Chapter 25

Respite

Sylas stood perched over a terrace’s railing, overlooking the forest guiding toward the far north. Past the few rows of trees, however, there was little else to see due to one of the thickest fogs he’d ever seen contaminating the sight. The fog stretched for miles on each end, making it impossible to peer further.

He quaintly sipped himself some tea and snacked on some hardened bread, taking in the fresh new day. It was a bit of a celebration, actually—after all, he’d finally moved past the first week of his journey here. Onwards, he mused, was where he was meant to go.

His confidence wasn't nearly as sky-high, though; considering the changes that occurred in the loop after those two thingamabobs clashed, he was almost absolutely certain that they were gone. In what capacity he couldn't say, but at least he knew he could no longer interact with them. The changes in Baron, the fact that he couldn't find the masked figure in the courtyard… it all indicated something he previously thought impossible—that the loops weren't set in stone. They could be changed.

While it was still him changing them, that was beside the point. He didn’t even know that his actions would result in such a drastic shift. It was a good lesson, however, to not grow complacent. He barely understood his circumstances on the surface level, let alone all the tiny details and fine prints orbiting its roots. He was in no place to make any long-term projections or conjectures just because he was the loop’s beneficiary. For all he knew, there could be others with the same powers as him.

Having convinced the Baron, a huge weight fell off of Sylas’ shoulders. Though the man wouldn’t change immediately, at least he no longer looked like a husk—only half a husk. At worst. Valen’s and his meeting went without a hitch and though the two couldn't be considered friends just yet, Sylas would get them there, he was certain.

For the time being, he had nothing to do. Well, he did—he could finally start further improving his body—but nothing he wanted to do. All he wished was to laze around for a few days and recharge his batteries. He’s deserved it, he ascertained in silence, letting the cool wind kiss his cheeks gently.

**

Ryne stared at the high walls of the Ethwar Castle and the gaping hole within them. There was an attack here, she noted—recently. Likely within the last week. The stench of death and decay still permeated the air. Judging by its strength, she was shocked that the castle still stood. There must have been hundreds, if not more, of ghouls marching toward the walls. And though Ethwar was considered one of the ‘frontier castles’, it was hardly populated by the grizzled veterans of combat.

Something was amiss, she was certain. Whatever it was, she had to get to the bottom of it. After all, she was sent here for the specific purpose of trying to save the castle. Only, she was late. She fretted seeing what her tardiness had caused but, luckily, it didn’t look like it cascaded this go-around.

She walked out from the trees and through the gaping hole in the wall, past the dozen or so of the guards and tens of workers. Nobody seemed to notice her or acknowledge her, as though she were a ghost.

She walked casually and indifferently, her brown, leather cape flapping gently behind her. Ever since getting it, she hadn't known cold, even while buried ten feet into the snow. It was the best purchase of her life, by far, and she wished she didn't cheap out and bought the whole set instead. By the time she returned, that strange peddler was already gone, as though he was never there.

Looking about, she saw no classic signs of the post-invasion—there were no sides lined up with corpses, no universal expression of agony and pain, no blood staining even the tallest of the towers… beyond the stench and the hole, there was little evidence that the invasion ever even took place. Something truly was amiss.

Her eyes inevitably looked toward the tallest spire peaking from the central wing of the castle. The Baron resided there, among other important figures. Could it have been him? No, Ryne was certain. Though the man was not a greenhorn like most, he was neither a mage nor a blademaster, merely a swordsman. Who was it then? She pondered, but no answer came.

Stepping out from the Nether, she approached one of the unsuspecting guards; he looked to be in his late twenties, early thirties at most and was average looking. Fair-skinned, like most folk this far away from the sun, average in height, weight, and build, with solidly brown eyes and average features.

“Young man,” she called out coquettishly, putting on her fanciest smile that could charm even the ghosts. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Ask away,” the man replied spiritedly, smiling back at her. She was taken aback slightly at the free-spirited countenance and the distinct lack of awkwardness others would display in her presence.

“I had just arrived here,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

"Oh, a terrible, terrible thing happened!" the man approached her and stopped a couple of feet in front, within touching distance. "An army of death invaded us! You shoulda seen the front lined up with those ghastly things! It’s a good thing you came when you did!”

“Ah, that’s truly terrible!” the man’s countenance and confidence didn’t match his appearance, Ryne ascertained that much. “How did you defeat them?”

“By the virtue of a man’s courage! Aah, you should have seen us—well, seen them, really. I ran away like a little bitch,” Ryne nearly fell back at the man’s words; how could there be someone who could so easily call himself a ‘little bitch’? Especially in the presence of a woman as beautiful as she? “Ai, don’t look at me like that. Those ghouls are a scary thing. Besides, look at me: do I look like someone who could take down a ghoul? If anything, I’d have taken out one of our own in the panicked assortment of swinging. Anyway, we—and by we I mean they—triumphed! Unfortunately, quite a few still died. There will be a mass pyre tonight to honor them, with some free food lying around. You should check it out.”

“W-will do,” Ryne recollected herself, doing her best to ignore the strange man’s equally strange behavior. “What about the hole?”

“The hole? Oh, you mean in the wall? Yeah, I don’t know. I heard rumors that some or the other Prince caused it to blow up and wipe out hundreds of Ghouls. By then, though, I was shaking in my boots well within the castle, so I couldn’t say.”

“… a… a Prince, you said?” Ryne’s eyes widened—truly, things came unexpectedly in life. “Are you certain?”

“Eh? No, not really. As I said, I just heard other men talking. As you can imagine, few are willing to interact with me ever since then.”

“…”

“’cause of me being a little bitch and all.”

“No, I got that.”

“Anyway, it was nice chatting with you,” once again, Ryne found herself shocked. This average man was ending the conversation… with her? Impossible! “Stay out of trouble, okay?”

Sylas waved goodbye to the strange girl that just randomly walked up to him. It wasn't the fact that she was a girl or that she walked up to him that surprised him—well, the latter one was a bit—but that she looked no older than fifteen-sixteen if that. What a strange world, he mused, that the children that age would venture this far into nowhere. And for what? There was likely a story of pain and loss and tragedy. Perhaps, she lost her parents at an early age to the Ghouls and has spent every day since then hunting the bastards down. Perhaps.

Ryne stared at the fading figure of the strange guard, still speechless. She had met many-a-man in her life, most of whom had beyond devious motives, or at least thought her an easy target to take advantage of, but very few, if any, were so absolutely disinterested. In fact, she suspected that come tomorrow, the man will have forgotten ever meeting her.

Smiling gently and shaking her head, having learned another lesson—that there was all manner and sort of men and women in the world and that she shouldn't immediately judge them based solely on their appearance(a lesson she would ultimately forget through no fault of her own)—she grew curious about this supposed Prince. She was beyond certain that there was no Prince here—after all, she kept a tight track on their whereabouts at all times, and nowhere within the last five years did she hear that any one of them was coming here.

As such, she suspected that it wasn’t a Prince—but it was perhaps someone impersonating one. Whoever they may be, they still sounded like the ones responsible for defending the castle. From the looks of the hole, it seemed a low-quality talisman was used. Nonetheless, even low-quality talismans were hard to come by these days. In fact, even she only had a few dozen of them on her person.

Once again docking her eyes to the tallest spire, she withdrew into the Nether and began walking forward, phasing past all the eyes without being seen, noted, or called out. She was a ghost, just the kind that couldn’t walk through the walls, only men’s misguided eyes.