“You’d better not be covering for him.”
Jessica’s gaze was as cold as her sword.
She stared deeply at Anna, her former comrade in arms, lowered her head, and said nothing, as if struggling internally with some decision.
At last, she looked up, let out a long sigh, and compromised, lowering her sword.
“So, what do you want to do with him?”
Jessica crossed her arms and shifted her gaze away from Anna, sheathing her sword with a heavy motion, as if venting her anger.
“I need his intel. About the Scarborough Ruins—and about those girls.”
Anna carefully dragged Damir’s severed hand as though handling a ragged scrap of cloth.
“It better really be for that.”
With those words, Jessica dropped the matter. She left Anna behind and walked straight down the bridge. In the passage, burned to ash, her comrades lay buried beneath the remains.
She thrust her sword into the ashy ground, sank to one knee, and traced a cross over her chest with her fingers.
Her eyes shut tight, hands clasped before her chest in a fist, like a devout follower in prayer.
Perhaps she truly was a believer, praying to her god for peace.
“May your spirits in the heavens reunite with those most precious to you in life.”
She prayed, her manner now utterly different from her earlier coldness.
If the Jessica who raised her sword had been a piece of cold, hard iron, then now she was like embers still radiating a faint warmth.
She did not let go of those remains for the entire length of her eulogy.
She walked back with Jessica to the campsite set up beyond the dense forest without saying another word.
She was like a faithful magical puppet executing orders, each step stiff and heavy.
She never once looked back, as if only by doing so could she set her hatred aside for a while.
At the camp, she removed her armor, picked up a small hammer and sheet metal, and began repairing her armor and sword with a steady rhythm.
She was an accomplished craftsman; every strike was precise and strong. Dents in the armor were pounded smooth, and even tiny, nearly invisible cracks were patched over with fresh metal.
She used a waterstone to hone her sword’s edge anew, her movements as careful and earnest as her earlier prayers.
It was as if she tried to immerse herself in busywork to dilute her grief and hate.
Anna sat in the tent, watching Jessica’s silhouette.
Beside her, Ophelia lay asleep, head pillowed on Anna’s leg.
Ophelia’s breathing was gentle and even, her eyelashes barely trembling, her whole body curled at Anna’s feet like a white cat devoted to its master.
Even Lydia was sleeping soundly, leaning against a wooden stake, drooling from her half-open mouth—it looked like she was having a sweet dream.
A muffled groan came from nearby—Damir had woken from his faint.
His wrist had been cut off entirely, leaving exposed bone. His remaining good hand was chained by Anna to the beam above, making every tug a jolt of agony through his wounds.
His back was burnt black by Wululu’s fire, and all his former glory was gone.
He looked like a corpse dug from a grave.
“Can you let me down? It hurts, badly.”
All stubbornness had vanished from his eyes, replaced by a determination to die.
“No. If I let you down, I can’t be sure someone won’t kill you.”
Anna’s voice was low. She glanced at Jessica by the water, busy sharpening her blade.
“I thought you were the only one among us who could understand me, Anastasia.”
Damir’s eyes drifted to Ophelia, lying on Anna’s lap. His voice trembled from pain, his eyes fluttered open and shut.
He endured the torment, stubbornly refusing to utter a sound of suffering.
“You’re too extreme, Damir.” Anna’s fingers brushed gently through Ophelia’s hair, golden strands curling around her knuckles, glowing softly in the moonlight.
Damir had never seen Anna like this before.
In his memory, the former Hero of the Sword rarely spoke, always silently carrying her sword from battlefield to battlefield. In the fiercest fighting, that slender figure could always be seen holding the front line. He used to tease her in their spare time, but she was always as cold as steel.
Damir had sometimes wondered if she still even had feelings.
She had always quietly accepted whatever was forced upon her, whether it concerned her or not, never refusing or resisting. Even when publicly judged and declared guilty, she surrendered her right to defend herself. Even disgrace was borne in silence.
He had never imagined that lump of iron could fall in love with anyone.
“You’re the one who’s changed too much, Anastasia,” he said, lowering his head, as if recalling the past. “So much I hardly recognize you.”
“Maybe so. People shouldn’t let themselves drown in the past forever, Damir. It’s time to look ahead.”
Damir suddenly felt like laughing. At a time like this, Anastasia was still trying to persuade him to turn back.
But he’d already set foot on a road of no return.
He could feel clearly the murderous intent Jessica tried so hard to restrain.
He knew exactly what he had done, and exactly what fate awaited him.
But Anna didn’t understand. She always thought there was a way back, that anything could be turned around.
She had changed, but in her bones, she was the same—just as soft, just as kind.
Just as naive, just as easy to take for a fool.
“Look ahead… I can’t turn back, Anastasia.” Damir drew a deep breath, making a quiet decision in his heart. “Go ahead, what do you want to know from me?”
“You and Wululu—why did you come here?”
“Because it was an order. The Demon King’s command.”
Damir couldn’t be bothered to explain further, so he chose a way of speaking only he and Anna could understand.
“Do you know about the Oath of Allegiance, Anastasia?”
He was sure she did—they had come from the same place.
“Yes.”
“That’s all there is to it.”
Damir considered his answer clear enough.
“Then the second question. Do you know why those minotaurs took those girls…?”
Anna nodded. She was satisfied enough with Damir’s answer.
“You should know it well. In the Palace of the Demon King, there’s never a shortage of certain things.”
Wealth, books, and girls. Anna had been to that decadent palace herself—she knew all too well.
She also understood the hidden meaning in Damir’s words. Terror and anger climbed her heart, the moment of her sword’s breaking replaying in her mind. What awaited them was not just a group of minotaurs…
But the Demon King himself, ruling over this land.
Cold sweat slid down her temples. Anna felt as if her throat were packed with waterlogged cotton, so painful she couldn’t utter a word.
“Anastasia… If my answers satisfy you, can I ask you something?”
Damir felt the time was right.
“Go ahead…”
“I want to ask—how much do you remember from the past?”
He saw clearly how Anastasia’s face darkened instantly. Her fingers dug tightly into her skirt. Head lowered, she seemed lost in thought.
Then she looked up, gazing at Damir in confusion, silent, and shook her head.
Just as he expected… She was the same as he was.