Chapter 9 : Chapter 9
Chapter 9: Even a Game Name Counts as a Real Name
Iris.
Just like the name Keltir Alliance, no player from La Rochelle could possibly be unfamiliar with the name Iris.
Ever since launch, La Rochelle had walked a road of resistance. From 1440 to 1453, the long thirteen-year war had begun with the invasion of dark creatures led by the undead.
But if it had only been an invasion from foreign enemies, then even if La Rochelle’s military strength had been lacking, it would never have suffered defeat so catastrophically. La Rochelle’s territory was vast. It had more than enough room to fall back and regroup.
In the end, it was internal turmoil that had deepened La Rochelle’s fragmentation.
And the one who guided that internal strife was the organization known as Free Iris, whose leader was the witch now standing before Cyril—
Iris.
Cyril rubbed his face with both hands, barely resisting the urge to pinch himself hard just to make sure he was not dreaming.
Being reborn beside a major boss was one thing.
But how had he barely gone a short distance, only to run into yet another boss?
Should he call himself lucky or unlucky?
Perhaps “Schrödinger’s lucky one” suited him best.
“What are you spacing out for?”
Cyril hurriedly lifted his head. The repeated shocks had pushed even his top-tier Rogue mentality to its limits, and for a moment he had actually lost focus.
“Did you hear what I just said?” Iris said in displeasure.
With one hand, she supported the back of Caroline’s head so that the girl could lie in her lap in a comfortable position. In her other hand, she held a tiny medicine bottle, carefully feeding a little of the liquid into Caroline’s mouth. A fresh fragrance spread through the room at once.
Cyril inhaled sharply and looked at Iris with a trace of surprise.
“Moonreturn Dew?”
“You know it?” Iris looked at him in surprise. Even through the mask, Cyril had the distinct feeling that all the layers of clothing on his body had vanished in that instant, and that even the rhythm of his heartbeat had been laid bare before her.
Only then did he realize that he had probably displayed too much knowledge. Moonreturn Dew was a precious medicinal ingredient used for healing. In terms the game would use, it “restored a large amount of Health and removed abnormal statuses.”
“You may have forgotten that I’m a half-elf. Knowledge like this may be difficult for others to obtain, but for me...”
The suffocating pressure abruptly vanished.
Iris lowered her head again. Her slender, pale fingers sank into Caroline’s messy hair and idly combed through it, as though she were petting a lazy cat.
“Since you know what Moonreturn Dew is, then I won’t repeat myself,” Iris said. “It would be best to let her rest here for a few days. Little girls with bodies this weak shouldn’t be traveling.”
Cyril hesitated for a moment, then finally said, “Thank you.”
He knew almost nothing about this witch who would one day plunge La Rochelle into repeated internal unrest. Although Iris’s name was known all across the kingdom, she herself had rarely appeared in the players’ sight.
As a result, he had no way of guessing what kind of temperament she truly had, nor what her real attitude toward La Rochelle might be.
Thinking of that, Cyril suddenly realized how pitifully little the game had ever revealed about Iris herself. For instance, until now he had not even known what color her hair was.
He glanced up.
The room was brightly lit. As Iris lowered her head and ran her fingers through Caroline’s hair, her smooth, pale-violet hair spilled behind her with a beautiful sheen.
From Cyril’s angle, he could also see the part of her neck that her robe did not quite conceal—slender and pale.
If she took off that mask, Iris was probably beautiful as well.
And perhaps not very old, either.
Cyril found it hard to imagine what could have driven a witch like her onto the path of stirring civil war across an entire kingdom. It could not possibly have been something as simple as the peculiar wicked humor that witches were said to share.
“Half-elf, it seems you’re trying to guess what I’m thinking.”
Cyril’s whole body went rigid. Only then did he realize that Iris had already turned her face back toward him. He quickly shook his head.
“No. I was just wondering when we would be able to leave this place.”
“You’re afraid of Sandru? A Lich is certainly troublesome, but Sandru has only just been born. The two outside won’t be able to destroy him completely, but they can drive him away. This place is safe.”
Yet instead of feeling at ease from her reassuring words, Cyril looked at her with a faintly strange expression.
“My lady...”
“Just call me Iris.”
“Lady Iris, do you mean to say you don’t know the undead have already crossed the Maitland Mountains and launched an attack on La Rochelle’s border?” Cyril let sorrow show across his face. “She and I both escaped from Tarp. I don’t know whether the undead might catch up to us...”
He did his utmost to play the part of an anxious young soldier protecting his sister. What he had not expected, however, was for Iris’s movements to stiffen abruptly. She immediately rose to her feet.
“The undead have already attacked La Rochelle?!”
Now it was Cyril’s turn to be startled.
“You really didn’t know?”
“How could I possibly know... so that’s it. No wonder your sword is broken.” Iris stamped her foot in anger. “Those piles of bones... I should never have tried negotiating with them in the first place...”
Cyril frowned, sharply aware of how terrifying the information hidden in her words was. But Iris caught herself in time and instead said to him,
“Enough. If that’s the case, then take your sister and leave at once. Go through the Pineleaf Forest, and you can reach the Northwind Tower. That place is safe.”
“But be careful. The Pineleaf Forest is anything but peaceful right now. Late winter and early spring are when sleeping magical beasts begin to wake. A second-rate knight like you...”
Cyril stepped forward, lifted Caroline into his arms—she had long since fallen asleep after being petted by Iris for so long—and frowned.
“And you...?”
“Half-elf, what we do is none of your concern,” Iris said sharply. “And I do not want anyone else learning what you saw here.”
Cyril nodded. He had no intention whatsoever of defying a witch over something like that.
But he still could not help asking, “But Sandru...”
“I’ll deal with him myself. If the undead refuse to follow the rules, then they ought to pay a price.”
As Iris spoke, she opened the door and was about to leave, but suddenly stopped in her tracks.
“Half-elf, I want your name. Don’t play tricks with me. Your real name.”
Cyril’s face stiffened. One hand rested over Caroline’s face, as though he were merely feeling her temperature, and in an obedient voice he replied,
“Smokefield Gold.”
“Smokefield Gold?” Iris repeated the name with a slight frown, as though puzzled. Cyril thought he saw a flash of light on her hand, but it vanished just as quickly. She did not pursue the matter any further. She simply stepped outside and left behind a single sentence:
“Wait five minutes before coming out.”
Only when the sound of the door closing finally reached him did Cyril let out a long breath. He moved his hand away from Caroline’s mouth. The girl was sleeping soundly, apparently in the middle of a pleasant dream, because she had even licked his palm once. He had been on guard for nothing.
The methods witches employed were endlessly strange. There was no telling what they might have used to determine whether his words were true. He had not wanted to say his real name.
But he could only speak a real name.
And what Cyril had said was, of course, a real name.
Who said a game name did not count as a real name?
Granted, it had been translated from Chinese into English, but it still counted as a real name... probably.