*

-Where is she?

Vasili's sword tip trembled as he asked in a trembling voice.

-The realm of the Goddess of Tranquility, Soineanta's, where she will never return.

Dàn looked up high, addressing either Vasili or the sky behind him.

-After being captured, Luthera and the other ninty-nine virgins were burned at the stake. Among the charred corpses, scavengers heard the cry of an infant. They opened her womb and found a perfectly healthy girl. The scavengers were also lowly hybrids, and many of their loved ones were among the corpses. They carefully hid me and raised me to adulthood.

In the middle of the night, Vasili lay on his arm, recalling Dàn's confession. Through his elbow, he saw Dàn sitting on a nearby tree stump with her legs hugged to her chest. After changing into the dark green bandit costume that Dàn had brought, he left on his own, but Dàn followed him nevertheless, even though her sandals were already worn out and she walked barefoot for several days. At this moment, the girl placed the fragments of "Flamma Varmah" in her hands to keep warm. The orange flame tinted her pale face with vibrant color. Holding the flame that once burned her mother, the girl’s unalloyed golden pupils contemplating something. The fire served as makeup, softening the scars on half of her face, and the white hair covered by the cloak shone brightly.

Vasili turned over and faced away from Dàn and her flame. The tree shadows in front of him flickered like encircling ghosts under the dim light of the fire, but soon they were swallowed up by the darkness. Vasili closed his eyes, until even more terrible visions appeared before him.

The friendly herbalist young lady.

The friend who took off his helmet and shook his golden hair.

The lightly clouded and windy village of Hubrey. Each well-known face that carried expectations towards him.

All the sweet smiles turned into severed limbs, bloodstains, and ashes. There was no crying or screaming on the battlefield, and in the eerie silence, a burning stag, with razor-sharp teeth, gnawed on the corpses of the deceased. The four-eyed beast twisted its six legs and locked eyes with isolated and helpless Vasili. The beast rushed towards Vasili, who extended his hands to block it. The two fell to the ground, and Vasili, who was suppressed, drew a dagger from his waist and stabbed the beast in the chest. Warm liquid dripped down his cheek as Vasili opened his eyes to see Vitulus looking down at him with contempt. Blood and words poured out of his friend's mouth as he said:

"Wake up, Vasili."

Vasili sat up and saw a white-haired girl with a painful expression in front of him. She struggled as if she were being pressed into the water, desperately scratching at the hands that choked her neck. Vasili released his grip, and Dàn fell weakly to the ground, coughing. "Listen," she said, her voice barely audible. Vasili stood up and listened carefully to the sounds of the forest. The message carried by the wind was mixed with the laughter of fairies, which gradually approached and transformed into the neighing of horses. Standing for a long time, even the slightest scolding and hoofbeats became clear, and finally, the barking of hunting dogs confirmed that everything was not an illusion.

Vasili smiled and turned around, carrying his rusty flame-bladed sword and walking away.

"They are a band of mercenaries wandering around here. I was once captured by them on my journey. They have over ten virgins and the flame of the god with them. We must strike first." Dàn caught up and pleaded with Vasili from the side.

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"I don't see how this is my problem," Vasili said without looking back, his tone cold. "After all, you're the only one who claims to be a virgin. I haven't been one for a long time. And as for the flame, did those bone pickers not tell you not to take what isn't yours?" He drew the ritual dagger from Dàn's belt and ran his fingers over the worn and dried bloodstains on the blade before sheathing it again. Then he opened the green bandit's coat she had given him and pointed to the bloodstained hole in the chest. "Don't you think so? Dirty thief."

"Everything I've done has been for you, Vasili. You must become the High King," Dàn said, struggling to keep up with Vasili's quickening steps. But as soon as she said this, Vasili suddenly stopped, causing Dàn to almost bump into him. With his mercenary coat draped over his shoulders, Vasili's figure looked as massive as a wild beast, and for a moment, Dàn saw him as a standing wolf.

"Shut your self-righteous mouth," he said, cold gaze sweeping over his shoulder. "You don't understand anything. Your precious fire is nothing but false light and warmth to me." As the two argued, a fire could be seen at the end of the forest. However, it wasn't the guiding light lit on the snowy plateau or the foggy ocean, but the hellish hound's torch. "How can divine fire be obtained so easily? If it's not obtained by your own two hands, then it's meaningless." The firelight illuminated Vasili's profile, but he remained unmoved.

"If you really don't care that much, then please indulge my wishful thinking." Dàn clasped her hands together on her chest, inducing the bright and clear Flamma Vurmah. "Please, High King, save us from our fated destruction."

As the torches around them gradually lit up, Vasili, who had no choice but to move forward, turned around and walked towards Dàn, who was preparing to offer the flame - then passed by her straight body and stood between Dàn and the hunting dogs that arrived first.

A thin ebony horse dashed out of the woods like a ghost, pacing anxiously behind the hunting dogs. The knight with a fierce look on his face, like Vasili, was also dressed in mercenary attire, although this description is not accurate because there is no fixed mercenary attire. The main force caught up from the woods, with rusted chainmail, mismatched plate armor, damaged leather armor, and fish-scale armor from the east, forming an unstable but intimidating wall blocking Vasili's path.

Finally, a tall feathered helmet appeared among the mercenaries, and a tall chestnut horse stood out from the crowd, striding forward with its head held high. On top of it sat a burly knight like a bear. The knight wore shin guards on his legs and multiple layers of armor over his old chainmail. He also wore many round medals on his chest and abdomen, which were the only parts of the weathered attire that shone brightly.

The knight stretched his hands to the two sides and took off the feathered helmet, revealing his gray and white curly hair, narrow eyes like rocky crevices, and a hooked nose. He slightly lifted his prominent chin, and his dry lips parted as if he wanted to speak but stopped.

"Graslic?" whispered one of his soldiers, and then the other of them asked Vasili, who was wearing a dark green cloak, "Is that you, Graslic?"

"How could it be? That guy is dead. I spent a whole night burying him myself." The crowd immediately began to discuss, "But he is indeed wearing Gras's clothes, and there is that wound on his chest."

"Quiet. You are all drunk and don't even remember whether he was buried naked or not," the leading elderly knight ordered. Then, with a soft and educated voice, he leaned on his horse's back with one elbow and turned to Vasili, "Traveler, you are wearing our friend's clothes. I want to know how you got them. Can you please take off your hood?"

Vasili pulling his cloak aside to reveal his curly ash-brown hair, deep grey-blue eyes beneath arched brows, a straight and strong nose, and broad, flat lips. The mercenaries, seeing that he was not their familiar red-nosed friend, tensed and raised their weapons, but the centurion in charge furrowed his brow and murmured to himself before finally accepting his keen eyesight earned through years of experience.

"Lads, stand down!" he ordered. "This is your elder, and my comrade in the Ninth Legion, Martin, also known as the 'Spearbreaker'." he paused dramatically, "later known as the 'First of the Fire Thieves'."

Vasili carefully examined the old man before him, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that time had etched into his face. A familiar young face gradually emerged, causing Vasili's eyes to widen as he spoke the name of the figure he saw.

"'Broad-Back' Pugio."

At this moment, a hunting dog caught a whiff of Dàn, who was hiding behind Vasili, and began to bark. The white hair fugitive had no choice but to step into the firelight. Seeing the fleeing virgin, Pugio's face darkened, and he looked back at Vasili, lightly pursing his upper lip.

"It seems we have some things to discuss, my friend. In the spirit of our old friendship, why not have a long overdue Etnan tradition?"

Vasili also grinned. "I suppose that's the only way."