Chapter 48: Sophia

  Sophia tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep.

  The beds in this inn were crudely built: a wooden frame, a few planks laid across it, and a thin layer of straw for padding. But this bed even had a linen sheet. There was a cotton blanket, a pillow stuffed with hay—these were the inn’s most luxurious amenities.

  Of course, sleeping here was nothing like lying in her bed at the duke’s mansion, draped in goose down and fine cotton. But Sophia did not care about that. She had slept in cold, damp caves in deep mountains and deserts hot enough to fry eggs. Any of those places was better than the duke’s mansion, where she was forced to wear cumbersome, ornate dresses and endure endless rituals and social niceties.

  Duke Mrak’s title was not hereditary. He had come from a humble family of local gentry, but had been granted a title for his heroic deeds in the war between the empire and the southern kingdoms twenty years ago. Through extraordinary ability and cunning, he had climbed to his current position step by step. Sophia had not grown up drowning in luxury like other noble children. Her father’s struggles and his careful education in her early years had fostered her independent spirit. She had no ambition like her father’s; her mature demeanor made her particularly tired of the empty, decadent life of the upper nobility. She preferred to focus her energy on practical, tangible things. To escape the tedious identity of “Duke’s Daughter,” she had taken a job at the Potions Institute under the Magic Academy, often venturing out to explore and discover new things—finding satisfaction in uncovering what no one had seen before.

  When her father arranged a marriage for her, she was unhappy. Raised strictly by him, she had rarely thought about love, let alone marriage. Moreover, the noble House of Erney had rigid rules, and she detested her fiancé—whose eyes saw nothing but “power and influence.” Yet she did not resist. She knew this was just a common political alliance between noble families, and she understood how important this marriage was to her father. She had always been a sensible, thoughtful daughter, and she loved her father deeply.

  So, before the wedding, she had set out to travel and adventure across the continent, claiming she needed to collect herbs for the Potions Institute to study their properties. She wanted to spend her last moments of true freedom living fully for herself—she had even planned to explore the most dangerous regions of the continent. If I die, so be it, she would sometimes think, in a moment of recklessness.

  Then, in Lizard Marsh, she had almost died for real. When she learned her injuries were so severe she would only lie in bed waiting for death, she had felt no sorrow—only watched her flustered father and indifferent fiancé. But when she saw him say firmly that he would find a way to save her, she suddenly crumbled. She thought: Even if I die now, it will have been worth it.

  Later, when she woke from her long, near-death coma, she found her body had miraculously fully recovered. It was only from her father that she learned he had truly found a magical cure for her. She knew the wedding was drawing near, and her father would never let her go out alone again—but she ached to see him. It was a simple, intense desire. She had slipped out secretly, found him in Bracada, and then, as if by fate, traveled with him to this strange city.

  These days had been the happiest of her life—happier than she had ever imagined. Everything here was new; every day brought endless strange sights, all vibrant and orderly, as if she had stepped into a free new world. Most importantly, he was by her side.

  He could read traces on the ground to tell what beasts had passed by half a day earlier; he could smell the wind and watch the clouds to predict the weather. He knew how to prepare red smoke tree bark to make a good seasoning—or a powerful laxative. He knew which earth mushrooms would make people laugh themselves to death, how to roast a badger’s rump to make it tasty, and that one-eyed lizards tasted far better than they looked… These new topics never grew tiring.

  He was a simple man, as if he had suddenly stepped into this world from an isolated forest—ignorant of so much. He knew no literature, no poetry, and worshiped no gods. He did not understand many things that seemed like common sense, sometimes showing childlike naivety. Yet when needed, he could be instantly sharp and calm, as seasoned as an old adventurer. By unspoken agreement, neither of them mentioned the time he had saved her. Within a day or two, there was no awkwardness left between them—they spoke and acted as naturally as if they had known each other for years. Even the old thief thought they were truly “lovers.”

  Though their time together felt natural, she could feel their intimacy growing deeper with each passing day. It was not until they had leaned against each other yesterday that she was certain: she liked him, and he liked her. A feeling more intoxicating than all the wine in the world, sweeter than all the honey, had wrapped around her completely. She was lost in it.

  But today, she had learned they would leave tomorrow—to return to the empire.

  All the things she had nearly forgotten—her father, the marriage, her fiancé, life in the capital, her duties—had ambushed her like a coordinated attack, throwing her into chaos. Before this journey, she had been prepared to go back. But the new environment and new feelings had made her forget them quickly.

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  Forgetting did not mean they ceased to exist. Discovering these hidden things while floating on clouds of happiness made the fall feel even more sudden, more overwhelming.

  For the first time in her life, she had the thought of abandoning her father and her family duties. But the thought vanished as quickly as it came—she had snuffed it out in a panic. Her mother had died young; her father had raised her alone. Even amid his busy official duties and social engagements, he had never neglected her education. She loved him deeply, and she knew how important this marriage was to him. As his daughter, she had a duty to see it through.

  Yet the desire to continue living this carefree, sweet life grew in her heart, refusing to yield to her strong sense of responsibility or her love for her father. In the end, she could not choose for herself. So she made a seemingly absurd decision: to tell him everything, and let him decide. If he told her not to go back, she would truly forget everything—follow him across the continent, traveling wherever he went.

  But when he heard she would marry once she returned, he had only said, “Oh,” then closed his eyes in the pile of hay as he always did. She had been heartbroken. After blowing out the lamp, she had cried silently.

  Now, lying in bed, she could not sleep at all. From his breathing, she knew he was awake too. When she heard the rustle of hay, heard him stand up and walk quietly over, her heart had nearly jumped out of her throat.

  But he had only passed her bed, slipped out the door, and his footsteps had faded away—as if he had left the inn.

  She had even lost the strength to be curious. Slowly, she sat up and moved to the window, staring at the starry sky outside.

  The beauty of the plateau’s stars was unimaginable to those who had never seen it. When you realized that this beauty would endure forever, no matter how the world changed, you felt the smallness of humanity—and suddenly, all sorrows became bearable.

  She did not know how long she stared. Suddenly, with a loud bang, a huge shower of sparks exploded in the distant sky, its brilliance illuminating the entire city of Oufu. For a moment, even the stars paled.

  Sophia was not a sentimental person. But when she saw that magnificent flame, she suddenly thought of a human life.

  Compared to the eternal stars, it was nothing—just a fleeting moment. Yet in that moment, it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

  Beautiful because it is short. Or short because it is beautiful? She thought of the short time she had spent here, and tears fell again.

  These beautiful, mournful words were what her younger sister loved to spout. Sophia had often scolded her sister for such senseless, idle whining—nothing but self-pity for the bored. Yet now, she found herself feeling exactly that.

  The explosion had woken the entire city of Oufu. Orcs poured out of their houses, staring toward the sound. But soon, half-orcs arrived with torches to tell them it was just a magic experiment by the city lord—nothing to worry about. Everyone could go back to sleep.

  As the city’s commotion died down, the inn’s half-orc owner arrived at the thieves’ room with another half-orc and a werewolf to question them. Then they found her quickly.

  “Lord City Master has urgent business and requests your presence,” the half-orc said respectfully.

  The werewolf lifted her onto its shoulder and ran toward the source of the flame. The wind stung her eyes, making it impossible to open them.

  She hated the smell of the werewolf—it reminded her of Lizard Marsh, of death and fear. A vague sense of foreboding settled over her.

  When they reached the site of the explosion, many orcs were gathered in front of a stone house. Torches lit up the area, and an elderly human with silver hair and beard was waiting for her.

  “Master Sedros? What are you doing here?” She recognized him. When she was a child, this old man—Sedros—had stayed at her family’s home for a while. He was a close friend of her father’s, a renowned scholar and adventurer. She had learned magic under his guidance.

  Sedros’s face showed surprise, but more than that, gravity. He nodded without a word and led her toward the stone house. Only then did she see that the roof of the house was completely gone—only the four walls remained.

  As she approached the door, she smelled a strong, thick scent of blood. She froze immediately. The smell matched her foreboding, and she stepped back unconsciously.

  She was no delicate young lady who had never seen a corpse or blood. But for some reason, her stomach was convulsing. She felt like vomiting.

  “Miss Mrak, come here,” Sedros called, waving her over.

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself—but the smell of blood grew stronger in her nose, as if seeping into her very bones.

  She stood there for a moment, regaining a little composure, then stepped into the roofless stone house.

  The blood on the ground had already congealed, spreading across a large area. In the corner was a bed, and on the bed lay a man covered in blood. His face was completely smothered in gore—but she recognized him anyway. It was him—the same man who had walked quietly past her bed moments ago, making her heart nearly leap out of her throat.

  Her legs gave way, as if the tendons inside had been suddenly cut.

  Sedros hurried to catch her. He did not need to ask anymore—her reaction told him everything.

  But she immediately summoned all her strength to stand on her own. She stumbled to the bed and reached out, casting a healing spell on the man lying there. She wanted to cut off her own hand to let her magic flow unobstructed.

  A part of his forehead was caved in, distorting his face. One hand was almost nailed to his chest—his palm and the cloth there had sunk into his flesh. The oozing blood had fused his bones, muscles, and clothes into a single mass.

  She tried to feel his pulse, but his other hand looked as if it had been crushed like a roasted sweet potato. Tiny shards of bone protruded through his skin; the blood had congealed, and in some places, skin and muscle were indistinguishable.

  Her hands were covered in his blood. Tears fell in large drops, and her whole body trembled violently—her hands shaking so much she did not know where to channel her meager healing magic. She bit down hard on her teeth to stop herself from sobbing.

  Finally, she summoned all her courage to check his pulse.

  Thank the gods. Weak as it was, there was still a faint, living beat.

  “I’ve already used healing magic on him,” Sedros said beside her. “But his injuries are too severe, and the damage from battle qi has dulled the spell’s effect. He’s holding on only by his own will to live.”

  “How could this happen…?” She finally broke down, crying.

  Sedros was silent for a moment, then replied in a heavy tone—as if brushing her off: “It was just a misunderstanding.”