"Fuckers."
Lythian complained as they walked through the Slovka pathway.
"Gave the lowest rank."
He glanced down at a bronze tal tag with his na, Lythian Ace, resting in his palm.
It should have been silver by now. He had opened two zaen gates despite his age, but the rcenary system in this world valued progress over power.
’...Just complete missions, huh?’
Seven thought.
That ant anyone could be a high-ranking rcenary as long as they consistently delivered completed missions.
He had wanted to register earlier too, but the appearance of the Hart knights— those serving the third sibling, Atreus— diverted his plans.
Step.
They had been walking for about an hour now, since they could not use his personal carriage given that the horses died after a week without food.
Step.
Lythian followed behind, walking like a gangster. Though he looked laid-back, the way he moved and talked said otherwise.
"Why aren’t you tired with that fucking frail body?"
Seven remained silent.
The answer was obvious. Endurance was the first privilege of opening the first zaen gate as it ca from the soles of an individual.
One only had to wrap their feet with zaen.
He glanced down and a cyan-colored energy flowed under his feet that left a faint trace with each step.
"Oi, I asked you a fu—"
He looked at Lythian who kept on cursing, and he did not seem to do the sa.
"Idiot."
He pointed a finger down his foot.
Lythian only frowned, not getting the hint.
’Did he really read the novel?’
If Lythian really did, then this much should be the basics of the basics. Also, Lythian should already have seen the zaen when Seven pointed down to his foot.
Back in the forest, Lythian had moved like a real assassin and even disappeared to a normal eye with his speed.
’Don’t tell —’
"Hey. Do you not see this?"
He asked Lythian as he pointed downwards once more.
"Huh?! See what? Your fucking frail leg?"
"No."
Crackle. Cra—
He infused more zaen into his foot.
"This."
"This. That. Fuck that. Are you ssing with , huh?!"
Seven frowned.
Lythian could not see what he could— the zaen flowing from a person’s body.
He clutched his left eye.
’Is it because of Præscientia?’
But before their argunt escalated further, a rchant’s carriage drawn by a brown horse rolled towards their direction.
It was not anything like his personal carriage but just a modest, weathered wagon, with scuffed wood and iron fittings dulled by travel.
As the carriage neared them, Seven slowly raised his hands with palms open.
The creaking cart slowed to a halt.
"Pardon . What do you two need?"
The man squinted at them, a leathery-faced man with sun-darkened skin and a cautious edge in his voice.
Seven fumbled his pockets as if thinking for an answer.
rchants are hard to fool. And since it would take at least two and half hours to reach the main Hart Duchy just by walking, it would be a bad idea to lie and miss this opportunity for a ride.
His fingers brushed against the Hart crest that was the sa size as a pendant inside his pocket. It was an emblem granted only to direct descendants.
’...Profits.’
He thought.
rchants only valued profits and not kindness. This one was not a high-class rchant as evident from the dents and squeaky carriage.
Cling!
"Seven Hart."
He said as he pulled out the crest and flashing it at the man.
"Take us to the Hart Duchy. In exchange, you get safe passage into the territory and the right to do business there."
The man blinked at the crest, then rubbed his chin as if weighing the offer.
"Hmm... not exactly part of my route."
The man muttered as he glanced at his cart then back at them.
It was a tempting offer, given that only authorised rchants were permitted to enter the Hart Dukedom, as in the first place, it was more like an enclosed village than a proper Dukedom.
But the man’s eyes lingered on the crest a little too long. His fingers twitched at the reins and turned the carriage around.
Neigh!
The horse snorted, its hooves crunching against the dirt as it changed direction.
The man scratched the back of his head as his eyes flicked between Lythian and Seven.
"Fine. Get in. But rember to keep your word."
Step.
Seven climbed inside the carriage without a word. Lythian followed, grumbling under his breath about finally getting a break.
Neigh!
The driver flicked the reins. The cart groaned to life, wheels creaking as hooves struck a steady rhythm against the snow-covered dirt.
Inside, the scent of dried leaves drifted through the cart. His gaze flickered to the sacks piled in the corner which are bundles of herbs, so tied together, and others loosely packed in crates.
’Selverin herbs.’
Just by the sll, he was convinced that it was the sa herb as what Iria used to brew for him every morning. She said it helped his health. More likely, it was just an excuse to poison him.
Hff...
He took a deep breath.
Right after, he leaned back with eyes half-lidded. The steady motion of the cart made it easy to drift off, but he tried his best not to.
Instead he kept his gaze on the blur of trees and road as they passed.
Lythian, however, had already passed out with his limbs sprawled like a dead man at peace (he’s not since he’s immortal).
"Fucker."
Lythian mumbled in his sleep.
"I’ll kill you one day, fucker."
***
In the House of Havin
A girl sat in her room, combing her soft purple hair with light pink streaks.
She stopped mid-stroke, staring into the polished mirror, then dramatically let the comb fall onto the bed as if the weight of the comb suddenly tripled.
"...Ugh."
She groaned as she buried her face with both palms.
The image burned itself into her head again where a boy saw her dramatic actions inside that narrow alley and probably heard her over-dramatic complaints.
A boy.
Or at least she thought it was a boy.
"What was that performance?!"
She wailed to no one and clutched the sides of her face like it might crumble from sha.
She groaned again, thudding her forehead against the mirror’s polished blackstone fra. Her reflection flickered as strands of hair fell forward.
Though she did not rember his face well, that part of her told her that his presence felt different and that she would recognize that feeling again, if she ever saw him.
"Why... why did I look back like so tragic heroine waiting to be recognized?!"
She banged her forehead against the mirror fra and her bangs slumped forward.
Right after, she slid down into her seat with the grace of a lting statue and eyes half-lidded.
"I even passed all the exams like a fool!"
After all, she even passed all the examinations, contrary to what she decided back then, thinking that she might et that person during one of the examinations.
But she did not.
"Don’t tell ... he failed?!"
Her eyes widened in mock horror.
She sat bolt upright and gasped over-dramatically as if she just heard a tragic news. Then, she seized her once-neatly combed hair with both hands and violently tousled it.
"I should have failed too!"
She scread at the ceiling and flopped backward onto her bed with limbs flung in all directions.
"If not for him, that ruinous witness to my greatest disgrace, I would have never passed!
"...He ruined my life. "
Her legs dangled off the edge of the bed. Then, one sharp inhale, she suddenly sat back up and began furiously combing her hair again.
"It’s fine. It’s fine. I am perfectly composed.
"Not thinking about him at all.
"Not one bit."
But.
Again, she paused mid-stroke.
"...He cursed my hair too, didn’t he?"
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