Chapter 163 New Life (2)
Ten minutes had drifted by since the shard of the cursed crystal pierced Fitran's skin, ten long minutes during which time seemed to hold its breath, freezing the world in anticipation of a timid sorceress tending to his wounds. Her touch, while gentle as a royal healer's—a healer who might have graduated with near-perfect marks—was imbued with the wild spirit of a cat that only found solace in the presence of one person.
"Be quiet. Don't move," she commanded softly, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them. Rinoa sat cross-legged on the frigid floor, her delicate hands skillfully wrapping Fitran's head in a glowing bandage. This bandage, woven from enchanted threads and the elusive cursed betel leaves, radiated a warm, soft light that enveloped them in a mystical aura. One might ponder the origins of such peculiar betel leaves; this world was rife with mysteries, and Rinoa was its most curious source.
"Why are you so neat?" Fitran murmured, his voice barely breaking the silence, curiosity threading through his soft tone.
"Because a bad bandage can open a portal to the fifth dimension," Rinoa replied without even blinking, her gaze sharp and confident, as if her words were etched in stone. "Besides, if you die from infection... who will help me find the heart of the Ancient Golem?"
Fitran let out a small, startled laugh, caught in the delicate balance between fear and amusement. He found himself pondering which scenario was more daunting: the potential for infection looming like a shadow above him or the way Rinoa spoke of the heart of the Ancient Golem as casually as one might discuss a flower blooming in a sunlit meadow.
Fitran had long understood the true nature hidden beneath Rinoa's enigmatic facade. Behind the icy aura and piercing gaze—sharp enough to silence even the most ferocious dragon—lay a woman of softness, possessing gentle hands and a heart that could harbor no true hatred, save for one: a fierce loathing for flies. Flies were her only nemesis.
Then, as if propelled by an exhilaration he couldn't fully grasp (perhaps it was simply the blood rushing to his head), Fitran carefully took Rinoa's hand in his own. The warmth radiated from her palm, merging with the pulsing magical energy that danced between them, creating an undeniable connection.
"I want you to come with me to find the heart of the Ancient Golem," Fitran declared, his voice a soft but resolute whisper, each word selected with meticulous thought.
This time, his gaze was unwavering and serious, completely stripped of jest. Within the depths of his eyes, there resided no room for deceit—just a reflection of Rinoa's face, shimmering like the surface of a pristine pond nestled in a forgotten forest, evoking curiosity and shrouded in mystery.
Rinoa fell into a contemplative silence, caught in this fragile moment. Her hand lingered in Fitran's grasp, yet her thoughts soared far beyond the physical realm, drifting to realms beyond reach. Perhaps they soared to Gamma—a vibrant land brimming with ceaseless activity and adventure. Or maybe her mind wandered back to a time when she had believed wholeheartedly that every knight was a valiant protector. But now? Now she found herself clasping hands with a man once dubbed "The Left Hand of the Eraser of Nations."
"Alright," she finally replied, her voice trembling softly. As she meticulously arranged her medical tools into a small, reinforced box—enchanted to hold everything, even the emotions she often hesitated to express—an air of tension enveloped them.