Chapter 92: Improvised Camping

She had dinner with the others, still with no news from Aaron.

His absence weighed on her more than she wanted to admit.

Around the large table in the barracks, conversations carried on as usual: Argy was probably recounting some disaster as though it had been a hilarious adventure, Nicky laughed far too loudly, Glen patiently corrected someone, and Derek ate with the silent intensity of a man capable of turning a simple meal into a military interrogation.

But Aaron wasn't there.

Again.

Blanche immediately hated the fact that she noticed that kind of thing so quickly now.

The worst part was that none of the others seemed particularly worried. Apparently, Aaron disappearing for hours — or even days — without giving anyone the slightest explanation was perfectly normal.

Emotionally very healthy.

Absolutely wonderful for her growing anxiety.

She spent the evening with Derek, who had started training her to build muscle.

And unfortunately for her, Derek apparently considered the concept of "gradual progression" a moral weakness.

The session was brutal.

Not spectacular.

Not heroic.

Just brutal.

Endless repetitions. Precise exercises pushed to exhaustion. Constant corrections to her posture, balance, breathing, shoulder placement, footing... Derek seemed capable of spotting the slightest flaw with the terrifying accuracy of a psychorigid sniper.

"Your center of gravity shifts too much."

Then:

"Your arms are compensating unnecessarily."

And then:

" Again."

" Lower."

Blanche eventually realized Derek's true power probably wasn't combat.

It was his supernatural ability to turn any workout into a painful spiritual experience.

Thankfully, he probably wouldn't notice her absurd progress immediately.

Because with the speed at which her body was evolving now thanks to stats, quests, and constant training, her performances were starting to drift far outside the realm of normal.

Her endurance was increasing too quickly.

Her strength too.

Even her recovery was becoming suspicious.

And Derek clearly wasn't stupid enough to overlook that forever.

So paradoxically, this new "muscle-building phase" gave her almost perfect cover. Her progress could still pass as the result of exceptionally intense training rather than literal supernatural evolution.

Well...

Until the moment she inevitably did something stupid in front of him.

Which, honestly, was bound to happen sooner or later.

The days passed: chores, training... but still no Aaron. After four days, Derek finally lost patience and went off to do his quest alone. The others followed his example. Blanche ended up with three companions for hers — and considering the number of goblins they had to eliminate, she certainly wasn't going to complain.

The camping trip ended up being nice.

Surprisingly nice, actually.

Blanche had mentally prepared herself for a miserable experience made of cold, questionable sleep, suspicious food, and Argy accidentally blowing something up. Instead, the evening settled into something almost peaceful.

The camp had been set up beside a small rocky plateau overlooking a snowy valley. Night stretched across the Otherworld around them, vast and silent, pierced only by a pale moon hanging in the dark sky and the giant gaseous planet looming above. The fire crackled softly at the center of the camp, casting orange reflections over the stones and heavy cloaks.

Glen and Nicky were adorable, Argy remained unmistakably himself.

Meaning: Glen discreetly handled absolutely everything while Nicky overflowed with enthusiasm over every tiny detail of camping like a child on a school trip... and Argy told stories so absurd it became difficult to tell which ones were real.

" Technically, it wasn't my fault the boat caught fire."

" You were on it with homemade explosives, " Glen pointed out without looking up from what he was preparing.

" Exactly. Homemade. Artistic, then. You're killing creativity."

Blanche stifled a laugh behind her steaming cup.

A few marshmallows would have been perfect...

The fire. The thick blankets. The freezing air.

The almost unreal atmosphere of that night in the Otherworld...

Everything practically begged for toasted marshmallows.

But the Otherworld didn't have any.

Absolute tragedy.

Blanche had checked.

Twice.

Apparently, surviving in a world filled with monsters, magic, and giant drakions was possible, but inventing cylindrical industrial sugar remained beyond their civilization.

Disappointing.

Very disappointing.

The elf played the flute, Nicky played guitar, and Argy and Blanche simply enjoyed the fire.

The music rose softly into the frozen air, blending with the crackling flames and the distant wind through the mountains. Glen's flute carried a clear, almost unreal melody that seemed perfectly suited to this ancient world. Beside him, Nicky's guitar added something warmer, more alive — a gentle rhythm that softened the melancholy of the elven notes.

The combination worked surprisingly well.

Blanche stayed silent, hands stretched toward the fire to recover some warmth while the flames danced in her eyes.

Argy sat beside her with a blanket draped over his shoulders, exceptionally calm for once. The firelight painted copper reflections through his hair while he watched the others play with the quiet half-smile she was beginning to recognize.

For several minutes, nobody really spoke.

And it was nice.

Deeply nice.

Just the cold night, the firelight, the music... and that strange feeling of belonging somewhere.

Blanche realized then, with a flicker of surprise, that she felt good here.

Truly good.

At night, Phénix killed the goblins. Apparently, since he was her familiar, his kills counted toward the quest.

He could have helped earlier...

During the day, she slaughtered monsters while shouting chess piece positions to the others. They had forgotten to show her their game back at the barracks. A memorable sight.

After two days, the boys abandoned her to continue their own quests, and against all expectations, Blanche managed perfectly well without them. She stayed another two days alone with Phénix.

Sometimes, the she-wolf came to visit: a wolf that, according to Phénix, was... "a" she-wolf. Blanche named her Roza, in honor of her ash-colored fur tinged with pink and her orange eyes.

Roza?

Fenrir's voice echoed in her mind.

"Yes. It suits her perfectly."

The wolf barked in agreement.

Then Roza it is.

It would have been a perfect week if she hadn't missed Kiyan so much.

A month and a half had passed here... in less than a week on Epsilon. And she had grown attached to people she already considered family. Even grumpy old D.

Fenrir, though... she was still conflicted there. But in the end, she was handling things surprisingly well.