Chapter 105

Chapter 105: Another Encounter Under the Moonlight

His feet felt as heavy as lead, his chest heaving like a bellows. Bard rushed back to the small house where Grete lived. Only a pool of blood remained on the ground.

People nearby had opened their doors to help put out the fire. This was no small matter; if they didn’t handle it properly, the houses could catch fire too.

The sounds of Grete being beaten were much louder before—screams, curses, pleas, and blows had echoed for a long time. But everything had been eerily quiet until the distant sounds of firefighting reached them.

Bard rushed into the house. The group that had been there was gone, leaving only Grete, bloodied and curled up in a corner, barely breathing.

“I’m sorry, Grete! I came too late, I was a coward.”

Seeing Grete in such a pitiful state, Bard wept uncontrollably.

Sitting on the dry bloodstained dust, Bard carefully helped Grete lean against the wall.

At this moment, Grete’s eyes were swollen with bruises and couldn’t open. He seemed to want to say something but lacked the strength even to lift his arm.

Bard held his hand, calling his name, hoping to rouse him so they could go to the nearby temple. But Grete couldn’t speak.

Then Bard tried to pick up Grete but felt multiple fractures and saw the extreme pain on his face. He had no choice but to let go.

Tears silently fell, warm tears dripping onto Grete’s wrist, leaving droplets behind.

It seemed Grete sensed something, as his finger moved slowly across Bard’s palm. Bard watched it carefully.

Weak fingers moved painstakingly, each stroke conveying the last words.

‘Don’t cry.’

After finishing, Grete seemed to have fulfilled his wish, gradually stopping his breath, his body growing cold, losing all warmth of life.

On the other side of Hope Lane, the festive atmosphere continued. Even at night, many stalls remained open. The smell of grilled food, orange lights, bustling noise, and tourists filled the streets of the city center.

“Lacy, don’t rush home yet, there’s still a show later,” Laner said, pulling Lacy to a shell stall. Beside them stood a dark-haired, tanned girl.

“Mm, they’ll light fireworks later.”

“Don’t say it, Lingxin, you’re ruining the excitement,” Laner complained softly.

Loran Hill seemed to sense something and looked up at the distant sky.

“What’s wrong, Lacy?”

“I remembered I have something to do, I can’t watch the fireworks with you guys,” she replied.

Her blue, transparent eyes hidden under her hood, Loran Hill quietly bid farewell to the two girls beside her before turning to leave.

Lingxin watched Loran Hill leave, deep in thought. Her friend asked, “What’s wrong, Lingxin?”

“Nothing. By the way, how did you meet Miss Lacy?”

“It was Sister Tirela who introduced us. At the time… she was…”

“Really? That’s good. She’s quite powerful, you might not be able to beat her.”

“No way, Lingxin, I’m Sequence 5. Little Lacy is probably only Sequence 3,” Laner said skeptically.

“You’ll see in the future.”

Boom—

Boom—

As several faint sounds echoed in the distance, colorful fireworks rose into the night sky, like stars rising from the earth and blooming in a dazzling display.

Colorful stars formed magnificent glowing flowers, scattering golden rain from the sky, instantly enlivening the otherwise silent night.

Residents and tourists in the city stopped to watch, laughter, blessings, and prayers ringing out among the crowd.

More fireworks rose from the ground, painting a splendid and intricate scene over Hope Lane.

Luminous fireworks continuously ascended and bloomed, illuminating the dark alleyways.

A youth carried his friend’s cold body through the deserted streets, his arms heavy and aching. The distant festivities seemed far away, as if in another world.

The tears on his face dried in the night breeze as he walked slowly, passing through the deep alleyways, intending to bury his friend on a hillside by the sea.

A small river channel ran through the edge of the city. Bard stumbled onto a small bridge.

Fireworks lit up in the distance, casting light on the bridge and rippling the calm water. The youth’s silhouette appeared dimly under the cold light, looking very lonely.

Soft footsteps approached, and a slender figure appeared on the other side of the bridge. Gray boots paired with a black hooded cloak, pale gold hair peeking out from beneath the hood, gilded by the moonlight with a faint silver glow.

Then the footsteps stopped.

Loran Hill looked at the youth before her, his eyes filled with sorrow, carrying a lifeless body. Behind him, distant black smoke and flames could be seen, and occasional shouts could be heard.

“Am I… too late?” she wondered aloud, already guessing much.

Bard looked at the girl who had once helped him, his steps faltering. His hands finally gave way, and he knelt down, sobbing uncontrollably, though he blinked furiously to keep the tears from falling.

Loran Hill watched the youth silently, and after a while, the sobs subsided.

“Are you a divine messenger sent to save me?” Bard raised his head to look at the girl in the black robe.

“But why didn’t you save my friend?”

“Why do heroes always appear last in stories?”

“Aren’t you a hero? Why can’t you save everyone?”

He seemed to be questioning Loran Hill, yet also venting his anger, his own weakness and helplessness.

Although the youth might not have been truly asking her, Loran Hill still answered.

“I’m sorry, I am not a hero and cannot save everyone.”

“Or perhaps expecting a hero to save everything is a sad thing.”

In various legends, people were always eager to hear about some brave hero stepping forward to defeat evil and save the day. They placed their hopes and wishes on others, content with the status quo, afraid to change.

Standing at the bridgehead, Loran Hill listened quietly to the youth’s narration, recounting his dear friend Grete’s short life.

“Why must one wait instead of standing up?”

Looking at the weak youth again, Loran Hill spoke once more, as she had that day in the alley outside the restaurant.

“Why do people always pin their hopes on others, preferring to pray to imaginary gods, hiding in corners, lamenting their fate, waiting for a chance encounter with a benefactor, rather than taking the first step themselves?”

“When will you become your own hero?”

Under the cool moonlight, the girl removed her hood, her silver hair dancing in the air. Her crimson, transparent eyes stared directly at the stunned youth.

Early to bed, early to rise keeps the body healthy. Don’t stay up too late tonight.

(End of Chapter)