Chapter 84: Embers Beside the River
The morning sun filtered through the canopy, casting soft gold light across the forest floor. Birds chirped above, and the sound of the nearby river whispered gently in the breeze.
Alarcus stirred beneath the shade of a moss-covered tree, his breath slow but steady. His coat was folded beneath his head, and a small satchel rested by his side. For the first time in days, there was no tension in his muscles. Only soreness, and silence.
The events of yesterday flickered behind his closed eyelids—flashes of blades, glowing collars, and the gut-wrenching pressure of casting Inversing Magic at full strength.
He opened his eyes.
Zetsuei was gone from sight, quietly returned to his spatial bag, likely to conserve energy and avoid alarming the girls. Speaking of which...
Alarcus sat up slowly, wincing from lingering strain. Just beyond the clearing, the two girls lay curled together beside a patch of wildflowers, wrapped in his spare blanket. Still asleep. Still breathing.
> "They're safe," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. "Now we just need food…"
His gaze drifted to the river, its clear waters shimmering as fish darted just below the surface. He reached into his bag and pulled out a modest but well-made fishing rod—one of the few non-combat tools he always carried. A good rod, he often said, caught more peace than fish.
He cast the line gently, settling onto a stone near the water's edge. Every small ripple felt like a balm. The weight of exhaustion slowly lifted, bit by bit, with each minute of quiet patience.
He didn't notice the girl move until he heard the splash.
Alarcus turned, startled and soaked with cold water.
The elder of the two sisters had woken—and without hesitation, sprinted and dove headfirst into the river. Her movement was sharp, instinctive, almost animalistic.
Dripping wet but grinning, she climbed back onto the rocks and held the fish out like a trophy. "Here. For breakfast."
He accepted it with a quiet smile. "Thank you. That'll save time."
She tilted her head, brushing water from her long black hair. Her voice was cautious, but clear. "I saw what you did. You saved us. Broke those collars."
"I had help," Alarcus said, gently gutting the fish with a small blade and prepping it for the fire. "But yes. You're free now."
She lowered her gaze. "We didn't want to fight. I… we couldn't stop ourselves."
"I know." He gestured for her to sit as he sparked a fire with a flick of mana. "What's your name?"
There was a pause.
"…Nari," she said softly. "And my sister's name is Enna. She's younger by three years. We don't remember much from before… but we had each other."
"Nari and Enna," he repeated, respectful. "I'm Alarcus. I'm with the resistance—what's left of it, anyway. My mission brought me to this region… looking for people who could help us fight back. What I found was something far more important."
She raised an eyebrow. "Important how?"
He glanced at the fire as the fish began to sizzle.
"Proof that these parts empire is worse than the rumors say. Turning children into weapons? That's beyond war. That's cruelty wearing a crown."
Nari said nothing, but her fists tightened in her lap. Not in fear—but in memory.
Alarcus handed her the first cooked strip of fish.
"Eat. Rest. You don't have to decide anything right now. But when you and your sister are ready… we'll talk."
She accepted the fish quietly, biting into it with surprising grace despite her hunger. But then her eyes narrowed as she glanced back toward her sleeping sister.
"You should… tie her up."
Alarcus blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Nari didn't look away from the fire. "Just for now. Not harshly. Just… enough so she can't run."
He studied her expression—guarded, weary. Not fear, but caution.
"Why?" he asked gently.
Nari hesitated, then spoke, voice low and steady.
> "We grew up in a run-down orphanage at the edge of the outer provinces. It wasn't a place for children—it was a pit. We were always hungry. Always cold. I was old enough to understand what kind of place it was becoming… but Enna wasn't. She thought it was just life. That things would get better."
She paused, knuckles tightening around the half-eaten fish.
> "Then he came. Our 'master.' A nobleman. Said we had rare mana—'gifts,' he called them. Took us in, fed us, clothed us. Gave us beds and warmth. Enna thought he was a savior."
Her voice turned bitter.
> "Even after the harsh training began. Even after the collars. Even after we slaughterd innocent citizens and blamed for someone else's crime. clung to the idea that we were lucky… because we weren't starving."
Alarcus looked over at the sleeping girl, curled peacefully beneath the blanket.
"She might not understand what happened yesterday," Nari said. "To her… you might look like someone stealing her safety. She could run. Or fight. She's not ready to accept that she was being used."
Alarcus stared into the flames for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"I won't restrain her like a prisoner," he said. "But I'll be careful."
Nari offered a dry, tired smirk.
> "Good. Because there's a good chance later she'll fake being asleep, wait until you put your guard down, and try to stab you to death."
Alarcus sighed and rubbed his temple. "This is gonna be a long journey."
He turned toward her again, more serious now. "Can I trust you, Nari?"
There was no hesitation.
She nodded. "Yes. I may not know where we're going yet, but I know we're not going back."
Alarcus reached into his spatial bag, brushing past spare clothes and satchels of mana foam until his fingers found something solid and cold. He drew it out carefully—a sheathed blade wrapped in thick black cloth.
The moment it left the bag, a soft hum resonated in the air, faint but unmistakable. The air thickened slightly, as if responding to its presence.
> "This resonated with you when I was under attack," he said. "It's one of the Imperial Arms a set of divineartifacts my boss created. Subtle. Precise. The blade of a silent killer."
He offered it to her, both hands open.
Nari stared at it, then took the weapon reverently. She could feel the magic within it—cold, focused, deadly.
> "It's called Murasame," Alarcus said quietly. "One cut is all it takes, if used properly. It kills by spreading a curse-like toxin through the target's body. It won't hurt the innocent, but it's not forgiving either."
Nari unsheathed the blade slightly, feeling the pulse of deadly magic along the edge. It felt cold, purposeful.
> "So… what am I supposed to do with something like this?" she asked.
Alarcus was quiet for a moment, gazing into the fire. Then he met her eyes—calm, but resolute.
> "Last time you fought… it wasn't your choice," he said. "You were forced to lift your blade. Ordered to kill strangers. Lied to. Controlled."
He gestured toward the collar remnants nearby, now cracked and lifeless.
> "But that collar's gone. And this time, Nari… you choose."
She gripped the hilt tighter, eyes flickering with something uncertain.
> "Choose what?"
Alarcus's voice was steady—patient, but firm.
> "To fight for your sister. To protect those who can't protect themselves. To help fix a world that used children like you and called it necessity."
He nodded toward Murasame.
> "This weapon is deadly—but only if you want it to be. It's not a chain. It's a tool. And now, you decide what kind of person wields it."
Nari lowered the blade slowly, staring into the fire.
> "You really think I can help people?"
Alarcus gave the faintest smile.
> "You already have. You kept your sister alive, didn't you? That's more than most would've done."
Great closing note. Here's how to end the chapter with Alarcus returning to the river, resuming his quiet fishing, and pondering the darker truth behind the unequal state of the Empire's dukedoms—a hint at political intrigue and corruption to come:
Nari didn't say anything else, but she sat a little closer to the fire after that, the sword now resting beside her—not like a threat, but like a companion. Her expression remained guarded, but something in her shoulders eased, just slightly.
Alarcus stood, stretched his back with a quiet groan, and wandered back to the riverbank where his fishing rod still sat propped against a stone.
The line was slack—no bite.
He sighed and reeled it back in, cast again with a flick of his wrist, and settled onto a mossy patch near the water's edge.
The stream murmured around the stones, clear and peaceful, as if none of the chaos from the day before had ever happened.
But his thoughts lingered.
Why is it like this?
He glanced over his shoulder, back toward the girls, then looked out across the trees toward the east.
Why do some dukedoms thrive with clean cities, bright markets, and well-fed children… while others rot from the inside out? Starving orphans, slave collars, shadow wars. Same Empire. Same crown. So what happened?
A fish nibbled the line. He didn't move.
Something's broken… and someone benefits from keeping it that way.
The line tugged sharply, and he hooked the rod just in time to catch another decent-sized trout.
He set it aside in a bucket, then quietly muttered to himself:
"One day at a time. First we feed them… then we fix the world."