Chapter 256 : Chapter 256

Chapter 256: Side Story two : Your Name

What ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍was she searching for?

A ‍​‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍figure who ought to have been there, casting some kind of gaze upon her—perhaps approval, perhaps scrutiny, perhaps disdain, or perhaps something else entirely?

A ‍​‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍name lodged in her throat, ready to emerge, yet refusing to be spoken. All that remained was a maddening blankness.

Later, ‍​‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍she became the unquestioned top student of the Lower Division and took part in the exploration trial of the Starfall Ruins. She led her team through bitter fighting, and in the end, with exquisite swordsmanship, seized a fleeting opening, shattered the guardian’s core with a single strike, and brought back a fragment of metal engraved with ancient elven runes.

At ‍​‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍the victory banquet, His Majesty the Emperor personally commended her, bestowed upon her the title Blazing Eleanor, and granted her rich rewards.

After ‍​‌​‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍entering the Upper Division, she remained that lofty peak others could only look up to.

In the National Youth Magic–Martial Tournament, wherever her sword pointed, victory followed.

After graduation, she declined the generous offers extended by both the court and the Imperial Magic Research Institute, and instead resolutely chose to join the Empire’s Northlands Legion, throwing herself into the front lines to fight savage magical beasts and marauding orc tribes.

Her swordsmanship, tempered through blood and fire, life and death, shed the last traces of academy elegance and became pure, fierce, and devastatingly efficient.

Her enemies trembled at the mention of her name, calling her the Pale Reaper. Her comrades revered and trusted her, honoring her as the War Goddess.

As her military achievements piled up, she was personally granted the title of Honorary Countess and awarded a territory in the Northlands, a symbol of glory and responsibility. She became the youngest female general in the history of the Empire.

As the years flowed onward, one famous name after another was added to the list of those defeated by her sword. Her very existence gradually became a symbol of the sword itself, and people came to revere her sincerely as the Sword Saint.

She never married.

In the full bloom of her youth, suitors came as thick as river fish—illustrious nobles, rising military stars, even members of the royal family, for at one point even the Emperor had tactfully suggested arranging a match between her and a certain gifted royal scion. She declined them all with the same calm firmness.

Her reason never changed, and it matched the image she had always presented to the world.

“The Northlands are not yet at peace, and the demonic scourge has not yet been purged. I have no heart for thoughts of marriage.”

The world praised her lofty ideals and spirit of sacrifice, and her legend spread ever wider.

Only she herself knew that whenever the night was deep and still, when she sat alone beneath a solitary lamp or before the cold moonlight of the northern land beyond her window, that icy hollow that had existed in her heart since girlhood would quietly spread through her once more.

At times she would fall into brief dreams.

In those dreams, there was always a vague, slender back. It seemed as though he were saying something to her, or perhaps merely standing there in silence with his back turned, walking toward some blurred radiance.

She wanted to catch up to him, to see his face clearly, to ask who he was—

but the dream would shatter at once.

When she woke, all that remained was the empty room, still and silent, and that same hollowness inside her, as though she had lost a piece of herself of the utmost importance, yet could not even remember the shape of what was missing.

Time passed.

In her later years, she adopted several girls who had lost their families in the flames of war and watched them grow from stumbling toddlers into graceful young women.

They called her Grandma, their eyes clear and full of dependence, and she taught them her swordsmanship with painstaking care. Watching them sweat in the courtyard, she would sometimes glimpse the shadow of her younger self.

She grew old. The red hair that had once blazed like sunlight turned silver-white as snow, yet her back remained straight as pine, and her gaze as sharp as ever.

And yet, whenever she practiced alone in the courtyard, when her heart and intent became one, and intent and sword became one, when she reached the highest state of her art, she could still clearly sense that invisible yet unbreakable boundary lying across the road ahead of her—a barrier that had held her in place for decades.

She had long since been acknowledged throughout the Empire as the very peak of the sword, yet to her, that “peak” always seemed to be missing the most essential piece. It could not be made whole. It could not truly be ultimate. Even the sword in her hand seemed to have lost the distant place it was meant to reach.

Then came another dawn disturbed by that familiar dream.

The cool morning light filtered through the window lattice, casting mottled shadows across the old but polished wooden floor. It also illuminated her hand, lined by age yet still steady and strong.

The figure in the dream had seemed a little clearer than before. His lips had even moved, as though he had said something, yet she still could not make it out.

“Grandma, you’re awake?”

A little girl of seven or eight, her lively hair tied into twin horn buns, ran in as lightly as a fawn from the woods. She leaned against Eleanor’s knees and looked up with bright, shining eyes.

“Did you dream again? Was it that person you can never see clearly again?”

Eleanor—now old Eleanor, spending her peaceful old age while being fondly called Grandma by the granddaughters she had taken in—raised a hand and gently stroked the girl’s soft hair with a palm thick with sword calluses, yet astonishingly tender.

A smile touched her lips.

That smile held the kindness and peace that the years had laid upon her, yet also a lingering bewilderment that even she herself could not fully understand.

“Yes. I dreamed of him again.”

“That person...” The little girl blinked, childishly innocent and full of curiosity. “Is he Grandpa?”

Eleanor paused for a moment, then let out a soft laugh and gently shook her head.

“No. Grandma has... never met him, and I do not know who he is. It is only...” Her voice drifted faintly, “that I keep dreaming of him.”

“Oh...” The little girl only half understood, but a child’s attention shifted quickly. In the next instant, she brightened again. “Grandma, are we still practicing swordsmanship today? Marianne said the Returning Wind Brushing the Willow move I practiced yesterday finally looked a little proper!”

“All right,” Eleanor answered warmly, bracing a hand against the armrest of her chair as she prepared to rise. “Let Grandma see whether our little Tess has improved again.”

And just then, from outside the courtyard, beyond the low stone wall and sparse fence, came a burst of children’s laughter and chasing footsteps, drawing nearer, vibrant with carefree life.

“Ryan! Slow down! Wait for me!” cried one somewhat younger, more anxious voice.

Another voice rang out immediately after, playful and triumphant. “Ha! Absolutely not. Haven’t you already lost to me enough times?”

“Ryan...”

That name fell like a bolt of searing lightning without warning, splitting apart the thick, endless fog that had smothered old Eleanor’s mind for decades.

Her body, halfway through rising, froze completely.

The fingers gripping the back of the chair tightened unconsciously. Her whole body went rigid, as though sealed in invisible frost. Even her breathing stopped in that instant.

“Ryan...” she unconsciously forced out those two syllables through dry lips, her voice hoarse as though rusted by the passage of endless time.

“Grandma?” Little Tess tilted her head in confusion and tugged lightly at her sleeve.

But Eleanor neither heard nor saw her.

With a sudden, staggering motion, she shoved away the high-backed chair beneath her. In that instant, her aged body erupted with astonishing speed and strength, and she all but crashed through the door.

Her silver-white hair lifted in the morning wind, which carried the scent of grass and earth.

“Grandma!”