Chapter 8. Change

Crossing beech forests, vast plains, and frozen rivers, they passed through two small villages. During their last night camping, rain poured down, accompanied by hailstones the size of fingernails that rattled noisily against the tent.

Despite her clear exhaustion, Myrda followed without a single complaint. Not once did she suggest taking an earlier rest.

As for Nexiard, it was his first time carrying a living person—not just a corpse or cargo—on horseback. He carefully monitored her condition. If her posture sagged or she began to cough uncontrollably, he immediately reined in the horse. Each time, she broke out in a cold sweat but still managed to say.

“Thank you.”

On the morning of the sixth day after leaving the cabin, they finally arrived in the city. Unlike the small villages they had passed, the city streets carried the scent of wealth. The people wore clean, elegant clothing.

“This place definitely attracts money,” Myrda murmured in quiet awe, glancing around. She toyed with the tassels of her crimson scarf, her hands cracked and rough from the cold. Nexiard’s gaze lingered on her chapped and reddened hands.

“The priority will be finding a cheap inn, and—ah!”

A hurried passerby bumped into her shoulder. The man turned back with an exaggerated glare, his eyes scanning Myrda from head to toe. His scornful expression deepened as he brushed dust from his shoulder.

“Ugh, what bad luck.”

His gaze screamed disdain, treating her like a vagrant. Myrda’s face flushed red—was it embarrassment? Shame? Nexiard immediately grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck. The passerby let out a choked sound, dragged back like a straw-stuffed doll.

“W-what’s going on?!”

“…”

“W-what did I do wrong?”

As Nexiard’s imposing shadow loomed over him, the man instinctively adopted a servile expression. Even another man would find Nexiard’s dangerous aura suffocating—he looked capable of snapping a wrist like a pencil.

“Apologize.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Nexiard didn’t need to repeat himself. The man, quick on the uptake, bent at the waist in an exaggerated bow toward Myrda.

“I-I’m so sorry!”

He then bolted like a peacock with its tail on fire.

Nexiard was unsatisfied. He should’ve made the man promise to watch where he walked in the future.

“Um, Nexiard.”

Myrda said, tugging at his sleeve. Her face was even redder than before. Why? It must be because the apology had been inadequate.

“I’ll go fetch him again.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“…?”

“This just makes us stand out.”

Finally, he noticed their surroundings. The sight of a hulking, beast-like man and a frail beauty was enough to draw attention. Adding Nexiard’s commotion to the mix, both young and old bystanders were now staring at them, whispering amongst themselves. Lowering her voice, Myrda murmured,

“Sorry. If the guards start questioning us, it’ll be trouble…”

“Understood.”

Nexiard replied simply. If it was a problem for her, it was a problem for him too.

After a moment of silence, Myrda suggested finding an inn to stay at.

“Our budget isn’t great, so bear with me.”

She said, her tone purposefully cheerful as she shook her now-thin coin pouch. Nexiard, in turn, said he would head to the market to buy food. She handed him a silver coin.

“Let’s meet at the clock tower in an hour!”

With that, she adjusted her robe and disappeared into the crowd. Nexiard stared at the coin in his palm, tracing its sharp edges and the faint warmth lingering on its surface, as if her touch still lingered there.

* * *

However, Nexiard did not go to the market. His first destination was the public office managing the dimensional gates.

Dimensional gates were magical portals that allowed for rapid travel across vast distances. They were invented 500 years ago by Galreia, the founder and great magician of the Ying Empire. Originally, only members of the imperial family could access these gates.

After the fall of the Ying Empire, the once-exclusive gates became available to a broader range of people over time. Those who obtained royal authorization and had a magical sigil inscribed on their bodies could use the gates. Of course, the process for authorization was infamously complicated and strict.

As the gate creaked open, the rusty sound of the ancient machinery echoed. Behind the counter, an elderly man, half-asleep by a small fireplace, craned his neck like a wrinkled turtle. His straw-like beard stiffened in the cold wind.

“Welcome,” he said.

The man, dressed in black from head to toe like a raven, strode into the room with precise, measured steps.

The old gatekeeper, with years of experience, could size up his customers at a glance. The dimensional gates were primarily used by noble lords embarking on long journeys, merchants, or occasionally high-ranking military personnel. He was willing to bet what little remained of his life that this man was a soldier.

Nexiard spoke.

“I’m here to apply for permission to use the dimensional gate.”

“Eh… Your name?”

“Nexiard Yul.”

The old man pulled a box from beneath the counter. It was square, with holes for inserting hands, and housed a verification stone. Nexiard, with disciplined precision, placed his hand inside the box.

The surface of the verification stone was etched with a magical sigil. As soon as his hand entered, the grooves filled with a pomegranate-red glow, reminiscent of molten metal pooling in a forge.

“Hoho, verified. How many days shall I set the date for?”

There was no need for hesitation. Nexiard needed to report back to the capital as soon as possible to confirm the completion of his mission. As a top-secret operation, even sending a telegram was out of the question.

So why did ‘that woman’ suddenly cross his mind?

Though she was his savior, Nexiard had no obligation to escort her to the capital. And yet… he shook his head as if to clear away the distracting thought.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“That’s too soon. Approval won’t come through so quickly. At the very least, you’ll need to wait two days…”

“It will be approved. And I need a loan.”

Dimensional gate offices also served as lenders, offering small loans to verified individuals with state-backed identities and statuses. The interest rates were steep compared to regular banks, but for people of high rank, such things were minor inconveniences.

“Understood. How much do you need?”

“All of it.”

“Pardon?”

Nexiard fidgeted with the silver coin in his pocket and clarified.

“All the gold you currently have.”

* * *

After completing his personal errand, Nexiard ventured into the bustling marketplace, where the city’s rumors flowed like an unceasing tide.

“…She’s as wicked as they say. Killed all the guards and escaped, can you believe it?”

“Well, she got what she deserved in the end, didn’t she? Just thinking about that demon of a woman roaming around gives me chills!”

Women nursing their babies were the primary source of these rumors, their voices carrying the scandal. Even beggars pretending to be indifferent pricked up their ears.

“General Neumonte is truly remarkable. He’s the one who uncovered her vile schemes, after all.”

“Imagine how heartbroken he must’ve been, trusting a woman like that.”

Yet none of it reached Nexiard. The chatter about Mine Molière, the infamous villainess, was buried beneath the noise of clapping merchants, haggling voices, children’s laughter, and barking dogs.

Nexiard moved methodically through the stalls, carefully selecting food. While the limitation of a single silver coin was no longer an issue, that didn’t make choosing dinner any easier. Having survived on nutrition bars provided by the facility, “shopping” was an exceptionally challenging task for him.

“Here we go! Winter strawberries! Sweet and not a hint of tartness!”

This was one such challenge. Nexiard knew what “strawberries” were in theory but had no idea what they actually tasted like. They certainly looked tempting.

“Here! Try one! Once you taste it, you won’t be able to resist buying!”

The merchant was experienced, clearly sensing Nexiard’s hesitation. With practiced ease, he popped a plump, brightly colored strawberry into Nexiard’s mouth.

“…”

“Well? Isn’t it delicious? Sweet, right?”

“…One basket, please.”

After circling the marketplace in this manner, Nexiard’s hands were full. Merchants, having quickly pegged him as an easy target, competed to coax him into buying their goods, leaving him mentally drained. Laden with an almost-bursting shopping bag, Nexiard was on his way to the clock tower when a soft, delicate voice stopped him.

“…Please buy this. It’s good for stretch marks. Smells like roses, too…”

A girl, perhaps no older than fourteen, was selling something alongside flowers—a flat, round glass jar. When Nexiard approached, she shrank back nervously.

“Can you use it on your hands?” he asked.

“Y-yes. It’s good for dry skin after washing clothes in icy water… I crushed rose petals into it for the scent…”

The girl stood on tiptoes, opening the jar as if to let him catch the fragrance. Nexiard knelt slightly to meet her effort. The rose scent wasn’t as strong as he expected, but he purchased the jar regardless. He also bought all the remaining flowers.

“T-thank you, sir!”

He tucked the jar into his pocket and awkwardly cradled the bouquets under his arm.

Soon, he spotted Myrda standing beneath the clock tower. She was scraping the dirt with the toe of her shoe, looking bored. After a moment, she raised her head and noticed him. A smile bloomed on her face—useless, yet harmless.

“Did you buy all that?”

“…”

“You couldn’t have had enough money.”

Nexiard pulled out the silver coin he had carefully saved.

“Your change.”

“Huh?”

Then, as Myrda stared at him in confusion, he asked:

“Do you like winter strawberries?”