Chapter 778

Chapter Thirty-Four: Delivering the Message

As night fell, the lamps on the road outside the tavern lit up once more. In the distance, the bustling sounds of people reached their peak, while closer by, the streets gradually emptied out. The window returned to silence, with only the occasional faint sound from the dark alleys breaking the stillness.

Downstairs, however, there was quite a commotion.

Barry and I hadn’t left our room all day. He had actually woken up in the afternoon, and after I changed his bandages, we barely spoke. We exchanged a few words occasionally, but mostly kept silent. We ate something together before dinner, but Barry seemed preoccupied throughout. It was probably best this way; let him think things over.

Some matters require time to understand, perhaps even a long period of transition.

I didn’t say much more to him afterward. There was no need to lecture him or tell him what he wanted to hear—none of that would help. It might only make him emotional, irrational, and increasingly depressed. Some thoughts can lead one down a path of prolonged despair, or they could keep him trapped in unrealistic, comfortable yet false dreams.

All I could do now was give him some quiet time.

I walked to the window, still savoring my dessert, and slightly opened an old shutter to let some air into the stuffy room. Squinting, I looked out at the quiet street under the night lights, listening to the distant hustle and bustle of Jasmine Lane.

It’s dark now.

Lilith should be coming soon, right?

Just as I thought this, a carriage slowly approached from the other end of the street, its wheels making a distinct creaking noise on the empty road.

I was initially wary, but as the carriage drew closer, I recognized the maid from earlier by the light of a nearby fire. I quickly closed the window and turned to Barry, who was staring blankly at the bed. “I’m going out for a bit. Stay inside, lock the door, and don’t make any noise.”

Barry looked up suddenly, his voice tinged with unease and fear. “Where are you going?”

“Your little girlfriend has arrived,” I replied without turning around, walking to the coat rack to put on my cloak, pulling the hood over my head. I listened at the door for a few seconds, confirming no one was outside, then turned back. “I won’t go far. Open the window if anything happens.”

Without waiting for a response, I opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind me. I hurried down the corridor and descended the stairs. To my surprise, there were quite a few people sitting downstairs, drinking and eating meat. Their plates were filled with large chunks of roasted or stewed meat. Yesterday’s scene was hazy in my memory, but now I noticed their ragged clothes and disheveled appearance, yet they still had money for alcohol and food.

They were likely homeless, uncertain if they’d live another day. As long as they had money, they’d spend it here until they couldn’t afford even a copper coin, then be thrown out like yesterday’s man, possibly dying somewhere along the way.

After I descended, these people stopped their activities and stared at me with their eyes.

If this were before, I might have thought, ‘Take out their eyeballs.’

But now, I could truly ignore their stares.

Before they acted, I wouldn’t feel a thing. Afterward, I wouldn’t either.

The tavern maid continued running around, serving drinks. She glanced at me as I came down the stairs.

As I smiled and nodded in acknowledgment, I passed by her side, waved my hand, and quickened my pace toward the door. When I pushed open the louvered door, I couldn’t help but glance back. By chance, I saw the woman shift her gaze away from me.

I squinted my eyes slightly.

Then, I exhaled and stepped out of the tavern onto the street.

The white unicorn carriage had already passed the small building. It didn’t stop but continued slowly not far ahead, clearly waiting for me on purpose.

I ran to catch up, quickly reaching the speed of the carriage. Following behind for a while, I left the Jasmine Alley and turned onto another street. The unicorn carriage finally came to a steady stop at the corner. The maid turned around and beckoned to me. I walked over and heard her say, “Miss Lilith is inside the carriage.”

“Uh-huh.”

I nodded and lifted the curtain, climbing inside. ~Lilith

Inside the carriage, I saw the woman sitting primly, her hands nervously placed on her lower abdomen. Her expression seemed unhappy, troubled. I sat across from her, pulled my hood down, and was about to speak when I was interrupted hastily.

“I just met those people I mentioned,” she said anxiously, a hint of unease between her brows: “I was planning to pay them to take Barry away, but they refused. They don’t need money; no matter how much I offer, they won’t take him. They don’t want outsiders, maybe fearing he’d be a burden. Am I too hasty? Did I oversimplify things?”

…

I rubbed my forehead, speechless: “Do you know what they want?”

“I—I don’t know.”

The woman seemed flustered by my question, fidgeting with her fingers, trying hard to think: “All I know is that after contacting them, they asked me about the details of last year’s heresy war, the bank situation, the matters of the faith group, and—”

“And what else?”

“There’s also the leader. He asked me about Barry’s situation as a knight’s sister.”

As she spoke, her voice trailed off unconsciously, and she glanced at me before looking away.

Oh, did she guess something?

It didn’t matter now.

“Where are they from? What about their clothing and details?” I asked again. The woman seemed relieved, turning her hands behind her back, not daring to look at me directly. She recalled and stuttered, “Their clothes… They wore large cloaks like yours. We didn’t meet often, so it’s hard to tell. But I think they’re likely from the north, probably from Eisenberg. I’ve been there before and can recognize the accent.”

“Uh-huh.”

I nodded again.

I was almost certain of it.

“Do you have paper and pen?” I knocked on the carriage wall and asked her.

“I don’t have any.”

Lilith looked stunned, unable to follow my abrupt change of thought, but she obediently replied, “But Lena should have them. Lena is my maid. Wait a moment, I’ll ask her.”

She leaned to one side, lifting the curtain slightly to stick her head out, asking the maid for pen and paper. After a brief exchange, she lowered the curtain and handed me a hardcover notebook and a quill. Then, she extended her hand outside the carriage again, receiving an inkwell from the maid and passing it to me: “Are you writing something?”

“A short letter.”

As I answered, I opened the hardcover notebook, tore out a blank page, dipped the quill in the ink, and began writing while reclining on the soft chair.

The fine steel nib scraped against the yellowed parchment, making a ‘scratch scratch scratch’ sound. The words appeared unevenly:

[Forgive me.]