Ovid started into the forest for a long time, before turning his eyes to Anna. He blinked a few times, before saying, "I'm going to sleep for a while, wash the cleaver's knife and put it away. Make sure it doesn't rust."

Anna, who had cold sweat all over her body, felt that Ovid's modus operandi was truly unique, even when there are wounds all over his body, and his clothes had been torn to rags, causing him to look akin to a little beggar, his first thought was to make sure the cleaver knife she had offhandedly brought a few years ago to be properly treated.

Ovid slowly maneuvered himself next to the tree he had placed Anna under. Using the trunk as a support, he soon fell into dreams. Only after observing Ovid's chest moving up and down at a methodical speed, was Anna sure that he didn't die from wounds.

Perhaps this person is not afraid of death? Anna thought silently. 

Of course, she wasn't aware that Ovid had already died once. 

---

The faint sound of rain hitting against the fragrant leaves welcomed Ovid as he woke up.

The weather was gloomy, and if Ovid could peer through the dense vegetation, he would see that the clouds were heavy and bleak, as if the rain would never stop. The ground surrounding him was slippery and muddy, which triggered Ovid's homophobia. However, to the people Vitlua peninsula, the spring rain was as precious as oil, there was no doubt that many of the rural women would be bringing out big buckets to collect the rain.

Indeed, Anna was currently squatting beside a bucket that was already half full. She had taken out a purple coat that caused the rain to gather into round and plump drops, looking as if it would drop onto the ground at any moment.

She gave Ovid an apologetic look and explained that she only had this one water repellent article of clothing.

Ovid's wounds had clotted over the time he had been asleep, and he felt no sign of fatigue despite running for so long. He picked himself up and folded the blanket Anna had placed onto while when he had fallen asleep.

Walking to a nearby lake, Ovid rolled up his half torn pants and stepped into the chilling water. He cut through the grey clouds reflected on the surface of the lake.

At the centre of the lake was a wild lotus field.

Ovid reached out and tore off the clean and waxy leaves of the lotus plants, gathering a total of ten green lotus that would occasionally touch Ovid as he moved. 

Feeling the amount was quite satisfactory, he returned to the shore of the lake, causing the waves to make a pleasing sound while also altering the frogs that jumped from their leaves back into the lake.

Ovid used the lotus leaf to cover himself from the rain, scrubbing clean his dirty feet while listening to the hypnotic sound coming from above him. Inspecting his feet, which looked as exquisite as the ones carved on a marble statue, he gave a satisfied look and returned to the tree he had woken up at.

---

The rainfall continued for four more days, and since the roads out of the forest were rendered completely unusable, Ovid and Anna remained beside the lotus lake for four more days. 

The rain outside the makeshift shelter Ovid had made with the lotus leaves fell heavier and harder, hitting the ground with strong sounds. The water flashed in all directions and obscured the space over the lake. Ovid could not see beyond the shores of the lake, and the rain would wash away any equations he wrote on the ground. He took a bite from the biscuit and continued to copy 'Kepler's Third Law' regardless.

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Suddenly, he lifted his head up and looked towards the lake.

An adolescent girl, wearing many layers of fur clothing so much that only her face could be seen was present outside the reach of the branches of the tree. Although there were many layers of clothing, the rain had clearly soaked her for a long time, causing her to look quite miserable. Yet she looked at Ovid drawing on the mud calmly.

Ovid looked towards the girl for a while, before continuing to wordlessly write on the ground.

After a long period of silence, the girl asked, "Where is Anna?" 

Ovid's hand holding the stick stopped, he answered, "Not here."

"Oh." 

"Do you want an umbrella?" 

Ovid placed the stick onto the ground, offering the girl one of the lotus leaves he had collected in his newly freed hand. 

The girl used her small and petite hand to receive the makeshift umbrella. Holding it up to block the rain, she said, "Thank you." 

She lowered her head, looking at the symbols being constantly erased by the rain, she said, "I never seen symbols like this before." 

Ovid bowed his head in silence. Hiding the emotion in his eyes, he said, "Just think of it as scribbles than."

The girl who seemed like a ten thousand year iceberg raised the corners of her lips and said, "I have never seen scribbles with such structure." 

Ovid lamented and answered, "It is still gibberish."

Ovid finished his word and continued writing on the ground. 

The heavy spring rain was rough and torrent, appearing whenever it wished. Similarly, it disappeared just as suddenly. Not long after the two descended into silence, the rain had stopped. 

The girl flicked the residue droplets from the lotus umbrella, crouching next to Ovid while acting carefully to not dampen the words with her wet coat. She looked at Ovid's clean face and said, "I'm Irene."

Ovid was momentarily shocked by the sudden words but gave his identity nevertheless. He said, "Ovid Lang, Lang as in old English for tall."

"You are not very tall though."

---

A little earlier.

The bandit wearing the grey patches was tending to one of the children who had been abandoned.

Suddenly, she sensed something. She placed the child back into the crib and walked to the entrance of her hideout. 

The rain was falling heavily, so it was very cold. But she was someone of deacon level and could manipulate flames to a degree. 

At the entrance of the cave was a girl wearing more than five layers of clothes walking towards her. 

The girl's face was so perfect it could not be described as a face anymore, it was free of any impurities and seemed more like something that came out of a marble sculpture. Moreover, she had a cold and apathetic air, causing her to appear more inhuman.

The bandit looked as the girl come closer and closer, her mouth not uttering a single word. 

She did not know the origins of the girl but was aware that she certainly bore no good intentions - this part of the forest was far away from any roads, and could not be found by an ordinary person through any means. Even a deacon would struggle to pin the exact location of the hideout.

This also meant that the girl was far stronger than her, even above the bishop she admired when she was still in the clergy.

As a bandit, her life was naturally the most important, so she would have fled in such circumstance. 

But she knows that escaping would be completely useless, the experienced bandits that could even put up a fight against a deacon she had sent to guard the entrance had been killed without any struggle.

She wondered why such an important figure that came to her hideout - there was plenty of other bandit groups around the capital, many of which were more prominent than hers which had yet to be subdued. 

The bandit wanted to ask the girl the question, yet she realised that it was impossible for her to open her mouth.

Her hand was on the hilt of her dagger, but she could not move a muscle.

The girls' eye seems to be as cold as the frigid lands to the South, filled with apathy and indifference. It was like an immovable iceberg slowly advancing towards the bandit. 

A violent breeze surged from the entrance which the girl stood, enveloping the bandit's body. 

The years of training as a deacon and experience as a bandit was no more than an ant in front of the deacon. Yet at her last moments, she recalled what her teacher had told her when she asked about the saints of the world. 

They were people that have surpassed the scope of mortality and entered the realms of eternal life. When the bandit thought of the thick clothing the girl was wearing, she instantly guessed the girl's identity. 

The adopted sister of Julia, the saintess Irene! 

This was a peak expert at the top of the continent. Why would she appear at this unknown hideout? 

The bandit was shocked beyond compare by this girl's identity, yet could not continue her train of thought any further.

A spray of blood covered the walls of the hideout and the bandit's head fell on the ground, staining it dark-red with blood.

Irene, witnessing the last light fade from the bandit's eyes, still maintained an indifferent expression, yet there was no ruthlessness in her eyes.

Perhaps it was because she had seen the blue sea turn into mulberry fields, or because she was simply too high up that killing a deacon was no different than stepping on an ant. 

Living for so long, and so strong has certainly twisted the worldview of people like Irene. People like her believe that merely permitting life itself to exist was more akin to a privilege, rather than a right. Not slaughtering anyone who they found displeasing was already a benevolence. 

When Irene was born, she had been adopted by Julia, who had then just recently overthrown the last ruler of Alexander's empire. This was to the wishes of Irene's late mother, who was a dragon Julia had killed.

She wasn't a normal person, because she was the sister of the empress, and more importantly, a dragon.

Later on, Julia had adopted another person, but that person was just a simple human. Still, to Irene, this little sister was very important. 

Irene had come here, of course, not to slaughter, but rather to take revenge for Anna.