---
Silence fell. The tavern air crackled, every patron frozen.
Then, slowly, the last man dropped his weapon and sank to his knees.
All four lay groaning, sprawled in defeat. Sam lowered his spear, resting it against his shoulder like nothing had happened. His eyes swept the room, calm as still water.
Sylvia's heart pounded. To her, he wasn't just Sam anymore. He was a knight. A noble knight, the only one who had stood for her.
The innkeeper finally rushed forward, flustered. "Stop! Stop this madness! It's a tavern, not a battlefield!"
Sam slid the spear back into its strap, tone even. "Then perhaps teach your customers to act with manners."
The innkeeper gritted his teeth, but after seeing the defeated men groaning on the floor, he could only sigh. "Fine. Half-price room for tonight. Just… no more trouble."
Sam inclined his head politely. "Agreed."
And with that, the fight was over.
And so they were led upstairs.
A hero, a heroine. Or perhaps just two foolish children, still untested. Was Sam truly a noble knight defending a pitiful maiden? Or was Sylvia simply weaving her devotion around a boy who knew how to smile at the right time?
Who knows? Heroes in one story, villains in another. Neither good, neither bad. Just players on the stage of fate.
And fate… had only just begun to move.
---
The next morning :-
In Elias room, smoke lingered faintly outside while the curtains swayed softly with the breeze. The butler slipped into Elias's room as silent as a shadow. His gaze softened—his master was curled on the bed, sleeping like a child. Pale hands clutched the cushion, his face buried against it, rolling slightly in his sleep. It was a sight the butler hadn't seen in years, and one he had missed more than he dared to admit.
Behind him stood Hemma, his wife, smiling gently.
Their little one was with her too—home at last, safe. She patted her husband's back softly, urging him not to disturb Elias. Burke, ever diligent, leaned down to take Elias's temperature.
They checked every morning, fearing the sickness might return. Everything was in place: water at his bedside, curtains drawn to shield him from sunlight. Elias always slept with them open, but they had made it their routine to close them, ensuring the light never cut his rest short.
Elias stirred, lashes fluttering. His half-drowsy eyes blinked toward them.
"Oh, my—we've woken you," the butler whispered.
"Mm…" Elias muttered, then buried himself deeper into the cushion.
Hemma chuckled softly. "Come on now, don't act like a lazy bum. Didn't you promise to finish something today?"
Her words jolted him upright. "Ah—I almost forgot!"
"Of course you did," she teased. "We didn't mean to wake you, but now that you're up…"
"You should've told me sooner," Elias whined, his voice low and boyish in its complaint.
Hemma only smiled, brushing back his silvery hair and adjusting his robe. "No wonder only we're allowed in here. We can't let the others see you like this, can we?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, still half-asleep.
She didn't answer, only smoothing his collar and saying softly, "Get ready."
With reluctant steps, Elias rose and shuffled toward the bathroom. The butler and Hemma watched him with tender eyes, their hearts lighter just to see him walk, before slipping back into their quiet duties. Warm water was waiting. A brush of polished tree stem was placed in his hands. Hemma carried the used water away but glanced back once, lingering at the doorway. The butler laid out clean clothes, then passed a towel through the door as Elias brushed his teeth.
Groggy, Elias said nothing. Hemma chuckled at his stubborn quietness and left him to it.
When he splashed his face with warm water, he lingered at the mirror. His reflection stared back—not hidden behind a blindfold this time, but bare. The butler and Hemma had noticed, of course, but they had chosen silence. It was something he had to acknowledge himself. He was stronger now. He could feel it.
Don't be impatient. The words from the strange book echoed in his mind. Perhaps they were right. He no longer cared about scores or proving himself—only about finding calm.
A memory stirred: his father's steady voice.
"If you want to win, Elias, remember this—the loudest one never wins. It's the calmest mind that does."
"How could I forget that…" he murmured, lips curving faintly.
He opened the book again. The earlier words had vanished. New ones shimmered: Win battles with a calm mind. The mind in havoc wins nothing.
Elias laughed under his breath. "What kind of book are you?"
He stripped and sank into the waiting bath. Warm herbs floated around him, carrying a soft fragrance that clung to the air. He closed his eyes. The water lapped gently at his skin, and memories rose unbidden—his children's laughter in his past life, the silly arguments over games, the quiet evenings of ramen and chatter. He remembered their complaints, their laughter, their warmth.
"I miss them," he whispered, a smile breaking across his face.
When the bath was done, he wrapped a towel around himself and stepped out. His clothes were waiting—a simple but finely made suit, far more comfortable than stiff robes. He tied his blindfold once more. He could leave it off for a while now, but not yet. He wasn't ready.
"No need to rush," he whispered, steadying his mind.