"It seems that whenever I come looking for you, you're either injured or cutting someone down."
Skyl held his palm above Millicent's wounds. Warm white light seeped from his hand, accelerating her body's natural healing. Torn flesh gradually closed, while the warmth carried away the pain. He treated one wound after another, strained muscles and bones, old internal injuries, and lingering ailments. Altogether, there were more than twenty injuries of varying severity.
Millicent's skin was unnaturally pale, like sheer white fabric left to dry beneath the sun, and the contours of her muscles were clearly visible. Near her spine, beside her fourth rib, was a brown mole the size of a grain of rice. Intersecting scars crawled across her chest and abdomen like pale red scales and centipedes. Her body was a portrait painted by countless desperate battles.
They were inside a prayer room near the entrance to Elphael. Millicent lay upon a long stone altar like a lamb awaiting sacrifice. Skyl had pulled over a chair and sat beside her, treating her wounds while they talked.
Millicent had tensed every muscle she could control. That did slow the bleeding, but she was probably doing it because she was nervous. Otherwise, she would not have kept staring up at the prayer room's lofty ceiling as though the iron flower-shaped chandeliers hanging above contained some breathtaking view.
Yet if there was anything beautiful inside the old prayer room, it was Millicent herself.
"Skyl..."
"You're trembling. Are you cold?"
Skyl placed a hand against the stone platform beneath her. Before long, the stone became pleasantly warm, its heat passing through the bloodstained clothes and linen beneath Millicent to warm her body. She soon stopped trembling and released a soft breath.
"I have a strange feeling." Millicent closed her eyes. Her shoulder-length red hair always brought to mind a pool of fresh blood, quietly flowing down the stone altar.
"What kind of feeling?"
Skyl cast [Scourgify] to remove the blood and grime. He then took out the wizarding world's most popular scar-removal potion and applied it to Millicent's skin. The scars left behind by improper treatment began making faint squeaking noises under the potion's effects. They seemed to come alive, burrowing eagerly into her skin one after another.
The sight was somewhat disturbing, but the treatment was extraordinarily effective.
The process tickled, like feathers brushing across tender flesh, but Millicent completely ignored the sensations coursing through her body. She showed no unusual reaction and simply turned her head to look into Skyl's eyes.
Millicent always spoke with sincerity and humility. Her voice carried the resolve of someone who would sacrifice anything to help a friend.
Skyl thought that should he ever end up in a hospital needing an organ transplant, Millicent would agree to become the donor without a moment's hesitation. She was simply that loyal. Even if helping someone meant burning herself to ashes and abandoning both her health and dignity, she would never retreat.
"I feel as though you always appear precisely when I need you most. Almost like... my guardian angel. Forgive me for calling you that. I should be the one protecting you, but my strength is so insignificant compared to yours. I keep making arrogant promises, yet I've never actually managed to help you."
"You said I always appear when you need me most. Is that really true?" Skyl searched through his memories. "The first time we met was in Caelid, inside the Church of the Plague on the hill behind Sellia, Town of Sorcery. You had lost an arm, the Scarlet Rot had infested your body, and you were barely alive. You certainly needed help then.
"Then came our first Christmas. When I found you, you were fighting a Magma Wyrm. You looked incredibly heroic, and I still remember it clearly. You didn't seem like someone who needed rescuing at all. During our second Christmas, I remember you wandering around the outskirts of Leyndell, Royal Capital."
Millicent also delved into her memories.
"Yes. I was searching for a specially made Sentry's Torch capable of revealing invisible enemies. There were completely invisible Black Knife Assassins inside the seal of Ordina, Liturgical Town, and they troubled me for a very long time. I heard that after the Night of Black Knives, the soldiers of the capital were all equipped with Sentry's Torches."
"And now this is the fourth time. You nearly had an arrow pierce your heart, and I arrived at the very last moment. Rather dramatic, don't you think?" Skyl smiled and winked. "Strictly speaking, I've only saved you twice."
Millicent hesitated. A peculiar light flickered within her pale golden eyes before she finally spoke.
"That isn't what I meant, Skyl. Ever since we parted, I've constantly missed you. That means whenever you appear, it is always when I need you most."
Skyl visibly froze.
After considering her words for a moment, he burst into a cheerful laugh.
"All right, I admit that was devastatingly effective, especially when you said it with such a serious expression. Rest for a while. I'll repair your clothes. It won't take long."
He wrapped Millicent in a thick cotton cloth, then picked up her old, bloodstained clothes.
They were typical traveler's garments, a simple gray linen outfit with a practical, modest cut. Underneath was a long-sleeved shirt that provided warmth without restricting movement, while the outer layer was a wide-sleeved robe that offered protection from wind and rain.
No matter how one looked at it, such clothing was suited only for lightly equipped travelers. It offered no protection whatsoever against swords or magic.
Millicent's swordsmanship was exceptional, allowing her to cross the Lands Between in nothing but cloth, traveling from Caelid in the south all the way to the Consecrated Snowfield in the far north. Her school of swordsmanship also rejected heavy, rigid metal armor. A fighting style renowned for moving as lightly as a bird could never take flight while burdened by unnecessary weight.
Skyl examined the tattered old coat in his hands. With all its holes and split seams, it resembled a greasy rag that had wiped down the tables of a packed roadside diner tens of thousands of times, then endured two and a half years of merciless scrubbing by an unusually powerful dishwasher. It was so battered that it was painful to look at.
He could restore this piece of "armor" to its original condition, but considering the wearer's personal safety, he decided to replace it with something better whenever possible.
Skyl had always been like this. Back at the College of Winterhold, whenever he went adventuring with a few apprentices, he wanted to equip them from head to toe. Even when playing games, he always gave his companions the finest armor and weapons available. Now that those companions were real people, there was even less need to hold back.
"Millicent, haven't you opened the Christmas present I gave you last year?"
Skyl had given her a suit of mithral chainmail and a phoenix-emblazoned cloak, both as light as feathers and tougher than tempered steel.
The swordswoman slowly sat up sideways.
The sight reminded Skyl of the first time he had seen her. She had been sitting in the same position with her legs together, leaning against a wall and barely clinging to life. Large white lesions caused by the rot had disfigured her face, while the sickly sweet stench of the Scarlet Rot clung to her body.
She looked much healthier now, like a curved sword fresh from the quenching fire, gracefully shaped, unyielding, and cold.
A good woman like her deserved to become something greater.
Millicent hesitated before answering helplessly.
"No. I know what your gift is, and it's extremely valuable."
"Armor proves its value by being damaged. Equipment that takes a blade in your place is good equipment."
"That's true, but it is so durable that no enemy capable of harming me can reach me while I'm wearing it. I can feel my sword growing weaker. I've worked hard to study the swordsmanship manual you gave me. The Sword-Singer tradition of the Redguards is truly captivating. I must have absolute faith in the sword within my hand. If I never encounter an opponent worthy of my full strength, how can my blade continue advancing without hesitation?"
Skyl understood her reasoning. An advanced system of power like the Sword-Singer tradition placed great importance on spiritual cultivation. Like sorcerous magic, it required powerful conviction.
"How far have you progressed?"
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