The city of Morlind did not sit on solid ground. It floated atop a vast system of lagoons where the Silver River branched out before flowing toward the border of the Kingdom of Valdor.
Unlike the gloom of Rivan or the chaos of Elystria, Morlind possessed an ethereal and magical beauty. Here, the mana was so dense that it condensed into thin, pale blue mists drifting lazily over the water. The willow trees reflecting in the canals were not a normal green but emitted a soft, fluorescent glow. Because of this abundant and pure mana, Morlind had become a "sacred land" for researchers and apprentice mages. On the floating wooden streets, one could easily spot groups of students wearing uniforms embroidered with the crest of the Aethelgard Academy of Magic.
Eric's group arrived at dusk. To avoid being recognized, Eric had removed his bulky iron armor. He wore only an ivory-white linen shirt, with the collar open to reveal his collarbone and firm chest. His sleeves were rolled up, showing his muscular, scarred forearms—the result of years of wielding a sword. He carried the luggage for the whole group, walking steadily on the bobbing wooden planks. Beads of sweat on his forehead made a few strands of golden hair fall over his face, giving him a rugged, traveler's look that stood in total contrast to the frail, scholarly male students walking nearby.
"The humidity here is high," Sin muttered, pulling his cloak tighter. He looked fragile, dwarfed by the fabric, like a shadow walking beside Eric. "An ideal environment for moss and amphibians to thrive."
"And for good wine, too," Ardyn added, playing the role of a drunken traveling merchant as he patted his half-empty coin purse.
They entered the "Bubbling Water Inn"—the most famous tavern in the harbor district. The interior was noisy and shimmering with light reflected from the water beneath the glass floor. As soon as Eric entered, the murmur of conversation in the tavern dropped for a moment. In a corner, a group of Aethelgard female students studying herbs suddenly stopped. They whispered to each other, their curious and admiring eyes fixed on the tall, dusty man who had just appeared.
"Look at those muscles... that's definitely not from energy potions." "He looks like a god of war who wandered in here by mistake."
Eric was completely unaware. He chose an empty table in a secluded corner, set the luggage down, and signaled for service. "Three stews and beer for us."
"Coming right away, sir..." a voice as smooth as flowing water whispered in Eric's ear.
The server was not human. She was a Freshwater Spirit—a species unique to the Morlind region. Her skin was a pale jade green, slightly transparent, and her hair looked like flowing streams of water. She wore a short dress made of soft fish scales that hugged her wet and seductive curves. She placed the tray of beer on the table but did not leave immediately. Instead, she leaned against the table, her soft chest pressing against Eric's arm. Her large amber eyes stared at him, full of the raw desire typical of spirits.
"The stew will be ready soon," she whispered, her cool, wet fingers sliding lightly over Eric's firm bicep. "But if you want something... more refreshing after your long journey, I am always happy to serve. Free for strong, healthy men."
Eric started slightly, pulling his arm back instinctively. He nodded politely but naively. "Thank you. The beer is refreshing enough. Please bring more bread for my friend." He pointed toward Sin.
Sin was sitting opposite him, holding a cup of hot herbal tea.
Clack.
The cup was slammed onto the table, splashing a bit of tea. Sin stared at the wet hand of the spirit that had just touched Eric. In his mind, a series of bright red warnings flashed without an obvious cause. Why did his chest tighten? Why did his stomach twist with an unpleasant, bitter feeling? Why did he want to pull out a bottle of acid and pour it on that jade-green hand?
Just then, Ardyn returned to the table after scouting. He nodded toward the harbor. "I have news. Tomorrow morning, a fleet carrying alchemical materials for the Aethelgard Academy is returning to Valdor. I 'convinced' the captain to let us hitch a ride as cargo guards."
"Good," Sin nodded, trying to focus on the work. "We need to prepare our luggage now."
But the Water Spirit had not given up. Seeing Eric ignore her only made her more aggressive. She walked behind Eric, pretending to wipe the table to rub her chest against his shoulder. "Where are you staying tonight?" she whispered in his ear, her breath smelling of fragrant water lilies. "I know a very private natural hot spring... I can help you relax your muscles. Your arms seem so tense..."
She reached out to slide her hand inside Eric's shirt.
Screeech—
The sound of a chair scratching against the wooden floor was piercing. Sin stood up abruptly. His face was cold and expressionless, but his dark eyes were as sharp as a scalpel. He walked over quickly, pushing his way between the spirit and Eric. He took out his handkerchief and roughly wrapped it around Eric's right hand—the one the spirit had intended to touch.
"Excuse me, lady," Sin said, his voice flat but freezing, loud enough for the group of female students at the next table to hear. "I advise you to keep a safety distance of at least one meter."
The spirit was confused. "Why? I only wanted to—"
"My bodyguard is in an incubation period," Sin lied without blinking, his face as serious as a doctor's. "He is infected with Dark Skin Fungus from the Dead Marshes. This fungus spreads through skin contact, causing sores, falling scales, and the smell of rotten eggs within three hours. If you don't want your beautiful skin to turn into toad skin, please stay away."
The spirit's face turned from jade to pale white. The female students nearby screamed softly, quickly backing away from Eric. "Ugh... he looked so good, but he has the rot..." The spirit pulled her hand back as if burned and hurried back behind the bar, looking at Eric with terror.
Eric looked at his hand wrapped in the handkerchief, bewildered. His skin was perfectly healthy. "When did I... get dark skin fungus?" Eric whispered, looking up at Sin.
Sin did not look at him. He turned his back and picked up the luggage. "You just did," Sin replied shortly. "The main symptom of this disease is attracting annoying subjects. Let's go, the air here is too contaminated." He walked quickly toward the door.
Ardyn chuckled, patting Eric's shoulder. "Did you hear that, boy? This disease is incurable. Only the exclusive medicine from the Veylan family can fix it."
Eric watched Sin's slender back as he walked away in frustration. He slowly began to understand. The corners of his mouth curved upward. Sin did not remember him. Sin no longer had romantic feelings. But his primitive possessive instinct was still there—powerful and irrational. Eric tightened his grip on Sin's handkerchief, smiled brightly, and ran after him.
"Wait, Master Scholar! You have to write me a prescription!"
That night, they took shelter in an old warehouse near the harbor, waiting for dawn to depart. The moon rose high, its silver light leaking through gaps in the rotting wooden roof, reflecting off the river shimmering with magical mana dust.
The space was quiet, save for the steady, patient sound of a whetstone: skritch... skritch...
Eric sat near the window, focused on sharpening his blade. The moonlight hit the side of his face, highlighting his firm jawline and a slow bead of sweat on his temple. The muscles in his arms moved rhythmically with every stroke, radiating a raw, rustic strength.
Sin sat not far away, still holding a thick ancient language book. But over half an hour had passed, and his slender fingers remained resting on the edge of the paper, not yet turning the page. The once-familiar ancient runes had become a blur. His dark eyes, instead of focusing on knowledge, instinctively slid away from the page to find the figure of the knight.
Sin reached for his chest, touching the small lump of the crooked paper crane Eric had given him earlier. He wondered why he had acted so out of control at the tavern.
His reason tried to offer a logical excuse: It was a tactic. Scaring away the spirit helped the group avoid attention and reduced risk.
But Sin was smart enough not to deceive himself. He knew that was only half the truth. The other half was a much more primitive and uglier emotion. When he saw that woman's wet hand about to touch Eric's skin, Sin's chest had tightened. A burning, unpleasant, and bitter feeling had risen in his throat. He had felt a dark satisfaction when she backed away in fear, and when Eric looked confusedly at the handkerchief on his hand.
He wanted to mark his territory. He wanted to label this man as "Private Property," even though he knew he had traded his memories of love for knowledge.
It was ridiculous. Sin shook his head, letting out a helpless sigh. He had thought that losing the "Red Memory Orb" would turn him into a completely rational being. But it seemed the human heart was more complex than his calculations. Love could be forgotten, but the instinct to possess and protect someone important was seemingly bone-deep—no magic could erase it.