Cyrus had no idea how long he slept for, but by the time he opened his eyes, it was already deep into the night. The soft, silver light seeping through the window was the only thing that illuminated the otherwise dark room.
Surprisingly, Sylvie was already up.
The red-haired girl was sitting at the edge of her bed, combing her fingers through her damp hair. Tiny droplets still clung to her tangled crimson strands, glinting faintly under the soft rays of moonlight.
Cyrus blinked, momentarily thrown off. Sylvie hadn't been particularly dirty to begin with—at least not compared to him—but the difference was now too obvious to ignore. Just a bit of water and time, and the girl seemed to have completely transformed.
Her bright emerald eyes no longer appeared as fatigued, and despite the arduous journey the two of them had gone through the last couple of days, she seemed to have shed all of it off.
"Ah! Cyrus!" The moment she noticed his gaze, her expression immediately brightened. The red-haired girl looked at him and hurriedly stood up before she continued
"You looked tired so I didn't want to wake you! ...I just finished washing myself. I fetched some water for you, too!"
There was still a faint hesitation in her voice, but even that seemed to vanish barely a moment later as she added in
"Ah! The innkeeper came by a few hours ago, too. He said that he's going to sleep and that if we want to 'find a place to grab a bite tonight', we should go have a look around the city."
Cyrus nodded and slowly sat up on the bed, the last traces of sleep having long since vanished from his eyes. Of course, this was a habit every prisoner in the Red Arena had to develop.
"I see." he murmured. "Let's go then."
Sylvie took a half-step forward and hesitated again, her hands now fidgeting with the edge of her tunic as she looked at him.
"Ah… the innkeeper also said that if we don't wash up before leaving, no shop's going to serve us. Not even the stalls."
Cyrus blinked at Sylvie, then sighed lightly and turned towards the basin.
"All right. I get it."
Truth was that he didn't feel particularly dirty. The majority of slaves in the Red Arena looked just as bad as he did, if not worse. But those looks he'd gotten when he'd first arrived in the streets of Novera, told him that maybe it was a good idea to clean himself up a bit before going out.
The water inside the basin was still clear. Not particularly cold or warm. Cyrus stared down at his reflection for a moment, barely visible from the scarce moonlight illuminating the room.
Then, he scooped up a handful of water and began rubbing his face.
The first splash stung.
Not from the cold, but from the unfamiliar sensation. He hadn't cleaned himself properly in years, and the grime had basically become second skin to him.
The second and third splashes were no different.
From his forehead and cheeks, to the area around his nose, before working his way down his jaw in an almost mechanical manner. The water stung, but Cyrus didn't stop. He could see his reflection get murkier with every splash.
It took nearly twenty minutes just to scrub the blood and filth off his face.
Sylvie seemed enamored with the process, as well. It was only when he finally started removing his clothes that the red-haired girl froze and hurriedly turned around, her cheeks reddening.
Cyrus didn't seem to notice. The water rippled as he cleaned up the rest of his body in silence.
His arms were still covered in faint bruises and numerous scars, some of which hadn't fully scabbed over. But they, just like the rest of his body, were still pale... mostly due to the lack of exposure to the sun. After all, Cyrus only ever left the Slaves' Pen to fight in the Bloodpit, so this was only natural.
His chest and legs were no different. By the time he was done, the water in the basin had turned nearly black from all the filth.
Cyrus dried himself as best as he could using the edge of his blanket and emptied the dirty water into the drainage. Then, he pulled his ragged clothes back on and turned to Sylvie and said
"Let's go." His voice was unhurried.
This time, however, it was Sylvie's turn to be surprised.
The red-haired girl just stood there, staring at him in stunned silence.
The youth in front of her looked like a completely different person. So much so that Sylvie didn't know how to react for a moment. She almost wanted to ask him who he was.
"…Okay." That was the only thing she could mutter in the end, her voice barely audible as she followed him out of the room.
...
As expected, the first floor of the Bronze Coin Inn was completely deserted. The faint smell of ale and roasted meat still lingered in the air, but the hall was deathly quiet. It seems like the innkeeper had long since gone to sleep, and so had the rest of his patrons.
The city of Novera, however, was an entirely different story.
The moment Cyrus opened the inn's front door, the sound of laughter, footsteps, and distant shouting flooded in like a tide, taking him and Sylvie both by surprise.
Even deep into the night, the streets appeared to be alive and bustling.
Paper lanterns hung from the iron poles of every shop, casting a soft glow along the cobbled pavement. Food stalls still lined the main road, just like they had during the day, while groups of adventurers in mismatched armor wandered between them, occasionally laughing or singing merrily.
In fact, if anything, Novera seemed even livelier now than it had been when Cyrus and Sylvie first arrived here. The city of adventure didn't sleep—it simply changed its mask after dusk.
As he took in the scenes around him, Cyrus drew in a slow breath. Then he pulled Sylvie's hand and stepped forward, as the two of them vanished into the crowd.