The next day, I began the morning with another walk. Already, people were up and about while storefronts were getting ready to open up. The view was quite similar to when I first set foot into this village yesterday.

I returned to the tavern at the height of business hours. People were going in and out like a swarm. At least the inside was much quieter than the outside, but it was still pretty loud. It seems like every seat was taken. Some people resorted to paying for drinks at the bar and leaving after chugging them down.

From here, I could see Lenny and Lina running all over the place, taking orders and bringing out orders. Heath was manning the bar. The moment he saw me, his head lowered in shame.

"Ah! Noir!" Lina shouted as she ran at me.

"Good afternoon," I said. "It looks... very busy in here."

"You have no freaking idea. When rush hour hits, it hits for real. Agh! My back..."

"Are you okay?"

"Yep! Totally peachy! This happens every day. Just gotta get through the next hour. It'll be smooth sailing from there."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"Hey, Lina!" a big, burly man walked up and shouted. "Where the he—"

The moment he saw me, his expression dropped. I was wondering why that voice sounded so familiar. He was one of those three men who were ganging up on Lenny when I first came to this village.

Lina was quick to notice his reaction and a smug grin appeared on her face.

"Yeah? What is it?" she mocked.

"Erm... I mean... M-may I have... another... cup...?" he mumbled nervously.

"Bahaha! Sure thing, bud. Now, sit your ass down and wait. Got it?"

"Y-yes, ma'am..."

He scurried off in less than a second, leaving Lina to laugh on her own.

"That was freaking priceless," she snickered. "Thanks, Noir."

"I didn't even do anything," I sighed. "By the way, where's Blanc?"

"Ah... A-about that..."

Her expression was quite the tell that something had happened.

"Lina?" I called out. "Where is she?"

"Well... First thing in the morning, Lenny and I went to go check up on her, but she wasn't in the guest room."

"What...?"

"We didn't kick her out or anything! I think she ran off somewhere in the middle of the night."

"Is that so? She must've not wanted to bother you, so she left before you could have the chance to see her. Damn..."

"S-sorry, Noir."

"It's not your fault. I'm gonna head out to look for her. See you later."

"Yeah. Good luck."

After leaving the tavern, I found myself back on the bustling village streets. My thoughts drifted to Blanc. Even when people extend a hand to help her, she pushes them away, thinking it's for their own good. That poor girl, always carrying the weight of the world on her fragile shoulders.

Suddenly, a trio rushed past, jostling my shoulders. One of them turned back briefly to apologize before hurrying to catch up with the others. Their faces were twisted with worry, their steps frantic.

A knot formed in my stomach. No... it can't be. Blanc...

I bolted after them, weaving through the thick crowd as fast as I could without causing too much of a scene. Before long, I noticed a large crowd gathered in the middle of the road. The crowd was so dense that even the wagons had come to a standstill, unable to pass.

From the back, I strained to see what was happening, peering over the heads and shoulders of the onlookers. The moment my eyes locked onto the scene, my fists clenched instinctively.

It was the Wayfarers of Ignis again, surrounding Blanc like predators closing in on wounded prey. She was on her knees before them, her small frame trembling as they towered over her.

"Nowhere left to run, huh?" one of them sneered as he stepped forward, his smile dripping with malice. "Look at you, scavenging like a rat, rummaging through garbage just to survive. When are you going to understand that we're only trying to help you?"

Blanc stayed motionless, her gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to look up. The man sighed dramatically, his patience wearing thin.

"Listen, Blanc," he said, voice dripping with condescension. "You don't have to live like this. You could be revered, worshipped even—just like your mother was. We could give you everything you’ve ever wanted. All you have to do is take my hand."

In response, Blanc jerked her head to the side, refusing his offer. The silence that followed was suffocating, heavier than any silence I'd ever known.

"You... little bitch!" he roared, his hand flying across her face with a sickening crack.

The crowd stirred uneasily, shifting on their feet, but still, no one stepped forward. They just watched as he kicked her, sending her sprawling onto the dirt.

"Is this what I get for being merciful?!" he bellowed, his voice echoing over the quiet street. "You little whore, just like your mother! Did she teach you nothing about respect? Are you so blind you can’t see the golden opportunity right in front of you?!"

Each brutal kick forced a pained grunt from Blanc's lips. Her face was smeared with dirt, saliva pooling near her mouth as she lay crumpled on the ground, enduring blow after blow.

'Stop.'

I took a step forward.

'Why are they hitting her?'

A pitch-black swirl engulfed my mind.

'What did she do to them?'

Something ignited within my heart.

'They're not holding back...'

My hand reached for the hilt of my blade.

'So why should I...?'

I pushed through the crowd, shoving people aside with no regard for their protests. My focus was solely on the center of the road, where Blanc was being brutalized. As soon as I broke through the crowd, I dashed forward in an instant. Just as the priest raised his leg to deliver another kick, my sword was already in motion.

With a single, swift strike, I severed his leg clean off.

The detached limb flew through the air, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. Blood rained down, splattering the ground as the severed piece landed with a sickening plop, staining the dirt beneath us.

There's always a brief moment—seconds before the realization sets in—when the body hasn't yet processed the horror of what’s happened. It's a terrifying silence. Swift and sudden, the pain will come, searing through the body like wildfire. I've felt that sharp agony before during my training with Silverain. Of course, I never had a limb severed, so my experience pales in comparison. But I know... when it does hit, it will be unbearable.

The priest froze, staring in disbelief at the bloody stump where his leg once was. Then, it hit him. His scream erupted, splitting the air as he crumpled to the ground, writhing in agony.

My eyes immediately flicked back to Blanc. She was still lying on the dirt, but now, for the first time, she lifted her head to look at me. Her wide, shocked eyes met mine, and I mouthed a single word.

"Run."

Though startled, it took her only a few seconds to scramble to her feet and limp away, her body moving as quickly as it could.

"H-hey!" one of the Wayfarers shouted. "Stop right—"

I lunged forward, my blade slicing through the air and nicking his ear clean off. The severed ear dropped to the ground as the man fell to his knees, clutching the side of his head, screaming in agony.

"What are you idiots doing?!" another one shouted. "Kill him!"

One of the priests lunged forward, his arms flailing wildly as his eyes flared with a vivid, unnatural red glow. With a quick thrust, he unleashed a small firebolt, the flames racing toward me like a burning arrow. The moment it left his hand, chaos erupted. The once-silent crowd of villagers scattered, their panicked screams filling the air as they fled in every direction.

I had only seconds to decide. Stand my ground and try to block the bolt, or dodge it—risking the lives of those same villagers who stood by and did nothing while Blanc was attacked. As much as their indifference angered me, I couldn't let them get caught in the crossfire.

The firebolt hurtled closer, the heat already prickling my skin. I waited until the last possible second before raising my sword. In one precise motion, I stabbed through the heart of the firebolt, allowing it to ride the face of the blade. With a swift downward slash, the flames exploded at my feet. The fire surged outward in a ring, but, thankfully, none of them reached the nearby buildings.

"W-what... did he just do...?" one of the priests stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief.

"He... cut through the magic?" another muttered, his expression a mixture of awe and terror.

Without giving them a moment to react, I surged forward. My blade flashed in the moonlight as I slashed through the first priest’s arm, severing it cleanly. His scream echoed through the street as I kicked him aside. Another priest, thinking he could catch me off-guard, rushed in from the side. But I was faster. I spun around and landed a swift, controlled slash across his chest, careful not to cut deep enough to pierce his heart.

Both men collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony, their screams filling the night. Blood pooled beneath them, yet I felt no remorse for what I had done. This was their own doing, and I was merely the instrument of their reckoning.

People are fragile—so fragile. They break easily, just like that logger's arm when I fractured it. And this? Severing a piece of someone's body, rendering it forever lost... this seems even more extreme. It's a kind of breaking that cannot be undone.

I inhaled deeply, letting the air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. These men are screaming because of me—because I swung my sword. They're hurt and bleeding, crying out in agony as they come one step closer to death. It's my fault... but why is it that I don't feel guilty at all?