Amid the dried blood and lingering sobs, Riven began to feel something unfamiliar in his chest. A slow, quiet understanding took root. Perhaps… this was what Ashtoria had once felt.

The feeling of someone who didn’t run.

Someone who stayed even after seeing all your worst parts. Who didn’t turn away, even after witnessing your darkest self.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t pity. It was something else—something difficult to put into words. A warmth that pierced, like sunlight touching burned skin. Comforting, yet painful. Soothing, yet leaving behind a weight far heavier than before.

Riven closed his eyes. His hands, still trembling and stained with blood, tightened the embrace.

But time could not be stopped.

Melly’s sobs slowly faded. Her breathing grew steady. Her small frame no longer trembled as before. Only the quiet rhythm of deep breaths remained—one after another, as if trying to stitch together the pieces of shattered calm.

Riven knew he couldn’t stay there forever.

Slowly, he released the embrace. His rough fingers gently touched Melly’s cheek, wiping away the tears still clinging to her skin. She was warm. Real.

“I need to take care of something,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, yet firm and final.

Melly looked at him, eyes wide with unspoken questions. But just as her lips began to move, something in Riven’s eyes made her stop. She held her words, then gave a slow nod.

Riven returned it with a nod of his own. His gaze drifted away from her face, scanning the room. The scent of blood still hung thick in the air. The walls were stained, the floor smeared red. A severed body slumped in the corner like discarded meat.

This place was revolting.

Suffocating.

He wouldn’t let Melly remain here a moment longer.

They stepped out of the bloodstained room together. Riven walked ahead, Melly following close behind. No words were spoken—only the faint sound of footsteps on old wooden floorboards, and their shadows trailing beneath moonlight that crept in through a narrow window.

The hallway was silent. The night air seeped in through cracked walls, carrying the scent of damp earth.

When they reached the front door, Riven stopped. He turned to Melly. His expression was resolute, though his eyes looked tired.

“Don’t follow. Stay inside this house. Wait for me here,” he said in a deep, steady voice. “No matter what happens, do not come outside.”

Melly bit her lip. She wanted to protest. But… she only nodded.

Riven inhaled slowly. He glanced toward the window. The world outside was still cloaked in darkness. Trees swayed gently in the distance. Silently, he retrieved the bloodied dagger he had taken back earlier and slipped it beneath his clothing.

His body straightened. His face hardened. Cold again.

He stepped toward the door. Its old hinges groaned quietly as he pushed it open. Night air surged in, cold enough to bite through bone.

Just before stepping out, Riven paused.

He turned back, looking at Melly one last time. His gaze lingered, as if trying to memorize her face—as if to ensure that if he lost control of the world outside, her face would be the final thing etched in his memory.

Then, without another word, he walked out.

The door closed behind him.

Click.

Silence returned to the hallway. Melly could hear only the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.

She remained standing there.

The warmth of the embrace still clung to her skin.

But it left behind an emptiness she couldn’t quite name.

Finally, Melly slowly sat on the floor. Her arms wrapped around her knees. Her eyes stared at the closed door… her heart tightening with worry, with hope, or perhaps with something she didn’t yet understand.

She didn’t know what waited outside. Didn’t know what Riven would face.

But she was certain of one thing.

Her brother would return.

And she would be waiting.

.

.

.

After all the noise and chaos, no one came.

No guards. No servants. No sign that the two wretched nobles had brought protection. Silence reigned, as if the world had willfully ignored what had transpired.

Riven stood in the doorway of the house, breath still heavy. The night wind brushed against his face, carrying with it the scent of blood and damp soil. His eyes scanned the area until he saw it—in the distance, beyond the trees, a stone wall stood faintly under the moonlight. Small and far off, but enough to assure him they were still near Dorthlam City. On its outskirts, perhaps. A place where the powerful could indulge their filth without consequence.

But there was no time for reflection.

There was one more thing he needed to confirm.

He moved swiftly toward the horse-drawn carriage parked not far from the house. It was moderately sized, but well-crafted—pulled by two tired-looking gray horses. He checked the driver’s bench, the surrounding area.

Empty.

His eyes kept searching, sweeping across the property.

Until he saw it—a small wooden structure at the side of the house. A storage shed with a thatched roof, nearly swallowed by overgrowth.

Silently, he approached.

The old door creaked softly as he pushed it open. The smell of hay, animal droppings, and rotting wood filled the air. The space was narrow and dark, but not so dim that he couldn’t see the figure lying atop a pile of straw in the corner.

A man.

Thin, perhaps in his forties, wearing worn-out coachman’s clothes. A cap was pulled over part of his face, but the lines of age were visible beneath. He looked… harmless. Like someone who just wanted to sleep after a long day.

But that didn’t matter.

Riven stood in the doorway, staring at the man with the bloodied dagger still in his hand. The blade now felt like a part of him—cold, silent, merciless.

Inside, a quiet war raged.

This man… might just be a coachman. Hired help. Maybe he knew nothing. But facts were facts—he had helped bring them here. Without him, the carriage wouldn’t have moved. Without him, the kidnapping wouldn’t have unfolded so smoothly.

Did he deserve to die?

In the deepest part of Riven’s heart, he knew… probably not.

But he wouldn’t choose mercy.

Riven knew better.

In a world like this, ignorance was no excuse. Blindness was a crime. And if this man returned to the city—if he spoke of what had happened tonight, if he mentioned Melly’s existence—then more trouble would follow.

More hunters.

More filthy laughter like the two nobles’.

More hands reaching for his sister.

And that… he could not allow.

Since the night he met Ashtoria, Riven had tried to change—to become someone better. He wanted to free himself from the shadows, to rebuild who he was from the wreckage.

But tonight had made one thing clear.

Kindness was a luxury he could not afford. Not in this world. Not if he wanted to protect Melly.

Especially now that he knew his sister possessed three affinities. That she was exceptionally gifted—a Chosen. She would be a target for all manner of greedy forces: nobles, secret cults, kingdoms… perhaps even demons.

So Riven could not hesitate.

Let him be the villain.

As long as his sister could remain good.

As long as she could grow up safe, untouched by danger.

He stepped slowly into the shed. The straw crunched softly beneath his feet. When he reached the man’s side, he crouched down. The man’s eyes were half-open, dazed—trapped between drowsiness and waking.

“I don’t know… if you even understand what your master intended,” Riven whispered, his voice more like a murmur to himself. “Maybe you were just the driver. Maybe you’re just an ordinary man.”

But his gaze remained cold.

“But if I let you go… I can’t be sure what you’ll do. There’s no guarantee you’ll keep silent. You might speak to anyone willing to pay, anyone curious about my sister. And that alone… is enough.”

He exhaled slowly.

“Enough… to destroy everything.”

He fell silent for a moment. Then added quietly:

“You may not know anything… but I can’t allow even the slightest chance to touch my sister.”

His fingers clenched. The dagger rose.

“So… “

He drew a breath, then whispered,

“…I’m going to kill you.”

The man opened his mouth slightly, but no words escaped.

Riven’s dagger flashed piercing his chest.

A single strike, straight to the heart.

The man stiffened. His breath caught. His eyes widened. His limbs jerked once, then again… then stilled. No more movement. No sound.

Riven stared at him for a long moment, letting the silence blanket the small room.

Then he withdrew the blade, wiped it clean on a rag in the corner of the shed, and rose to his feet.

There was no triumph. No satisfaction. Only a coldness spreading steadily through his chest, like something long dead inside him had stirred and could never be silenced again.

He closed the shed door slowly.

Then turned back toward the house, where Melly was waiting.

And the night sky felt even more silent.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep