Chương 84: “The Hero and The Hero”

Arthur stepped out of the Tower's tenth-floor exit and into open air. The sunlight hit him full in the face and he squinted, raising one hand to shield his eyes while the other rested on the pommel of his sword. His legs were heavy and his shoulders ached from seven days of swinging, but beyond that, barely a scratch on him. Just fatigue. He rolled his neck and started walking. The trials he had set for himself on Floor 10 were simple. A predetermined number of sword swings, to be completed within a set time frame.

Then again. And then again. The professors he asked had told him to focus on fundamentals, and the adventurers he had spoken to at the tavern had even said the same thing. Even the brainstorming session with his party last week had pointed in that direction. Though, he still didn't fully understand what had happened—for some reason, once Liana had gotten too drunk, she had stabbed him. One moment Serena and he had just been talking about Celestia, and the next Liana had thrust a knife into his stomach.

It had been an accident, he was sure of it. Sweet Liana was not the kind of person who would do something like that on purpose, and even if she had been angry, the best she would've done was simply punch his shoulder or stomach. That was why he had told the guards as much and declined to press charges. Thankfully, the wound had been shallow, and he had it healed that same night without any problems. The guild checkpoint came into view—a cluster of tents and wooden posts marking the spot.

A few other groups were already packing up and heading out. Arthur could see his own party near the nearest tent. As it turned out, he was the last one there. His exit point from the Tower had been farther than the rest, and the walk had taken him an extra twenty minutes. Serena spotted him first. She waved, big and enthusiastic, bouncing slightly on her heels.

"Arthur! Over here!" He raised a hand in return and picked up his pace. Eryndis was sitting on a crate to the left of the tent, her legs crossed, sipping from a red-colored glass drink through a metal straw. She gave him a passing glance when he approached and went back to her drink. Liana was sitting on the ground a few feet from the others. She was looking down at the dirt between her boots. She did not look up when Arthur arrived. It had been like this since last week.

When they had met up that afternoon to enter the Tower together, Liana had kept her eyes down and her answers short. She was getting sulky like she always did. That was why Arthur had reassured her, more than once, that it was fine, that it had just been an accident, that she didn't need to worry about it. Arthur knew that it was just one of her off-moods, she always bounced back after being sulky.

"Liana," Arthur said.

"Are you okay?" A slight pause. Then a sigh, slow and quiet.

"... I'm fine." She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the dirt between her boots, and her voice was flat. What Liana was too ashamed to say was that she still couldn't remember. She had tried. Every day since that night, in the quiet stretches on Floor 10, she had tried to piece it together. She remembered the tavern, the alcohol, Serena talking about Floor 10 and Eryndis eating and Arthur nodding along. She remembered ordering more drinks. After that: nothing. Why had she stabbed Arthur?

She had thought about it from every angle she could manage. Yes, she had frustrations. Years of following Arthur, stepping beside him to mediate the problems he caused. But did that justify stabbing him? And out of the so-called "consideration" of the party, no one talked about it in the morning, nor did they talk about it during the time they waited for Arthur here. This had only made it feel worse; back again to the bottling of emotions and thoughts. Lady Celestia was right…

"Seeing as we're all fine," Liana said, "let's go home." She stood up from the ground, brushed the dirt and dust from her skirt, and started walking. She did not wait for the others to follow. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Arthur was watching Liana's back. His expression had changed slightly from when he asked if she was okay, and his eyes had not moved from her. And Serena stared at Arthur, the excitement was gone.

Eryndis, still sitting on the supply crate, lowered her drink. As someone who had only joined this party out of chance, and continued to be a part of it because they were trustworthy people, she had an objective outsider's view. Arthur's eyes, though still filled with that same compassion, looked a bit sharper as he stared at Liana's back. A chill ran down her back. She wasn't aware of what was happening, but she definitely knew she didn't like it. Eryndis lifted the drink back to her lips and said nothing.

*"When the body is worn out, it becomes numb to the pain of conscience." The house smelled of alcohol. Glass was strewn across the wooden floor. Shards from a broken bottle, scattered wide. The furniture was sparse: a table, two chairs with one overturned, a hanging cooking fire with a cold pot on it. There were older marks on the wall, a dent in the wall, a dark stain on the floorboards. A child's toy made of straw lay in the corner.

Noah's hand was around the man's throat, and the man's back was pushed against the wall.

"Did I not already give you a third chance?" Noah's voice was level.

"Even when I provided you a job. Yet you still beat your child and wife." The man's feet scrabbled against the floor. His hands clawed at Noah's wrist, but the grip did not move. His face was turning red, and a light shade of purple.

"P-please," he managed to gasp out.

"I-I won't do it again." The man's eyes, wide and begging, slid away from Noah's face to the opposite side of the room.

"H-help me." He was looking at a woman. She was pressed against the far wall, her arms wrapped around a small boy. Her face was bruised. Thin cuts ran across her forearms, short and shallow. The boy was tucked against her side, his head turned toward Noah, watching without expression. Noah's eyes were cold.

"The abuser has no right to seek help from the abused." Crack. The man's neck broke. Blood ran from his neck, spilling over Noah's fingers, and the body dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. It hit the wooden floor with a heavy, graceless thud. Noah released his grip and stepped back. His right hand was slick with blood. He looked at the woman and at the boy.

"It's safe now." He turned toward the door.

"Sisters, the usual, please." At those words, a group of women in nun's habits entered the house. They moved without hesitation, and most of them went straight for the body and the mess, carrying with them rags and a sheet from a bag. Two others approached the woman and child.

"Come," one of them said, kneeling beside the woman. She placed a hand on her arm.

"Let's get you both cleaned up." The woman flinched at the touch. However, the nun did not pull away. She waited until the woman's breathing relaxed. This was a sudden interruption of her daily life. Noah walked toward them and knelt. On one knee he was nearly at the woman's eye level. The boy stared at him.

"May the Light watch over you both," Noah said. His voice was warmer now.

"From this day forward, unless you will it, no hand will be raised against you under our care. You have my word, and the word of the Church." He stood, and without another glance at the body on the floor, he left the small house. Inside, the nuns worked quickly. The two nearest the woman guided her to the chair that was still upright and sat her down. The boy stayed close, his hand gripping the hem of her dress. One of the nuns crouched in front of him and spoke softly.

However, the boy did not respond and his eyes were still on the door Noah had walked through.

"You're safe now," the nun said, she smoothed the woman's hair back from her face, careful around the bruising.

"We're going to take care of everything." The woman's lips moved, but no sound came out. One of the nuns reached into a satchel and produced a small glass bottle. The liquid inside was red, bright and clean. She uncorked it and brought it to the boy first, tilting it gently to his lips. He drank without resistance. Then she turned it toward the mother. The woman stared at it.

"A-a potion? We don't have the money to afford—""It's perfectly fine," the nun said. She pressed the bottle into the woman's hands.

"It's from a new company. The Purple Alchemical Cross Association." She smiled, chuckling at her next sentence.

"You'll feel silly when you see the price." The woman looked at the bottle for a long moment. Then she drank. She winced, and then the cuts on her forearms closed. The bruises on her face faded to nothing, and the swelling around her eye went down. It was like magic. Did potions work this quickly? The woman touched her own face. Her fingers found no pain where the bruises had been. She started to cry. The boy sat beside his mother, still holding the hem of her dress, and watched the nuns work.

Outside, on a small wooden post in front of the house, a paper was nailed to the wood. On it, in clean fresh lettering: " Ongoing Congregation of the Church of Light." Noah was already halfway down the street. He had taken out a napkin and was cleaning his hands as he walked. He tucked the stained napkin into his pocket and adjusted his collar. A vendor to his left was selling fried bread, and the smell of oil and dough filled the street. Children ran between the stalls. It was peaceful, as life should be.

A silver-haired girl passed him going the other way. Shortly after, a boisterous pair—a blonde boy talking loudly and a dark-red-haired girl laughing at something he'd said—followed after. Noah continued on his way to the church.