Chapter 170: He has a name... His name is L—
"Look at my daughter... she almost died. Have you any words for this?"
A cold and indifferent voice cut through the silence, belonging to a brown-haired man with a small beard and slightly wrinkled skin. He wore a tight black suit, and his sharp eyes glared at the transparent window.
Inside the window... Valra lay on the white bed, her body swallowed by pale sheets. A NIV face mask covered her face, misting faintly with every shallow breath. Her chest rose and fell beneath the green patient clothes.
The beeping monitors echoed... Valra slept peacefully, not moving an inch.
The brown-haired man slowly turned, his expression rigid, to the figure standing beside him.
That figure, cloaked in a long coat, wore a wide black hat that shadowed his face entirely. His posture was calm as his gaze remained fixed on Valra.
When the figure failed to answer, the man’s control snapped.
He seized the figure by the throat. With a roar of strength, he slammed him against the reinforced glass window. The impact rattled the corridor, a sharp crack splintering across the glass as if even the world itself trembled before his anger.
Yet the figure did not resist, did not fight back. The man’s face twisted and twitched with fury, veins tightening at his temples,
"Answer me!!"
His lips flared with yellow flames, but the figure remained still. Only his head lowered beneath the brim of his hat, he finally whispered,
"I am sorry."
"... That’s all you have to say? My daughter almost lost her life, and all you can give me is sorry?"
The man’s voice broke between rage and grief, his fingers digging deeper into the figure’s neck.
Still, the figure did not strike back, did not even raise a hand.
The man let out a furious snort, disgust rolling in his throat, and released his grip. The figure fell, landing on the floor, yet even then, he rose without a word, brushing no dust from his coat, his shadowed eyes never leaving Valra’s unconscious form.
"I... I still don’t get it... How long are you going to keep doing this?" the man growled, his face tightening in fury.
The figure’s answer came calmly, "As long as I can."
The man clicked his tongue, ’This guy!’ he thought.
His face twitched furiously as he stared again at his daughter.
Slowly, his expression softened, "Will she be alright?"
The figure raised a hand and turned it slowly, revealing a glowing white rune stone resting on his palm, "I gave her my utmost care..."
The man exhaled, a long, trembling sigh, before nodding slowly. "Good." His relief was brief, his voice soon sharpening back to a cold blade as he turned toward the figure again.
"I cannot believe that thing is still alive—"
"Don’t. Call. Him. Like. That."
A sharp chill swept through the air, the figure’s voice carrying a weight that pierced like ice into the man’s heart. The shadows under his hat deepened, and for the first time, his presence felt like an abyss staring back.
The brown-haired man stiffened, but his pride did not falter. He glared into that abyss and muttered,
"How long are you going to keep believing that? Huh? You know... and I know... what that thing is!" His body pulsed with light, heat radiating from his skin, pushing back the chill that had claimed the corridor. Warmth and fire warred against frost, as if the two men carried clashing worlds within them.
As if daring him... do what you can!
The figure’s teeth ground together, "My friend... don’t forget our deal. We are in this together..."
The brown-haired man said, "That doesn’t mean you have the nerve to push my daughter toward that thing... When she first called a few days ago... I... I had no words. My daughter called me after so long. But then, when I realised she was with that thing... that she wanted to seek it out... do you know what it did to me? She wanted to find that thing, but not me." His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened.
"Do you know how much I wanted to tear that thing apart!!"
"STOP CALLING HIM LIKE THAT!!"
The figure’s shout cracked the corridor. The windows trembled violently as though shaken by an unseen quake.
The brown-haired man faltered, his foot sliding back a step before he clicked his tongue in defiance.
The brown-haired man steadied his breath, forcing his rage down. "Whatever. I don’t want my daughter near... it. You’d better not be making moves behind my back... are you?"
The figure calmed his voice, "I have never... dragged anyone toward him. It is they who follow him. If you wish to stop it, then stop your daughter from seducing him!" His tone rose, proud, almost arrogant.
Veins bulged on the man’s forehead, his jaw trembling with fury, before he muttered,
"My daughter would never do that."
"Oh? I see... I see..." The figure’s reply dripped with sarcasm.
The man’s frown deepened until his face seemed carved from stone. He shook his head and spat bitterly,
"Whatever... The engagement is already done between your son and my daughter. Do not forget that. And trying to kill your future daughter-in-law for that thing—do you realize? That is not good for your son... nor for you."
The figure only stared at him blankly, his face unreadable beneath the brim of his hat.
The brown-haired man took the silence as acceptance and nodded stiffly before turning to leave.
"Call me when she wakes up."
The figure gave a slow nod, but then, "Here." He lifted his hand, and in his palm gleamed something pure... white light condensed inside a glass tube, glowing with otherworldly brilliance.
The brown-haired man blinked in disbelief, his eyes widening. "Y-You made it?" His hand trembled as he reached forward.
He lifted it as if it were an infant, cradling the fragile container carefully, his gaze locked on the golden hue swirling within.
The hat-shrouded figure muttered, "I believe this thing is worth more than the Artifact once given by the Lady of the Lake."
The man’s breath caught. He looked past the golden glow and whispered with awe, "Worth? It is the energy of the divine... of course it is worth ten times more than the healing scabbard!" His eyes gleamed with hunger as he glanced back at the tube, his voice near a whisper yet trembling with desire.
"With this... I could achieve Stage Four," he muttered with an almost amused, sly tone.
The figure shook his head slowly, "Use it carefully. Otherwise, it will burn you from within and leave nothing but pure fire where your body once stood."
The man gulped, the warning chilling his brief ecstasy. He slid the glass tube into his pocket with utmost care, then turned back to the shadowed figure, "Where did you get it?"
The hat figure didn’t answer a single word, only stared at the man in silence.
The man let out a sigh before patting the pocket where the glowing tube rested. "Who cares... as long as you’ve kept your part of the deal." His tone was calmer now, almost satisfied.
Even though he had been furious only minutes ago, his rage had cooled. His shoulders eased, his voice steadied.
More than anger, there was relief... his daughter was still alive, and now he had gained something priceless.
A father’s fear had turned to fleeting happiness, mixed with greed.
But then his brow furrowed. "I don’t get it... I always wondered. Why would you want me to hand the artefact over to my daughter instead of keeping it for yourself, as per our deal? Was this the reason?" His hand motioned toward his unconscious daughter resting behind the glass.
In his heart, he thought of the healing scabbard—the epic relic he believed had saved her life.
If so... then perhaps this was no bargain at all. The hat figure had saved his daughter and given him something even greater.
Was this even a deal?
So confused!
Too much goodness from someone like him... it made the man uneasy.
The hat figure’s lips curled faintly.
"Everything has a reason. What you see may be the truth... but it may not be the truth. Everything moves, whether we wish it or not."
The brown-haired man’s eyes lingered on him, but at last he turned to leave. "See you later... old friend."
The hat figure stood, watching the man’s back fade into the corridor. Just as he thought it was over, the man suddenly halted mid-step, without turning.
"They say... It’s impossible to kill a man who’s already dead inside. Guess it’s true after all."
The figure’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man continue down the hall.
His gaze shifted back to the cracked window, where Valra lay beneath pale sheets. He stared at her for a moment, then finally turned.
A nurse stood waiting at the end of the corridor.
"Replace it." The figure said.
The nurse nodded quickly, almost bowing, and rushed toward the damaged glass.
The figure’s footsteps echoed along the corridor, each step swallowed by emptiness. His head tilted as his voice murmured to himself,
"The thing... ah?" His gaze turned to the side where the moon outside the window slowly descended through the clouds.
"He has a name... His name is L—"