Chapter 65

Chapter 65

The flames became increasingly vivid. The fires clinging to the trees did not spread further but burned brightly and fiercely as if expressing someone's emotions. The first thing Ian saw as he approached the vicinity of the flames was the face of a guard of the trading company, appearing deranged. He seemed to have fallen off his horse and was running away from the flames.

"There's a demon here— a demon—"

Swoosh!

A blinding column of fire engulfed him just moments later. By the time Ian neared, the pillar of fire had died down, and the man had crumbled into a charred corpse. Beyond him, the figure of Lucy, sitting dejected, came into view. Her robe fluttered roughly, her hair stood on end, and her eyes, swirling with yellow and orange, reflected turmoil and anguish.

The reason for her distressed expression wasn't hard to guess.

Right in front of Lucy who was sitting lay Miguel, surrounded by a pool of blood, his arm severed. Lucy was desperately clutching Miguel's left arm, which was cut off from just below the wrist to the middle of the forearm, in an attempt to stop the bleeding, however futile it might be.

Lucy's gaze swung wildly to Ian at that moment, her eyes flickering erratically. With a sense of dread, Ian lunged forward.

Woosh!

A pillar of fire surged up right behind him. He could feel the intense heat, even as he rolled on the ground to regain his posture, looking back at Lucy. Her eyes wavered.

"Sir...Ian?!"

"Yes, it's me."

"Wh... what have I done..."

The pillar of fire dispersed quickly, and the flames consuming the nearby trees lost their vigor.

Lucy murmured, her lips quivering, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...!"

"No need to apologize. It's alright."

Ian stood and moved toward her. He had no intention of blaming her for actions taken reflexively in such a situation, especially since there were more pressing matters at hand.

"Miguel, it's Miguel...!"

Lucy finally burst into tears, her voice breaking. Ian, paying no heed to his surroundings, immediately checked on Miguel. His forearm was cleanly cut, and his leather armor was torn from the left shoulder to his chest, blood still seeping out.

"...Brother." Miguel's eyes barely opened.

"Don't talk," said Ian.

"Didn't... go as planned...."

"I can see that."

Miguel murmured, on the verge of losing consciousness. Ian looked at the bleeding stump of Miguel's arm, where blood still flowed. The only immediate solution to stop the bleeding and prevent infection that came to Ian's mind was a harsh one.

"I'm going to cauterize your arm with fire. Don't try to bear it; just pass out,” said Ian.

As Ian ignited a fireball in his hand, Miguel's pale lips twitched.

"Motherf...."

Ian quickly brought the fireball to the stump of Miguel's arm.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air. Miguel soon went limp, thankfully unconscious. Ian precisely controlled the flame to avoid unnecessary damage, then carelessly tossed the fireball aside. The bleeding had stopped.

"Keep holding it like that."

"...Yes."

Lucy, tears streaming down her face as if she were the one in pain, nodded. Ian immediately stood and walked to the nearby overturned carriage. The carriage had flipped over, but fortunately, most of its contents were unharmed. Ian rummaged beneath it, grabbed a backpack, and returned.

"Keep holding it."

Ian rummaged through the backpack, applying cloth to the charred stump and wrapping it tightly with bandages.

He then gestured to Lucy, "Use the cloth to clean the blood off his body."

Lucy moved quickly. Her hands were already soaked with blood, but she didn't hesitate to wipe the blood spread across Miguel's chest. It was then Ian noticed something in Lucy's hand, but it wasn't the time to inquire about it. He assessed the chest wound more thoroughly. Fortunately, it wasn't too deep, and the bleeding had almost stopped, likely due to Miguel defending himself with his arm, resulting in its loss—a better outcome than being split in two.

"Heaven's been merciful."

As Ian removed Miguel's leather armor, he added, "Was it Oleg who did this?"

Just as Lucy's gaze began to ignite,

"Stay out of this." Ian raised a hand to halt her, drawing the Sword of Judgment as he stood to face the advancing Charlotte.

Charlotte's glare, filled with hatred toward Ian, eventually wavered. Her steps slowed, and by the time she was close, she staggered as if on ice.

“...” Charlotte's gaze toward Ian shook, her face twitching. The fear of the man who had cut off her tail was etched deep into her soul.

Thud.

Ian took a step forward as Charlotte stopped, trembling as if every hair on her body stood on end. Ignoring this, Ian slowly approached her.

Clang.

Charlotte's swords fell to the ground. She trembled like a mouse before a cat, eventually collapsing. Fear and humiliation mixed in her eyes.

She barely managed to speak, "Rather... kill me...!"

For a beastfolk, her overcoming fear to speak was remarkable. Of course, Ian had no interest in such facts. He simply stood before her, looking down into her terror-filled orange eyes.

"Before that," Ian finally spoke, and Charlotte tensely awaited his words.

"Bring your employer to me. Alive enough to talk. And kill the rest. Bring their heads, all of them, without exception."

"...!" Charlotte's eyes widened.

Ian had known about the black carriage following from afar all along.

He casually continued, "While you're at it, bring a carriage too. We'll need something to travel in."

"If I do... will you return my tail...?" Charlotte stumbled over her words.

Ian scoffed, "Your tail must be worth more than that."

"Considering what you've done, it's hardly enough."

"You... fucking...!" Charlotte cursed, though she had no choice but to follow Ian's command. She needed her tail back.

Crack.

Charlotte then gripped her swords as if she would break them.

Despite her frustrated expression, Charlotte couldn't even meet Ian's eyes as she muttered "I'll be back... tomorrow..."

Then, she vanished into the darkness beyond, fleeing as if to escape. Ian, having retrieved his sword, returned to the campfire.

"What was... that?" Lucy asked with a dazed expression.

Ian simply shrugged, "Clean-up has to be thorough."

"It's not that... Never mind." Lucy shook her head, dismissing her own question as if it didn't matter.

Ian smirked and gestured toward her, "Get some sleep. Share your warmth with Miguel, like you said."

"Okay. ...Thank you, Sir Ian."

"For what?"

"For everything."

With that, Lucy nestled into the bundle of robes and cloaks, positioning herself beside Miguel.

They look like a real family, Ian thought, gazing quietly at Miguel's face. Still pale, but his breathing had stabilized significantly.

...He won't die right away, at least.

Ian reflected on Miguel's actions. Sacrificing oneself, especially considering his usually fearful demeanor, was an entirely uncharacteristic choice. Was it the depth of his attachment to Lucy? Whatever the reason, it was a noble decision, especially in a world where the concept of altruism was virtually nonexistent.

Life's full of surprises...

Ian chuckled to himself, tossing a few more pieces of the carriage into the fire. Then, the exhaustion hit him—a mix of headache, dizziness, and fatigue, as if he'd been run over by a truck. Yet, he couldn't afford to sleep. Despite their pact, leaving everyone unprotected in the domain of an ancient spirit whose intentions were unknown was not an option.

"I'd kill for a cold beer right now..."

Muttering to himself, Ian reluctantly bit into a piece of jerky pulled from his backpack. It had been a long day, but the night was just beginning.