[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: The Great Forest]

"Hm. Despite the futility of their struggle, they still persist in their desperate defiance," Grimm said idly. Their position had shifted slightly since the fight but the carnage continued to follow them. "Their position has changed since we first encountered a pack, yet the result remains unchanged. Death is the only thing they have managed to achieve."

The forest floor around them was littered with Deseruit Beasts in various states of ruin. Bodies lay folded in on themselves, some split cleanly down the center, others separated with such precision it almost felt beautiful rather than violent. Limbs were parted without tearing, heads removed without excess force. A dozen creatures that had once been whole now looked like clean divisions, as if they had been made that way from the start.

Grimm lifted his arm slightly and dismissed his blade. The gray weapon unraveled soundlessly, dissolving into drifting black fog that curled around his gauntlet before thinning into nothing.

Puck hovered closer, eyes following the last traces of that fog with fascination. "Pretty nifty you can do that, isn't it? Just making it vanish into thin air," she murmured, tilting her head as if trying to see the trick behind it. "Being able to just summon and unsummon it like that. Is that your Draconic Resonance at work, or something else entirely?"

"You've a great many questions for someone who should be focused on the path ahead," Grimm noted, his tone flat.

Puck bristled, her small frame tensing as she glared up at the featureless alloy of his helmet. "Don't you dare act like you're not exactly the same way. You're just as bad, if not worse!" The fairy pointed a small armored finger at Grimm accusingly.

"I ask questions that matter," Grimm replied flatly.

"As if," Puck scoffed, floating higher so she could face him directly. "You ask about everything. All the time. Even back in Elfame you kept pointing things out and asking about fairies like you were cataloguing us."

"You have no tangible proof of this alleged curiosity, therefore, logically, it never happened," Grimm shot back, his head turning slightly away as if the mere suggestion was an affront to his dignity.

"Wha—That's not how that works! You can't just logic your way out of your own past actions because there wasn't evidence." Puck exclaimed, her face flushing with indignation.

"It is exactly how it works. History is written by the one who refuses to acknowledge his own embarrassment," Grimm stated, unwavering.

She clenched her fists, forcing a tight, strained smile. "Something tells me you're being like this on purpose."

"Who truly knows the depths of another's intent?" Grimm mused, the points of his helm tilting toward the sky.

"I really hate that I can't see your stupid, smug face under all that metal," Puck mumbled, her small shoulders dropping.

"I have quite a pleasant face," Grimm defended idly. He raised a black gauntlet, his thumb and forefinger slowly rubbing the chin of his helm as if stroking a beard that wasn't there. "Not that you will ever see it. For all intents and purposes in this world, I am faceless."

"That's not—ugh," Puck huffed, folding her armored arms tightly. "Not like I'm actually curious what you look like anyway. I've already got a picture in my head. You're probably some gruff-looking, scarred-up old man with a permanent scowl, hm?."

"I am not old," Grimm corrected immediately. "I am twenty-three. Which, according to most accounts, is the prime of one's life. Or so they say."

"Huh?" Puck's brows furrowed deeply, her eyes widening as she processed the revelation. "You're... you're actually just twenty-three? But that doesn't make sense. You sound so... old."

"Oy," Grimm muttered.

She shrugged unapologetically, though her gaze remained fixed on him with a new sense of wonder. "You can't blame me for the assumption. You just sound that way."

"Hm. In that case," Grimm said after a pause, "I may begin treating you as I do my lieutenant."

Puck tilted her head, uncertain. "I can't tell if that's supposed to be reassuring or threatening."

"It can be both," Grimm replied.

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. "But still, putting your 'youth' aside, are you actually going to be honest with me and tell me how you can summon and unsummon your blade like that? It's not a normal trick."

Grimm considered her words, gaze drifting back to the fallen Deseruit Beasts. "It is something bound to the sword itself," he said at last. "A function of its nature. Akin to a permanent charm or a deep-seated enchantment—something left behind by those who understood it better than I do."

Puck hummed softly, interest sharpening. "So even you don't know everything it can do."

"No," Grimm admitted. "Only what it allows me to learn. For now, it is sufficient." His eyes lingered on the corpses scattered across the forest floor, expression unreadable beneath the helm. "But my interest in this place," he continued quietly, "is beginning to wane."

"You really don't have much of an attention span, do you?" Puck remarked, casting Grimm a dry, sideways glance as she hovered near his shoulder.

"Hardly," Grimm replied calmly. "I simply find it unproductive to expend focus on things that do not warrant it." His gaze remained forward, fixed on the dim forest ahead. "Efficiency is preferable. In that regard, it may be better to merely bypass the nuance and use excessive force to settle the debt of this place." He paused, then turned his head slightly. "How large is the Deseruit Beast territory within the Great Forest?"

"Huh?" Puck blinked, momentarily thrown by the abrupt shift. "Why—why do you even want to know that?"

"I intend to eradicate it," Grimm answered plainly, without emphasis, as if stating an obvious next step.

"E—eh?" Puck stared at him, genuinely stunned now. "You're… you're not serious. You can't be serious."

"I am entirely serious," Grimm replied, his arms remaining steady at his sides. "There is nothing left to find interesting here. These Deseruit Beasts are little more than base animals trapped in misshapen, redundant forms. They offer no challenge, no insight, and no purpose. Why should they be allowed to occupy this space?"

Puck's expression tightened as she processed that. ("Seriously… this guy.") Her thoughts churned, unsettled. ("Someone who loses interest this quickly, and now wants to wipe out an entire section of the forest because he's bored.") She almost wished for another sudden shock just to ground herself again. But instead, what disturbed her more was how easily she was beginning to adjust. ("I get losing interest in a conversation or a meal, but the world moves too quickly for him. He barely invests a spark of interest in anything before he deems it utterly worthless and prepares to discard it.")

"Seriously, you really ought not to give up on things so quickly," Puck stated more firmly. "There's value in the struggle, even if it's ugly. You can't just throw things away the second they stop entertaining you."

"I merely invest the exact, adequate amount of interest something deserves based on its merit," Grimm said back, his head tilting slightly. "If something does not interest me, if it provides no growth or utility, then it is effectively worthless. I refuse to waste the finite time I have on anything that yields no return."

"I can't say I agree with that," Puck replied, a faint frown settling on her face. His way of thinking felt… skewed. Not cruel, exactly, but disturbingly detached. "Still," she added after a brief pause, "It's a lonely way to live. But I'm guessing your interest is about to change."

"Hm? Are you speaking of those Deseruit Beasts currently watching us from the treeline?" Grimm questioned, his voice regaining a hint of intrigue. "What could possibly be interesting about them that I haven't already witnessed a dozen times today? They bleed, they scream, and they die."

"You'll see soon enough. These ones have been waiting for the right moment," Puck stated quietly.

The forest answered for her.

Two shadows broke free from the fogged treeline, shapes small and fast, leaping forward with suddenness as they emerged from between the brittle trees.

Fast as they were, they might as well have been moving at a snail's pace for Grimm.

("They bided their time,") Grimm internally noted, but that was rarely interesting in itself. ("But they have been watching for a while, even as I slaughtered their brethren. Could it be that they were studying me?")

Now that would be interesting; there were obviously more intelligent Deseruit Beasts. These may have been it.

Grimm looked up at the approaching threat; Puck was already casually drifting away to avoid getting caught up in the battle. Grimm found his boredom waning somewhat if his assumption proved to be true. Maybe there was something interesting in this little hunt after all.

He so disliked getting bored.

Boredom led to a dull life, and that got annoying.

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