The old man glanced at Amora before ultimately deciding to check on his son's room.
Amora hesitated but followed him into the clock tower.
Inside, the tower was extremely dilapidated. Every step on the wooden stairs creaked loudly, and Amora felt as though the entire structure might collapse at any moment. Other than the piercing screams echoing within, there were no signs of beastly roars; the place still seemed safe.
Hadi and his wife's room was on the second floor. Turning a corner, Amora saw the old man standing at the open doorway, not daring to step inside. Amora's sharp eyes noticed the disheveled bed and the panicked woman cowering inside, just beyond the man's large frame.
The woman appeared to be around Hadi's age, with blonde hair and bright red lips—a gaudy kind of beauty, attractive yet ordinary. However, her face was now contorted in terror and desperation as she let out pained screams, as though she were trapped in her worst nightmare.
Her hand had fallen off. From the stump of her wrist, Amora could see the same crimson, cotton-like tissue and liquefying white bones she had observed in the carcasses of dead animals earlier. The symptoms were identical. Clearly, this clock tower was not strong enough to resist the Death Radiation; dying like those animals was only a matter of time.
"Help me… someone, please save me!" the woman shrieked, her voice so piercing it seemed as though the ceiling light was about to crash down.
Amora adjusted her collar tightly and thought to herself that if she didn't leave this cursed place soon, her fate would likely be no better than that woman's.
The old man seemed unable to process what he was seeing. He stood frozen at the door, at a complete loss for what to do.
"This is Death Radiation," Amora explained calmly as she approached him. "Every person has a different level of resistance to magic. It seems like her resistance is on the weaker side. But to be honest, with magic of this intensity, human resistance barely makes a difference. You should understand now why my materials are essential—"
Before Amora could finish, the old man glared at her furiously, cutting her off with his anger: "Do you have any humanity left? The priority should be saving her!"
With that, he rushed into the room, trying to bandage Hadi's wife's wounds with strips of cloth. However, her entire arm had already softened to the point of being unrecognizable. The moment he touched her, it collapsed like melting snow, turning into chunks of flesh and blood.
The woman's screams grew louder, her voice hoarse and deafening. Amora stood at the door, covering her ears.
The old man, clearly horrified by the sight, was visibly shaken. In his decades of life, he had never encountered anything as grotesque or terrifying as this.
In less than half a minute, the woman's screams ceased—she had died in agony. Her body clung to the bed, her insides completely destroyed. The skin swelled and thinned, revealing the slush-like substance flowing beneath. Before long, her remains could no longer be described as a "corpse" but rather as a "puddle" or "mess."
"All I need is a horse," Amora said, staring at the blood-soaked, nearly broken old man. "I can exchange it for magic-resistant materials—double the amount, enough for both you and your son."
The old man remained silent, his eyes dark and lifeless, his expression as heavy as the overcast sky outside, ready to erupt into a storm at any moment.
"Is this a threat?" the old man asked, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
Amora was taken aback. "No, you misunderstand. I'm negotiating with you. I truly need a horse or any means of transport."
The old man continued staring at Hadi's wife's remains, saying nothing.
Amora hesitated, lowering her gaze to her toes. Perhaps the deceased woman had been an important relative of his. It was understandable for him to feel upset. She thought of herself—Mengel was technically her relative, but his death wouldn't cause her much grief. Tashi, however, was also a relative, and if Tashi were to die, Amora believed she would cry.
"Um… if you really don't want to, then forget it."
Amora raised her head, forcing a smile, then looked back down at her toes. She wasn't very good at interacting with people, nor was she skilled at bargaining. But she realized that something in her earlier behavior had upset the old man. Although she wasn't sure what, she doubted she'd be able to get his help any longer.
"Here, this is for you." Amora pulled out the remaining magic-resistant material from her pocket. "Sew it inside your clothes, preferably at the joints. I hope it helps… and thank you so much for the food."
The old man didn't take it.
Amora grew even more confused. She held up the pig leg to show him. "I mean, thank you for giving me this."
The old man still ignored her, silently staring at the corpse in a daze. Amora waited for a while before deciding to leave. She placed the magic-resistant material in front of him, turned, and walked out of the clock tower, closing the door behind her.
Outside, the sky seemed darker than before. It was likely around noon, yet the dimness hinted at an incoming storm. A heavy rain was probably on its way.
Amora stood outside the clock tower, contemplating for a moment. She felt she needed to hurry back to the underground wine cellar to retrieve her essentials, then find a higher ground to stay on. However, after the rain, it would become much harder to find live livestock or an intact carriage. She was torn between searching for supplies first or returning to the cellar.
At that moment, another scream echoed from the distance, growing louder as it approached.
Amora looked up and first saw a bloodied hand, followed by a pale, terror-stricken face. The man was someone she had seen not long ago—Hadi. He was crawling from the south, his lower body already gone, leaving a dark red trail behind him. Using his hands and chin, he dragged himself toward the clock tower. But his upper body was quickly succumbing to energy corrosion as well. Amora watched as his fingers broke off, one by one, his jaw detached and fell to the ground, leaving only half of his face. His entire body was crumbling.
The door behind Amora burst open with a loud bang, and the old man's trembling voice called out, "Hadi…?"
Despite Hadi's disfigured face, blood ties ran deep. The old man recognized him immediately.
"I think so," Amora replied, nodding gravely. "It seems their magic resistance was quite low. Are they really your relatives? Magic resistance is hereditary, and I think—"
"My Hadi…" The old man let out a guttural howl, like a wounded beast.
He rushed forward, trying to lift his writhing, suffering son off the ground. But at the slightest touch, Hadi's body disintegrated and broke apart within moments. The old man froze, unable to move further, forced to watch helplessly as his son dissolved into a grotesque, liquefied state, just like the remains upstairs.
Hadi breathed his last.
The old man collapsed to his knees, seeming to age decades in an instant. His presence was now shadowed by death itself.
The sky grew darker, and Amora realized she couldn't afford to stand idly any longer—there was still so much she needed to do. She stepped toward the old man and said dryly, "I'll be leaving now. Uh, I'm very sorry for your loss."
The phrasing felt off. Amora paused, reconsidered, and corrected herself: "No, I mean, I deeply apologize."
After all, she was the one who had lured Hadi outside. If the man had stayed in the clock tower, he might have lived another two hours. Amora felt she bore some responsibility for those two hours of lost life and decided to apologize.
The old man, dazed and hollow, seemed not to hear a word she said.
Amora didn't know what else to say. She bowed politely to the kind but unfortunate old man, then turned to leave.
"Do you need a coachman?"
The old man's hoarse voice stopped her, sounding as if he had aged decades in mere moments.
Amora didn't immediately understand his meaning. "First, I'd need a horse," she replied.
"You'll have the horse. And the carriage. I can drive for you," the old man said. His towering frame stood over his son's remains, unmoving and calm, like still water. "There's nothing left here worth staying for. Let me accompany you on the road, miss."
It was the first time anyone other than Len had called Amora "miss."
She hesitated. Although the old man seemed kind, Amora wasn't sure she could trust someone she had just met—especially someone who had just experienced such devastating losses. People could change drastically after enduring such grief, potentially becoming someone unrecognizable. Even Mengel, as wretched as he was, hadn't been born that way.
"I… I'm sorry…" Amora began, trying to decline.
The old man realized how their roles had completely reversed. He said firmly, "A contract—a Magician's Contract! I can become your servant."
"I'm not a magician," Amora replied calmly.
Without military recognition, practicing magic was illegal and punishable by severe penalties if discovered. Moreover, magic was categorized by type and level. Even magicians certified by the Magician's Guild could only use limited civilian magic. Only those integrated into the military system could access military-grade magic—and even then, only with authorization could they use lethal magical techniques.
Amora had never been formally certified as a magician. Even her magic system was an independent creation without any official military approval.
Legally speaking, she wasn't a magician.
The old man, however, assumed her knowledge of magical theory meant she was certified and capable of recruiting servants.
A brief silence followed. Finally, Amora said, "I think I should be going."
"Wait, your horse!" The old man turned back to the clock tower and led out a large, coal-black horse.
The horse bore a striking resemblance to its owner—aged yet sturdy, with a lush coat and a fiery temperament. It shifted uneasily at the door, stamping its hooves in agitation.
The old man handed the reins to Amora and said, "Wait a moment, I'll bring the carriage from behind the clock tower."
Amora thought he misunderstood her, so she declined to take the reins. "I can't take you with me," she said.
"Then at least take the horse," the old man replied, firmly placing the reins in her hand before turning and running to the back of the clock tower, leaving Amora and the old horse staring at each other.
After a while, Amora saw him pulling out an old, large carriage from behind the clock tower. Veins bulged on his forehead, and sweat trickled down his beard, but he moved surprisingly fast. Not only was he tall and sturdy, but his strength far exceeded that of most young men. Without a word, he brought the carriage to the old horse, carefully hitched it, and even thoughtfully prepared a small step ladder to help Amora climb aboard.
"You could just take the carriage and leave on your own," Amora said, watching the old man busily working. She didn't understand. "I already gave you some magic-resistant material. It should protect you from the radiation for a while."
"There are blankets and a stove in the carriage. You can sleep in there at night," the old man said as he took the magic-resistant material Amora had given him and placed it under the old horse's saddle. "Give it to him. I hope he doesn't end up like… like Hardy. He's the last family I have."
Amora was stunned again by the old man's actions. "It's just a horse. Besides, some animals have better resistance to magic than humans. If they mutate and can be controlled, they might even—"
"Take good care of him," the old man interrupted, wiping his face. With his thick beard, Amora couldn't discern his expression.
He took a deep breath, and with a solemn and serious tone, he said, "Please, take good care of my old companion. Even if he's just a horse."
"…Oh," Amora replied, tugging on the reins. The black horse suddenly snorted loudly, startling her.
Amora led the horse, and the horse pulled the carriage. As they moved, the horse kept looking back at the old man standing at the door of the clock tower. They walked a few steps, paused, then repeated the cycle. Finally, after walking about ten meters away, Amora turned around.
"I think I might really need a coachman," she said, looking back at the old man alongside the black horse. "What do you think?"
The old man's hand trembled slightly as he held onto the doorframe. Straightening his back, he replied in a strong, clear voice, "It would be my honor."