Chapter 157. Who Looks After You? (That’s A Good Question)
The towering stone walls of the city loomed ahead, the torchlight from the battlements casting long, flickering shadows across the cobblestone road. The adrenaline that had fueled their chaotic victory had finally ebbed, leaving behind a pleasant, bone-deep ache and the comforting weight of shared triumph.
As they reached the massive iron-reinforced gates, the group naturally began to splinter off toward their respective quarters.
"I’m telling you, Lia, the chicken bone was a fluke!" Kaela shouted, throwing her hands up dramatically as they approached the dormitory path. "The skillet strike was a calculated, deliberate application of blunt force trauma with a cookware-based weapon system!"
Lia didn’t even turn her head, her stride precise and measured. "The bone strike involved precise trajectory calculation, wind resistance compensation, and a critical hit on a vulnerable joint."
"Your skillet swing was nothing more than uncontrolled flailing that happened to connect with a ribcage... The statistical probability of your success was significantly lower."
"Flailing?! I’ll show you flailing with this pan right now!" Kaela threatened, though the grin splitting her face betrayed her amusement.
"Please don’t," Lia sighed. "I am not in the mood to explain to the dormitory warden why my roommate is attempting to tenderize me with kitchenware."
A few paces behind them, Ellie and Clara were walking in a more subdued rhythm. Ellie was still occasionally glancing over her shoulder, as if expecting another bandit to leap from the shadows with a spoon, while Clara was already halfway through a new page in her journal.
"Do you think they’ll ask about the bloodstains?" Ellie asked quietly, tugging at her sleeve. "I feel like I’m going to be scrubbing this tunic for a week."
"The stains are merely physical evidence of a successful engagement," Clara replied without looking up from her quill. "Though I should note for future reference that holy light leaves a particular scorched residue on linen that is quite difficult to remove."
The group came to a temporary halt at the crossroads where their paths diverged. The playful bickering died down as they all turned toward William and Catherine.
Kaela was the first to break the silence. She stepped forward, her usual bravado softening into something genuine.
"Hey, Instructor Wade...? Thanks. For... you know, teaching us how to not die. Even if we did end up using dessert as a weapon."
"Yeah," Ellie added, offering a small, tired smile. "Thanks for bringing us there."
"We probably would’ve been in real trouble without your guidance."
Lia gave a stiff, formal bow. "Your instruction provided the foundational confidence necessary for our improvisational adaptation. Thank you, Instructor Wade."
Even Clara looked up from her journal, her amber eyes meeting his with uncharacteristic warmth. "Your presence ensured our tactical cohesion. I am grateful."
Olivia, who had been standing silently in the periphery like a shadow given form, stepped forward. She didn’t say much; she rarely did, but she placed a hand briefly on William’s arm before offering a single, respectful nod.
"Thank you."
William stood there for a moment, stunned into silence. He looked at these young women, these students he had worried over, corrected, and lectured; and saw not just pupils, but survivors.
He saw warriors who had taken the terrifying unpredictability of violence and met it with laughter and improvised steel. A profound sense of pride swelled in his chest, warm and overwhelming.
"No," William said, his voice slightly rough with emotion. "Thank you."
"I spent so much time worrying about whether you were ready for the world, whether you knew how to hold a blade or channel your mana correctly." He let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head. "Tonight proved that you are more than ready."
"You didn’t just survive; you dominated. I couldn’t be prouder of you all."
Catherine stepped beside him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You did good, William... You raised them well."
"Well, you raised them to be dangerous," William corrected with a grin. "Terrifyingly dangerous."
"Speaking of dangerous," Kaela interrupted, breaking the sentimental moment as she pointed at William. "Since you’re so proud of us, does that mean you’re buying us breakfast tomorrow?"
"The expensive kind? With the imported bacon?"
"Oh, absolutely not," William laughed, the tension fully breaking. "Go to bed, Kaela."
"That’s not a no! That’s a ’maybe later’!" Kaela shouted as she started jogging toward the dorms, waving her skillet in the air. "Lia, come on! We need to debate the bacon logistics!"
"Bacon is a protein source, not a reward mechanism," Lia called back, already hurrying to keep up.
As their voices faded into the distance, William and Catherine stood alone under the city gates.
"They’re going to be the death of you, you know," Catherine teased softly.
William watched the empty road where they had disappeared, a smile lingering on his face. "Probably. But what a way to go."
The boisterous echoes of the girls’ laughter faded completely, leaving only the rhythmic click of William’s boots and the soft rustle of Catherine’s skirts against the cobblestones.
The city streets were emptying now, the late-hour curfew settling over the district like a heavy velvet blanket. The air was cool, carrying the fading scent of woodsmoke and the distant, salty tang of the harbor.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was heavy with the shared memory of adrenaline and the strange, fragile peace that follows a storm.
William found himself watching Catherine out of the corner of his eye. The torchlight from the street lamps played across her features, softening the sharp lines of her face and catching the genuine exhaustion in her expression.
"Today was good," Catherine said quietly.
Breaking the silence, she reached down, her fingers sliding tentatively between his. Her hand was warm, a stark contrast to the evening chill.
"Really good... I don’t think I’ve had a day that simple in longer than I can remember."
William squeezed her hand gently, anchoring himself to the moment.
"Me too," he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "No ancient conspiracies to unravel, no eldritch horrors threatening to tear reality apart, and no monsters lurking in every shadow."
He paused, a rueful smile tugging at his mouth. "Just dinner, a grateful village, and apparently... the most aggressive use of cutlery I have ever witnessed in my entire life."
Catherine laughed, a low, musical sound that seemed to vibrate in the space between them. "I believe Kaela is still convinced that a well-aimed sourdough loaf is a legitimate substitute for a war hammer."
"I’m not sure I have the heart to correct her," William confessed. "After seeing that bandit’s nose flatten under the impact of a baguette, I think she’s earned her delusions of grandeur."
They walked in silence for several more minutes, their joined hands providing a steady rhythm to their stride. William felt a strange tightness in his chest, not the anxiety of battle but something more vulnerable.
He found himself wanting to prolong this moment indefinitely, to keep walking these empty streets until the sun came up, just to keep this particular feeling alive.
Catherine slowed her pace slightly, her thumb tracing idle circles over the back of his hand.
"You know, William," she began, her voice carrying a rare note of hesitation. "You spend so much time looking after everyone else."
"Teaching them, protecting them, worrying about their next meal or their next lesson."
William glanced at her, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. "It’s what I do."
"I know it is," she said, turning to face him fully as they reached a quieter stretch of the lane lined with flowering hedges.
The moonlight caught the slight flush creeping up her cheeks. "But who looks after you?"
William opened his mouth to offer a practiced deflection, something about duty or responsibility, but the words died in his throat when he saw the expression in her eyes. There was a vulnerability there, a quiet invitation that made his breath catch.
"I’m fine, Catherine... Truly, because it’s my job."
"You’re a terrible liar," she teased gently, though her gaze remained earnest.
"You carry the weight of the world like it’s something you’re supposed to enjoy." She paused, biting her lower lip briefly before continuing, her voice dropping to something softer, more intimate. "My duties are fully finished for the day."
"The paperwork can wait until morning, and the city council won’t miss me for twelve hours."
She stopped walking, forcing him to stop with her. The space between them felt charged, the quiet of the night amplifying every heartbeat.
"If you’d like..." she started, then hesitated, her fingers tightening around his. "If you’d like to come stay tonight... At my house..."
"We could... just talk. No lessons, no bandits, and no world-ending threats."
William looked at her, really looked at her, and felt the last of his defenses crumbling. The exhaustion of the day was there, but beneath it was a profound need for the kind of quiet connection she was offering.
"I’d like that very much."