Robert's heart gave a sudden tremor. Born of a military lineage and seasoned by skirmishes upon the battlefield, he bore little of the ordinary man's dread toward killing. Yet though his enmity with House had festered for years, it had never ripened into irreconcilable blood feud. To slay him now left Robert's heart steeped in bitter aftertaste.
Seeing the gloom upon his master's face, a retainer offered solace: "Young master, today it was House who provoked you. Had you spared him, he would surely have taken your life instead. None can be blamed for this… Please, what are your orders concerning the body?"
Robert glanced at Sena's charred countenance, and hatred surged anew. His guilt for killing House thus lightened. "What else is there to do? Under cover of night, burn his corpse and erase all trace!"
Then, flexing his left hand warily, he added: "But not here. This alley may be secluded, yet but two streets away lies the marketplace. Our struggle may already have stirred attention. We must leave at once. Divide yourselves—some bear House's body to the desolate hills beyond the city and burn it there, the rest stay to cleanse all signs of battle before we depart."
From the stretcher came a low groan. Sena stirred awake, and upon hearing Robert's commands, cried hoarsely: "House… House is dead? Quick—send men to the Ruins Camp. See who might suspect he fell by our hands. Should tonight's affair be exposed, both you and I will be condemned as blasphemers beyond reprieve!"
Robert bade the retainers act swiftly, while he tended Sena with care, soothing him: "You fat fool, this is hardly our first venture of such kind. Rest yourself—leave the rest to me."
But Sena could not be calmed; terror weighed heavy upon him. After muttering several urgent warnings, he lifted a trembling hand to his scorched cheek. "The pain—my face burns, my eyes sear… Robert, tell me, has House ruined me? Am I disfigured?"
Robert's gaze lingered upon the charred, swollen visage. Compassion clenched his heart, yet he forced a smile: "Nonsense. That plump face of yours is no cursed left hand of mine. An experienced priest will mend it in time. Think of it as a little slimming treatment for your cheeks."
The jest drew a pained chuckle from Sena. He reasoned inwardly: true enough—House, for all his might, was but a second-tier acolyte. The flames he conjured could not leave incurable scars. Unlike Robert, he would not bear a lifelong maim.
For Robert, since boyhood he had endured whispered mockery for his crippled left hand. Resentful, he had sought healing from priests—yet even the most eminent across the continent could do nothing. Could a mere furnace's flame inflict such ruin? Robert never understood. His father Luo Xiong, when pressed, could only answer with a bitter smile.
Once the battleground was cleansed, Robert returned under cover of darkness to the City Lord's mansion. He summoned trusted physicians to tend Sena's wounds, while dispatching others to scour the Ruins for intelligence. The whole night he paced the training grounds in torment, his heart seared as though upon a frying pan.
At dawn, a retainer came to report: Sena's injuries had stabilized, nothing grave—only time and rest were needed. He added with a sly grin: "Be at ease, young master. Last night House quarreled with the academy's faculty. He left with the excuse of seeking solitude—no one knows where he went."
Half of Robert's dread at last dissolved. If none knew House was dead, none could trace to him the sin of sacrilege. "And the corpse?" he asked.
"The brothers bore it beyond the city, as you commanded. The road was clear, by now it should already be burning in the hills. But the journey is long—our men will not return until midmorning."
Relief washed him clean. He exhaled softly and instructed: "Then let this matter remain between us—the few who stood with me last night, Sena, and no others. Understood?"
The retainers bowed solemnly. "Young master, we have followed the Lord for decades. Our lives are his gift. We need no command to know what must never be spoken."
With that, one drew forth a small bundle. "This, young master, is the divine artifact you claimed last night. We gathered every piece for you."
Robert received it, frowning. How he longed to consume the godly essence within and once more glimpse the enchanting Ya'er. Yet these were not neutral crystals—they bore attributes. And according to Ya'er's warning, his hand bones had already been gravely strained by House's fiery essence. To devour more now was folly.
"Bring spades," he ordered. "Seal the training ground, and bury these beneath the Stone Lock Platform." He resolved to wait until his bones healed and his strength ascended, before daring to draw upon such treasure again—else his left hand might be lost forever.
By the time all was done, daylight had fully broken, and a thunderous rainstorm lashed Moonwatch City.
Robert's day of leave was ended. Duty called him back to the academy's program for the gifted. After charging the retainers to guard Sena well, he steadied his spirit, forced a smile, and spurred his steed into the storm.
As he departed, a pale lightning flickered across the southeastern sky. Within its violet blaze lurked a faint gleam of ghastly white—the very hue of the thunderbolt that had shattered the goddess's statue and annihilated Ya'er's core. Though weaker in form and hidden within the rain's tumult, none noticed that subtle streak of white lightning.
It grazed the mountains beyond the city, racing across peak after desolate peak.
And there, in a hollow of one such mountain, the retainers who had borne House's corpse stood drenched beneath the downpour. Before them lay the pallid body, its flesh turned ashen. One muttered in frustration: "Damn it… we fought to drag the corpse beyond the city, only for the heavens to open now. How are we to burn him in this storm? Perhaps… perhaps we should bury him instead?"