Nova almost asked about the name Maxwell had spoken.
Almost.
But in the end, she swallowed the question.
Whatever that name was, it had shaken her—and that alone was dangerous. Some things were better left buried, at least until she was sure she wouldn't regret digging them up.
"Forget it," she said coldly. "Just tell me how you analyzed our combat techniques."
Maxwell blinked, still kneeling in the snow. "There's nothing special about it. I just connect the dots between techniques I've seen."
Nova's eyes narrowed. "And how many
techniques have you 'seen'?"
"I'm not completely sure," Maxwell said.
"But it should be a little over five hundred."
For a moment, even the wind seemed to pause.
"…Are you mocking me?" Nova asked slowly.
"No!" Maxwell hurriedly shook his head. "Why would I? There's nothing worth more than my life right now."
True.
"And you mastered all of them in two years?"
"I didn't master them," Maxwell quickly clarified. "I only memorized the moves. I can't use them properly. I can only recognize them… and maybe draw them."
Nova stared at him.
Five hundred.
Even the elite academies in the real world barely taught ten before graduation.
She scoffed. "Sure."
Maxwell picked up a sharp stone and knelt down, scratching lines into the snow-covered ground.
Scribble.
Scribble.
Nova crossed her arms, unimpressed.
Look at this idiot, she thought. Hereally thinks I'm some naive girl who can't tell truth from lies.
But then—
Her expression froze.
"That stance… Emberveil's Bloodgrip?"
"And that—no way… Montclair Royal Decree?"
Scribble.
Scribble.
Maxwell kept drawing.
Technique after technique appeared in the snow. Footwork, strikes, flow patterns, even obscure transitions known only to inner disciples.
Nova's heart skipped.
This is impossible.
Ten… twelve… fifteen different styles emerged before her eyes, all accurate, all clean.
Just what kind of monstrous memory did it take to hold all this?
In the end, Maxwell leaned back, breathing slightly hard.
Nova stared at the drawings in silence.
"So… you really can't use them?" she asked slowly.
"I know how they should move," Maxwell said. "But my body doesn't."
That was both disappointing—and terrifying.
He's a walking library.
Nova smiled faintly.
I could use this.
If handled properly, Maxwell was more valuable than a dozen elite fighters.
Her mind moved quickly.
If he was lying, he was too dangerous to oppose.
If he wasn't… he was too useful to abandon.
And if she left him alone?
She would return to solitude.
To madness.
Guess which fate she preferred.
"So," Nova said lightly, "how would you like to make a deal?"
Maxwell's eyes lit up. "You're going to free me?"
"Yes," she nodded. "But there's a catch."
Maxwell stood up. "I figured."
"We form a team," Nova said. "Through blood and sweat, we survive this place together."
She studied his face carefully.
"When we escape… whether we stay together or not will be up to you."
Maxwell didn't hesitate.
He reached out his hand.
Nova took it.
The biting cold that had clung to Maxwell since day one vanished.
Under the pale sun, in a frozen wasteland where death waited behind every step—
A partnership was born.
"Our next stop is the temple!" Maxwell said with a grin.
Nova smiled.
The first arc had ended.
And the real story was only beginning.