Time Healer Ceres
Chapter 30
A brilliant smile formed on Ceres’s lips.
“So, you’re planning to make my sister a witness?”
A wife who ran away after an affair, and the son who followed her.
And a friend of that son who came by, claiming he wanted to deliver the belongings of the departed.
From the man’s perspective, a perfect excuse had practically rolled right into his lap.
Ceres smiled fiercely as she thought of Dave’s father, who was likely rushing to the guards at this very moment, using the letter Yulia received as his pretext.
It was plain to see how things would have unfolded if she hadn’t intervened.
‘They wouldn’t have found anything.’
Because the runaway itself was a lie from the start.
It is impossible to find a child who is already dead or an unfaithful man who never existed.
Of course, if the guards got involved, they could track the courier’s route.
Then, confirming where the letter was sent from would be trivial—but Dave’s father surely would have already covered his tracks.
In the end, Dave and the boy’s mother would be processed as missing persons, and five years later….
“They would be declared dead.”
All the blame would fall on that non-existent man.
And if a Black Forest were to manifest in the location where the two were presumed missing, that period would be shortened to a single year.
Within one year at the earliest, or five years at the latest, the insurance money taken out in their names would have ended up in the man’s hands.
“…He’s a literal demon.”
Ceres took one last, slow look around the blood-soaked interior of the house before rewinding time back to its original state.
As if it had all been a dream, every trace vanished cleanly.
Trickle.
After pouring the cold tea down the kitchen sink, Ceres slowly stepped out of the house.
The look in her eyes as she closed the door was colder than ever before.
‘There’s only one place a demon belongs.’
Fine then, try living in hell for a while.
Side Story. The Mercenary King
“…You again?”
“Hehe.”
“Where does it hurt today?”
“I think my arm is snapped clean through.”
“You came in with a broken leg not long ago, and now it’s an arm?”
“Hehe.”
Grace let out a short sigh as she looked at the ten-year-old brat who was grinning foolishly, seemingly oblivious to the pain, as he held out his dangling arm.
“But I didn’t just get hit today. I actually landed a punch!”
“Right. Good for you, truly impressive.”
Poke.
“Aaaaagh!”
“It’s definitely broken.”
Watching the boy scream at her light touch, Grace began the treatment.
“You’re going to end up a permanent invalid at this rate, Tom.”
Grace clicked her tongue repeatedly while wrapping the bandages.
Perhaps it was the bond born of shared trouble, but her eyes kept drifting toward this brat who kept forcing his presence on her.
Even now, a wry chuckle escaped her when she recalled the moment this audacious kid had introduced himself—without being asked—saying his name was Tom, he lived nearby, and his dream was to become a mercenary.
She wasn’t mocking the boy’s dream.
Even to Grace’s eyes, though he was still a young child, his physical attributes were remarkably good.
‘The problem is, he has no fear.’
The reason he came back injured nearly every day was that he would recklessly visit the mercenary groups to pick fights.
To mercenaries seasoned by real combat, a brat who had never even properly learned swordsmanship was bound to look ridiculous.
At first, they wouldn’t even give him the time of day, but they would eventually give in to the boy’s sheer persistence as he came at them like his life depended on it.
And so, Tom would end up visiting this place, injured more often than not.
“Why are you so set on becoming a mercenary?”
“Because they’re cool.”
“…Is that all?”
“Yes!”
“…….”
Since he showed some promise, she had once subtly suggested he join her family.
She felt that if he were taught systematic swordsmanship, he would surely become a fine swordsman.
‘I don’t want to.’
But she had been rejected flatly. He insisted he was going to be a mercenary.
“Rescuing people from the Black Forest is so cool!”
“Knights go into the Black Forest to rescue people too.”
“They didn’t seem as hardworking as the mercenaries, though.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true. There, all done.”
“Thank you!”
Tom grinned broadly as he looked at his treated arm.
“You’re not planning to go challenge the mercenaries again with that arm, are you?”
“…….”
“…Sigh.”
Seeing Tom subtly avert his gaze, Grace gently shook her head.
“You definitely have some behavioral issues. While your arm heals, stay home and read this quietly.”
“Eh? A book of poetry?”
Tom’s eyes sparkled as he took the book Grace handed him.
“Teacher, do you like this book?”
“Yes.”
Tom grinned and finally checked the title.
『Where Your Steps Linger』
“Even the title is poetic.”
Seeing Tom nod with a look of serious contemplation, a faint smile tugged at the corners of Grace’s mouth.
“Teacher! Please sign it for me.”
“A signature?”
“Yes! As proof that you gave it to me as a gift!”
Without saying much else, Grace signed it just as the boy wanted.
It wasn’t as if it were a difficult task.
Growl.
“…Have you not eaten yet?”
“Hehe.”
At the sound that erupted the moment she handed the book back, Grace clicked her tongue.
No doubt he’d charged into the mercenary camp without eating breakfast again.
“Follow me.”
“Yes!”
Grace led the boy to the kitchen. Fortunately, there was some patient-grade stew she had brewed earlier, so she was able to give it to him right away.
“This stew is really delicious!”
“Of course it is. I made it.”
“Can’t you please teach me the recipe? I promise I’ll never tell anyone else.”
It was something Tom said every time he ate the stew.
At first, she thought he was just being polite, but did he really want to know the recipe?
“I’ll tell you if you stay quiet until your arm heals.”
“Mmmmmm.”
Tom’s face fell at Grace’s condition.
“If I rest for even a day, the road to becoming the Mercenary King gets further away….”
“The Mercenary King?”
“Yes! I’m definitely going to become the Mercenary King!”
“…….”
“Then I’ll achieve great feats in war and rescue lots of people from the Black Forest!”
“Sure, sure. Whether you become the Mercenary King or whatever, figure that out when you’re grown. So, do you want the recipe or not?”
“…Alright. I’ll stay quiet until my arm heals.”
As if he truly craved the stew recipe, Tom finally accepted Grace’s demand.
Grace quickly wrote down the recipe and tucked it between the pages of the book the boy was holding.
“Thank you!”
Watching Tom’s energetic farewell—as if he’d never been sulking at all—a faint smile once again bloomed on Grace’s lips.
“Hmm.”
Ceres, stepping into the study of the Drow barony for the first time, examined the books with interest.
The study was quite large, and there were many old, rare volumes.
“I heard he was a mercenary.”
Hadn’t the founder of the Drow family been a mercenary?
Perhaps because of that, books related to combat made up the majority of the collection.
“Oh?”
A moment later, as she was browsing the books, one caught Ceres’s eye.
“That book is….”
It was a book Ceres knew well. It was a book she used to open whenever she had free time long ago.
“Now that I think about it, it has the same name as the restaurant.”
『Where Your Steps Linger』
Ceres chuckled as she confirmed the title.
Did the person who first opened that shop also like this book?
“Come to think of it, what did I do with that book?”
She thought she might have given it as a gift to a brat she was quite fond of, but it was so long ago that the memory was hazy.
Slide.
Ceres pulled the book out, thinking she might read it again for the first time in a while.
Seeing the book with the traces of time etched into it gave her a strange feeling. It felt as though she alone had leaped across those years.
Approaching the window where the sunlight streamed in, Ceres perched there and opened the book.
“Noona.”
But at that moment, Antonion’s voice calling her forced Ceres to set the book down on the windowsill.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was just looking for some books. Why?”
“Go see Yulia.”
Antonion let out a sigh, frowning deeply.
“She filled her workbook with nothing but drawings again. She won’t listen to a word I say.”
“…Should we make her a painter?”
Ceres clicked her tongue and rose from the windowsill.
“Give her a proper scolding.”
“Really? Should I get a switch?”
“N-no. Don’t be too hard on her, though. She’s still not fully recovered.”
Ceres chuckled. Antonion was just as weak when it came to the young Yulia.
Thud.
And so, Ceres and Antonion left the study.
Tumble.
The book that had been resting on the windowsill fell to the floor.
As it did, the front page of the book flipped open.
A faded signature was inscribed there alongside a short message.
—To Tom, from Grace.
