Crecyda didn't immediately realize that it was Lumei. What truly startled her was not his voice, but the hand pressing against the lower half of her face—his thumb dug into her cheek, pinkie pinching the side of her jaw, and her breath obstructed by his index finger pressing against her nostrils. Apart from this hand, the rest was an unidentifiable black figure.
She retrieved the small knife she had hidden under her pillow for quite some time—since the day she handed over five gold coins to him—and thrust it toward Lumei's arm. However, due to lack of precision, it merely scraped against the leather bracer and bounced off.
Because the tent was pitch black, Lumei only vaguely felt that some sharp object seemed to brush against his arm and didn't react immediately. This gave Crecyda the opportunity to deliver a second blow. This time, she abandoned attacking his body and decisively sliced a large opening in the fabric on her side, hoping the loud tearing noise in the quiet night would attract attention. Moonlight seeped through the gap, revealing Lumei's face to her. It was in that moment that she clearly realized the danger she was in.
Crecyda kicked haphazardly, but Lumei intercepted her. Then, she received a heavy punch just above her heart, causing a momentary suffocation. Another figure entered her blurry field of vision through the tent entrance. Even in the disorienting pain, she realized the second person wasn't there to help her.
"What's going on? You can't handle her alone?" the second person said.
"How was I supposed to know she's been awake all this time? Stop standing there babbling, come and help," Lumei replied.
They gagged Crecyda, bound her, and stuffed her into a sack. Watching the dark mass slowly engulfing the space she was in, Crecyda suddenly regained some strength in fear. She struggled vehemently, but it was a futile effort. Besides the darkness, there was an indescribable, skin-penetrating stench—she dared not think about what the bag had previously contained. She vomited a bit, and it accumulated between her throat and the cloth in her mouth, with only a small portion leaking from the edge of her lips.
Next, she felt her body lifted, pressed against something. Perhaps it was Lumei's shoulder or back. She heard someone suggest poking a small hole for ventilation to prevent her from suffocating inside, but Lumei didn't agree. She knew they were carrying her. Shortly after leaving the tent, she recognized the voices of all four guards surrounding her.
A simple kidnapping, that's all it was. Crecyda thought they probably wouldn't kill her immediately; it wouldn't be beneficial. They must be planning to use her for ransom. Would that work? They were currently in the Arathi Highlands, and if they wanted ransom, they had to travel a long distance back to the Elwynn Forest. Crecyda suddenly felt foolish for considering these things. Perhaps these people were professionals in this line of work. Maybe they had targeted employers before. Maybe Durado's promised high payment kept them in check for two years, but now it was over.
The intense pain in her chest did not dimiNiaesh with time; it intensified with each bump. Crecyda couldn't feel her hands and feet. It seemed like something sharp was buried in her forehead, irregularly pounding, and the stench and dizziness spread with each brutal beat. The darkness not only obscured her vision but also disrupted her sense of direction, cutting off the exchange of breath between her nose and the external air. Crecyda wondered how those people who died swallowed by pythons felt, and she felt she was getting close to that imagined sensation. Though what enveloped her was not the stomach wall but fabric, the fear of missing the chance to return to the outside world was the same. Who guaranteed that Lumei would release her while she was still alive?
Renner. Crecyda began to wonder if Renner had a similar experience. One second peacefully trying to sleep, the next plunged into an upheaval that allowed fear to devour reason. No, Renner wouldn't, because he wasn't like her; he was a warrior. A warrior who shouldn't have died.
Nearly seven years ago, on the day Renner left with the army, she escorted him to the edge of the forest outside the town. He said, judging by the situation, maybe he could be back in a year. "Maybe, I mean maybe, Crecyda," he emphasized. Knowing his temperament, it was natural for him to make optimistic but unstable speculations about the future. Crecyda believed him. But how could he have known how much she wanted to hate him at that moment? A year wasn't much, just say he definitely wouldn't be back within a year, why add a "maybe"? A year should have passed quickly, but with the addition of a "maybe," the days were forcibly extended.
During that year, they exchanged a total of thirty letters, neatly stacked in a box deep in the cupboard, as tall as a glass next to it. A glass represented the height of all communication and longing accumulated between them in a year. Renner sent a new letter—the thirty-first, saying there was an important strategic deployment recently, and he had to stay a bit longer. Crecyda quietly placed the letter next to the pile. She wasn't a woman who spent all her time carving small trinkets in the workshop. Even though Renner didn't directly reveal it, she had learned from the neighbors about the situation, and she was prepared to organize the letters by year. The box was small, and three years of correspondence had already filled more than half of the space. If it were four or five years apart, she might burn the earliest letters to make room for the new ones. She couldn't stand the hint of time's separation accumulating in one box.
She could almost recite the contents of the last letter, even though it was over three years ago. However, she remembered it clearly because the letter was extremely short, as if Renner only wanted to discuss a specific matter and had nothing to express about himself. In the previous letters, Crecyda told Renner that a lady named Dalia admired his favorite dwarf and squirrel woodcarving. When she said it was not for sale, Dalia seemed very disappointed. In the reply, Renner said it was okay; he thought she could give it to her since she appreciated his craftsmanship. Renner's tone in that part confused Crecyda, and there was even a bit of displeasure because he seemed to know that lady, or at least had learned about her through some means. Anyway, Crecyda followed Dalia's request and painted the wood carving, and a servant delivered it—she didn't really want to see that person.
However, it's been almost seven years. Seven years have surpassed more than half of the time they spent together; seven years are enough to witness an infant grow into a helper for farming, to see a small village emerge, and to allow an old man who thought he was only slightly unwell to rest in the soil. Look at what things have become. From the moment he said, "Maybe I'll be back in a year," crossing the long wait until now—her weak fingers can touch nothing but darkness. Crecyda deeply regrets recalling so much—
Just at the moment when utter despair was about to destroy Crecyda, she felt her body hit the ground. The pain caused by the fall left her unable to guess what had happened for a while. Only some indistinct chaotic sounds penetrated her ears through the fabric and stench. The sound of wind, wheels turning, hooves clattering, sand and mud splashing, unidentified collisions, metallic clashes, shouts, the gradually fading sounds of running, and the approaching footsteps. Something pulled the bag she was in, and something fell not far from her.
Then came the sound of a blade slicing open the bag's seal. The fabric burst open, clear and tense, and as the blade left the slit, a gust of wind rushed in. Crecyda opened her eyes and saw Niaes. Soldiers with determined torches illuminated Niaes' anxious face, and some blood had splattered from her right cheek to her shoulder. She squatted down to untie the dirty ropes, triggering a spasm of pain in Crecyda, later realizing it was because Lumei had broken one of her ribs.
According to the surviving prisoner's account (Lumei lost his head in the conflict), the actual situation was roughly the same as Crecyda's speculation. They indeed intended to kidnap her to demand ransom from Durado, although they also considered the risks of bringing a hostage back to the Elwynn Forest being too great due to the long distance. However, they ultimately decided to "act first and figure it out later," fearing that once Crecyda reached Stromgarde, they would lose the opportunity. "Typical thoughtless desperados," Niaes commented on this. She instructed the guards to pay special attention to the movements around Crecyda's tent for several days, but didn't mention it to prevent Crecyda from worrying too much. It wasn't a difficult rescue, and only one person under Niaes' command was injured.
After receiving care, Crecyda stayed in the infirmary tent for a few days and only spoke on the third day. She could confirm with about 95% certainty that she had not only escaped kidnapping but death as well. Those impatient bandits were likely to kill her before achieving their goal—after all, her death didn't guarantee they would give up on the ransom. The attack came too suddenly, and it was resolved too quickly, leaving her with almost no real sense of life after the ordeal. To avoid sinking into too much despair, she preferred to spend her time in those bedridden days blaming herself for being too careless and overlooking the actions of those "bodyguards" in her daily life. Otherwise, she should have anticipated this. Although the future was uncertain—she truly had no one to rely on now and shouldn't be an unnecessary person in the refuge valley—she at least hadn't completely succumbed to despair. She looked at the situation from the most positive perspective: finally getting rid of those dangerous guys.
This mindset allowed her to accept what Niaes said to her a week later more calmly.
On that windy morning, Niaes came to Crecyda and said, "Prince Galin sent someone to take you to Stromgarde. The arrangement is quite exceptional, quite unexpected."