Emela searched around the hall, looking for what? She did not know. The only people who may have supported her could say nothing—Nyx was but a maid and her mother didn’t have much weight against these giants.
She looked to Ulrich, to the modest smile that graced his lips. It was fake. He could not hide the lust that lurked just beneath the surface, the disregard for who she was as a person. He would not be a good husband.
What choice do I have? If my family were to abandon me, where would I go?
The slums were not an option—as soon as they found out who she truly was; she did not doubt that Hector and her friends would abandon her. The Great Houses and, to a certain extent, all noble families saw the people of the slums as nothing more than slum rats and treated them as such. So, they had no love for the nobles. If anything, they would gladly put a sword in the back of any noble.
Furthermore, with no support from her family, she had no resources. As a cultivator, she would be able to get by to a certain extent, but she didn’t like her chances as an abandoned Frostkeep. Family members now could turn assassins in the future, as she became an eyesore to a glorious family name.
Her lips trembled as the urge to throw up coiled inside of her. But the words. She had to say them. She had no option. “I—I accept the marriage.”
A small smile passed over the first elder’s face as he nodded to Drion’s mother. They had gotten what they wanted. Murmurs passed through the crowd as Drion strode past her and whispered, “Make sure to be a good wife now, sister. The family is watching.” He then continued, walking past her and stopping right before the crystal-like steps.
Her father’s voice boomed through the hall. “You are dismissed.”
The mana in the air seemed to come alive. It swelled around her, churning into a tornado of mist and frost. Her body became light. Weightless. Then with a thud, her feet landed on soft carpet, and the mist and frost cleared.
She now found herself standing outside the Great Hall. The oak doors were now closed, with runes humming along their surface. Nyx stood next to her and her mother a few paces away.
“I’m sorry, my love. I knew you were to be married, but not to them. If I had known...”
Emela sighed and looked absent-mindedly at the great oak doors. “There was nothing you could do Mother, there was nothing anyone could do.”
“Mistress,” Nyx said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “I will be with you, don’t you worry.”
Emela smiled and squeezed her hand back before turning to her mother. “About my punishment, do you think—”
“No, my love, if anything, I have more of a reason to do this. You are going to need strength for what comes next.”
Silence fell as the lamps running along the hallway crackled. It was going to be a long night.
----------------------------------------
“So grime-grain and sprouts for dinner, huh?” Hector asked. He and Mirae walked into the kitchen and he placed the flower basket on the table with a thud. The stale smell from the sewage outside leaked into the room as he walked over and closed the kitchen window.
“Do we have to?” Mirae asked with a pout as she walked out of the kitchen, her long white hair bouncing behind her. She was heading to her room and Hector was eager for an answer, so he followed. “I should have something in the garden, right?”
“I mean, even if you do, there’s no guarantee that it’s ripe.” Hector walked behind her until she entered her room. He stopped at her door and leaned against its frame as she began to rifle around her drawers. Mess. One thing that she often made, but she would always clean it up straight away.
“Yeah, but still. I feel like my skin is starting to be made of grime-grain,” she said, pinching her forearm. She then shook her head and continued searching through the drawers, looking for something. She paused, looking up with a frown. “Didn’t you once say that as a cultivator you need more than grime-grain to become stronger? Stands to reason that the same would apply to me.”
Hector sighed, lightly slapping his forehead and dragging his hand down his face. He had said that with a lot more confidence back then. But time had proven that grime-grain was not what was holding him back. A lack of talent was. But now he had the system. Things were different. “Okay, okay. If you are quick, you can go see what we have in the garden.”
Mirae let out a cheer, and Hector levied a serious gaze against her. “Make sure that it’s ripe. I don’t want to spend all of tomorrow on the bucket again.”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
The girl nodded and ran towards him. She jerked, stepping past him, and continued full pelt down the hallway. The mess she had made of her drawers long forgotten.
She’ll clean it up, I hope. System, how long till the upgrade is complete?
————————————————
///: update progress... 99.89%
————————————————
A smile came to his lips. He pushed off the door frame and made his way back to the kitchen. The update would soon be complete—he could have a look at it after dinner and see what it had unlocked.
He entered the kitchen and made his way to the cupboard on the far side of the room, pulling it open. A stale scent assaulted him, forcing him to crinkle his nose as he reached for his target. An old heavy brown sack filled with the dry sandpaper-like flakes known as grime-grain.
Now I’m kinda hoping she finds something. I don’t think I can eat another bowl of grime-grain.
He gripped the sack and tugged. The sack scratched across the wood before falling to the ground with a heavy thud, kicking up a plume of flakes. He shook his head and made his way over to the sink, grabbed the pot from the cupboard beneath it, and whipped it onto the stove with a clang.
The pot’s rough exterior, marked with years of use, looked at him as he considered it. If she brought back something good, perhaps the grim-grain could be a palate cleanser. That would mean that he wouldn’t need to make too much.
As he nodded his head, a loud bang and a crash caused him to freeze. He turned, frowned, and made his way over to the window of the kitchen, looking outside with concern. It couldn’t be Mirae. She was in the back garden, but then...
His eyes went wide as he watched his father—haggard, clothes torn, and face bruised—stumble up the dirt and cobblestone path. He had already slammed through the front gate and was fixing to do the same to the front door if Hector didn’t do something.
Hector slammed the bottom of his fist on the counter—this was getting bad—before rushing over to the front door and opening it for his father. His father fell into his arms as soon as the door opened and hacked as Hector held him.
“S-sorry about that, son. I didn’t think you guys would be home yet.” He let out a few more coughs, patted Hector on the chest and stood up, his legs shaky.
“Dad... what happened?”
He looked at Hector with a weak smile and gently shook his head. Silent. He then turned and walked over to the far cupboard and pulled out a bottle of whisky.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea right now?” Hector said, eyeing him. The bruises on his face were new. “You should get some rest before you start drinking.”
“It’s only a sip. You know, a small drop to cool the pain. I’m not aiming to get drunk or anything. Don’t worry.” He fetched himself a glass from the adjoining cupboard before making his way over to the new table—freshly collected from the dump this morning—and slumping into the chair. He cocked his head to the side as he poured himself a glass. “Making dinner, are we?”
“Yeah,” Hector said, walking back over to the stove and lighting the fire underneath. He glanced back at his father. “Mirae is outside fetching some stuff from the garden—who did that to you, was it the Collar Gang?”
“Hector.” He frowned, taking a swig of his whisky before slamming it down on the table. “Drop it,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“Why won’t you trust me? I’m almost an adult, for crying out loud. When will you let me help you and stop leaving me in the dark like I’m some child?”
“I’m not having this discussion with you. I said drop it.” His father then set his jaw and looked out the kitchen window as the sound of the crackling fire from the stove filled the room.
Why are you such a stubborn old fool at times? How am I meant to help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on?
Silence settled in. Hector brought the pot over to the sink and twisted the nozzle. A small mana array triggered at its underside, and a bout of water gushed out in a wave, slamming into the pot and filling it in moments. He twisted the nozzle, then brought the pot back over to the stove and left it to boil.
A few strained silent moments later, Mirae bundled in, carrying a basket filled with fresh vegetables. Tomatoes, carrots, and even a whole cucumber. A few bell peppers rested on top of the pile, their coloured skin making his mouth water. It wasn’t much, but they could definitely make a soup from it.
“I brought the best-looking ones. I could have brought a little more, but you said only ripe ones—oh, hey Dad.” She said, smiling at their father as she hefted the basket onto the table. He smiled at her, the past conversation forgotten. She brushed a strand of white hair from her face as she regarded him. “Drinking? Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
“Well, you know, a sip a day keeps the healer away.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it does, and you look like you could use one,” she turned to Hector with a pointed look, as if asking what happened. He shook his head and moved over to look through the basket.
“It’s just a few bumps and scrapes, nothing too serious. Don’t worry your little head about it one bit,” their father said with a grin.
Does he think she’s stupid? Smiling like everything is okay isn’t going to mean anything.
“If you won’t tell me about what happened, can you at least say how work was?” Hector said, picking up a carrot and examining it. “I remember the other day you said you got a promotion.”
“Ah, yeah, the promotion.” His father took another swig of the whiskey before slamming the cup down onto the table. “I thought I had the promotion, but apparently Zehira gave it to someone else. Something to do with attitudes at work, damn Muddusts. Those sewage wastes don’t appreciate anyone. But I got to keep my job, so there’s that at least.”
Hector glanced at his sister and raised an eyebrow before moving back over to the sink with a handful of carrots and the cucumber. “So no promotion. Good to know you are still stuck sorting herbs.”
Is that what happened? Did he take a loan, thinking he would receive a promotion?
“Anyway, enough about me,” his father said, glancing at his sister. “How were the flower sales today? Did Pippa join you like she said she would?”
“Um, about that,” she said, glancing from Hector to their father. “Yes, I sold flowers, no, Pippa didn’t turn up, and I’m now training to be a Mana-cultivator.”
Their father coughed and sputtered, splashing spittle over the table. “You’re doing what now?”