Continue On, Struggler. | Chapter Thirteen, Encroaching.

…

Months had passed. In what felt like no time, the year drew to the cusp of closing.

Guts tried his best to avoid thinking about it. The orb in the sky. Fortunately, life kept him busy enough to keep it from sitting at the forefront of his mind. He'd sneak peeks at it every once in a while. Just to glare at it like it did to him.

It put him on edge. Everything about it looked so foreign. Unnatural even. An odd thing for him to feel, considering he'd seen his fair share of abnormalities. It never moved, at least when it came to its position. It just hung there. Seething, smoldering, and writhing. But never once moving. Although, and maybe his paranoia was playing tricks on him, he could've sworn that it had swollen in size. Not by a lot. Hence, why he wasn't so sure about the observation.

It didn't help that he and Sauros were the only ones who seemed to pay it any mind.

On his walks to the Adventurer's Guild, he'd listen for mentions of it from the townsfolk, but there was nothing. It seemed that everyone was perfectly fine with letting the thing hang in the air. Unabated.

One day, Guts tried to ask Ghislaine about it. "You notice that big orb in the sky?"

"Of course," she said, glancing up at him from the paper in front of her. The two of them were sitting in the Greyrat library, practicing her writing. By this point, she'd memorized the alphabet well enough to try her hand at writing some basic sentences. "It's hard not to. What about it?"

"What do you think it is?"

She shrugged and refocused on her writing. "I don't know. It's there, I guess. I try not to think about it much."

"Why?"

"Because I can't do anything about it."

Guts narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips at the response, but let the topic die.

As annoying as it was, if he was the only person worried about something, there was no need to rile everyone else up about it. It'd just have to be something that he'd keep track of on his own.

…

"Start!" Ghislaine called out.

As she always did, Eris shot forward. However, this time, she proved much faster than when they first started sparring. Evidenced by how the girl came bearing down on him in moments, slashing down at his chest. Much faster than normal, more controlled too. Altogether, it made her much more dangerous as an opponent.

Unfortunately for her, Guts had expected the charge and moved to intercept her with his own, downward cut. They met.

Clack!

Then, they met again.

Clack! Clack! Clack!

And then, they kept meeting over and over again.

Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!

Months ago, in instances where he would've been able to seize the advantage, Guts had trouble finding openings. Eris had grown faster and stronger physically, but mentally speaking, she had grown leaps and bounds. Her attacks were less wild and better linked together. He could see it in her eyes, strategies forming as she watched his reactions. She would strike high two times and go low the third. When that didn't work, she would strike low three times, just to feint high, and go back to aiming low. Leveraging her physical ability to make the transition between each attack seamless. To the point that they were hard to see. Whenever he tried to retaliate, she saw and reacted accordingly. As a result, their bouts lasted much longer than before. Her attacks got closer to landing. However, despite all of her improvement…

Clack! Clack! Clack! Clack!

Their two swords bounced off one another. His more so than hers.

Seeing an opportunity, Eris stabbed at his chest, but their elongated exchange made her form sloppy.

Guts, with his sword down at his back hip, easily sidestepped. As her arm soared by, he snatched her by the wrist, pulled her into him, and kicked her lead leg out from under her. The tip of his sword found her neck upon landing.

"Duel end!" Ghislaine called out. "Rudeus wins!"

Eris growled, glaring up at him from the ground, but did nothing more. Another way she had changed.

Although, that being said, her usual fire hadn't been completely snuffed out—evidenced by the vehemence in which she jerked away from him the moment he let her go.

"You did better," Guts told her.

Eris grumbled back, "Shut up."

"Eris," Ghislaine said, approaching the two of them. "Rudeus is right. You've improved."

Eris gritted her teeth. She turned towards the beastfolk woman—mouth open—but stopped, thinking better of whatever she wanted to say.

"We're not here to train your manners, girl," Ghislaine said, crossing her arms over her chest. "If you have something to say—just say it."

Eris didn't say anything in response but never outright rejected the idea.

"Do you disagree?" Ghislaine asked.

Eris nodded.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't win," she huffed, "and I haven't gotten close to winning either."

"To your eye, but to ours, you've been making fine progress."

Eris's brow twitched. She opened her mouth, but again, not a single word left it.

"Fine," she huffed, eventually.

"Good. Now, get ready. You and Rudeus are dueling again."

Eris nodded and went over to her usual starting position.

Guts watched her do so, his traitorous mind wondering about what was bothering her.

"Duel start!"

They dueled. Yet again, he won.

This time, however, his victory felt even more certain.

…

Guts had never been the type to seek others out. Not for help, not for advice, especially not for their opinions. In that same vein, he wasn't the type to stick his neck out either. He didn't know why. In that, there was never much of a reason. It was something that he always did and never bothered questioning.

From his time with Gambino, all the way to joining the Band of the Hawk. He was all on his own. It had always been him against the world. And so, he decided to leave the world to its own devices. As he got older, however, all that started to change. More and more people kept coming into his life. And as his strength became evident, more and more of them wanted to put their trust in him. Unfortunately, with that trust, they confided their problems in him. Their hopes, their dreams, and their aspirations. He wanted to do the same, but it became clear that what drove him would only ever pull him away from them. And so, the only time he ever truly leaned on others—wholly and fully—was towards the end of his first life.

Guts thought about it often—more often than he'd like to admit—but he hadn't changed much. He still wasn't the sort to help or be helped, but now, he understood the value in it. A person, no matter how strong they were, couldn't carry themselves through all their troubles. Not on their own. Sometimes, they needed a shoulder to lean on. Sometimes—be it because of pride, disgust, or distrust—it felt difficult to seek out.

So, after seeing that there was something wrong with Eris, Guts did something that he thought he'd never do: seek her out of his own free will.

To help her, most definitely, but also because he was getting sick and tired of seeing her flounder.

…

Eris had stormed away from the courtyard after their morning spar.

As much as he wanted to follow her and nip the problem in the bud then and there, Guts had to stay behind for Ghislaine's reading and writing lessons. It was midday when he went to go find her.

Knowing her schedule, and knowing that there was a large gap between her swordplay lessons and dinner with her family, he first checked her bedroom.

"Eris?" he called out, knocking on her bedroom door. "Open up!"

He waited for a response, but no noise came in response.

Guts knocked again, louder this time. "I know you're in there."

"Leave!" Eris yelled. "We've already had our lesson!"

Guts knit his brows together. "Just open the damn door, brat."

"No, I don't want to!"

"I'm not leaving until you do."

"No! Leave!"

"Open up and make me."

Guts heard some grumbling come from behind the door. Then, some rustling. And then, loud stomping. Finally, the door came flying open with a slam. Eris stood on the other side. Surprisingly, she didn't seem as pissed as he thought she'd be.

"What do you want?" She growled, holding onto the doors as if they were the only things keeping her from mauling him to death.

Unfortunately for her, the display didn't move him at all. Both literally or figuratively. "I want to talk."

"About what?"

"Your performance during sparring. It was terrible."

Eris's grip on the door visibly tightened. She was going to slam the door in his face if he didn't pick his next words carefully.

"But it only got terrible towards the end."

Her grip on the door loosened. "…What do you mean?"

"During our first round of sparring, you may not have won—"

The muscles in her hand tensed. Now, she was close to slamming the door.

"—but you got close. Closer than you ever have."

Her hand relaxed again, meaning that she wanted him to continue.

"You've improved." So, he continued. "Ask Ghislaine and she'll tell you the same." Eris opened her mouth, probably to disagree, but he kept speaking, "I'm not telling you this to make you feel better. It's the truth. I'm not going to try and speak to whatever's going on in your head—because, honestly, I don't give a shit—but if you don't get that through your thick skull, I'll ram it in myself. Understood?"

Eris didn't respond. She stayed still. Her lips pressed shut into a line. Something about how she looked at him—Guts couldn't point to what—told him that his words had gotten through to her.

"But I'm still not good enough to beat you." Eventually, however, she came to look away from him. "I don't feel close either."

"Good," Guts said, having to keep from rolling his eyes. "That's just the difference between a beginner and an advanced-tier swordsman. Someone of my rank shouldn't be struggling to fight you at all."

Eri's face clenched. Still, her eyes refused to meet his own. "How am I supposed to know that I'm getting stronger then?"

"You fight."

The response seemed to confuse Eris. "But we already do fight—"

"—I don't mean literally," Guts cut her off.

"How do I know that I'm getting closer? To beating you, I mean."

"You'll know when it happens."

Eris snorted, but now, she was looking at him. "That doesn't answer anything at all."

Guts snorted. "I'm not here to give you the answers. You can figure out that much by yourself—"

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"—Why're you here at all then?!" the girl hissed, stomping her foot repeatedly. "You're here to be my teacher, right? I thought teachers were supposed to give their students the answers!"

"I'm not here to be your teacher."

"Then what're you doing here?!"

A moment of silence interjected itself between them.

"Fine," Guts huffed. He stepped forward so that they were chest to chest. He looked up at her. She looked down at him. But, at that moment, they were meeting as equals. "I'm here to be an obstacle."

"'An obstacle'?"

"Something that gets in your way," he explained, nodding. "Ghislaine too. All she is an obstacle."

She didn't say in response, so he kept speaking. "Ghislaine and I aren't here to make you feel strong. We're here to make you strong, but if you're going to get to that point, you're going to need to struggle. Over and over and over again. Because there's no such thing as struggle without obstacles. Feel however you want towards us. Hate, anger, or spite—I don't care. Whatever it takes for you to climb up over them, you feel it.

"Just think about it for a second. Do you think that—just because Ghislaine and I are stronger than you at this moment—we've always been as strong as we are now? That we've never come across anyone stronger than us? That we've never spent a single moment feeling exactly what you feel towards us? If so, bullshit. There's always someone stronger."

"Stronger? Than Ghislaine?" Eris balked. "But she's a—"

Guts wouldn't let her contradict him. "—A Sword-King? You think she gave that rank to herself?"

Eris went silent at that.

"Ghislaine earned her rank. Just like how I earned mine. And we earned them by going through the same shit you're in right now. Walk, run, or crawl. Hate us, love us. I don't care. Just get through it."

Eris didn't say anything. She just stared at him. Arms crossed. Eyebrows scrunched up. Then, eventually, she cast her eyes downwards.

"Who was it for you?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"Who was it for you? You said that you've felt like how I feel, right?"

Guts frowned, thought about it a little, and answered, "My father."

Eris looked him in the eyes, kept looking at him, and hummed.

Guts nodded.

The two left it at that.

…

Over the last few months, Guts had started to make a name for himself as an adventurer.

"Hey, look! It's the kid again!"

"Hm? You talking about the one that just walked in? What about him? He doesn't look all too special."

"'Doesn't look too—'? Have you been living under a rock? That's not just some kid. He's the kid. He joined up a few months ago, got out of Rank-F, and just started clearing Rank-D quests like he needed them to breathe. I hear, the day that he first ranked up, he went straight to the quest board and came back with a cart full of dead monsters."

"Really? You know his name, where he came from?"

"Nope. No one knows a thing about him. He doesn't talk to anyone either. Save for the receptionist."

"C'mon, someone's gotta know something about him."

"Well, there are rumors he's connected to the Greyrats somehow."

"The Greyrats? As in the Greyrats? The same ones who run this city? How'd you figure that?"

"People say—when he showed up to register—he came with the Sword King Ghislaine. In tow and talking all familiar-like. There are even murmurings that people have seen him coming in and out of Greyrat Manor as he pleases."

"…And the Boreas Greyrats aren't exactly known for being welcoming of outsiders. Not after what happened a few years back. You think he's related somehow? Bastard son?"

"Doubt it. Lord Sauros's reputation precedes him, but Lord Phillip's never had one bad word uttered about him. He's too prim and proper for it. My money's on a cousin from a branch family. Maybe the one that does its business in Asura? What were they called again? The Notos Greyrats?"

"Huh. Wonder what he's doing schlepping it down here with adventurers like us then? You gotta think a noble kid's gotta have other options."

Guts rolled his eyes. By far, if he hated any part of being an adventurer, he hated all the gossip the most. The more he did, the more people talked. The more people talked about him, the more eyes he found following him as he went to pick up quests. The more eyes, the more annoying trips to the Guild Building became. Pricking at a paranoia in ways he hadn't felt in years.

People came up to him more and more now, mostly other adventurers—near his rank or just above it—looking to recruit him to their party. He always told them, in no uncertain terms, to screw off. He had no time for parasites. Leeches. Looking to use his strength to their advantage. Everything he wanted to do, he could do by himself. So, he brushed off every advance. Over and over again. Until every adventurer in Roa understood that he had no desire to suffer through them. After enough rejections, they settled on gossiping.

As he said, Guts hated the gossip too, but he preferred it to the alternative. It, at the very least, allowed him to come in and pick up his quest in peace.

And that's how it always went. He would go to the board, find the first monster-hunting quest that he could accept, and rip it off the board. After killing whatever needed killing, he would come back to the Guild, turn in his proof, take the money, and go home.

That summed up his daily life as an adventurer. Hilariously, despite the name, he never felt like more of a homebody.

…

Power had always been a funny concept to Guts.

No doubt, he'd rather have it than not. Being strong meant being powerful. Being more powerful meant safety. And so, of all the things in existence, he wanted to be powerful. If there was anything his past life had taught him, it was that.

However, as much as having power helped him, it hindered him in other ways. In ways that strength alone couldn't make up for.

Get strong and people would take notice. If enough people took notice, they'd start to try and take advantage of it. Hence, the situation he was in right now.

"Hey, kid," a man—a stranger—said, stepping out in Guts's path to stop him. A thug with nearly as much hair on him as he did armor. The armor itself was heavy but crude. Made up of several pieces of long sections of steel with no ordainment, giving him the makings of someone who fashioned himself a knight but didn't have the funds to back up his own delusions. A cuirass, spaulders, gauntlets, greaves, and a helmet that hid his whole head. Save for the massive brown beard that cascaded down to his collarbone. "The two of us need to have a chat."

Guts's frown deepened in response.

He had just finished a quest that took him past the gates of Roa and into the farmlands that surrounded the Citadel City—a common occurrence for him ever since his rising up to E-Rank. As it turned out, most D-Rank quests involving monster hunting—and didn't involve any sort of days-long commitment—centered mainly around keeping crops and livestock safe. Usually, in the form of killing whatever it was giving the farmers grief in the first place. Today, he had just finished up clearing out a Treant infestation that had hit an armored apple orchard.

Although, given that four armed men were standing between in him and the path back to Roa, he probably wasn't the only one.

Months ago, back when he got himself out of F-Rank, Ghislaine had warned him about situations like this—that, as he climbed the ranks, good jobs would start getting difficult to come by. With scarcity came overlap, and with overlap came competition. Sometimes, competition led to situations like this.

"Must think you're a real hotshot, huh?" The lead thug said, pacing in front of the three smaller men behind him. They, all cross-armed, nodded in unison. "Rookies these days. They rank up once or twice and think they can just start poaching another man's jobs."

Job poaching. He figured the name explained its meaning well enough, but according to Ghislaine, there was more to it than just that. Mainly, it came in two forms—honest and dishonest. 'Honest' referred to it being a mistake. Usually borne of an error on the Guild's part. Ghislaine gave him the example of a branch building not alerting the other locations that a job had been taken and another party taking it unknowingly. 'Dishonest' pointed to the opposite. Another person or party saw a job they wanted and took it. Through any means necessary.

Considering Guts had no idea what the wannabe knight was talking about, his current issue fell under the prior.

"Go bother someone who gives a shit," he said, making to walk right by the group.

Although, that didn't mean he cared.

"What'd you say to me, you little twerp?!" The lead man growled, moving to stop him. "I oughta—"

The man reached for the greatsword strapped to his back. Seeing that, Guts went for his own sword. From there, Guts knew this confrontation would come down to who could pull their sword out the fastest.

Guts was smaller, his sword was too. Winning that battle easily, he used that advantage to get close to the man. He, with his left hand, took his own sword by its blade and rolled under the man. Right between his legs. As he rolled into a crouch, Guts stabbed the tip of his sword into the back of the man's left knee.

"Ah!" the man screamed out. He tried to turn towards Guts, but before he could, his leg gave out, bringing him to one knee halfway through.

Guts continued to press his advantage. He jumped up on the larger man, took him by his greasy hair, pulled back to expose his throat, and put a blade to it.

"Hey, hey!" Unsurprisingly, the other three—after seeing their leader injured—moved to help, but were stopped when Guts pressed his sword into their leader's throat. "C'mon, there's no need for that, kid! Drop the blade. We just thought you—"

Guts didn't say anything. He just pressed his sword into his neck harder. To the point he could feel it against the man's flesh. Making it clear that he wanted a specific response.

"—Alright, alright! If you want the job, you can have it! We'll leave you alone!"

Guts didn't say anything in response. He put his foot on the man's back and kicked him into the ground.

Guts walked away.

Bugs, he thought.

The first and most annoying side-effect that power brought.

…

The second?

Parasites, Guts thought as he trudged through the streets.

He had been on his way back to the Guild Building—to turn in the Treant job, collect his pay, and get back home—but on the way, he noticed a couple of tag-a-longs trailing him. Now, he was trying to pull them into a trap.

A strange uneasiness fell upon him when he first noticed them—these particular sets of eyes. It all seemed the same at first. No different from the usual. The boy named Rudeus Greyrat had been a surprise to every adventurer in Roa, considering his relative age and experience. With that, came a weird mix of idolisation and envy. Something he had never wanted, but always ignored. Because he understood how this all worked. Nothing scared people more than an unknown commodity, after all.

Bugs came with the territory. The flies always fed on the scraps of larger predators. He could waste the time and energy in trying to swat them away, but after a while, the most prudent solution became ignoring them.

Guts, however, got the sense that these two stragglers following him were different.

It was those two beastfolk girls, the ones Guts kept running into. A fact that seemed less and less like a coincidence.

Now, there was no doubt in his mind that they were trailing him. For a while now, if his instincts were anything to go off of.

For what reason? He had no clue, but he wasn't going to let it stand.

Fortunately, it didn't seem like awareness went both ways.

In other words, the perfect set-up for a trap.

…

Roms, One of Two Thieves.

…

Roms gulped hard and took a step back. Her sister, standing a little behind her, did the same. The two sisters were tense under the stare of the boy in front of them. His gaze felt two-faced: one part being as sharp and deadly as the sword resting on his shoulder; the other part being as hard as the stone wall growing behind them, impeding their escape.

"You two…" the boy said, standing up from the crouch he had been in.

It had happened in moments. He had led him down an alley—an alley where they'd seen him go down tens of items over the past few weeks. Today, however, he walked halfway and stopped suddenly. And then, in one move, he pulled his sword out from its sheathe, spun to face them, knelt to the ground, and put his left hand to it. Without a single word coming from his mouth, magical energy began to seep out from his palm and into the ground. Suddenly, Roms and Rems were trapped.

"…Have been trailing me ever since I got back behind the walls," he continued, pointing his sword at them. A threat. "You've got 'til three. Explain."

Roms clicked her tongue. She and her sister exchanged glances.

"One," the boy said.

Roms's hand twitched, ready to reach down for the knife at her hip.

But before she could do anything, Rems threw an arm out in front of her and shook her head. A silent warning. 'Don't.'

"Two."

A warning that wasn't issued for his sake, but for their own. They'd been tailing him for weeks now. Consequently, they'd seen him fight more than a handful of times. They now understood how he'd been able to kill that Terminate Boar and its pack of Assault Dogs, how he'd gained the attention of the Sword-King Ghislaine.

The boy known as Rudeus Greyrat was stronger. Stronger than they were by leagues. So, they couldn't afford to get on his bad side.

"Three—"

"—Do you want to join our party?" Rems asked.

Rudeus narrowed his eyes. He glared at her sister like he was trying to gauge her worth and authenticity from a single look alone. Eventually, however, he lowered his sword.

"No," he said, turning around. At the same time, the stone wall behind them lowered.

Roms and Rems exchanged looks, before following after the boy.

"'No'?" Roms asked, her voice a mix of shock and indignation. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"No. As in 'go away'."

"Well, why 'no' then?"

"Why does it matter?" A sliver of insult slipped into his voice. "You think I have any use for two girls stupid enough to let a kid get the drop on them?"

Roms felt her brow twitch at the insult. She opened her mouth, to return it tenfold, but Rems cut her off before she could.

"Can I ask a question?" Her sister asked.

Rudeus said nothing back.

"You've been with the Guild for nearly a year, right?"

Again, nothing.

"I—well, my sister and I—couldn't help but notice that you've only been taking monster-hunting quests."

Even more nothing.

"Those kinds of quests are pretty rare at Rank-E. My sister and I would know since we're Rank-D."

Rudeus did respond to that. He stopped and turned them. Only partially, but that was something they could work with.

"Look, kid, I'm just going to come out and say it," Rems continued, stepping out in front of Roms. "We've been keeping an eye on you for a while now."

Roms nodded her head. Although, he didn't look her way at all.

Rudeus knit his brows together. "How long?"

"Weeks now," Rems answered. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"Why?"

Rems nodded. "We needed to see you in action, to see if you were the real deal. We—"

"—Skip the preamble," the boy pressed, turning towards them fully. "Get to the point, or get lost."

Roms grimaced. Even without showing it, she could sense Rems tensing up. For all her plentiful patience, which seemed infinite in some cases, her sister hated getting talked down to as much as she did.

"We need money," Rems explained, terse and concise but truthful.

Rudeus visibly calmed, and asked, "Why?"

"We can't say, at least not right now, but trust me when I say that we need it. A lot of it. More than a Rank-D or Rank-C quest can get us."

The boy seemed to pick up on what Rems was saying. "And what? You think a ten-year-old can help with that?"

"We think that you're strong," Rems explained. "Stronger than us, at the very least. And considering your tastes in quests, we thought you might be interested in killing stronger monsters."

Rudeus was silent a moment.

At that moment, Roms wondered if he was still going to say say 'no'.

Eventually, he turned away, huffed, and said, "Meet me at the Guild Building tomorrow afternoon. I want to see if you two can keep up."

And then, he left. Without saying another word.

Roms pursed her lips, already understanding that this might've been more than either of them bargained for.

…

Roms had to admit, that Rudeus was good.

Almost as if on cue, and with a stoicism that betrayed his age, the kid slipped under the bite of the Snag Beetle—a horse-sized stag beetle with a maw that spanned the length of halberds—they had been seen to kill. He rolled forward. From one knee, he stabbed his longsword up into the underside of the monster's maw.

The Snag Beetle let out a shriek and went to stagger back, but Rudeus kept the pressure on. He kept himself right in the bug's face. With a trained ease, he stepped forward and pivoted his hips into a downward cleave that cut clean through one of its pincers. From there, the Snag Beetle slashed at the boy with its remaining pincer. The attack never so much as got near its mark.

The boy turned and punched his left palm down at his feet. A gust of wind shot into the ground, propelling Rudeus up into the air. Just high enough to avoid the attack. One flip later, the Snag Beetle's last pincer crashed into the dirt, leaving the monster completely defenseless.

Rudeus landed in a crouch as the monster shrieked and stumbled back. He put his palm to the dirt and the ground under the bug began to bubble. A beat later, a multi-pronged stone spike shot out from the ground and through the Snag Beetle's abdomen, impaling it.

The Snag Beetle wriggled before Rudeus put it to a stop. He stepped forward, wrapped both his hands around the hilt of his sword, and cleaved the bug's head off with a single clean cut. The bug went limp. Dead. Just all like the other members of its brood. Five in total. All of which, Rudeus had slain with Roms and Rems making sure they couldn't try and swarm the boy as he fought.

"There," Rudeus said, turning back to face the two sisters and resting his sword on his shoulder. "Done."

The fight itself had been a spectacle. A bloody, one-sided one. Waged with a horrifying sort of efficiency.

The boy moved like a whirlwind—strong, fast, and ever-buffeting. He never stayed still, always using some sort of unspoken magic to tilt the battle to his advantage. Either gusts of wind or sharp stone projectiles. With them, he ran through all that stood against him. To and fro. Away and between. He ripped them to pieces. Like a whirlwind of razors. All without a bit of trepidation, which might have been the most impressive thing about the display.

Roms let out a wolf whistle. "Impressive."

Rudeus ignored the comment. With one hand, he swung the blood off his sword and put it back into its sheathe.

"What's with that face?" she asked. "Don't like compliments?"

"I don't like wasting time," he corrected. She scoffed. He produced a knife from his belt. "C'mon. Start skinning."

Roms rolled her eyes. She glanced at her sister.

Rems shrugged, got her own knife out, and went over to help their new party member.

Roms huffed and proceeded to do the same.

Rudeus Greyrat. Rank E. The newest member of The Wolves of Roa.

That was going to take some getting used to.

…

Chapter End.