“……”
“……”

Hatan was not a man who was easily surprised. In fact, he was so unflappable that people often accused him of having no nerves at all.

Yet, for the first time in a long while, he was taken aback. Then again, perhaps ‘startled’ was not quite the right word. ‘Confused’ might be a better word. Or even ‘dumbfounded’. He wasn’t sure what to call it, only that his usually half-closed, steady eyes were now wide open.

Hatan forced his dilated pupils back to their usual calm and cast a sidelong glance at the woman seated before him.

“Again… thank you.”

The woman who had nearly collapsed at his feet whispered the same words she had spoken the night before.

Once could be chance. Twice was no coincidence. By this point, it felt as if she had deliberately placed herself in his path.

“Why are you here?”

But the one to answer was not her. From a corner of the room came the rasping breath of a man on the verge of death.

“Khk… y-you… bastard…”

Thud—

Without taking his eyes off the woman, Hatan drove his blade deep into the man’s heart.

“Tch.”

He clicked his tongue softly, wiping the blood from his face and the weapon. Then, once again, he looked at the woman.

Twice now, seemingly by chance, she had appeared before him. He would have to think about what that meant.

“I asked why you are here.”

His voice was curt and demanding. Yet despite the coldness of his question, the woman merely blinked up at him, her gaze unwavering.

Did she truly not understand him?

As he wondered this, her eyes shifted. She looked towards another figure collapsed beside the corpse — a woman sprawled like a wilted flower.

“She is said to be the maid of the Plum Blossoms.”

The excuse that Caro had offered the night before lingered faintly in Hatan’s mind, like a feeble defense.

Plum Blossoms. Unlike common prostitutes, they catered only to wealthy merchants or mercenaries. Because they were called “flowers that bloom at dusk,” people knew them simply as Plum Blossoms.

Following the woman’s gaze, Hatan looked down at the cold corpses of a man and woman sprawled on the floor. Then, turning back, he fixed his eyes once more on the woman who still drew breath before him. Her body was still marred with unsightly bruises, scattered across her skin.

“What happened to your body?”

Her voice was flat as she answered.

“I was beaten.”

“By whom?”

She glanced at one of the corpses lying behind him — a Plum Blossom who had been with the man he had just killed.

“Why did you say thank you?”

Hatan’s repeated address to the stranger was so unusual that his subordinates’ unease seemed to fill the room.

“Because I am thankful.”

“For what, exactly?”

The woman tilted her head slightly, then looked again at herself, and then at the pair of corpses behind him.

“You were being beaten?”

Expressionless, she gave a small nod.

It was absurd. To have been beaten, and yet wear such an indifferent face. To thank him, even so. Her words, her actions, her expressions—all of them clashed, jarring and discordant.

Perhaps that was why a spark of curiosity inside Hatan began to grow.

“Where will you go?”

The woman simply stared blankly at him.

It wasn’t a difficult question. Why did she always seem not to understand? Hatan let out a quiet sigh and rephrased.

“Where will you go now?”

“Ah.”

She gave a small nod, then replied succinctly.

“To the garden.”

“The garden?”

The place where the Plum Blossoms gathered was known as the Garden—or the Plum Garden.

Two people had just died before her eyes, yet she meant to return calmly to the place where she worked.

“Like that?”

Bruised and battered as she was, she nodded serenely. In fact, she looked at him as though he were the strange one for asking such a question.

Hatan brushed a hand across his forehead, seemingly at a loss for words, then gestured to his subordinate. As before, this meant that she was to be sent away.

She bowed her head politely to him, then rose, her long limbs moving awkwardly. Watching her go, Hatan thought: ‘If a third coincidence occurs, then perhaps I should truly consider her.’

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

“Where will you go?”
“To the garden.”

Reviewing documents, Hatan let out a humorless laugh. Never in his life had he met a woman—no, a person—so indifferent, even as death unfolded right before her eyes.

“Like that?”

What answer had he received then?

Hatan could no longer contain himself; a low chuckle escaped him. He tapped his fingers lightly against the desk.

“The garden, is it.”

Her eyes, dried and lifeless and impossible to describe, came back to him. Much like his own had been in the past. Or perhaps… much like his own now.

Lowering the documents, Hatan stared into the empty space in front of him. Then, again, a faint laugh slipped past his lips. The sound drifted across the room and reached Caro, who was crouched anxiously in the corner.

‘Quiet… just let it pass quietly.’

Tensed by his master’s repeated laughter, Caro stole furtive glances, gauging Hatan’s mood.

Just then, a warrior’s voice at the door spared him.

“Lord Hatan. It’s Hamad.”

“Enter.”

At his command, the warrior stepped inside, his footsteps muffled. Spotting Caro, he gave a brief bow before addressing Hatan.

“As for the Shantara family matter you mentioned, things are unfolding exactly as you expected…”

“One sentence.”

Hatan lowered his gaze, speaking quietly.

The warrior condensed his words.

“We’ve found the Shantara family’s patron.”

“Route.”

“Beginning at the point in Karwan…”

“Briefly.”

“…It seems they used a vessel traveling along the Ticus River.”

Hatan nodded slightly, signalling to Caro to handle the matter as he saw fit.

Normally, he would have given such work to his warrior, Miltan. But today, even after hearing the report, Hatan continued to laugh quietly and aimlessly. For a man who could keep a straight face even when faced with a clown, such behaviour was unusual.

Being near him at such a time was never wise.

“Yes, understood.”

Caro pulled his lips into his usual straight line and hurried out with the warrior.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

Litisha, a commoner from the Kingdom of Hatra, did not conform to the Empire’s idea of beauty.

She was not ugly, but nor was she particularly striking. Her only notable features were her pitch-black hair, thick lashes and red lips.

However, her pale skin marked her as a commoner.

Although her long limbs could form a graceful figure, she was hardly the type to attract the attention of the Empire’s men. To make matters worse, she was penniless and often went hungry.

The words she had spoken most often in her life were, without question: “I don’t know.”

“How did you end up begging?”
“I don’t know.”

“What about your parents?”
“I don’t know.”

“Why are you being beaten by the Plum Blossoms?”
“I don’t know.”

“Is ‘I don’t know’ the only thing you can say?”
“I don’t know.”

Litisha was not someone with much will or attachment to life.

In fact, she could not remember ever having such things.

At the time, all her senses seemed dulled, emerging only as a heavy, muffled haze. The world she perceived was always blurred, smudged and indistinct.

But at some point, when her tears had become the most troublesome, he appeared:

A man who carried with him the scent of a cool summer night.

It was as though he appeared without warning to condemn those who had struck her with their vicious whips, killing them without hesitation.

Perhaps that was why she came to harbor an unfounded yearning for the apostle of the Sun God.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

He asked her gently, noticing the redness in her eyes. Litisha gave a small shake of her head.

She didn’t even know what he meant—afraid of what? But at least in that moment, there was no fear in her at all.

“To think I’ve never met a woman so unshaken, even at the sight of blood.”

The faint trace of amusement in his voice faded as he called to one of the warriors standing behind him.

“Take this woman with you.”

That day, Litisha was saved by the apostle of a god. And from that day forward, she believed her life had finally begun.

At least, that was what she herself thought then.