Chapter 14: Anuata (5)

A whirlwind of thoughts swirled in my mind, but I couldn’t just blurt them out.

I declined Sir Garland’s offer, the proposal of the future Border Count.

“If that’s your decision… come to me anytime if you change your mind or need help. I don’t want to lose a warrior like you. No pressure—my door’s always open.”

Despite my polite refusal, it was still a rejection, a scratch on a noble’s pride.

Yet, Garland accepted it with a bright smile, so disarming I barely remembered his initial arrogance.

He even encouraged me to come back if I reconsidered.

Unbelievable, especially from someone practically royalty in Mosul.

“Thank you for the offer, Sir Garland. I’m truly honored.”

“Next time, I’ll bring an offer you can’t refuse. But who knows? Meeting my sister might change your mind. She’s a beauty, like our mother.”

“Haha… I’ll visit sometime.”

“Do that. Until next time.”

With that, Garland walked away without a trace of regret.

Is this noble composure? His initial haughtiness was striking, but his magnanimity was equally impressive.

They say you can’t know a person’s depths from a glance, and Garland proved first impressions aren’t everything.

Still, I should avoid him for a while.

I don’t know what’s so special about me, but he’s clearly taken a shine to me. He might orchestrate a “chance” meeting with his beautiful sisters.

That’d be trouble—I’m weak to beautiful women.

Though the unexpected encounter delayed me, I hadn’t forgotten why I came to the library.

Anuata. She appeared in secluded corners, dark and shadowed, glaring at me silently, even now.

“What do you want from me?”

“Be prepared.”

“For what?”

“It’s coming.”

“Damn it, if you’ve got something to say, stop parroting the same thing and talk properly!”

“Death.”

“…My death? I won’t die. I’m a swordmaster.”

The vision vanished.

“You know Sir Garland, Paramir?”

After clearing my head with a walk around the library, Priest Moriah greeted me.

His overt welcome at the entrance felt suspicious.

“Not really. I just served under him during the goblin extermination.”

I shook my head, answering meekly.

There’s no need to act like a brash mercenary in front of a high priest of Elon.

That attitude works against monsters or enemies, but in subtle, everyday conversations like this, it’s a weakness.

“Sir Garland will make a fine guardian. I’ve known him since he was young—his heart is kind and pure. He visits every Sunday to give thanks to Elon.”

Moriah called Garland a “guardian,” not the next Border Count. Is that the Elon Sect’s perspective?

Perhaps the sect isn’t as devoted to the Human Empire as I thought.

“Let me guess—Sir Garland made you a few offers, didn’t he?”

“Can Elon’s priests prophesy too?”

“No, Brother. Prophecy is for witches or Hokhma’s followers. The celestial gods watch over us but never speak of the future.”

“Really? I thought gods knew past and future.”

“We believe they do. But if they told us the future, wouldn’t the world fall into chaos? Just as ants can’t grasp our intentions, we struggle to understand the gods’ will.”

The gods’ will is tough to grasp…

“I wanted to give you this.”

“What’s this?”

“A token imbued with Elon’s blessing. I’ve wanted to give it to you since we met. It’s a gift from the god—accept it.”

“…Thank you.”

Moriah handed me a silver ornament engraved with Elon’s image. It could be pinned to a cloak or worn as a necklace.

I don’t know the details, but it’s solid silver.

He said it held “Elon’s blessing,” so its value must be immense.

Anyone not a newborn or some game-possessed character knows blessed relics carry worth beyond their weight.

I should get closer to Garland.

Becoming the next Border Count’s man needs more thought, but staying friendly doesn’t betray the leader, right?

As this shows, gold and treasures sway hearts like reeds. A magic of its own.

“I’ve taken too much of your time.”

“No, I’ll treasure this. Thank you sincerely, Priest.”

“Elon watches over you.”

I fiddled with the silver stag, its fine antlers gleaming, and re-entered the library, hoping it might ward off that ugly forest troll shaman.

***

“Look at this. Cute, right? Baby socks.”

Back from a fruitless library trip, Jasmine showed me her handiwork.

The tiny pair of baby socks was utterly adorable.

“What about these?”

“A hat and baby clothes. Mittens too.”

“So cute. Can’t wait to see them worn.”

“Hehe, the baby’s not even born yet.”

Besides the socks, her basket was filled with cute items like hats and mittens.

Jasmine didn’t make those—her sewing’s still beginner-level. Even the socks likely had Aunt Srell’s touch.

The socks she proudly showed were so small they wouldn’t cover my palm.

Are babies really this tiny? And they grow into beasts like me or Surabar? Unreal… Unacceptable!

“You’re thinking weird stuff again, Paramir.”

“Hah!”

Jasmine snatched the socks from my palm.

Her soft fingertips brushed mine, snapping me out of my daze.

Leaving Aunt Srell’s, Jasmine held her hand.

They knew each other before, but since the pregnancy, they’d grown close fast.

They looked almost like mother and daughter, so natural together.

“Can I come back?”

“Every day. It’s fine.”

“That’d be rude.”

“Not at all.”

Nodding, Aunt Srell, her face wrinkled, raised a shaky hand to wave us off.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes.”

Tap. Jasmine lightly patted my shoulder. She was still slim, healthy, and maiden-like.

If I let my guard down, her enchanting allure would steal my senses.

I kept my gaze forward, avoiding her eyes.

She’d never know her kindness and care cut sharper than an aura-wreathed blade. I’d rather she didn’t.

I don’t know how I got back to the lodging—like a man possessed.

“I’m back! Where’s Surabar?”

“In his room.”

“Thanks!”

Tenok, unusually sober, answered.

Jasmine zoomed up to the third floor, tossing a “Thanks for today!” with a wink.

I shrugged and sat in the empty chair across from Tenok, shaking off her jasmine scent. Time to snap out of fantasies and wake up.

“Tenok, ever heard of Anuata?”

“Anuata? What’s that?”

“Never mind. Just checking.”

“No idea, but ask the innkeeper.”

Following Tenok’s advice, I asked the innkeeper and servers about Anuata, but they shook their heads.

I paid for Tenok’s meal, since he was broke, and ate a late dinner.

Mid-meal, Surabar came down.

“Listen up.”

At the leader’s words, everyone shut up and focused.

“There’s work. Suspicious monsters are lurking by the Tishinos River. We leave tomorrow, so drink lightly.”

The mercenaries, pockets light from revelry, cheered at the new job.

But I couldn’t share their enthusiasm.

The Tishinos River was three days’ walk from Mosul.

Excluding the time to deal with the monsters, it’d take six or seven days round-trip.

Yet, Surabar didn’t mention leaving me, himself, or anyone to guard Jasmine.

“I’ll be fine. Be careful. This monster’s supposed to be big and dangerous.”

Jasmine spoke up.

The Black Tails raised their glasses, boasting they could hunt any monster, even a dragon.

“Still, be careful. Got it?”

Kiss. Jasmine pecked Surabar’s cheek, and the mercenaries, other patrons, the innkeeper, and servers teased the blushing leader with grins.

***

“Phew.”

The next day, past noon, the Border Count of Mosul rose and gripped his sword again, trying to summon the purple aura.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Focusing intensely… no crackle came.

Why?

When Medeia, dressed like a refined noblewoman, joined him, no trace of aura appeared.

Why wouldn’t the sensation from last night return?

“Oh, Your Excellency, something wrong?”

“Medeia, what’s going on?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“The aura won’t come. Was last night a dream?”

“Aura?”

Tolland followed Medeia’s gentle pull to the sofa.

Instead of pouring wine, she had a servant bring water and a nutritious meal quickly.

An untimely feast filled the study. Mosul’s guardian watched calmly, arms crossed.

“Eat first. I’m exhausted from last night. So hungry.”

“Medeia, food isn’t the issue. The aura won’t come. I became a swordmaster… was it all a dream?”

“No, it wasn’t a dream. Our god loves dreams, but that was real. Truth, not illusion. The steak looks delicious. You exerted yourself last night—eat up. Open wide.”

Tolland ate the meat she cut, like a baby bird.

When the King of Bers sent this “mage” as a “gift,” she was suspicious. Not anymore.

Medeia had naturally filled the void left by his long-forgotten wife.

She didn’t yet stand by him publicly, but the castle staff had caught on.

Swallowing the meat, Tolland realized he was ravenous.

He’d been intoxicated by the near-hallucinatory sensation of being a swordmaster.

“See? You were starving too. Last night… you were a beast. Eek!”

Medeia was right again.

Even after devouring the feast, the castle cooks scrambled to prepare more for their master.

Eating like a man resurrected, Tolland looked at Medeia.

“Still no aura?”

He gripped the sword, trying to channel power. But the purple, lightning-like aura flickered briefly, like a dying candle, and vanished with a fizzle.

“Such a shame. Maybe it needs more time?”

Medeia dodged the question. She knew the answer. Tolland grabbed her fiercely, as if to tear her apart, and pressed her.

“What do I need to do? Tell me.”

“This… is too rough… Your Excellency…”

“Speak.”

“I’ll tell you… ouch…”

Freed from his rough grasp, the witch wrapped her arms around his neck, nestling into his embrace, whining.

After soothing her complaints about his distrust and urgency, Tolland finally got his answer.

“You need sacrifices. A lot of them,” she whispered.