Chapter 44: Ashes (2)

I thought I’d only slept until noon, but the chieftain gave me a wry smile and told me I’d actually been unconscious for over thirty hours.

Judging from the outcome, we’d gone through a truly grueling battle.

My body was covered in fresh injuries. Most were healing quickly, but some cuts and burns would likely leave permanent scars. The power of purification had cleansed the deadly poison from my body—that alone was a small mercy. The chieftain had used nearly all the remaining medicine on me and even forced himself to perform healing techniques to set my broken bones. If he hadn’t acted in time, I might have lost the use of my left arm for good.

Among the humans from Earth, Jelena had been the one to fall. Among the rotted-face people, over half of their able-bodied men had been lost, along with a smaller number of women and children. All told, this single battle had nearly halved their entire population. What surprised me most was that Jols had actually survived. He was essentially crippled now and still unconscious, but at least he would live.

Ian had burned down a significant portion of the trees surrounding the forest’s edge and the rotted-face people’s settlement. Half the village had gone up in flames, and most of the remaining structures were unstable or half-collapsed. The survivors had been relocated to the rear portion of the village, which had been spared the worst of the destruction.

Wrapped in a robe, I walked through the scorched ruins of the village with the chieftain at my side.

Ruined walls lay scattered everywhere.

Collapsed trees were strewn across the ground.

Blackened scorch marks marred every surface.

These were the scars Ian had left behind.

Yet the rotted-face people moved with steady purpose. Some collected the bodies of their fallen kin, some tended to the wounded, and others erected temporary shelters. Some set out to explore the now mist-free ruins of the town, while others handled logistics and supplies.

“Ah, Lord Envoy!”

“Lord Envoy!”

“Lord Zhou Yuhong!”

“Are you alright?”

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

And more greetings like that.

Whenever I got close, the rotted-face people would hurry over to thank me. They were grieving. They were exhausted. But for the first time, they smiled from the heart. Grief and joy lived side by side in their expressions—mourning their dead while rejoicing in their victory. It seemed contradictory, but it was real.

I didn’t know how to respond. I kept my head down, trailing behind the chieftain, mumbling platitudes of comfort. But what surprised me was how eagerly they offered me water—not water barely salvaged under the shelter of the purification force, but fresh, clear water drawn directly from the town’s river. The deadly toxins Ian had released had been part of the Mist Realm. When that realm vanished, the fog fiends disappeared too. The academy and surrounding buildings from the other world had also vanished—and with them, most of the lingering toxins.

The river had returned to its original, drinkable state. The poisons in the soil had also mostly dissipated. The rotted-face people were overjoyed. They drank deeply from the clean water, some of the bolder ones even dumping entire basins over their heads, eager to wash off years of filth. The children played and laughed under the sunlight, kicking up shimmering sprays of water. That joyous clamor helped ease the sorrow in everyone’s hearts and soothed the pain of their losses.

Jols greeted me with enthusiasm. It looked like he had just regained consciousness. Before I arrived, he’d apparently been regaling the others with a dramatic retelling of my battle against Ian in the fire. Half his body was charred, covered in burns. He would likely be bedridden for the rest of his life—but he showed no trace of bitterness.

Because to survive at all was enough.

Watching them, I couldn’t help but smile.

Alright.

I might be a mess myself, but… seeing all this, it really does feel like it was all worth it.

In the warm sunlight, I thought I saw Vaclav, Rena, and Jelena smiling at me from afar.

***

In pain and crisis, time drags endlessly—but once the dust settles, it flies.

Before I knew it, three days had passed.

We spent the time recovering from our wounds. The rotted-face people had finished burying their dead, and patrols around the town continued smoothly and methodically.

And now—

Beneath the gentle sunlight, on the barren land at the edge of the ruined town, everyone had gathered.

Felice, Booker, the chieftain, Mizan and Jols in wheelchairs, and all the surviving rotted-face people.

Felice’s injuries were the lightest. The poison in her body had been cleansed quickly by the purification force. Her beauty remained untouched, without even a trace of scarring. And now, under this clear sky, I could finally see her true appearance. Her hair was almost white, but under the sunlight, it shimmered with a faint lavender hue—probably a special kind of hair dye?

Booker had grown quieter. His face bore new scratches and stitched wounds, along with faint signs of decay—but those could be hidden easily enough. He spoke less than before and often stared off into empty space, his old careless grin nowhere to be found.

Mizan still hadn’t spoken. His eyes were unfocused. His leg was beyond healing, and all the trauma he’d endured seemed to have sapped the will from him. I could only hope he’d find the strength to carry on.

Before us stood a large field of gravestones—a new cemetery.

Three markers were placed at the front, in order of their deaths: Vaclav, Rena, and Jelena.

Behind them were dozens more, dedicated to the bravest rotted-face warriors who had fallen in battle.

And behind those were the graves of the others who’d perished—many of them women, children, and the elderly.

All of them had been laid to rest here.

“The soul shall be freed from the shackles of the flesh. In death, life finds its eternal form. O martyrs, o fallen kin, o cherished dead, may you…”

The chieftain stood at the front, half speaking, half chanting the funeral hymn passed down for generations. His voice, hoarse and aged, wasn’t loud, but it carried far. Each word etched itself into my mind, echoing in my ears.

“…Now, let all sorrow end. May your spirits rest in the embrace of the merciful Earth Mother, and sleep in peace forevermore.”

With that final blessing, he placed a flower on the makeshift altar. It looked like a miniature sunflower, but with longer petals and a pure white hue. It was called a Luminbloom, a flower native to Yardelan, symbolizing remembrance and mourning.

Following the chieftain’s lead, each of us stepped forward and laid our Luminbloom upon the altar, silently offering our prayers.

For a moment, I was ten years old again, gripping my sister’s tear-soaked hand as we placed flowers before the portraits of our parents, lost in an accident. Even then, I understood: funerals weren’t for the dead. They were for the living. A way to soothe their grief, to let them move on.

It was the same now.

The dead were gone.

I regretted. I mourned. I reflected. I grieved.

But they could no longer hold us back.

Their souls now slumbered peacefully within the earth.

And our task, the duty of those who remained, was to keep moving forward.

I had made my choice.

Or perhaps, we never had a choice to begin with.

***

And so, on the fourth day—

“Just as I thought, Lord Yuhong.”

The chieftain gave a weary smile as he watched me, already back on my feet, packing my gear.

“The Dragon of Inoria won’t stay cooped up in its cave forever. There’s a vast stage ahead of you; you can’t tie yourself down to this place.”

“It’s not about any stage. It’s just that we can’t stay here.”

“Ah. You’re right.”

As I sighed, the chieftain let go of his smile. His expression grew complicated.

“This is the fate of you, divine envoys. If you wish to return home, you must keep fighting until the fog disaster is completely purged from Yardelan.”

“Yeah.”

I folded my change of clothes into the smallest possible bundle and stuffed it into my not-so-roomy satchel, making sure it was packed tight.

“I know this may sound selfish coming from an old man like me, but if you were willing to stay, we would welcome you as the most honored of guests.”

“As long as we keep protecting you?”

“That’s just the wishful thinking of an old fool. I know. Now that the Mist King Ian has been defeated, you have no reason to stay.”

“I’ve thought about it a lot. Things won’t be easy going forward, but in the end, I still can’t stop. And it seems they feel the same.”

I jerked my chin toward the other side of the room.

There, Felice was polishing her runic rapier. Her pack was already neatly packed—faster than I’d managed to do mine.

Beside her was Booker, struggling to cram an obviously excessive amount of gear into his bag, to the point it was on the verge of bursting at the seams.

Only Mizan wasn’t here. With his legs gone, his journey ended here. He wouldn’t be traveling with us.

“May I ask, both of you, are you truly set on leaving?”

““We are.””

“Even knowing what dangers may lie ahead?”

““…””

The two glanced at me, their gazes carrying different meanings.

“I wouldn’t be much use staying behind anyway.”

Felice spoke first, her tone was flat but resolute.

“Maybe life here would be more comfortable, but the hygiene is awful. I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

“That’s… a rather sharp critique,” the chieftain muttered, looking embarrassed.

“And more importantly…”

She looked at me and gave a faint smile.

“I feel safe when I’m with Yuhong.”

“Uhh…”

That caught me off guard. I looked away and scratched my cheek, embarrassed.

And Booker—

“Ahhh, fuck it, if those two are going, how could I possibly stay behind? You lot don’t really need us anymore anyway, right? You’ve got the town back. Just take your time rebuilding, you’ll be fine.”

“That’s true.”

“And besides…”

Booker’s expression darkened noticeably.

“Because of those damn monsters… those people… Vaclav, Rena, Jelena. They shouldn’t have died. Honestly, I feel useless. Every time, I just stand there and watch. So now I figure, at the very least, fog fiends or whatever, I’ll take down as many as I can. I’m tired of being dead weight.”

“I see.”

The chieftain’s gaze toward Booker turned complex. He looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he held his tongue.

***

Fifth day, early morning.

We were ready to depart.

I was still wearing the same gear, now further reinforced and slightly more mobile. My weapon was, as always, the runic dagger I’d grown used to. I carried the same set of medicines and support items as before.

Felice was likewise prepared—but once again, she’d decided on her own to ditch the leather pants and instead wore a dress with bare legs and tall boots, topping it all with a lightweight leather chestplate for defense. Her rune rapier hung at her side.

As for Booker? He wore the most armor of us all, mostly metal, and it looked heavy. A longsword and medium shield were strapped across his back.

The three of us stood just outside the forest, more or less at the same spot where I had first been transported to this world. There was no grand sendoff. Just the chieftain, Jols, and a few rotted-face people we knew well. That was how we wanted it. We didn’t want to make a big scene out of our departure.

The ruined town—located in the northeastern reaches of the Kingdom of Inoria—had been shrouded in mist and cut off from the outside world for ten years. After so long, the rotted-face people knew nothing about what had happened beyond. But now the mist realm had vanished, and the fog wall to the southwest of the town had faded away. If we kept heading southwest, we would eventually reach new lands.

What awaited us there was a complete unknown.

“If my memory serves,” the chieftain said, “if you keep heading in this direction, you should reach the nearest major city, Caruso, after about a full day’s ride by carriage.”

“A full day by carriage.”

At an average speed of twenty kilometers per hour, that meant quite a distance. The chieftain caught my expression and quickly shook his head.

“No, no—the straight-line distance isn’t far. But you’ll have to pass through the ruins of Fort Fran, and much of the terrain is swampy. Carriages can’t move quickly through it.”

“So it’d actually be faster on foot?”

“Provided nothing gets in your way.”

“Oof.”

That wasn’t exactly reassuring.

The road ahead was completely unknown. There might be new mist zones waiting. There might be another fog wall blocking our path. We could only find out by pushing forward. The rotted-face people weren’t coming with us—after all, their strength had always been their familiarity with the ruined town. Without that, they’d only hold us back.

And so, it was just us three who would take the first steps into the unknown.

“Lord Zhou Yuhong. Lady Felice Tispara. Lord Booker Winter.”

Led by the chieftain, the rotted-face people bowed deeply to us.

“You will forever be our benefactors. No matter the time or place, my people and I are ready to give our lives for you. If one day you find yourselves weary, wounded, or even utterly defeated… please remember, our doors will always be open to you.”

“Yeah. We’ll remember that.”

I extended a hand. The chieftain hesitated for a moment before realizing it was an Earth gesture. He mimicked me and gripped my hand firmly.

“Until we meet again, friends.”

“May fortune favor you. May your journey be safe!”

And thus, from this ruined village, my long journey began.

Back then, I had no idea what awaited us. What kind of companions I’d meet, what kinds of enemies would stand in our way—I knew nothing.

All I had was the unease of what lay ahead and the lingering sorrow for the ones we’d lost.

So then—

Let’s go forward.

Keep moving forward until we fall.

***

Ruined Town — Deep Within

This was once the site of the main building of the Royal Alessia Academy of Alchemy. With the collapse of the Mist Realm, the building had vanished completely, leaving only scattered debris and crumbling stone to mark what had once stood here.

Amid the withered grass, hidden beneath scattered rubble, a small creature crawled across the ground.

It was only the size of a human forearm. It looked like a half-developed cicada, but its entire body gleamed like a golden filigree inlaid with crystals. It was strangely beautiful.

It was Ian’s final creation.

Its name was Meigao.

It gazed toward the southwest—the direction someone had just departed.

The one who had slain its creator.

That powerful one had already gone.

Gone far away.

And now, it too would leave this cold cradle.

Its eyes—like glass beads—caught the first rays of morning sun and shimmered. Then, with a twitch of its body, it darted into the wild grass and vanished from sight.