Part Two: The Mortal World

  Chapter 30: I’m Back

  The journey back to the capital was surprisingly smooth. Aery City was in chaos—for days, there’d been no word from the Imperial Envoy, the local magistrate, or their cavalry unit. Rumors spread of bandit gangs or cannibalistic heretics roaming nearby. As a result, wealthy families and merchant caravans were scrambling to hire bodyguards. Ethan hitched a ride with a caravan bound for the capital and made his way back.

  Standing before that familiar large house once more, Ethan let out a long sigh of relief. There’d been moments when he’d thought he’d never return. When he pushed open the two wooden doors and heard their familiar squeak, a strange feeling of “coming home” welled up in him. Unconsciously, he called out: “I’m back!”

  “Good for you. Big deal,” came a voice. Sandro emerged from the inner room, looking exactly as he always did—wearing that grimy, unidentifiable robe, his face half-buried under a tangled mess of beard, hair, and frayed robe threads. He still fit right in with the corpses and organs scattered around him.

  Though Sandro spoke dismissively, Ethan could see a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. If this place felt even a little like home, this old man was something like a mix of family, friend, and elder. “You skipped work without a word, leaving me swamped. You owe me compensation for the extra labor.”

  Ethan asked, “How do you use that World Tree Leaf you mentioned to heal injuries?”

  Sandro eyed him up and down, a look of disbelief and disdain on his face. “You got one? Did you buy it from a street peddler or something?”

  Proudly, Ethan pulled the World Tree Leaf from his chest and laid it on the table in front of Sandro.

  Sandro froze.

  Most of his face was hidden by his beard and hair, so his expression was unreadable—but his bright, clear eyes were fixed on the leaf. As if infected by the green glow emanating from it, those eyes held a strange mix of emotions, mostly incredulity.

  Sandro reached out, his movements slow and gentle as if afraid of offending the leaf, and picked it up. His pale, bloodless hand seemed to gain a hint of vitality under the leaf’s green light.

  He stared at it, his dry, white fingers brushing the surface softly—as tenderly as a young man touching his first love’s skin. “How did you get this?” His voice was even trembling a little.

  “Just… got it,” Ethan replied lightly, a quiet pride in his tone.

  Sandro kept staring, then suddenly turned to him. “You’re going to use this to save someone?”

  Ethan nodded.

  “Who? What kind of person?”

  “Someone I want to save.” Ethan didn’t want to explain the whole story, so he gave a vague answer.

  “A woman?” Sandro guessed sharply. Ethan nodded again.

  Sandro sighed and shook his head. “Wasting this thing on a woman… you might as well chop yourself up and feed the pigs.” He frowned at Ethan. “Do you even know what this is?”

  “It’s a World Tree Leaf. You told me that. I think I also heard it’s a divine relic or something.”

  Sandro turned back to the leaf, speaking slowly: “Do you have any idea how powerful this is? What it can do? When I was young, I searched for it like a madman. It took me ten years just to find a lead, then another ten to figure out how to get it—and I still never did.” He sighed deeply. “Now that I’ve stopped thinking about it entirely, it just lands in my hands.”

  Hey, I’m the one who got it. Ethan wanted to remind him, but seeing how caught up Sandro was, he didn’t have the heart to interrupt.

  “If I’d gotten this twenty years earlier…” Sandro was completely lost in reminiscence, his eyes lighting up with a fire that didn’t match his age—bold, fierce, full of ambition. “I would have…” He frowned heroically, as if he’d truly been transported back to his youth.

  But gradually, that sharp, fiery light faded into confusion, then helplessness. He sighed, his words mumbled: “I would have used it to save a woman too.”

  He tossed the leaf back to Ethan, shaking his head listlessly. “Go save your woman, then.”

  Ethan picked it up and shrugged. “She’s not my woman.”

  “If she’s not yours, why bother saving her? Are you brainless?” For some reason, Sandro seemed irritable, as if his nostalgia had stirred up old frustrations.

  Ethan quickly tucked the leaf back into his chest, finding Sandro’s mood odd. After a moment’s thought, he added: “If I don’t need the whole leaf, I’ll cut off a small piece and give you the rest…”

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  “Chopping it up ruins it. Just have her eat the whole thing.” Sandro returned to his usual tired, apathetic self, turning back to a corpse on the table. Ethan thought he seemed strange but didn’t know what to say to ask about it. He turned toward the door—he was heading to the duke’s mansion now.

  “Wait a minute.” Sandro suddenly called out behind him. “Don’t rush off. Give me back that book. Why did you take it? It’s extremely important. I’ve been worried sick about it these days—wondering what I’d do if you never came back or lost it.”

  Ethan froze, then turned around, embarrassed. “I lent it to someone.”

  “You lent it to someone?” Sandro looked even more shocked than when he’d seen the World Tree Leaf. Back then, he’d just frozen—but now, he jumped up as if stabbed in the back, striding over to Ethan and grabbing him by the collar. Only then did Ethan realize how quick the old man was.

  Sandro’s eyes bulged, his teeth gritted. “Do you know what that book is? Who did you lend it to?”

  “The duke’s daughter… She went traveling and said she’d read it on the way. You had the book stuffed behind the bookshelf—I thought it wasn’t important.” It was the first time Ethan had seen Sandro this agitated, and he felt flustered.

  “Women! I should’ve known it was another woman!” Sandro was beside himself, shoving Ethan toward the door and jabbing his head. “Let me tell you—even when you’re young and hot-blooded, use your brain! Stop thinking about women all the time!”

  Ethan didn’t fully understand what Sandro was on about. He just took off running toward the duke’s mansion. “First I’ll go ask where she is exactly…”

  The servants at the duke’s mansion were well-trained. Even though Ethan’s clothes were shabby, they didn’t give him any trouble and quickly went to announce his arrival.

  When the duke came out and saw him, he broke into a warm smile, as if greeting an old friend. Beside him, Clovis’s expression didn’t change, but his face had turned cold.

  Ethan said he’d brought medicine to heal Sophia, but the duke didn’t react much. He’d already consulted every doctor and priest he could find, yet his daughter’s condition had only worsened with time. He’d long since given up hope.

  At Ethan’s insistent request, the duke finally led him to Sophia’s bedside.

  If the duke hadn’t brought him here personally, Ethan would never have believed the person in the bed was Sophia.

  She’d wasted away to a shadow of herself, her skin as pale as a corpse’s. Her once full, rosy cheeks were sunken; her eyes were tightly closed, standing out sharply against her gaunt, bone-thin face.

  “Since last week, she’s been in a coma almost all day,” the duke said heavily, his voice thick with sorrow. This was his daughter—he’d watched her grow from a swaddled baby into a graceful young woman, and now he was watching her die in bed.

  Moreover, she was a crucial pawn in his plans—a way to forge an alliance with a powerful noble family, something that would directly impact his grand ambitions.

  She’s so comatose… can she even swallow the World Tree Leaf? Ethan felt anxious.

  It has to work. It’s a divine relic, after all. He didn’t really understand what a “divine relic” was, but he had no choice but to pin all his hope on that vague concept. He took the leaf from his chest, gently pried open Sophia’s mouth, and slipped it in. The duke watched, frowning.

  Thankfully, the leaf lived up to its name—it worked miracles. It slowly dissolved in Sophia’s mouth, not turning into liquid but seeming to seep directly into her body, shrinking bit by bit until it vanished entirely. Sophia’s mouth closed slowly. After a moment, she let out a long, soft sigh and a faint moan.

  Ethan finally relaxed, standing up. He could already see a faint flush returning to her cheeks.

  The duke’s mouth hung open, staring in disbelief as his daughter’s face gradually turned pink and her weak breathing steadied. He looked at Ethan, reaching out to grasp his hand. He tried to speak, to say something grateful—but the sudden joy overwhelmed his usual composure, leaving him tongue-tied.

  Ethan looked at the duke. Right now, he was just an overjoyed father—his pure delight was obvious, no scheming or hidden motives. Ethan had been happy before, but now he felt genuine, bright happiness, even breaking into a smile.

  Clovis stood stiffly at the door, watching the scene inside with cold detachment. His expression remained unchanged—still handsome, still imposing—but his face had turned a faint blue. It was the exact opposite of his fiancée’s healthy flush and the duke’s excited glow.

  He’d never seen the duke lose control like this.

  He’d always admired and feared the duke—his depth, wisdom, cunning, and unpredictability. To Clovis, the duke was first and foremost an idol, a role model to emulate in his pursuit of success and power. Their personal relationship came second.

  But now, that “idol” had been weakened by such obvious emotion. Clovis saw all tenderness—even joy—as a sign of weakness. Even when displayed, it should only be a performance for the right occasion. Yet now, the duke was moved by a lowly commoner who’d dared to barge into the mansion in tattered clothes. It felt like a desecration of the idol in his heart.

  Worse, he felt a sense of failure. No matter how hard he tried, no matter what he did, the duke had never shown him much approval. But now, the duke looked clearly grateful to this lowly nobody. It was undeniable proof that, in the duke’s eyes, Clovis was inferior to this commoner. This stark, unmistakeable failure filled him with rage.

  Suddenly, a servant rushed in to report to the duke: “Your Grace, two priests from the church are here asking if Mr. Ethan is with you.”

  The duke glanced at Ethan, who looked stunned. “Looking for me?” He didn’t remember having any connection to the church.

  At the entrance of the duke’s mansion, two priests stood outside. The emblems on their robes marked their high status—senior priests, equal in rank to royal family members. Beside them was a carriage: a luxurious white vehicle pulled by four snow-white horses with not a single blemish on their coats.

  “Does Bishop Ronis want to see me?” Ethan asked, looking at the carriage. He recognized it—it belonged to Bishop Ronis.

  “Bishop Ronis has an urgent matter to discuss with you, sir. Please get in,” one priest said, opening the carriage door for him.

  Ethan stared uneasily at the spotless interior and the priest holding the door. Such deference made him flustered. He hesitated, then stepped into the carriage.

  The priest closed the door, climbed onto the driver’s seat, and snapped the reins. The four white horses neighed, rearing up as they pulled the carriage away in a cloud of dust. From start to finish, the two priests didn’t so much as glance at anyone else—including the duke.

  The duke watched the carriage disappear into the distance, his thin eyebrows furrowing slightly. He waved a hand. “Prepare my horse.”