Chapter 40
So hours later, Gazel could be seen packing.
Clothes. Foodstuffs. Small necessities. Then more. And more.
By the ti he was done, the Trystan Manor no longer felt like a place where a family once lived. It looked empty. Abandoned. Like sothing the world had already moved on from.
Gazel stood in the middle of it all, staring at the rows of baggage, and smiled faintly.
He had spent several years living alone in the Trystan Manor after his family’s death. Yet not once had he ever felt completely lonely. Not truly. And that was because their belongings were still here.
His mother’s guqin.
His sister’s most beautiful dress.
Jarren’s fishing rod.
Those items, along with countless small keepsakes, had made it feel like they were still with him. Not physically. But sowhere close. Watching. Breathing in the sa silence.
Now that he would be leaving for the Bulwark the white-haired freak had spoken about, Gazel felt he needed those things with him. He needed them so the road ahead would not swallow him whole.
He stacked the luggage into a large carriage box and dragged it toward the front of the manor.
The weight hit him instantly.
His muscles scread. His hands trembled. Sweat soaked his clothes as the box scraped across the ground. For a brief mont, Gazel thought about dragging everything back inside and giving up.
But he didn’t.
Perseverance can overco any challenge.
As long as you persevere hard enough.
That was what a wise man once said.
And Gazel chose to believe it.
He rested beside the massive luggage, chest heaving, then pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket.
A map.
The map of the entire Ayde Kingdom.
Even though it was not fully detailed, it was far superior to the common maps sold in the city and neighboring towns. The amount of money required to obtain sothing like this was nothing short of absurd.
Gazel knew that.
But he did not linger on it.
Instead, he studied the map.
He had never used one before, but he had seen others do it. And he could read. His parents had made sure of that while they were still alive.
Large bodies of water split the kingdom apart, separating major cities and regions. The capital city sat far to the north, distant and untouchable.
That was not his goal.
His finger traced the parchnt until he found Deodor City.
Small. Nearly insignificant among the giants surrounding it.
From there, he searched for the Bulwark.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Nothing.
His brow furrowed.
Was he being tricked?
Then his gaze froze.
At the farthest north of the map was a symbol.
A golden spear crossed with a shield.
No city na. No borders.
Just the symbol.
A painful realization settled into his chest.
He swallowed hard.
Slowly, unwillingly, Gazel traced his finger from Deodor City to the nearest neighboring city. Then the next. And the next. Countless cities. Unknown terrain. Places he had never seen. Lands he would have to cross before ever reaching that symbol.
The distance was terrifying.
He gulped audibly.
He did not even want to think about how many days it would take.
His head snapped back to the massive luggage behind him.
It had taken nearly all his strength just to drag it a few ters out of the manor. Now imagine carrying it across hundreds of not thousands of kiloters.
His face went pale.
Then sothing changed.
When Gazel stood up again, the massive luggage behind him was gone.
In its place was a small leather bag strapped across his body.
He stood there, staring into the distance, face calm and steady.
I’ll keep you with . Always. With or without your items, you are all still with , Gazel thought.
The Bulwark would never want soone dragging that kind of massive luggage to its gates.
That was the lie he fed himself.
Of course not. It was definitely not because carrying such weight would have killed him long before he even crossed a fraction of the distance.
Gazel turned and looked at the Trystan Manor, the place where he had grown up. The walls stood silent. The windows empty. Everything that had once been warm was now just stone and dust.
He looked away.
Let’s get going. I’m already feeling hosick.
He stepped forward.
The luggage stayed behind, but the items his family had gifted him on his birthdays were still with him. Every mory. Every touch. Every voice. They clung to him tighter than any bag ever could.
And so the journey to the Bulwark, where the Shurals lay, began.
Gazel ran.
With his abnormal speed and stamina, the road bent beneath his feet. He crossed plains, hills, and dirt paths in a blur. Cities ca and went. One after another, the first few fell behind him with blistering speed.
He told himself he was rushing because he wanted to arrive as soon as possible.
Not because he did not know how to mingle with humans.
Not because he barely had any coins.
Definitely not because of that.
Still, on the fourth day, hunger sank its claws into his stomach.
His steps slowed.
With a scowl, Gazel veered toward the nearest city in search of food.
The mont he entered, noise crashed into him.
Hundreds, maybe thousands of people filled the streets. Vendors shouting. Children running. Laughter echoing between buildings. Nothing special. Nothing wrong.
Yet Gazel felt strange.
Nostalgic.
He had seen people from a distance before, but rarely had he stood among them. Surrounded by warmth that was not his. It stirred sothing uncomfortable in his chest.
He shoved the feeling aside and entered a restaurant.
"All the als on your nu," Gazel said.
The waiter blinked. "All of them?"
"Quick," Gazel snapped. "I’m starving to death."
The food arrived soon after.
And Gazel ate.
The taste was unbelievable. Rich, warm, full of spices and oils he had never known. Better than roasted at. Better than dried milk. Better than anything he had ever eaten back in Deodor City.
So good that he did not realize tears were sliding down his face.
Tears of joy.
People stared. Whispered. So laughed.
Gazel ignored them all. He ate like the world might end tomorrow. For the first ti in his life, he felt like he had touched heaven.
Then the waiter spoke.
"That will be twenty silver coins."
Gazel froze.
He blinked once. Then again. And again.
"Twenty?" he asked slowly, voice filled with disbelief.
Was this so kind of joke?
What was he, a noble? A rchant lord? He was an orphan, for crying out loud.
He tried to negotiate. His voice dropped. His pride followed.
The waiter did not care. Didn’t shift.
The man simply stretched out his hand.
For a heartbeat, Gazel considered knocking him out. Maybe knocking everyone out. Then running.
He didn’t.
Grinding his teeth, Gazel placed the twenty silver coins into the waiter’s palm.
When he stepped back outside, only two silver coins remained.
Heaven shattered.
The warmth vanished. The joy collapsed. It felt like he had been ripped from heaven’s embrace and thrown straight into the waiting arms of hell.
One al.
One blink.
Everything he had saved for so long, gone.
Gazel stood there, staring at the coins in his hand, feeling utterly and completely miserable.
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