Chapter 11: Blood Dripped Down Drop by Drop; Many of Alana’s Wounds Split Open Again as She Walked

Blood dripped down in a slow patter; Alana carried many wounds that had split open again from the walking.

The cold wind cut through to the bone, but a grand knight’s conditioning meant that even after ten-odd days of relentless pursuit, Alana still had strength left to spare. She paid no mind to the wound on her abdomen that was still seeping blood, one hand gently holding Wusu’s.

(Originally it was Wusu doing the hand-holding, but given the height difference, it looked far more like Alana leading him.)

Her other hand gripped the blade of light tightly.

The blade of light was the longsword Count Wolfe had bestowed on Alana at her investiture; it carried the blessing of “every strike strikes true,” and that was what had let her break free of so many enemies’ encirclement.

Holding Alana’s hand, Wusu quietly forded along the riverbank, ambling at his own pace until they stood before the Adventurers’ Guild.

The Yellow Mushroom House had no guest rooms; the Red Mushroom House was the adventurers’ dwelling, with a small residential building attached behind the main hall.

Subjects, huh.

Wusu pressed his lips together.

Small as he was, he was pondering something earnestly.

Alana had never imagined that the terrifying pitch-black forest would also hold magnificent, broken ruins, steeped in the desolate air of obvious prehistoric remains. Yet in the midst of this wasteland stood the singular Adventurers’ Guild, along with two buildings that looked warm and comfortable… As a count’s daughter, Alana’s wariness leapt.

None of this made any sense.

“Who are you?”

Alana asked softly.

“Wusu.” Wusu pointed at himself.

Alana looked down at the little white-robed figure whose head barely reached her chest; those pitch-black eyes were limpid and clean, and even she couldn’t help a soft sigh.

What did wariness matter?

Wusu had saved her.

Alana stepped back, her right fist striking heavily against her chest, a resolute look surfacing on her face. The pale purple dress clung close, yet could not conceal the grand knight’s radiance in the slightest.

“I am Alana Wolfe. In the name of The Lord, you shall have my respect and my protection.”

Wusu’s fingers weakly moved to steady Alana, a strength that was not heavy, and nowhere near enough to support a grand knight.

He didn’t want Alana to bow.

As if stirred by his wish, green vines seemed to wind about Alana’s arms; the plants rooted deep beneath the soil held up her bowing frame.

“Come.” Wusu pressed his lips together. “You are hurt.”

Alana’s eyes rimmed faintly red; the corners of her mouth trembled twice, twisting into a not-very-gentle smile.

“All right.”

Watching Wusu and the bloodstained purple-dressed knight disappear into the Adventurers’ Guild, Mina roared in the party channel: “A new NPC has appeared.”

Then she shut it off, ignoring the flood of chatter from her teammates.

She sprawled lazily in her chair, watching the Adventurers’ Guild across the way; the dwarven bombshell licked her lips, a trace of confusion showing on her gorgeous face.

It was the same confusion shared by many of the players in this game.

This game was simply too real.

She pinched a tree fruit. The Otherworld Company had been running this game for three full years, yet she had never once heard of a second company whose NPCs were this interactive… and that stiff, sluggish, mechanical feel? She had never encountered it even once.

Mina crushed the fruit and licked the scarlet juice; the dripping red traces looked exactly like the color of blood.

The sweet flavor bloomed across her taste buds, no different from reality.

So real it bred dread.

The last healing scroll in Wusu’s private stash finally came in handy.

Most of Alana’s wounds had been left from her clash with Viscount Weir’s hired knights; those on her feet and arms were mostly scrapes from crossing the forest. After the milky-white glow of that little roll of paper worked over her, the grand knight could even feel vitality stirring back to life within her body.

Healing scrolls were things that had vanished from history long ago.

Legend held that once upon a time, healing scrolls were commonplace objects taken for granted.

No one knew when it began, but the healing arts could no longer be bound into scrolls; all divine arts had to be cast in person to take effect, and that shook a populace long accustomed to the convenience of every kind of scroll.

But this was no emergency confined to the Rosa Kingdom; it spanned the entire world. And knights and heroes nowadays were more accustomed to all sorts of alchemical potions serving as supplies.

Still, that was not quite the same as divine arts, which nurtured all things naturally.

“Thank you for your help.”

Alana and Wusu were both sitting behind the counter; Wusu listened to her words, pressing his lips together and swinging his short little feet.

Alana stared at Wusu, a little entranced. As Count Wolfe’s eldest daughter, she possessed a grand knight’s caliber, and in society she was widely praised besides.

Those rosewater-sweet compliments had never been far from Alana since the day she was born. She disliked that soft, opulent social world and yearned for blood-boiling battlefields, yet even she had to admit that human nature loved to be praised.

She had never answered them, but Alana did enjoy such lavish praise.

But today…

Wusu.

Even when he smiled, he was quiet, soundless.

And it, too, was beauty at its very height.

Alana reached out without thinking, gently stroking Wusu’s hair, her deep blue eyes curving faintly, like a tender smile.

She wasn’t used to smiling.

Alana stood far taller than Wusu; bending to stroke his hair, her posture neared the dip of an almost-kiss.

[Wusu has received his first Subject. The Gloomy Forest has been marked as your domain…]

A semi-transparent window lit up before Wusu.

Bang!

As if a riot had broken out, the sentence shattered like broken light before it could finish displaying; scattered into fragments, the whole line vanished.

[Oh dear…]

After a flurry of flickers, the silent words, barely two characters old, were torn apart, chewed up, and erased; even this line was swallowed whole, none of its former teasing ease remaining.

This was timidity. This was prostration.

As if before something that must not be looked upon directly.

[Temple Awakening Progress: 5]