The Camille Couple felt that, as residents of the small town, their current life was truly happy.
Their elderly parents no longer required their care, the couple was in the prime of their lives with stable jobs, and they had two children.
Their eldest son, average in talent, was a member of the top-tier adventure group Emerald Heart, earning a handsome salary and admired by many.
Their younger son, still a minor, was a renowned magical prodigy studying at the Noble Academy—a place ordinary people could barely enter.
Wasn’t this the life of true winners?
Envious townsfolk often came to visit, eager to learn their secret to raising such children.
Yet whenever the eldest son was mentioned, old Camille would always frown.
“That boy wouldn’t be wanted by the Priest Order even if he worked for free. He got into Emerald Heart only because there’s the daughter of a friend of mine in there. The younger one’s better—he doesn’t give me any trouble.”
This sounded a bit biased.
The eldest regularly sent money home from his generous earnings, while the younger son only wrote letters asking for more—spending money more lavishly than many nobles.
But no one dared to contradict old Camille.
Everyone had grown accustomed to it.
Enjoying such a life, the Camille Couple believed they would peacefully enter their old age.
But on a stormy summer night, their eldest son suddenly knocked on the door.
Fros regretted it deeply.
Returning home for the first time in six years, he brought no good news—only that he had lost his job.
It was utterly useless.
But he had no choice.
The past years had been terrible, the pressure unbearable.
The adventure squad that once ignited his passion had changed beyond recognition.
He no longer had the heart to continue the adventurer’s life.
He’d sent many letters home, and his parents mostly responded with understanding, advising him to make friends, relax, and then try adventuring again.
Fros understood—they meant well.
After all, being a member of a top-tier adventure group wasn’t easy.
But a job that made him so unhappy was better abandoned.
Loving parents, seeing their son worn and exhausted by work, would surely drop their advice and support his decision.
With that hope, he braved the rain, traveling overnight to return home, longing for family support, yet hesitated at the door for a long time before knocking.
When the middle-aged woman opened it, she gasped in surprise:
“Fros? You’re Fros! My son, why are you here at this hour, soaked like this? Your father—”
The complex emotions in his heart turned into tears, washing away all hesitation and blurring his vision with moisture.
Coming home was the right choice.
His family cared about him; he shouldn’t have delayed returning.
After changing into dry clothes, he devoured the warm food, the bitter taste in the stew mingling with his tears, choking him.
His parents watched silently, understanding their son had suffered great grievances, choosing to wait until he settled down first.
Such respect and concern—he hadn’t felt this in a long time.
“Coming back alone—did something happen to the squad?”
Only after he put down his spoon did old Camille speak in a calm voice.
Fros, having vented some emotion, lowered his head and whispered.
“Father, I quit the team.”
“Then tell me why.”
No harsh reprimand came as imagined.
Seeing his son’s firm attitude, old Camille pulled a chair close and took on a patient listening posture.
Everything unfolded as he wished.
Having long wanted to unburden himself, Fros poured out his experiences in Emerald Heart like spilled beans, telling these two blood relatives everything.
In this world, people’s innate talents largely determine their future achievements.
Fros possessed a gift that could heal wounds so completely that no scars remained; broken bones and flesh would restore perfectly.
This should have been a divine skill, but it came with the side effect of sharing the patient’s pain and consuming his own energy, even life force, as a cost.
This caused him to lose combat effectiveness easily, and because this talent had very poor potential for growth, over time, contrasted with the rapid progress of the other three in Emerald Heart, he increasingly failed to match the team’s strength.
Both public opinion and his teammates began to see him as a useless liability, erasing all his past contributions.
Replacing him with an excellent priest from the Order was the most common suggestion among teammates.
Treating him like a slave to do all daily chores and logistics was their usual behavior.
Even a pack mule is fed grass when tired, but Fros, a man with dignity, only received humiliation and unending pressure.
What finally made him decide to quit was his teammates’ reaction when he politely asked to leave, and one cruel remark.
“Quit the team? Using that to threaten us?
Fros, those chores any servant can do! Saying we want to replace you is to motivate you.
We’re not really kicking you out. Stop acting like a dead man.
Haven’t you thought about what other teams would want you?
Besides, if you want to quit, you should at least pay the penalty fee.”
Emerald Heart wasn’t a team hired by a captain, but a group of four naive fools who had formed a squad.
Familiar teammates had grown strangers—this heartbreaking change made him respect their rules, go home to get money, and then quit.
“Are you kidding? Why didn’t you make this clear in your letters, Fros?”
His father immediately exploded in fury over his son’s humiliation, while his mother’s face darkened, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the teacup.
Yes, loving parents show their love this way, don’t they?
“Forget it, better to be straightforward. Your money’s in the bank. Go withdraw it tomorrow and settle this quickly… Let’s not talk about that headache now. We haven’t seen each other for six years. Let’s have a few drinks and you can tell me about what you’ve experienced.”
“Alright!”
Though he wanted to say he’d already described all this in letters, he knew face-to-face conversation had clearer effect.
Feeling cared for and supported, Fros fully relaxed and drank heavily with his father all night, eventually blacking out.
‘And then…’
Then?
“I thought he’d suffered so much…”
When he regained consciousness, his father’s annoyed voice echoed.
“How can a team like Emerald Heart treat you badly? Doing a little extra work and you can’t stand it? What you’ve been through is nothing compared to when I fought demons! We finally had a couple of decent years, and you have to cause trouble.”
After this frustrated scolding came an unfamiliar plea, one that surprised even Fros.
“Yar, we did exactly as you said to keep him trapped, tied up tight. It’s only because you grew up together that we dared do this. That boy’s stubborn and cowardly, so dramatic. I’m sending him back with you, so take care not to let him run off.”
“How about this—let’s sign the contract. Fros will be rented out to you. I, as his father, will vouch for it. He won’t want to quit anymore. He’s just too young to understand how rare a team like Emerald Heart is. Bringing him back is for his own good.”
Fros was stunned.
He couldn’t believe his ears.
He was their son, not livestock.
What did “for his own good” even mean? How could they say that?
Hearing his captain already bargaining with old Camille, a wave of desperate despair washed over Fros.
He tried to struggle, to open his eyes, but his mother’s complaints rose again.
“Exactly. As the eldest, he should be more steady. Does he know how tight we are for his brother’s tuition? And yet he comes back asking for money!”
“Even a dog knows to bring bones home. That boy… Yar, you have to keep an eye on him. Oh, and if you sign that contract, will his pay be sent directly to us from now on?”
He suddenly felt all his strength drain away.
“Don’t worry. We’ve known each other since childhood. We’d never kick him out. I’ll take good care of him. I believe we don’t need rules and contracts to keep Fros in line.”
Captain Molly Yar’s voice ended the conversation.
When he opened his eyes, three teammates stared at him.
Scholar Tataxim wore an indifferent expression.
“Did you hear that? Seems like your parents won’t let you quit. Your family can’t pay the penalty fee, and now they want to sell you. Five silver coins a month—that’s the price of a high-level servant. Not bad.”
Fros’s numb gaze fixed on the mage Aelka.
He ignored the other two and whispered in hoarse voice to the elven sorceress who had at least listened to him:
“Aelka, can you untie these ropes? I have some money to pay the penalty…”
His weak combat power was all too well known.
His arrogant teammates fulfilled his wish.
“Thanks for at least giving me some dignity.”
Freed from his bonds, Fros smiled faintly and then asked the scholar:
“By the way… Tataxim, do you remember what treasure I got when our team first succeeded in the Dungeon?”
“First time…”
The question made the scholar pause, while the other two immediately drew their weapons.
Seeing this, Fros’s smile brightened.
“Ah, great. You still remember… Don’t worry, I’m not going to attack you.”
He pulled out a cheap dagger inlaid with emerald from his pocket—the keepsake he had always cherished.
Before they could stop him, Fros plunged it into his own chest and twisted forcefully.
Since the last way out never existed, what else could he do but die?
Oh right, maybe he could be reborn.
Next life, he vowed to live better.
Before losing consciousness, he vaguely heard his teammates shouting:
“Fros, I won’t let you die!”
A sense of unprecedented relief and satisfaction surged through him—he felt truly at peace.
But he did not know.
The three looking at his body were not sorrowful or regretful.
Instead, they quickly wore joyful smiles.