Amora fell asleep amid her pain, undisturbed by the nightmares that had haunted her for over a decade. She drifted into a deep, tranquil slumber.
"Wake up! Wake up!" Old Bart's loud voice came from the carriage door. "We're at the river!"
Amora opened her eyes, and her first instinct was to check the Divine Realm within her consciousness. It was running serenely, its radiance filling every corner. The words on the magic construct platform had shifted—from "May everything be under your control" and "Everything is within your control" to "Your brilliance shall endure forever." Looking at these flattering phrases, Amora felt like she was being treated as a goddess—or rather, that the Divine Realm's default user was assumed to be one.
The gentle voice of the Divine Realm echoed in her mind, sounding distant, like falling fragments of light from the heavens:
"The morning has come. The Divine Realm is operating smoothly. Consciousness space detected, expansion level 0.43."
"…What is 'expansion level'?" Amora raised a hand to rub her eyes, but a strong smell of medicine stopped her. She noticed that the burns on her hands had been treated.
"May you embrace the beauty of a new day," the Divine Realm replied, evading her question.
"Wake up!!" Old Bart's voice rose an octave, shaking the entire carriage.
"I'm awake…" Amora attempted to move, only to realize that her injuries had been secured and bandaged. "I'm already awake."
"I thought you were dead!" Old Bart's voice sounded full of vitality, as though the events of the previous night hadn't fazed him. "We're crossing the river, and if you didn't wake up, I was going to throw you and the cart into it!"
Something felt off to Amora. "Throw away the cart?"
"Yep!" Old Bart replied cheerfully. "We've run into someone. He's got a boat, but it won't hold the cart."
Amora sniffed at the salve on her hands. It smelled of Hundred-Eye Flowers mixed with disinfectant alcohol—clearly not improvised. Since Old Bart hadn't carried any medicine, the salve could only have come from the stranger. Encountering another survivor in this area was possible, but Amora wasn't ready to reenter society, let alone fabricate a believable backstory to share with Old Bart.
"No, I don't mean that. If it's necessary, you can take the cart too," said a stranger's voice.
A man, likely in his thirties or forties, spoke with a heavy nasal tone but clear articulation. His choice of words was peculiar—not something a commoner would use, more akin to the phrasing found in courtly speeches or ceremonial toasts. Despite his politeness, there was a subtle sense of distance in his tone, even a hint of coldness.
"Just the horse and the girl will do. Bringing the cart would trouble you too much!" Old Bart politely declined the stranger's offer, then opened the carriage door and called to Amora, "Want me to carry you out?"
"…Cough, cough." Amora coughed a few times and, right on cue, spat out a mouthful of blood.
She saw Old Bart dressed in a thick leather coat, meticulously stitched, with large patches of anti-magic material visible on the lapels. Standing a short distance behind him was a blond-haired, blue-eyed middle-aged man. He wore a white shirt and a black suit, topped with a thick anti-magic cloak. It was this man who had spoken just now. He appeared well-mannered, maintaining a gentle smile.
"This young lady seems to have other injuries, doesn't she?" the stranger asked as he stepped forward slightly.
It appeared Old Bart had only mentioned the burns and asked for medicine, omitting the rest of her condition. He didn't fully trust this seemingly kind stranger yet. After all, the only survivor they'd encountered before was the one who tried to kill Amora the previous night. If this man was somehow connected to him, it could spell trouble.
"Cough, cough… cough!" Amora began coughing harder, lifting her sleeve to wipe her mouth.
Old Bart hesitated briefly before responding, "Oh, she got hurt when a building collapsed. It didn't seem too serious at the time, but…"
"Am I dying?" Amora asked faintly, her damp green eyes fixed on Old Bart.
Old Bart took a step back, visibly unsettled. "…I don't think so?"
"This young lady requires medical attention immediately; her condition looks severe," the stranger said, glancing briefly at Amora before respectfully averting his eyes before it could feel intrusive. "Fractures, internal bleeding, combined with external wound infections—if left untreated, it could indeed be fatal."
This man had sharp observation skills and some medical knowledge. Amora quickly made her first assessment.
"Help me…" she whispered tearfully, directing her gaze at the stranger.
The man met her eyes warmly. Amora noticed that, aside from the slight upward curve of his lips, his face betrayed no expression. Beneath that faint smile, his countenance was so cold it was almost terrifying, yet the overall impression remained strangely reassuring.
"I am also awaiting rescue myself," the man said in a regretful tone.
Amora didn't respond further. Old Bart attempted to lift her but stopped when she winced in pain, fearing he might worsen her injuries.
Uneasy, Old Bart turned to the stranger. "Sir…"
"It's alright. The boat can accommodate the carriage; I only worried it might inconvenience you," the man said, as though anticipating Old Bart's concerns. "There's a doctor onboard. Don't worry; the boat will arrive soon."
"Thank you… Oh, I don't think I caught your name."
Amora tentatively asked, sensing that this man's demeanor and actions were far removed from anything resembling "commonfolk." He might very well be a high-ranking noble from the area. From his words, it seemed he was also trapped on the irradiated left bank of the canal but had managed to arrange for a rescue boat. For him, saving Amora and Old Bart seemed like a mere act of convenience, a casual favor.
"Connorivis. And you, little angel?"
His tone was friendly, and Amora suppressed her discomfort at being called "little angel" and forced a polite smile. "Ann. Just call me Ann."
In truth, even Old Bart didn't know Amora's real name. During their brief time together, neither had thought to introduce themselves properly. "Ann" was an exceedingly common name, so much so that in the Imperial capital, a falling brick might easily hit half a dozen girls named Ann. But "Connorivis" was an entirely different matter. Not only was the pronunciation peculiar, but the name's meaning also made Amora instinctively wary.
Connorivis—the Horn of the Goddess of Dawn, a symbol of sovereignty.
Old Bart, unfamiliar with the cryptic undertones often exchanged among magic users, found the name difficult to pronounce. "Connor… uh… sir, just call me Bart!"
Connorivis nodded, pulling a modest pocket watch from his coat. He glanced at it briefly. "The boat is running a bit late. We can rest while we wait."
Old Bart was already exhausted. Barely half a day ago, he'd been in a fight for his life, and without a moment's rest, he'd driven the cart for over a hundred kilometers. The fact that he was still standing was miraculous. Amora, meanwhile, worried that this self-proclaimed "symbol of sovereignty" might try to pry information out of them, so she feigned physical weakness and "fainted" again.
"Are you from Grand County? How are things over there?" Connorivis asked, his tone laced with genuine concern for the disaster.
Old Bart slumped onto the ground, dejected. "Terrible. We haven't seen a single living soul along the way!"
Technically, they had seen one, but that person was no longer among the living.
Connorivis frowned. "Along the way from where?"
"From Kampel to here," Old Bart replied earnestly. "Honestly, not even a live rat, let alone a person."
Connorivis' brow furrowed deeper. "You say you came from Kampel?"
Old Bart didn't understand why Connorivis suddenly brought this up. After all, Kampel was such a remote and inconsequential city. He nodded. "Yeah, that's right!"
"You may not know this, but Kampel City is the epicenter of the Death Ray incident," Connorivis remarked, his expression tinged with curiosity. "And yet you managed to escape from the most dangerous uninhabited zone… unscathed?"
"Unscathed?" Old Bart angrily pointed at the cart. "She's on the brink of death!"
Amora listened with her eyes closed, feeling like the old man had just jinxed her.
"That's just ordinary injuries," Connorivis replied calmly, addressing Old Bart. "What's truly remarkable is that you've suffered virtually no magical damage. How did you manage that?"
"We didn't do anything special. We just ran out of there," Old Bart said, his opinion of Connorivis slightly souring. This man seemed overly fixated on the idea that they shouldn't be healthy—that only missing limbs or grievous injuries would make sense.
Old Bart's blunt response allowed Amora to breathe a sigh of relief. If he had mentioned that they had relied on the anti-magic materials she provided, she would have been forced to explain their mysterious origin and her unusually deep understanding of magical theory. Right now, Amora wasn't even ready to concoct a tragic backstory to integrate herself into society.
"You are incredibly fortunate…" Connorivis murmured thoughtfully. "By the way, did you happen to see any large airborne structures?"
Old Bart had gone to bed early the previous night, so he hadn't seen the Sky Fortress as it approached. By the time he woke up the next day, it had already vanished. He thought for a moment before replying, "Haven't seen any. Why?"
"There were sightings of a Sky Fortress over in Flynn County," Connorivis said with a smile, "but the sheriff dismissed it as just a cloud shaped like a fortress. Discussions about it have been banned due to the panic these rumors were causing, which was severely disrupting public order."
Amora grew increasingly wary. Although this man was trapped on the left bank of the canal, he was clearly well-connected to various parts of the Empire. He likely had access to magical communication systems and had been using them to request rescue and gather external information.