Zubi and Goba stood straight before Lioran, bowed their heads, and said,
"As you wish, my Lord. We hope you rest well."
Lioran nodded, cast a cold glance at Goba, and said,
"And you—until I give you new orders, keep doing what you were doing. But no more selling slaves, and treat the slaves you have with kindness. You know there won't be a second chance… do you understand?"
"Yes, my Lord… How would I dare disobey your orders…"
Goba replied, his head lowered and his voice trembling.
Hearing his answer, Lioran raised his hand, gave a dismissive wave, and said,
"Good. Now both of you can go."
"Thank you, my Lord…"
they said in unison, then stepped back and exited the inn.
Lioran took five silver coins from the pouch he had taken from Goba, placed them on the table, and headed for the stairs to go to his room.
Sobina came over to the table. Seeing the five silver coins, she picked them up and shouted loudly,
"Hey! Your food and stay don't even cost three coins—you've left two extra!"
Without even glancing back, Lioran said in a cold voice,
"Whenever those two idiots come here without money, use those coins to feed them instead… don't let them starve."
Then he went up the stairs.
Sobina stared at Lioran's retreating figure, smiled a brief, gentle smile, and murmured under her breath,
'You've found a good man to serve, Zubi…'
Lioran opened his door and stepped inside—a small, old room with a simple bed and a worn-out wardrobe.
He walked to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and stared at the moon. His voice was soft and broken as he whispered to himself,
"Tonight… is the first night I won't see your Face, Mom. Tonight you didn't say to me: Goodnight, my son…
Are you watching me? I… I miss you so much…"
Hearing his words and seeing his eyes emptied of all emotion, Anahita wrapped her arms tightly around him from behind. A golden light slowly grew around them.
She just held him.
She had no words to say.
Because she knew…
No words could ease the pain in Lioran's heart.
.
.
.
Three days earlier, at Duke Jinf Orestal's Mansion.
In the enormous dining hall, a table stretched so long that dozens of chairs lined both sides. The table's surface seemed to bend under the weight of expensive, colorful dishes—platters of roasted meats, thick sauces, fresh bread, and goblets filled with fine drinks, all arranged with aristocratic precision.
Yet along that entire massive table, only four people sat. Behind each of them stood a motionless servant—heads slightly bowed, hands clasped together, eyes cast down, as if even breathing too deeply might be considered a fault.
A heavy silence dominated the hall. No one spoke. No glances met, no smiles were exchanged. The only sound echoing through the hall was the dry, rhythmic clinking of knives and forks against plates.
A fat, elderly man who appeared to be around fifty sat at the head of the long dining table. With his knife and fork, he impatiently cut into the steak on his plate, placed a piece in his mouth, and chewed.
After a few bites, he reached for his silver wine glass, but as he lifted it, he realized it was empty. His brow furrowed, and he turned angrily to the servant standing behind him, shouting with a slurred, irritated voice.
"M-my g-glass is e-empty! D-do I h-have to f-fill it m-myself? W-what are you g-good-for-nothings even d-doing h-here?!"
The servant behind him was an elderly woman. Seeing her master's anger, she stepped forward anxiously and said in a trembling voice,
"P-please forgive me, Master Jinf…"
She quickly picked up the wine pitcher and refilled his glass.
The beautiful woman sitting next to Jinf, who appeared to be around thirty years old, glanced at him with emotionless eyes. She let out a soft sigh and said,
"Don't upset yourself over such things. We have more important matters to discuss right now."
Jinf looked at her with a frown and asked,
"A-ab-about wh-what?"
The woman calmly gestured toward a boy with golden hair—a boy who seemed to be about fifteen years old. His green eyes were fixed on the plate before him, and anxiety followed him like a heavy shadow. He avoided everyone's gaze, as if he didn't want to make eye contact with anyone.
The woman said in a cold voice,
"About Rhys…"
Jinf seemed to suddenly remember the matter. His voice trembled as he said,
"Ah-h… n-now I r-remember."
Hearing his name, Rhys reluctantly lifted his head. His gaze met his father Jinf's. His throat went dry, and he asked in a trembling voice,
"Is something wrong, Duke?"
The servant standing behind Rhys stared at him worriedly, as if sensing from that moment that something unpleasant was about to happen.
Jinf stared at his son with narrowed eyes.
"B-b-because you're g-going to r-revive our f-family's honor, I've ass-signed you to c-clear out W-West Dungeon."
Rhys and all the servants in the room widened their eyes in terror.
Rhys said with fear, his voice trembling.
"But Duke, this is impossible. We've tried to clear that dungeon before, but no one came out alive. I'm just a low-level orange-rank swordsman... this mission is impossible. Please reconsider…"
Before he could even finish his sentence, Jinf's rage erupted. He shouted harshly.
"Sh-sh-shut your mouth! You're the s-son of a peasant woman. D-doing a mission like this sh-should be an honor for you!"
"But Duke, please…"
Rhys's hands and legs trembled. He tried to protest again when the woman across from him raised her voice. She said with a cold, calculated tone.
"Don't worry. You won't be going alone. The commander of the first division and four others from the first division will accompany you. And anyone who volunteers to come with you, you can take along."
Rhys stared at the woman across from him, his eyes holding not a trace of confidence, and said with a trembling voice.
"But a really strong group went there before and all of them were killed… this mission is suicide."
Jinf slammed his fist hard on the table and insulted him angrily. "If y-you d-die, you d-die for our f-family. You'll d-die with honor, so s-stop whining l-like an idiot and b-be ready to m-move in three days."
Rhys could no longer make eye contact with anyone. He lowered his head. Tears gathered in his eyes and quietly dripped onto his pants. With a choked voice, he said.
"Fine… fine… I accept this mission."
He rose from his seat and headed toward the door without looking at anyone.
A little boy around five years old, sitting next to his mother at the table, grew worried when he saw Rhys's tearful face. He turned his head toward his mother and asked innocently.
"Mommy… why is brother Rhys crying? Where is he going? What's a dungeon?"
His mother placed her hand on his head, gave a faint smile, and said.
"Nothing important, sweetie…"
Rhys left the dining room, and his servant, worried, immediately ran after him.
Rhys entered his room and went straight to the window. He stood in front of it, staring at the bright courtyard of the manor. Gentle light streamed through the glass, illuminating the room.
At that moment, the servant opened the door.
She stepped forward hesitantly, her gaze full of anxiety. She looked at Rhys and said with a trembling voice.
"Master Rhys, you shouldn't accept such an impossible mission. Please… please talk to your father again."
Rhys stared through the window at the small white gazebo—a delicate structure in the middle of the manor's tidy garden, with two white chairs resting quietly beneath its canopy. The daylight mercilessly illuminated everything, as if leaving no place for sorrow to hide.
In his hand was an old silver pocket watch. His fingers curled around it gently but firmly. He squeezed the watch in his palm and whispered in his heart, his voice choked with emotion. 'Mom… I can't go on anymore…'
At that very moment, a faint blue light flickered between his fingers. Rhys, still clenching the watch, didn't notice it. His gaze remained fixed on the garden as his broken voice quietly emerged.
"You know it's useless… When have you ever seen the Duke listen to me? I'm sure they've all conspired together. They want to get rid of me."
Behind him, the servant's lips trembled. With a shaky, pleading tone, she said.
"Then… then let's run away together. Anywhere would be better than here. You must not go to that dungeon under any circumstances…"
Rhys tore his gaze away from the garden and fixed it on the bright sky—a sky too calm, as if it knew nothing of the turmoil within him.
In a quiet but firm voice, he said.
" No Riva,I don't want to back down anymore… I don't want to run anymore. I've accepted this mission, and I have no intention of turning back, even if it means standing face to face with death…"
Riva stood behind him, staring at his shoulders—shoulders bent under a heavy burden. She understood… this decision wasn't born from courage, but from the deep exhaustion of someone who saw no path left to retreat. And that was what crushed Riva's heart.
Her eyes filled with tears. The drops silently slid down her cheeks, and with a choked voice she said.
"I know… I know how hard it is to endure all this… but please… please, Rhys, don't give up. You've overcome so many problems, this one will pass too… Just… please don't give up…"
Hearing his maid's tearful voice, Rhys slowly turned his face. His gaze fell upon Riva's tear-stained expression. His lips trembled for a moment, but then a faint smile settled on them.
He stepped forward, wiped away her tears with his hand, and said gently.
"I'm not that little boy anymore who needed your protection. You don't have to worry about me so much."
After saying this, he turned and walked toward the door.
Riva stepped forward in panic and asked with an anxious voice.
"Where are you going?"
Rhys opened the door and, without turning back or looking at her, said.
"I'm going to see Commander Wil. I want to know if he'll really accompany me."
Then he walked out of the room.
Riva stood still for a moment, then quickly wiped away her tears and ran after him.
"Wait… wait for me… I'm coming with you…"