The old wooden door creaked open slowly, its sound slicing through the silence of the night. Riven stepped back into the gloomy, damp house.

Melly was still sitting in the corner of the room, hugging her knees. Her head turned sharply at the sound of footsteps. Her eyes locked onto Riven—anxious, but also filled with hope.

“Riven,” she whispered.

Riven nodded. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He walked across the room, which still reeked of blood and death, then bent down to pick up his sword lying on the floor. Calmly, he strapped it to his back.

As his fingers tightened the strap, Riven paused. His gaze drifted over the room—aged wooden floors, peeling walls, the faint scent of mold creeping through the cracks in the boards. This wasn’t a noble’s house.

There was no luxury. No family crest. No paintings. This place felt like it belonged to common folk.

Perhaps… the original owner had already been killed by those two bastards. It was only a guess, but not an impossible one. This world was where the rich took what they wanted from the poor, then tossed them away like trash.

His thoughts lingered for a moment, but he didn’t let himself drown in speculation. There were more pressing matters.

Melly stood slowly and approached him. Her face was still pale, but her voice was steadier when she asked, “Where did you go?”

“I was just making sure they didn’t have any guards. There’s no one outside,” Riven replied curtly, flatly.

Melly hesitated. “Really?”

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “If anyone was left… we would’ve heard them by now.”

He looked at her face. “We need to get out of here.”

Once everything was ready, Riven turned back to the window. Night wind slipped through the cracks in the wood, carrying the scent of earth and dew.

“Let’s go,” he said finally.

He opened the door and stepped outside, Melly quietly following behind. Before closing the door, he looked back into the room—committing it to memory. Not because it was important, but because part of him knew… he would remember it anyway.

They walked across the damp, cold ground. Silence reigned, broken only by the rustle of grass underfoot and the whispering breeze. In the distance, between the trees, a light flickered—small and faint, but recognizable.

Melly turned slightly. “That’s… a city, right?”

Riven nodded. “Glimfell. We’re still outside its borders.”

Melly let out a faint sigh of relief. “So we weren’t taken too far…”

“Fortunately, no,” said Riven. His eyes remained watchful on the distant city lights.

Melly looked in the same direction, then slowly nodded.

Their steps cut through the mist hanging at the edge of Glimfell. The city lights grew closer, and a subtle warmth began to push away the chill clinging to their skin.

As they walked, Melly glanced sideways and asked softly, her voice nearly lost in the wind, “Are we going back to House Rathsture?”

Riven turned. The faint light reflected in his dark eyes. “Of course,” he answered briefly.

But after a few steps, he stopped. His face stiffened, as if something urgent had surfaced in his mind.

Lord Rathsture’s image crossed his thoughts. The man had once offered to adopt Melly. Riven hadn’t objected nor agreed at the time. He had left the decision to Melly. But tonight had changed everything. Melly was kidnapped… right from their home.

And that alone was enough to shatter whatever trust remained.

“Melly,” he said quietly, but with an edge, “forget about the Rathsture family adopting you.”

Melly turned to him, her face full of questions. But her expression softened into a faint smile that quickly faded when her eyes scanned Riven’s condition.

His face was bruised and wrecked, as if beaten repeatedly. His wrist looked off, broken or sprained. Blood had dried in multiple places, staining his ragged clothes. And from the way he walked, she could tell… he was barely staying on his feet.

“Your face…” she murmured, worried.

Riven turned to her and smiled. But it wasn’t a normal smile. It was crooked, slightly twisted… and somehow terrifying in the moonlight.

“Don’t worry,” he said lightly, “my face’ll be fine… with a little treatment.”

Then he added playfully, “If only there was plastic surgery in this world, I’d make my face look like a Korean oppa.”

Melly frowned. “What’s… a Korean oppa?”

Riven chuckled softly and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

But the smile vanished from his lips when Melly looked at him again with concern. “But… it must hurt a lot, right? What about your right hand? Can it still move?”

Riven raised his left hand and gently brushed her hair, though his fingers trembled. “I’ll be fine. Once we reach Rathsture’s estate… I’ll ask them to treat me. Don’t worry.”

Melly gave a slight nod, but her face was still troubled. Guilt and worry swirled in her eyes, stealing her words.

They walked on in silence until they reached the towering stone gate. The entrance to Glimfell stood before them—partially closed, guarded by two armed sentries. One of them, a weary-faced middle-aged man, spotted them and stepped forward with a torch.

As the torchlight hit their faces, one of the guards narrowed his eyes and stopped in his tracks. He took a few steps forward, trying to confirm what he was seeing.

But as soon as he saw Riven’s bloodied, battered body, his expression turned pale.

“Hey! Who are you?!” he shouted, panic rising in his voice, hand gripping the hilt at his waist. “What are you doing outside the city this late?! And that… whose blood is on your clothes?!”

His voice trembled, nearly echoing in the humid night air.

Riven looked at him, but his vision was already fading. The guard’s voice sounded distant, like an echo from the end of a tunnel. His head throbbed violently. His body weakened, his legs buckled.

He tried to speak… but no words came out.

Everything began to spin.

The guard’s face blurred in the torchlight and the shadows of trees. His voice drifted farther away. The world collapsed into muffled silence.

Then he turned his head slowly, and the last thing he saw was Melly’s face—her eyes wide, her breath caught, and her small hands reaching out in panic.

“Riven—!”

And then, everything went black.

.

.

.

When Riven opened his eyes, the world pulsed faintly around him. A dim ceiling. The scent of dried flowers and old wine… and the cold bite of iron around his wrists.

He tried to move, but the clink of chains met his ears. Both hands were shackled above his head, bound to the headboard of a carved iron bed, aged and rough. His whole body felt heavy, as though he had just been pulled out of an unfinished nightmare.

The mattress beneath him was soft, but damp, like it had been used for far too long. His breath came shallow, not from pain, but from confusion… and a deep, creeping sense of dread.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep