Chapter 53: Elopement

  Many people drink when they’re happy. Once numb, trivial emotions and reason fade away, leaving only joy—and that joy feels even stronger, almost overwhelming.

  Rodhart was happy now. At first glance, he didn’t seem like a good drinker—one cup turned his cheeks pink, his eyes grew unfocused, and he looked tipsy. But no matter how much more he drank, he stayed just that way: slightly drunk, not losing his senses but free to let his feelings flow. It was undoubtedly a rare and valuable talent, making him popular at any drinking table.

  Over a month ago, he’d escorted Chris back to the duke’s mansion. After meeting and talking with Rodhart, Duke Mrak—with his seasoned eye for talent—had immediately recognized him as a rare prospect. Talented people were hard to find, but loyal ones were even rarer. A young man with potential, no family connections, and no political biases—someone whose loyalty was fostered through trust, not obligation. That was the kind of confidant you could entrust with great responsibility. So the duke had kept Rodhart, even signing him up for the upcoming recruitment tournament for the Paladin Order.

  “If I had to name people I’m truly grateful to and respect… there are only two,” Rodhart said, his handsome face flushed. The alcohol had loosened his tongue, letting his true feelings spill out. “One is my late grandfather. The other is you. Without you, I’d be dead— I’d never have this chance. I’ve grown so much because of you. You’re not just someone I respect… you’re my friend. A friend. I can’t believe I’m friends with someone like you. I’m so lucky.”

  Many people also drink when they’re sad, thinking numbness will make them forget everything. But these people rarely get truly drunk—they’re too busy worrying about when they’ll pass out, so they never do.

  Ethan was like that now. His head felt dizzy, his limbs were tingling, but his thoughts seemed clearer than ever. He could even break down his mood: 40% sadness, 30% worry, 20% anger, 10% regret.

  To be honest, he hadn’t thought much about this friend lately. Comparing Rodhart’s admiration—treating Ethan like an idol he kept close to his heart—Ethan felt a twinge of guilt. That distraction took the edge off his sadness and worry, if only a little.

  Rodhart’s voice was almost pleading as he asked if Ethan planned to settle in the capital, if they’d build a future together. The ambition that harsh reality had extinguished had reignited, thanks to this unexpected opportunity opening up a new world before him. “Tell me—what in this world doesn’t need power? What can’t power solve?” He’d once thought noble things like justice, light, and love could transcend it. “But even if those things exist… you still need strength to make them real.” He looked at Ethan, his half-drunk eyes filled with respect. “You’re the one who taught me that.”

  Ethan downed a cup of ale like it was water, then shook his head at Rodhart, tipsy. “You’ve got it wrong. I only know to eat when I’m hungry, sleep when I’m tired, and do what I want. How could I teach you something so deep?”

  “No—you’re the one who showed me how important strength is,” the half-drunk young knight insisted, certain Ethan was his idol. “And since coming here, I’ve finally realized: in this society, the most important power is status. It’s authority.”

  At least half of this ideological shift was thanks to Duke Mrak. The duke was a master at handling passionate young people—with a subtle gesture or a few words, he could make them burn with the drive he needed, ready to serve him.

  “Let’s do this together. If we stand side by side… we could take over the world—”

  “Not interested,” Ethan said, finally feeling properly dizzy. Good.

  “You’re too noble,” Rodhart sighed, even interpreting the refusal as a sign of virtue. “Don’t you see? The world’s like a kitchen. Even the fanciest feast requires greasy hands and dirt. Would you rather let those bastards—born into privilege, standing above you—do whatever they want… than stand tall and look down on all those ignorant fools?” Rodhart’s face was bright red, alive with energy; alcohol had brought the fire of his hidden desires to the surface.

  Chris suddenly appeared at the tavern door. She ran in, tapped Rodhart on the head, and scolded him: “Drinking in broad daylight? Are you crazy?”

  Rodhart—who’d just been talking like he owned the world—froze. He rubbed his head, then gave Ethan an embarrassed smile and made a face.

  This was the smile that made Ethan find his friend likable, even endearing. No matter how much he talked about chasing power, about doing whatever it took—he was still just a simple, sweet young man at heart.

  Chris leaned in, her beautiful slanted eyes fixed on Ethan like he was the strangest creature in the world. Then she clapped her hands. “It is you! I thought you looked familiar. You’re wearing such nice clothes now—all proper. I didn’t recognize you.”

  She’d only just realized who he was. Apparently, to women, a man’s clothes were more recognizable than his face.

  She plopped down next to Rodhart without hesitation, grabbed his cup, and downed the ale in one gulp. First, she gushed over Ethan’s new clothes, then leaned in—her eyes shining with excitement, like she was eavesdropping on a juicy secret. “Hey—what did you and my sister do these past few days? She’s been acting so weird…”

  “We just traveled together. Did a favor for the bishop,” Ethan thought these two drinking companions were worse than useless. They kept poking at the one thing he didn’t want to talk about.

  But Chris was determined to keep poking. “Don’t lie to me—I already figured it out. I’ve known my sister for 18 years, and I’ve never seen her act like this. She once walked through a crowd of plague victims like it was nothing, passing out medicine and carrying corpses. Even when Dad told her he’d arranged her marriage… her face didn’t even flicker. But yesterday? When she saw you? She shook. And after you left? She looked like she’d lost her soul…” She even sighed, then giggled—two dimples appearing on her cheeks, almost intoxicating. “It’s just like a storybook! A noble lady and a poor commoner, promising each other forever… but she has to marry someone else because of her parents or some stupid thing. It’s fate’s cruel joke.”

  “So that’s what’s bothering you,” Rodhart said, finally understanding. Since they’d met, Ethan had barely said a word—once Rodhart dragged him to the tavern, he’d just sat there, drinking silently.

  Ethan hadn’t meant to hide it. He’d actually been dying to pour out his pain, his frustration, his sadness to someone—let a friend share the burden. But his and Sophia’s story was tangled up in secrets: the duke’s plans, the World Tree Leaf, the Necromancer Guild. The fewer people who knew about those, the better. Especially since Rodhart’s relationship with the duke was now so delicate.

  Rodhart fell silent, glancing at Chris out of the corner of his eye. She was the duke’s daughter too. He sighed deeply, patting Ethan’s shoulder. “Let it go. A real man should focus on his career first. Love is beautiful, but there’s no point in clinging to it. If you get it, you’re lucky. If you lose it… it’s fate. Let go when you need to.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Ethan sighed. So many things in life couldn’t just be “let go.” The more beautiful something was, the harder it was to leave behind—and the more it hurt when you did.

  “What nonsense are you spouting?” Chris hit Rodhart again. She turned to Ethan, her tone serious. “I came here on purpose—to find you. I need to ask you something: do you really like my sister?”

  Ethan squinted at the ceiling, lifted his empty cup, and took a sip—completely unaware there was nothing in it. His voice was fuzzy, distant. “What does it matter if I do?”

  “That’s all that matters!” She sounded like she’d just solved the biggest problem in the world, her tone lightening. “It’s the most important thing for two people to be together. And I’m sure—sure—my sister likes you too. As for these little problems now? They’re just tests for your love. Don’t worry—we can fix this. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Fix this?” Ethan and Rodhart both froze. They couldn’t see how they could “fix” anything. If this “little problem” was just a “small thing,” there was hardly anything bigger in the world.

  “Where are you staying now?” Chris asked.

  “That cottage on the west edge of the city. The one the Magic Academy uses to store corpses,” Ethan answered automatically.

  “Go pack your things and wait there. I’ll make sure my sister comes to find you at midnight.” Chris’s voice was soft, but every word jolted Ethan’s nerves. “You two should elope.”

  “Elope?” The alcohol in Ethan and Rodhart’s systems vanished instantly, chased away by that one word.

  Rodhart stared at the bold proposer, his voice careful but serious. “Chris—this isn’t a game. Do you know how important this wedding is? Do you know how many powerful people are involved?” He didn’t know the full truth behind the marriage, but even a political alliance between the duke and the Erney family was big enough to push all personal feelings aside.

  “No matter how important it is—it’s theirs, not my sister’s. I only have one sister. I want her to be happy for the rest of her life. For a woman, happiness with the person she loves is the only thing that matters. Women don’t need grand, tragic romances. They just need to be with someone gently, happily.”

  “But this is—” Rodhart scratched his head, struggling to wrap his mind around it.

  Chris glared at him, her voice and expression as fierce as she could make them. “I’m warning you. If you dare tell Dad about this… just wait and see what I do to you.”

  “Okay, okay, okay!” Rodhart nodded quickly. “I’ll stay out of it. I promise.”

  “Did you talk to your sister about this?” Ethan’s throat was dry, his voice shaking. “Did she send you?”

  “No. She doesn’t know yet. I came on my own. I’ll tell her the plan when I get back.”

  “She won’t agree. You don’t understand—she chose to come back. She chose her duty, her promises to others.”

  “She will agree. You don’t understand—maybe she doesn’t even understand herself. She’s not as strong, as rational, as she thinks she is. I saw it in her face earlier. That’s why I came to find you.” Chris smiled. “Go wait for her.”

  Ethan returned to the cottage quickly.

  “You bastard—perfect timing. Come help me!” Sandro was busy cutting up and packing body parts; the Magic Academy must have had another experiment planned.

  Ethan walked over like a zombie, helping Sandro handle the corpses. His mind was a mess—more tangled than it had been when he left the duke’s mansion.

  He’d already given up, already despaired. He’d even prepared a perfect speech for himself: Wasn’t this exactly what he’d always wanted? Freedom, no strings attached? When he’d been wanted, when guilt had eaten at him—hadn’t he fought to reach this point? He was no longer being hunted for that secret, no longer guilty about her injuries. He’d gotten the book back for Sandro. Everything was solved. He was free. He was back to where he’d been when he first ran away from Kalendor—about to start the free, wandering life he’d dreamed of. This was his life. This was what was his. The duke’s plans, her wedding, Oufu’s founding—they were all fated. There was nothing he could do to change them. They weren’t his life. Stepping back from the troubles he’d stumbled into, returning to the start of his own journey—wasn’t that a good thing?

  But now, hope had returned. The feelings he’d buried erupted, clashing violently with the reason that had told him to give up. The worst part was waiting here for an unknown outcome—one moment thrilled by the bright light of hope, the next drowning in fear of disappointment. For the first time, he felt like he was losing his mind.

  “Cut that hand off for me,” Sandro said, handing him a saw. Ethan took it, his thoughts still swirling. He pressed down on a wrist and started sawing.

  Slap!

  Sandro’s slap made Ethan see stars. The old man hopped around, clutching his hand and yelling: “Damn it, you crazy bastard!”

  “Huh? Oh. Sorry.” Ethan finally realized he’d been sawing Sandro’s hand. Luckily, Sandro had pulled it away in time.

  “Thinking about a woman?” Sandro frowned at him.

  “Mmm,” Ethan nodded. He had no desire to hide anything from the old man—if Sandro asked, he’d tell him everything. Not that Sandro cared about his story, or was remotely a good person to confide in.

  “Women,” Sandro sighed, surprisingly sentimental. His lifeless voice sounded like he was reflecting, but it might as well have been a death rattle. “The worst thing about them? You know they’ll cause trouble… but you still can’t help chasing that trouble.” He patted Ethan’s back. “The best way to deal with trouble is to stop looking for it. Do your own thing. What’s meant to come will come. What doesn’t—good. Saves you more trouble.”

  Ethan looked up, thinking for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah. What’s meant to come will come.”

  Night deepened. Duke Mrak felt tired.

  This was rare for him. He’d once worked for three days and nights straight without sleeping. Even now, middle-aged, his energy, stamina—and most importantly, his drive and ambition—hadn’t faded.

  But tonight, he was tired. His emotions had swung too much.

  He’d failed to convince Ethan earlier—and that stung. This wasn’t the fake “sincerity” he put on for show; he hadn’t bared his true feelings like that in decades. Not in public, not in private.

  The other reason was his daughter’s upcoming wedding.

  It was part of his grand plan—successfully reaching this step filled him with pride. But at the same time, it was a death sentence for his daughter’s happiness. He’d seen the pain in her eyes when she looked at that young man. A father shouldn’t have to sign off on that.

  No one knew the groom’s true nature better than Mrak. Clovis would never be a good husband. He wouldn’t even see this as a real marriage—just a performance. The duke was certain Clovis wouldn’t even touch Sophia.

  Ah, well. It was too late to turn back now. Mrak sighed, preparing to rest.

  A servant burst in, panic-stricken. “Your Grace! It’s a disaster. The second young lady—she started a fight at the casino, hurt someone. They’ve surrounded her!”

  “That foolish girl,” Mrak muttered, standing up angrily. The capital’s casinos had powerful backers—many were royal relatives. She’d probably be fine, but he still had to go.

  Not long after the duke left the mansion, a figure climbed over the wall and slipped toward the west of the city.

  Sophia was dressed in plain clothes, a hat pulled low over her face. No one would recognize her as the soon-to-be bride—unless they looked closely.

  She walked quickly, her heart racing. She’d never thought she’d be persuaded by her own younger sister—the one she’d always looked after. The decision she’d thought was so firm, so unshakable—had crumbled in an instant. She’d agreed to the plan without thinking, run away without thinking. Reason was no match for emotion, not usually.

  She was sure this was the most reckless, bold decision she’d ever made.

  And the happiest. She left the bustling city center behind; the streets grew darker. But with every step west, toward the darkness, the world felt a little more beautiful.

  “Looks like we’re going the same way,” an old voice said suddenly from the darkness nearby. “Though I never expected to be walking with a bride at night.”

  Sophia jumped, startled. She’d had no idea anyone was there—let alone that they’d recognize her immediately.

  “Don’t be afraid. We might even be looking for the same person,” the man said. A soft light appeared in his hand, illuminating his figure. He was an old man wrapped in a black robe; even when he smiled, his gaunt face looked imposing.

  “Bishop Ronis?” Sophia was even more shocked than when she’d realized he was there. The grand bishop—dressed in a black robe, sneaking around at night? No one would believe it if she told them.

  Bishop Ronis smiled, shaking his head. “Since we’ve met here… I think we should both turn back. I have something to say to you. Come with me.”

  Dawn broke.

  Ethan struggled to stand up. He’d slept on the stone step outside the cottage all night. He couldn’t believe he’d actually slept—even if he’d woken up a dozen times at the sound of stray cats.

  She hadn’t come. Ethan looked up at the sun, just rising over the horizon. It was too bright. He yawned, and two tears rolled down his cheeks.

  Enough. Let it go. She’d stuck to her choice. He should get back to his own life. Ethan decided to head to the Adventurer’s Guild later, buy supplies, and start his journey.

  Four white horses pulled a white carriage toward him. Ethan recognized it as Bishop Ronis’s. He had no idea why it was here so early in the morning.

  “Bishop Ronis requests your presence,” the priest driving the carriage said respectfully.