"...One, two, three."
Lythian and Seven buried the Archduke beside Iria's grave.
"Heave ho."
The only difference is that, this time, the wind that flew past them didn't carry any flowers.
Seven had to gather seven flowers himself.
Step.
The burial was over.
Seven walked away. He didn't leave any farewell message or words to send the Archduke off to peace like he did to Iria.
Lythian watched him go.
'A maid over a father…'
He clicked his tongue, recalling Seven's grief for Iria.
'Fuck. Whatever.'
With a sigh, he grabbed the shovel and followed.
Step.
Something felt off. The mansion was in the opposite direction, yet Seven kept moving deeper into the forest.
"Hey, where are we going?"
"..."
Seven didn't respond, and Lythian tightened his grip on the shovel.
"Do we still need this thing?"
"..."
"Fuck. Answer—"
Seven stopped.
Lythian did too.
A chill ran down his spine as Seven turned to face him. It was not a glare, nor a gaze filled with anger.
But just a cold and blank stare.
Fear.
Lythian wasn't sure why, but his body shivered—it reacted before his mind could. He was trembling, and his breathing came ragged.
It was like he was standing too close into something that could kill him any moment.
Seven turned around and continued to walk.
"Tch."
Lythian clicked his tongue, dropped the shovel, and followed him.
Step.
Before them was a cliff. Without a word, Seven glanced back at Lythian, then leaped—his feet landing effortlessly on the jutting roots and uneven rocks leading upward.
Lythian frowned. For the seventh time.
'Fuck.'
And for the seventh time, he cursed.
Climbing wasn't a problem. He was an assassin, after all. But after spending the whole day digging a grave, the last thing he wanted was more effort.
Hop.
But it's not like he had a choice.
"Hah…"
When he reached the top, he exhaled.
The view was no different—t'was just another forest with denser and bigger trees tangled with vines.
…And skewered meat.
"...Wolf?"
Lythian hesitated as a brief memory resurfaced—when wolves gave them meat to eat. For a moment, guilt crept in.
Then, his eyes fell on the fur spread out like a makeshift carpet.
Sigh.
They were not the same—the color. This one was gray—almost black, while the ones back then were pure white.
"..."
Lythian watched as Seven sliced a piece and took a bite.
Step.
Taking a step forward, he grabbed some for himself.
***
'System. Date.'
[Date. 52nd Day of the Seventh Season, Year 775.]
They had finally left the Dukedom's grounds.
At first, Lythian complained.
"Why the hell are we going to the Kingdom? It's a damn tiger's den."
But Seven didn't care. After all, the safest place is the den itself.
Lythian clicked his tongue.
"Wait."
"..."
"Wait, fuc—"
Seven stopped and turned to face him.
"...Can't we take a damn rest?"
"No."
It was the first word Seven spoke since yesterday, and it was a blatant rejection.
'Fuck. It's about an hour now…'
Lythian thought.
They departed before the sun rise from the east, and now it casted a morning light all over the land but they still haven't stopped to take even just a second of rest.
A rest now wouldn't hurt much, but there was a reason.
Seven pointed ahead.
A merchant's cart, drawn by a pair of sturdy brown horses, was rolling toward them—toward the Dukedom.
They waited.
"Hah…"
It was enough for Lythian to catch his breath. His body belongs to an assassin, and naturally it didn't have that much endurance.
As the cart neared them, Seven raised his hands.
The cart slowed, then stopped.
"Pardon? How may I help you?"
The driver, a middle-aged man with sun-weathered skin, squinted at them.
Seven gestured towards the Dukedom.
"The Dukedom no longer exists."
"Pa—Pardon?"
Seven nodded.
"Yes."
The driver scratched his head and muttered something under his breath.
"So the rumors were real… I thought I'd check for myself, but is it really…?"
"It is, fuc—"
Lythian answered, but got cut off by Seven.
"Yes. We… went there this morning."
It was a lie made in the moment. But due to his cold and confident demeanor, the driver believed his words.
Sigh.
The driver exhaled heavily and gripped the reins. Then, without another word, he attempted to turn the cart around.
Neigh!
The horses snorted and their hooves crunched against the dirt as they changed direction.
For a moment, the driver hesitated. Again, the taxes of the Dukedom were way lesser compared to the Kingdom.
But there's no point in going to a place that doesn't exist anymore, so he had no choice but to head to the Kingdom.
"Damn shame. The Dukedom was always good business."
Step.
Before the cart could fully turn, Seven took a step forward.
"Can you take us with you?"
"To the Kingdom?"
Seven gave a small nod.
The driver scratched the back of his head as his eyes flicked between Lythian and Seven.
"Well… I suppose there's no harm in it. Plenty of folks are on the road now, looking for a place to land."
He smiled.
"As long as you're not trouble, hop in."
Seven climbed onto the cart without a word. Lythian followed, mumbling something about finally resting.
The driver flicked the reins.
"Hold tight."
With a creak of wheels and the steady rhythm of hooves, they moved forward.
Inside the cart, the scent of dried leaves filled Seven's nose. His gaze flickered to the sacks piled in the corner—bundles of herbs, some tied together, others loosely packed in crates.
His fingers brushed against one.
'Selverin leaves.'
It was what Iria brewed for him every morning. Said it helped with his health, though he was sure it was just an excuse to make him drink a poison she mixed into the tea.
"Hah…"
Seven leaned back with eyes half-lidded.
The steady motion of the cart made it easy to drift off, but he didn't. He just stared at the scenery the cart passed.
Lythian, however, was already out cold—though it only lasted for seventeen minutes.
Then, with a groggy groan, Lythian woke up. He rubbed his eyes, blinking at Seven.
"You're still awake?"
Seven hummed in response.
Lythian sat up and stretched his arms.
"You should sleep while you can. Who knows what kind of hell we'll walk into once we reach the Kingdom."
"Hell… is better than heaven."
Lythian scoffed and rubbed his face once more.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
Seven leaned back against the sacks of herbs.
"Heaven is full of gods."
"And?"
"Gods are never fair."
Seven's fingers idly traced the rim of a wooden crate.
"Hell, at least, is honest about what it is."
"And the Academy?"
Seven finally looked at him.
"Hell…"
"We're really doing this, huh?"
Lythian held his stare for a moment and leaned back and shut his eyes off again.
"...Wake me when it's time."
Seven didn't answer. He, too, just closed his eyes, reminiscing Iria from the scent of the Selverin leaves lingering in the air.