I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Northern watched Roma disappear from view, the embers of her final words still smoldering in his mind.

He turned away, retreating to the balcony where the city stretched beneath him, lost in thoughts to the flow of time and unaware of when the dim lights of the city had come alive, flickering like dying stars in the cold night air.

He had been in deep thoughts over the last few hours about the things that had transpired then.

Bairan's words.

Roma's defiance.

His own voice, sharp with contempt, now ringing hollow.

For all his strength, all his certainty, he felt unsteady.

"You've been rather hypocritical, Master."

Bairan had struck at something Northern hadn't been ready to face. Had he really been so blind to his own contradictions? He had called Roma selfish for throwing herself into danger, yet had he not done the same—again and again?

And it wasn't just about now. It never was.

From the Dark Continent, to his resentment toward Raven, his so-called unwillingness to be used. But had he not done the same? Had he not intended to use them all just to return home?

The misfortunes had simply stacked atop his head, whether by fate or by Terence's interference. He couldn't be sure—she was a Saintess, after all.

Maybe speaking to Raven, truly speaking to her, would give him a clearer answer.

Or perhaps, before that, he needed to understand her.

Maybe he needed to stop centering himself in everything, stop justifying his hypocrisy with cold logic. Maybe, just maybe, he needed to start seeing the struggles of others—not as obstacles, but as something worth understanding.

Empathy.

Not to the extent that it shattered his principles. But he had a vast soul, didn't he? He could make room for more. Room for flexibility.

And more importantly, he needed to acknowledge those who walked a path similar to his own, even if their approach was different.

No, not necessarily acknowledge them—if they were weak and powerless, they were still of no consequence.

But he didn't need to criticize them for it either.

Had he not also fought reckless battles? Had he not survived by being brave and foolish, facing death when there was no hope of survival?

Northern gritted his teeth.

'There was a difference.'

What made his sacrifices different from Roma's?

Power.

That was the answer, wasn't it? He had power. He had the ability to ensure that his battles weren't in vain. But did that truly change the core truth?

He fought because he chose to.

Just as Roma had.

Was survival really the only thing that mattered?

He had always believed that the weak had no place on the battlefield. That courage without strength was nothing but a fool's death sentence.

And yet—Roma had stood before him. Bloodied. Unbroken.

She had faced him down without fear, without hesitation.

And in doing so, she had done something no opponent, no monster, no enemy had managed in a long time.

She had forced him to reflect.

He had spoken to break her. To strip away the illusion of heroism before it got her killed.

But she hadn't shattered.

She had walked away stronger.

"Do you even know what you're fighting for? Or do you just fight because you're afraid of stopping long enough to find out?"

Northern exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. The words gnawed at him, a truth he couldn't ignore.

Had he ever truly fought for something? Or had he simply fought because it was all he knew?

He had always assumed he had the answers. That his way was the only way. That survival and victory were all that mattered. But Roma's defiance—her absolute refusal to accept his judgment—left an unsettling realization in its wake.

There was more than one kind of strength.

And just because he was stronger than her now didn't mean she would always remain beneath him.

He had underestimated her—not just her will, but her ability to change.

And if she could change…

Then what about him?

Northern stared at his hands. Strong hands, forged in battle. Hands that had slain monstrosities and endured the deepest of hells.

And yet, for all their strength, there was something deeply unsure beneath his skin.

What if Bairan was right?

What if, in his efforts to teach others the cost of weakness, he had blinded himself to the cost of his own coldness?

What if strength wasn't just about survival… but about what you chose to do with it?

His grip on the railing tightened. The thought sat heavy in his chest—uncomfortable, unwelcome, but impossible to ignore.

Bairan had said something else before leaving, words that now felt like a splinter buried beneath his skin.

"You need to inspect yourself at all times, Master. Ask yourself the questions that force you to grow. Make sure you're not lying to yourself."

Northern had never questioned himself before.

But maybe…

Maybe it was time to start.

He didn't leave that balcony with all the answers. He didn't suddenly believe in Roma's ideals, and he certainly didn't abandon his belief in strength.

But for the first time, he accepted the possibility that he wasn't entirely right.

And that?

That was the first step.

The next time he saw Roma, he wouldn't apologize.

But he would listen.

Because whether he admitted it or not…

She had changed something in him.

Northern exhaled heavily, feeling the weight on his chest lift. He cast one last glance at the dying embers of the city before turning his attention to Paragon Raizel, whose presence he had already sensed approaching.

The Paragon stepped onto the balcony, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he closed the distance.

"I met the girl," Raizel said, his tone light yet deliberate. "And I can't say I'm surprised she's here. I made sure to thank her properly."

Northern frowned slightly. "You know her?"

Raizel hesitated for a fraction of a second—just enough to be noticed.

"You don't?"

"I met her during the voyage."

The Paragon studied him with an unreadable expression before shaking his head.

"You're quite an apathetic person, Ral. I wouldn't recommend staying that way."

Northern let out a short chuckle.

"Can't blame me. I grew up sheltered. There are some things I know, though."

Raizel waved dismissively.

"Doesn't matter. That girl—she's the daughter of the Headmaster of the strongest Citadel in the Central Plains. And also the King of a small nation called Ryugan."

Northern's brow furrowed as he processed the revelation.

Raizel continued, "Ryugan is at odds with the Reimgard Empire—the only city bold enough to challenge their authority on a large scale. Not just with their royal name, but through their nation's name as well."

Northern's eyes widened. He was genuinely surprised.

"I'm shocked they're still on the map."

Raizel grinned. "I am too. Her father and brothers are a troublesome lot. If I'm right, they're probably tearing through the blockade of monsters as we speak, coming to retrieve her."

His grin faded slightly.

"And that means Dante and his people will be alerted." He met Northern's gaze. "We might have to move things faster, Ral."

Northern's expression turned serious.

"How fast?"

Raizel's smile returned, sharper this time.

"I'm talking about moving tonight."