Return of the Mythic Bloodline

Chapter 493: New life

The news of Ezekiel’s death spread like wildfire across the Valtorian Empire. Some rejected it as mere rumour while others panicked at the absence of their protector.

The city grew more and more chaotic as days passed with still no news of Twilight Sword. The continued silence of the authorities on the matter only deepened the fear spreading among the citizens.

The Queen had assembled a scout unit of the most veteran knights and dispatched them to the Monster Land in search of Ezekiel. Yet every search returned with a disappointing outcome. There was no safe path to the bottom of the ravine. The furthest the knights could manage was half the distance down.

The infirmary where Tristan was recuperating was visited regularly by officials from the investigation unit, each day bringing new questions. The one that repeated most often was how he had escaped from the ravine with such severe injuries when even veteran knights could not reach that depth.

His answer remained the same.

The sword of Ezekiel had carried the last of his intent, and through it, Tristan had driven the blade into a hillside and carved his way out, forming a crude tunnel. When he reached the other side, the unstable passage collapsed behind him.

The reasoning seemed far from convincing. He would have already been taken into custody for further questioning had the knights sent to search for Ezekiel not discovered the very collapsed cave Tristan had described.

Of course, it was the same cave Ezekiel had dug out while trying to escape the ravine, after finding no other way out.

---

"The internal infection and serious wounds have healed. Only the surface injuries remain," the healer announced as he wrapped a bandage around Tristan’s torso with practiced precision. "You may leave the infirmary, but you still need to be cautious of any activity that puts strain on your body. Return every seventh day for a check-up."

"Understood," Tristan answered with a wide smile, clenching his fist.

The healer shot him a sharp glare and said in a firm tone, "No strenuous activity for six months."

"Yeah, yeah. You nag too much, Mr. Reo," Tristan chuckled, slapping the healer on the back. "I will make sure to take care of myself."

The doctor groaned from what Tristan had assumed was a playful slap. Reo gathered the bandages, medicines, and scissors onto his steel tray and stepped outside, shutting the door loudly behind him, clearly displeased by the stinging blow.

"That was the sixth bandage change and the sixth time you slapped his back," Ezekiel said from the chair beside the bed, sitting cross-legged. "Keep at it and someday he will inject poison into your medicine."

"Eh? I was only encouraging him because he always looks so gloomy," Tristan replied, as though he had been wrongly accused. "Besides, today is my last day here."

He rose from the bed and grabbed his tunic from the hook on the wall. Once he had pulled it over his head, he reached for his trousers.

"Hmm, Celestia, why are you here again?" he asked, glancing at her over his shoulder with his back turned.

"To make sure you do not reveal my secret," Ezekiel replied sharply, her blue eyes narrowing at him.

"I would not have fabricated such lies if I intended to reveal your secrets," Tristan sighed, completely worn out by her same response over the past several days. "You can stop worrying and live your own life. Do not confine yourself to watching me over something that will never happen."

Ezekiel’s glare only sharpened, as though she wanted to drive her fist straight across his face.

"I do not trust you. I will keep an eye on you until I am satisfied," she declared flatly.

Tristan muttered something under his breath, a frown creasing his brow.

"Did you just curse at me?"

"A-absolutely not!" Tristan replied, his body flinching.

"So you are saying I am just hearing things?"

"I-I never said that."

Ezekiel rose from the chair, crossed to the other side of the bed, and came to stand directly before Tristan.

"You called me a stubborn bitch," she said quietly.

Tristan’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened in shock.

"I-I n-never said that!" he blurted out, alarm plain in his voice. "I called you a stubborn cat. I could never say the b-word."

"So you did call me a name."

Ezekiel moved closer, each step slow and deliberate. Tristan retreated back onto the bed. She kept advancing until his back met the mattress, with Ezekiel leaning over him.

She grabbed a fistful of his hair and murmured, pulling his head back, "I cannot help but notice that you are growing more and more disrespectful toward me. I have only set aside the title of Twilight Sword. I can still reduce you to paste with a single slap."

"And I absolutely do not doubt that," Tristan answered, his face turned sideways, completely crimson.

"I did not pull your hair hard enough to turn your entire face crimson," she said, loosening her grip. "You are quite delicate for a knight."

I shook my head and sighed. "Ezekiel, I do not think that is the reason. You should be more careful of yourself."

Her loose shirt hung from her petite frame, completely exposing everything underneath to Tristan’s line of sight. He was doing his best not to look at the area that could mean instant death for him.

"Ce-Celestia, my body is not fully healed yet. Please get off me," Tristan requested, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Fine, stay there as long as you want."

He had completely given up on explaining himself. Everything he said was twisted out of meaning. He was simply being bullied at this point.

"I will let you off the hook for now," she said, retreating from the bed and settling back into the chair.

"Could you step out of the room while I change my trousers?" Tristan asked, his crimson face slowly returning to its normal colour.

"What if you ran away?"

"..."

He climbed back onto the bed in frustration, pulled the blanket over himself, and changed his trousers beneath it.

"Tristan my boy, if you were not so oblivious to why she is following you, you would not be getting bullied like this," I chuckled, shaking my head.

The two checked out of the infirmary. As they stepped through the doorway onto the street, Ezekiel asked, "Where are you going?"

"To see my family," Tristan replied. He glanced at her and added, "But before that, I need to stop somewhere."

He walked through the city’s stone-paved streets, flanked by medieval buildings of rough-hewn granite pressed shoulder to shoulder, their upper floors jutting out over the road. Colourful signboards hung above each doorway, painted with symbols for those who could not read: a crossed knife and fork, a pair of crossed swords, a bolt of folded cloth. Voices layered into a constant roar. A butcher argued prices with a housewife across a counter of hanging carcasses. Two guards leaned against the weaponsmith’s wall, watching the crowd with bored eyes. Behind him, iron-rimmed cart wheels clattered over cobblestone.

He stopped before a clothing shop that stood out from the others. Ezekiel, who had been following close behind, stopped beside him.

"Are you buying something for your mother, or perhaps your sister?"

The question was a natural one, given that the shop before them catered exclusively to women.

Instead of answering, he stepped inside.

"Show us your finest and most elegant piece for the beautiful lady here," Tristan announced to the shopkeeper.

"Which beautiful lady?" Ezekiel asked, glancing around. It took her a moment to realise he was referring to her.

"I do not need clothes. The ones I am wearing are perfectly fine."

She was dressed in a ragged tunic and a loose pair of trousers in equally poor condition, the undergarments she had worn beneath her heavy knight armour.

"They are anything but fine, my lady," the shopkeeper said before Tristan could respond.

He recognised Tristan at a glance, as he was a local, and a rather infamous knight at that, one who had gone on the raid to kill the Troll King. He clapped twice, summoning a group of five women from the back.

"We have VIP customers today. Dress this lady in clothes worthy of her appearance," the shopkeeper declared.

The women surrounded Ezekiel from all sides and swept her inside before she could offer any resistance.

An hour later, Ezekiel emerged from the room, moving with a grace that stood in complete contrast to everything Tristan had witnessed from her until now.

As her figure came into full view, Tristan went completely still.

Her petite frame was adorned in a long silver dress, fitted close at her slim waist and falling freely from there. Her cyan hair, properly combed for the first time, spilled over both shoulders in loose waves. Her face wore only a touch of makeup, but it worked like a charm, particularly on Tristan, who found he could not pull his eyes away.

"You look like an angel descended to earth, Celestia," Tristan murmured, his mouth slightly open in admiration.

"Who gave you permission to compliment me?" Ezekiel muttered in a low voice, her gaze fixed on the ground with embarrassment and something deeper beneath it.

From there, the two left the busy streets behind and made their way to a graveyard at the edge of the city.

"Were you not going to see your family?" Ezekiel asked. "So why are we..."

She stopped mid-sentence, catching the heavy grief settled across Tristan’s face.

"Would you come with me to see them?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.