"The hair?"
The merchant looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression.
Jorald glanced at him for a moment.
"Before the Rebellion — and even now in most other countries — nobles have certain distinguishing traits. Hair color is one of them."
"Oh... right." The merchant said it slowly, like a man turning something over in his head.
Jorald thought to himself, *And who exactly am I explaining this to. Someone who never followed those rules a day in his life.*
"So his hair—"
"Yes." Jorald's voice was even. "His hair isn't the black or dark brown you'd expect from a commoner."
A pause.
"White — with a faint mix of violet."
"I see." The merchant was quiet for a moment. "I didn't pay attention to it. I don't think anyone else did either."
"How would they," Jorald said. "They were in the middle of a fight. And besides, that rule is gone now. The new laws don't allow discrimination based on hair color."
"You're right."
A moment of quiet. Then —
"But that child's condition..." Jorald said. "Why did you bring him?"
The merchant looked at him.
"How coldhearted are you, Jorald," he said flatly. "What did you want me to do — leave him there to die?"
"Ahem—" Jorald cleared his throat. "I simply meant... forgive me, My Lord."
"Relax. I was just teasing you."
He set his cup down.
"The real reason is Clad couldn't look away. The boy's will to survive. And Clad said something else." A pause. "He said the child has the same ability. The same as him."
Something shifted in Jorald's eyes. Not alarm — not yet. Something older than that. Something that pulled at a memory from a long time ago.
"Regeneration," Jorald said.
"Yes."
Jorald's gaze steadied. "Don't talk in circles."
"Nothing is confirmed yet," the merchant said. "But that's what Clad said. And the state that boy's body was in... it didn't sit right with me."
Jorald straightened. His fingers came down against the table — quiet, deliberate.
"Could be those people," he said. "Behind all of this."
The merchant paused. "They were wiped out."
"And the corrupted are stirring again," the merchant continued. "A first-grade corrupted attacked us."
"They don't leave their territory." Jorald's eyes sharpened. "How many?"
"Just one. Boss-class. The rest were third-tier."
"All of that," Jorald said slowly, "to kill one child." He leaned back slightly. "Corrupted going after someone un-awakened — doesn't that strike you as strange?"
"Yes," the merchant said. "Because they only target those with energy to grow stronger."
Jorald's fingers tapped slowly against the table.
"And that forest — hardly anyone goes in there. Research teams, maybe. Herb gatherers twice a year, and only with a military escort." He paused. "So how did that child get there?"
Silence.
Jorald turned his gaze to the merchant.
"And what were you doing on that road?"
The merchant said nothing.
"There was another route." Jorald's voice had dropped — quieter now, but heavier. "So why did you take that path? Through that forest?" His eyes didn't move. "With Drake and Jack."
He pressed his fist lightly against the table.
"You know what you were risking."
"Ahem—" the merchant said. "Well... I thought the boys could use the training. And besides, Leo's red sword finally came in."
"Things aren't the same as they used to be," Jorald said.
"Yes, yes. I know."
Silence settled between them.
Outside, wind moved through the courtyard. Slow. Indifferent.
And then —
*"Aaaahhhhhhhh——!"*
A scream.
Not the kind that cuts through the air. The kind that *fills* it — rolling through every corridor, every wall, every stone of the manor.
Both men were on their feet before it had finished echoing.
---
**[Chapter 7.5 — End]**