A Friendship Rooted in Childhood

Although they were the same person, Greg didn't actually possess the complete memories of the original Greg Sass. He only held scattered fragments of the past he had shared with Vivian.

Eight years old, a summer afternoon.

Sunlight filtered through the lush wisteria trellises, casting fine golden spots on the ground.

The air was a blend of green grass and sweet pastries; the images in his memory were bathed in soft, warm tones.

That was their first formal meeting, deliberately arranged by their parents.

Back then, Vivian's exquisite features already hinted at the carved-from-ice beauty she would become. Her blue hair fell like a waterfall, and her ice-blue eyes were clear but lacked the warmth expected of a child.

She sat quietly at a round table covered with a pristine white cloth, sipping juice in small mouthfuls. She showed little interest in the carefully arranged snacks and toys around her, looking like a porcelain doll placed in the center of a bustling party.

Indifferent, yet not cold.

The one who broke through that transparent barrier was the Greg Sass of that time, who still possessed the pride and vitality befitting a legitimate son of the House of Sass.

The golden-haired boy sat across from her like a small whirlwind. With bright, sparkling eyes, he proactively handed her a piece of strawberry cake—the one he deemed the most beautiful.

"Here, this one's the best! I've already tried it!" His tone was filled with childish certainty.

The little girl raised her ice-blue eyes, looked at him, then at the cake decorated with bright red strawberries. She didn't speak, but she didn't refuse either.

Then, Greg, sitting in another chair, began talking to himself about whether a Desert Golem or a magic puppet was more powerful, while Vivian listened as she ate the cake in small bites.

Later, the two children gradually became more familiar with each other.

They began chasing a golden-glinting beetle through the garden. Greg ran ahead, his laughter crisp and clear. Occasionally, he would look back to see that small, blue-haired figure.

Though her expression remained neutral, she held up the hem of her skirt and followed quietly behind him. Her ice-blue eyes reflected the dancing spots of summer light.

Memories of the three or four years following that began to blur, like an old recording stone with a bad signal.

Many details had been lost, but Greg could clearly feel that during that period, the main theme overflowing in his heart was fear.

A deep fear, yet one without a clear source.

It wasn't directed at any specific person or event; it was more like a thick, cold atmosphere hanging over the entire manor of the House of Sass.

The young Greg didn't know exactly where this fear came from. Was it his parents' deepening arguments?

Was it the increasingly forced smiles on the faces of the family members?

Or was it those guests with unsettling auras who suddenly began appearing in the house after the family's faith had quietly shifted?

Greg suspected that this pervasive fear was directly related to the dark turning point when the House of Sass secretly converted to the Demon King Cult.

A child might not understand conspiracies and betrayals, but they can instinctively sense when home is becoming strange and dangerous, as if the ground beneath their feet is quietly collapsing.

It was in this soil of fear that the former sunshine began to warp.

Greg Sass soon began to change along with it.

In the fragments of memory, the golden-haired boy who once proactively offered cake and ran in the sun with his playmate began to have a haze clouding his eyes.

He became arrogant, irritable, and impulsive.

To the outside world, he was a spendthrift, sharp-tongued, and flamboyant, quickly becoming a notorious prodigal son within noble social circles.

Internally, he seemed to be using this arrogant, obnoxious shell to clumsily hide his growing inner anxiety and fear.

His relationship with Vivian also inevitably slid toward estrangement.

Around the age of twelve, the trajectory of change was clear.

They had once agreed to finish an assignment together—copying ancient runes borrowed from the Royal Library—but Greg began making various excuses to avoid it, and eventually, it was simply abandoned.

The various magical secrets and fantasies they once secretly shared were never mentioned again.

He no longer excitedly shared a newly learned trick with her or dragged her to test some whimsical magic combination.

And when the results of his talent test came out, it was the final straw.

When told his magical talent was mediocre, what little remained of Greg Sass's pride as a noble's legitimate son was completely crushed.

He gave up entirely. He no longer diligently studied magic theory as he had in the past, nor did he try to make up for it with effort like Vivian did. Instead, he indulged in pleasures and provocations that were easier to gain a sense of accomplishment from.

During this process, Vivian was not indifferent.

In those memory fragments, Greg could see her clumsy attempts to approach him.

After he was scolded for his studies, she would silently place an ancient book that could improve his knowledge in a corner of the study he occasionally visited.

After he deliberately skipped an important court banquet, she would mention at their next meeting, in a calm and flat tone, that the banquet had been quite terrible—as if making an excuse for his absence.

She was trying, in her own way, to hold onto the boy who had once given her a little bit of warmth.

Her methods were unrefined, even clumsy, but the effort itself was clearly visible.

However, every time, all she received in return was Greg Sass pushing her away even harder.

"It's none of your business!"

"Stop acting so high and mighty, Princess Vivian!"

"Being with you is so boring. It's nothing but magic and rules!"

"Go away! Don't bother me!"

Sharp words, impatient looks, and conversations deliberately turned toward others—each instance of coldness was more thorough than the last.

In his memories, Vivian's reaction to these things went from initial bewilderment to later silent acceptance. Those ice-blue eyes were like a lake being frozen bit by bit; the warmth gradually drained away until only a layer of hard ice remained.

Fifteen years old.

The memory fragments of that decisive conflict only contained blurred scenes, but the feelings and consequences were incredibly clear.

It seemed to have happened at a gathering of noble youths, though the specific reason was no longer traceable.

He only remembered that Greg Sass, having drunk quite a bit, turned his spear toward Vivian, who was sitting quietly to the side. Amidst the open or veiled encouragement and ridicule of the crowd, he publicly denied all her efforts.

In that moment, in the memory fragment, the color drained from Vivian's face instantly, leaving her exceptionally pale.

Her ice-blue eyes were no longer a frozen lake, but shattered ice crystals. They were filled with unbelievable shock, intense pain, and a coldness that seeped into the very marrow of one's bones.

She didn't cry out or argue; she was just silent as usual.

Under the gaze of the shocked or amused crowd, she used those eyes—shattered and then quickly frozen into even thicker ice—to take one last, deep look at Greg Sass.

That look was like a final farewell.

Then, she turned and left.

Shortly after, the official royal announcement was issued: at the request of Princess Vivian Kahn herself, His Majesty the King had agreed to dissolve the engagement with Greg Sass, the legitimate son of the House of Sass.

From those memory fragments and the obscure letters scattered throughout the original game, Greg had been able to piece together the truth of this relationship:

The responsibility for the end of this relationship lay entirely with Greg Sass.

In his fear and self-abandonment, he had personally pushed away, bit by bit, the girl who was not good with words but had always tried to get close.

Vivian had done everything she could, in her clumsy and stubborn way, to try and preserve that friendship rooted in childhood.

She had simply failed.

If Greg's initial thought of saving Vivian stemmed mostly from sympathy for a character in a game and a reluctance to see her ultimate fate, then now, after reviewing these intermittent yet heavy memory fragments, that feeling had quietly changed.

He was beginning to truly understand the soul beneath that frozen exterior—a soul that once had warmth, that had once tried to reach out, only to be left battered and bruised.

He began to strongly hope that he could do something for this girl, to mend the scars caused by 'himself.'

And that led to the current situation.

Late at night.

Glory Cael Magic Academy, a secluded tree-lined path.

The night breeze was cool, rustling through the leaves and making the surrounding silence feel even deeper.

A figure stood quietly in the shadows by the roadside. Her blue hair shimmered with a cold luster under the occasional moonlight, creating a serene and solitary scene in the deserted night.

Vivian lifted her wrist and checked her exquisite watch.

The glowing hands on the dial pointed precisely to the agreed-upon time.

However, the path remained empty, with only her own shadow stretched long by the moonlight.

"...He didn't come?"

Deep within her ice-blue eyes, a very faint ripple passed, like a breeze disturbing a calm lake, before returning to silence.

She prepared to turn and leave.

Just then—

The thick ornamental bushes nearby suddenly shook violently, the branches and leaves rubbing together with a loud noise.

Vivian paused and looked warily toward the source of the sound.

Then, under Vivian's slightly stunned gaze, a figure scrambled somewhat clumsily out of the bushes.

A few leaves were stuck in his golden hair, the shoulder of his expensive academy uniform jacket seemed to have been snagged on something, leaving a small tear, and there was a bit of dirt on his cheek.

It was Greg.

He looked left and right, and after confirming no one else was around, he said to Vivian:

"Okay, the coast is clear. We're good to go!"

Vivian: "...?"

A giant question mark was clearly reflected in her ice-blue eyes, and a tiny crack appeared in the perfect, cold expression on her face.

Greg, however, didn't seem to think anything was wrong. He naturally raised his hand, brushed off the dust he'd gathered from being caught in the unexpected scramble, and then turned to walk behind the bushes, beckoning to the still-dazed Vivian.

"Don't just stand there, hurry up and follow me. You wouldn't want anyone to see you with me at this hour, would you?"

He spoke with such confidence, as if he wasn't the one making it look like a clandestine underground meeting.

Vivian looked at him in silence.

She didn't actually care much about being seen by others.

But seeing his urgent manner, along with the leaves in his golden hair and that ridiculous bit of dirt on his face...

Deep within Vivian's ice-blue eyes, a nearly imperceptible ripple flashed by very quickly.

In the end, she didn't argue. She simply started walking and followed him quietly, just as she used to.

Stepping over the soft soil and fallen leaves, she moved to a position slightly behind Greg's side. The night breeze fluttered her blue hair and skirt.

"Where exactly are you taking me at this hour?"

She finally spoke, her voice as cool as a spring in the silent night.

Hearing this, Greg, who was walking ahead, stopped and turned around.

The moonlight happened to pass through the gaps in the leaves, falling on his face, which was slightly dirty yet still handsome.

He grinned, showing her a smile filled with a youth's characteristic mischief and unquestionable excitement, his white teeth practically gleaming.

"Isn't it obvious? To get stronger, of course! I'm taking you to conquer a dungeon!"