SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 349: Aftermath

Hours had passed before anyone acknowledged it.

Trafalgar had remained inside the Step the entire time, moving as if the boundaries of the platform no longer mattered. Monsters came, were cut down, and vanished into residue without ever slowing his pace. Pulse Rank creatures, all of them. Predictable. Limited. Enough to keep the body working without demanding restraint. Bartholomew had stopped participating long ago, retreating to the rear while Trafalgar continued alone, immersed in motion as if the space itself had narrowed to nothing but distance and timing.

Now, there was nothing left.

The Step lay empty, stone exposed where bodies had fallen, the faint acidic traces already fading. Trafalgar stood at its center, chest rising and falling steadily. Sweat ran down the side of his face, soaking into his collar, but his stance remained firm. His muscles were worked thoroughly, heavy with use, yet there was no tremor in his grip. No sign of collapse. Just exhaustion earned honestly, without weakness attached to it.

Maledicta dissolved in his hand, the blade breaking apart into fine mana dust before dispersing into the air and vanishing from reality entirely. Trafalgar exhaled once and turned back toward them.

Rhosyn met his gaze. "Are you finished?"

"Yes," Trafalgar replied, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "We can head back."

Bartholomew shifted beside them, his expression dimmer now that the fight had fully ended. "We... didn’t find anything," he said quietly. "About the Rifts."

Trafalgar looked at him for a moment. He did not dismiss the disappointment, nor did he try to soften it with false reassurance. Instead, he spoke evenly.

"We didn’t know how long ago they appeared," he said. A brief pause followed. "Given that, it makes sense."

He glanced once more across the cleared Step, then back to Barth.

"But," Trafalgar added, tone lighter without being careless, "within reason—" another short pause, "—it was still a good experience."

Barth hesitated, then nodded.

Rhosyn let the moment breathe before speaking, her gaze moving briefly across the empty Step and then back to Bartholomew. "It’s a shame you didn’t find anything, since it was for the Academy it should be important." she said calmly.

Barth nodded, fingers tightening around the grip of his bow before loosening again. "Y-yeah," he admitted. "I knew it was unlikely." His voice dropped slightly. "Still... I kind of hoped there’d be something left. Anything."

Rhosyn studied him for a second longer than necessary. "You care about it more than most," she observed. "Research like that doesn’t usually draw this much disappointment."

Color rose to Barth’s cheeks almost instantly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, words tangling before they could escape. His gaze dropped, shoulders stiffening as if caught off guard by the attention. "I— I just—" He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Trafalgar stepped in without making it obvious.

"Barth’s always been like that," he said easily, as if explaining something ordinary. "History. Old records. Things people stop paying attention to once they’re inconvenient." He glanced at his friend. "If there’s something to learn, he’ll dig for it."

Barth looked up, surprised.

"There’ll be other chances," Trafalgar continued. "Other sites. Other traces." His tone stayed steady. "This one didn’t pan out. That happens."

The tension eased, just a little.

They began moving again, descending along the broad ramps that connected the Steps, the mountain opening itself downward in long, sloping paths carved naturally into the stone. No one stopped to gather materials. No acidic cores were harvested. No drops were claimed. Trafalgar showed no interest in it, and none of them felt like turning the hunt into work after everything that had already settled.

By the time they reached the lower levels, Rhosyn had already arranged transport back to Salca, speaking briefly with a driver and confirming the route without ceremony.

The hunt was over.

What remained was the quiet aftermath—disappointment acknowledged, expectations adjusted, and the unspoken understanding that not every search yields answers, even when the effort itself still matters.

Salca welcomed them back with familiar noise and movement, the low hum of daily activity flowing around the drop-off point as if nothing of consequence had occurred beyond the city’s reach. The carriage slowed to a stop, and the three of them stepped down without hurry, the rhythm of the place easing them back into normality.

Trafalgar turned to Rhosyn first. "Thanks for coming with us," he said simply. "And for the help."

Bartholomew straightened beside him, bow still slung at his side. "Y-yes," he added, dipping his head slightly. "Thank you. For showing us where the Rifts appeared. It really helped."

Rhosyn waved a hand dismissively, a faint smile touching her lips. "It was nothing," she said. "Truly." Her gaze moved between them, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "Good luck with the Academy work."

With that, she stepped back, already turning away. There was no dramatic farewell, no lingering words. She blended into the movement of the city with practiced ease, her presence receding until it was indistinguishable from the crowd.

Barth watched her go for a second before speaking. "She... seems kind."

Trafalgar nodded. "Yeah. She is."

They gathered their things and headed toward the Gate together, the familiar structure standing ready to carry them away from Salca and back toward routine. As they walked, Trafalgar glanced at Barth, a hint of amusement surfacing.

"We should hurry," he said. "If we’re gone any longer, Cynthia’s going to lose her mind wondering where her little brother disappeared to."

Barth flushed instantly. "I-I told her not to worry," he protested, voice rising just enough to betray him.

The Gate flared to life as they stepped through, the light swallowing the city behind them.

Salca fell away, and Velkaris waited on the other side.

Velkaris greeted them with its usual sprawl of stone, light, and layered noise, the Gate’s glow fading behind their backs as the city asserted itself once more. For a moment, they stood there together, letting the transition settle.

Trafalgar broke the silence first. "You should head back by train," he said to Barth. "I’ve got a few things to take care of here."

Barth hesitated, then nodded. "O-okay." He adjusted the strap of his bow, glancing once more down the street. "I’ll see you back at the Academy."

They parted without ceremony. Barth headed toward the station, disappearing into the flow of people until he was just another figure among many.

Trafalgar remained where he was.

The city moved around him, indifferent and alive. Somewhere within it, Rhosyn was doing the same—walking unseen, unremarked, just as she had learned to do over years of necessity. She had said she hoped to see them again. Barth would never know what she truly was, and that was intentional. Safer that way.

’We already agreed,’ Trafalgar thought. ’You won’t vanish again.’

The idea settled with more weight than he expected. Having Rhosyn nearby mattered. Not just for answers, though there were still many he did not have, but because solitude like hers came at a cost no amount of strength could erase. She had endured it for far too long.

His thoughts drifted briefly to Caelvyrn, to the old dragon’s offhand admission long ago. That he had tried to court her once. Long enough in the past that the attempt had been spoken of almost casually, as if centuries were little more than distance rather than weight.

The realization settled differently now.

Rhosyn was not simply long-lived. She belonged to a span of time most people could barely comprehend, moving through eras while the world reshaped itself around her. Strength like that came with endurance, yes—but also with isolation, with watching everything else change or disappear.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly.

Enduring that alone carried a cost no power could erase.

Rhosyn appeared beside him without sound.

One moment Trafalgar was alone in the flow of Velkaris, the next her presence was there as if it had always been part of the street. Black clothing that absorbed the light rather than reflecting it. Black hair falling straight against her shoulders. Black eyes that gave nothing away unless she allowed it.

"I’m ready," she said simply.

Trafalgar glanced at her, then nodded. "I thought so." He hesitated, then added, almost casually, "You know... I think I can guess how old you are now."

The reaction was immediate.

The air tightened.

Rhosyn turned her head toward him, and for a fraction of a second the city seemed to recede. Her expression did not change, but something sharp surfaced beneath it, an edge that had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with intent.

"Are you certain," she asked quietly, "that you want to finish that sentence?"

Trafalgar stopped.

Mid-breath. Mid-step.

A familiar pressure washed over him, cold and precise, settling against his instincts with unmistakable clarity. It was the same sensation he had felt near Valttair when blood had already been decided and restraint was the only thing holding violence back.

He did not speak.

’I shouldn’t,’ he realized.

But the conclusion formed anyway.

’Centuries,’ he thought. ’At least.’

Rhosyn watched him closely, then the pressure eased, retreating as quickly as it had surfaced. The street noise returned. The world resumed its pace.

Trafalgar exhaled, slow and controlled.

Her earlier words echoed back to him, reshaped by context. That they were not so different. That similarity did not come from age, but from what time would eventually demand of him.

’Longevity,’ he thought, ’doesn’t mean safety.’

Not in this world. Not with wars, monsters, and bloodlines that painted targets instead of shields.

Without another word, Rhosyn turned and began walking.

Trafalgar fell into step beside her.

Together, they headed north, toward the wealthier districts of Velkaris.