cart across two kingdoms.*

*Apparently I’m going to have to learn to behave as the informal guardian of a major house heiress.*

*Apparently I’m going to have to train with an appropriate master.*

*Apparently Sprout is going to learn to use a lineage ceremonial sword.*

*Apparently we’re going to search for Aelinne Sael’thoryn at some point during all of this.*

*Good.*

*Let’s go.*

On the third day, at dawn, the cart was ready.

Lord Erenn and Lady Marell saw them off at the Vaelith mansion entrance. With their usual ceremonial formality. With contained tears in Lady Marell’s case. With maintained formal posture in Lord Erenn’s case.

Nathan climbed onto the driver’s seat.

Liaraen climbed beside him.

The two elven horses started with the efficiency of animals trained for generations in diplomatic work.

And the cart began to leave the Vaelith mansion.

Toward the road back to the central valley.

Toward the ascent to the Threshold Mountains.

Toward the border crossing.

Toward Rendel.

Toward Halloch.

Toward Sareth (where Nathan had internally promised to stop and greet the twins and Vera before continuing).

And toward Greywall.

Where he could continue to bother Mira and rub his achievements in her face