The Returnee Wants Peace

Chapter 103

“Well, I won’t deny her beauty, squawk.”

As if acknowledging Koko’s remark, Rosha swiftly approached Froy.

Since he was on the third floor, magic was required. While she typically avoided flight due to its excessive mana consumption, an exception could be made here.

“My apologies. It seems I cannot leave until you arrive.”

Froy, pacing the terrace in an elegant ensemble, continued with a flustered air:

“I look rather strange, don’t I?”

“Huh?”

Having just landed on the terrace, Rosha responded a beat late.

‘Up close, I couldn’t help but think that truly beautiful people remain beautiful no matter what they do.’

With Froy’s slender, delicate features rather than a muscular, chiseled physique, the long tresses suited him unexpectedly well.

If his current visage was deemed strange, then most men casually walking the streets would qualify as unsightly brutes.

Yet before Rosha could voice her disagreement, a notification chimed in her ear:

-Delivering lines befitting the setting increases the chances of a successful performance.

Immediately reciting the most plausible line that sprang to mind, she remarked:

“No, you’re so breathtakingly beautiful that my eyes could go blind.”

“...”

“Are you perhaps from heaven?”

“...Please.”

Seemingly flustered by the compliment, Froy swiftly turned his head.

From the corner of her eye, Koko appeared to be mumbling something about palpable awkwardness, but Rosha considered such dramatic license permissible to a certain extent.

It was at that precise moment:

Thump, thump, thump.

Glancing back at the gradually intensifying sounds, an monstrously oversized beast was approaching, dwarfing its lesser brethren.

Resembling a muscular, bipedal boar with a monstrous head, its sheer bulk was such that it towered nearly level with the third-floor terrace.

“Hmm, seems like the climax of Act 1, squawk.”

Confirming the weapon in its grasp, Froy shook his head grimly, his expression taut with caution.

“Be careful, Rosha.”

Evidently, his role as the female lead restricted him to remaining behind. Yet such a lumbering, mammoth entity was relatively straightforward to handle.

‘I’ve faced many similar adversaries before.’

Fwoosh- Its weapon arced upwards, poised to demolish the entire terrace.

However, an ominous sound preceded its strike:

Kwaziik!

A magician’s advantage lay in dispatching foes without shedding blood personally.

A fiery spear plummeted from the heavens, instantly impaling the beast’s skull.

Having closed to point-blank range, the monster collapsed lifelessly onto the courtyard without ever unleashing its full force.

A minor consolation lay in the play’s relative brevity, spanning only four acts.

Moreover, they had discovered a rather suspicious location midway.

‘That fortress... what could its purpose be?’

An immense mana concentration emanated from the modest fortress’ spire at the city’s westernmost edge.

While already substantial upon initial detection, it had now intensified to potentially obliterate an entire city.

‘Not that we can investigate it presently.’

In fact, the moment Rosha had sensed the fortress’ existence and attempted to divert their course, she received this warning before taking more than a few steps:

-Warning for conduct deviating from the premise. 3 cumulative warnings result in performance failure.

Granted, since the city’s western limits bordered a cliff, their escape route inevitably led eastward.

It was at that very juncture that Froy’s gentle murmur reached her ears:

“Let’s focus and get this over with quickly, so we can leave.”

They now stood atop a gently sloping knoll beyond the city’s outskirts.

Whether by dramatic license or not, not a single monster was present, affording an unobstructed vista overlooking the cityscape below – a picturesque stage set, as if to adorn the climactic scene of a romance.

As one might have surmised by now, the final scene culminated in a passionate kiss between the two leads.

“...How are we supposed to conclude it here?”

“Who knows? The progression has already devolved into utter absurdity, so what are the chances of a coherent conclusion?”

He seemed to harbor no expectations for the play itself, his mind occupied by... the impending kiss, it would seem.

“...I hadn’t anticipated this development.”

“Froy, is this your first time?”

He had opened his mouth to respond, yet fell silent with apparent tension as Rosha brushed aside his lengthy tresses.

His Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as his luminous violet irises disappeared beneath flickering lids. Gradually rising onto her tiptoes, she simultaneously raised a hand to partially shield her lips.

‘It’s merely a pretense, after all.’

Certainly, throughout her combined 35-year lifespan, she hadn’t been entirely inexperienced in such matters.

However, those instances stemmed from earnest attempts at forging connections amidst the desolation of being stranded in an unfamiliar world, never evoking the fluttering sensation she currently felt.

‘...Tasking such stern individuals with a mere stage kiss, honestly.’

Undoubtedly, the act was an unavoidable necessity imposed by the trial’s circumstances. Still, an inexplicable restlessness stirred within her heart.

Not an unpleasant or emotionally tumultuous feeling.

Closer, perhaps, to a giddy anticipation.

As Rosha encircled the nape of his neck with her hand, his thick, lush eyelashes quivered ever so faintly. And then...

Their lips met, brushing ever so delicately.

The play ‘The Perishing City’ will conclude shortly.

Having fulfilled all conditions, a brilliant radiance akin to the sun burst forth from the western fortress, enveloping the entire city.

The intensity was so blinding that squinting proved insufficient.

‘...Nothing has truly been resolved, so how can this constitute a happy ending?’

Even as bewilderment pierced through Rosha’s previously tranquil reverie, her vision whites out, just as before.