Chapter 35 Good Karma

  On a narrow, rocky road, a lone carriage traveled at a steady pace, its wheels creaking softly against the uneven path. The horse pulling it, its breaths steady under the high noon sun. The sky burned crimson, its light casting long shadows over the weary travelers inside.

  Huddled together in the carriage sat a young man and a young woman. Their eyes, hollow and lifeless, mirrored the weight of lost purpose. Fingers intertwined, they clung to each other, yet their spirits seemed adrift. Their faces were gaunt, their bodies slumped with exhaustion. They wore simple, battered armor, its once-sturdy plates now dented and worn, as if they had just crawled out of a battlefield.

  At the front of the carriage, an old peddler held the reins, his weathered hands guiding the journey. He turned his head slightly and spoke, his voice gruff yet kind.

  “We’re almost there.”

  The couple slowly lifted their tired gazes toward him.

  “Yes, I know we’ve asked too much of you, sir,” the young man said weakly. "After all, our little town doesn’t even have a name."

  He turned to his partner and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, though she remained distant, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

  “Don’t worry,” the old peddler replied with a gentle chuckle. “In times of war, it’s good to help one another. Not too long ago, a group of young folks, much like yourselves, helped me fix this old carriage.”

  Mark gave a faint nod, his exhaustion evident in every movement.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. Then, looking at the woman beside him, he gently stroked her head. “Maggie, cheer up. We’re almost home. Father will be happy to see you.”

  Maggie didn’t speak. She simply gave the smallest nod, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

  Suddenly, the carriage jolted to a stop.

  “Whoa, whoa,” the peddler muttered, pulling the reins tight.

  Mark straightened, his body tensing as his hand instinctively reached for the sword at his side.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  The old man squinted ahead and muttered in a wary tone, “A Death Beast…?”

  Mark quickly stepped down from the carriage, his grip firm on the hilt of his blade. But as he approached, his cautious stance shifted.

  “No… it’s a person,” he said.

  The figure lying in the middle of the road was barely clinging to life. His body was covered in burns and deep wounds, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles. His clothing was strange—a crude armor fashioned from beast bones, draped over tattered furs, slashed and scorched as if he had been through hell itself. A peculiar white rope was wrapped tightly around his body, its purpose unknown.

  Yet, what shocked them most was not his horrific injuries—but the steady rhythm of his breath. His chest rose and fell, and his heart still beat strong.

  “He should be dead,” Mark whispered as he knelt beside him. “But somehow… he’s still clinging to life.”

  Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a small bottle and carefully tilted it to the man’s lips, managing to get only a few drops past his cracked mouth.

  Mark and the peddler exchanged glances, a silent agreement passing between them.

  Without another word, they lifted the broken man and carefully placed him inside the carriage.

  It didn’t take long for the carriage to reach its destination—a small, tattered town on the edge of nowhere, surrounded by dense forest. The place was worn and weary, its buildings aged by time and hardship.

  The carriage came to a stop in the center of the town, right in front of the largest house. As the dust settled, an old man emerged, his frail form moving with slow, tired steps, a wooden cane supporting his weight. The moment his eyes fell upon the young couple, tears welled up and streamed down his weathered face.

  Mark gently helped Maggie down from the carriage. As soon as she looked up and saw the old man, her composure shattered. A sob tore from her throat, and she ran toward him, throwing herself into his arms.

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  "Dad!" she cried, burying her face in his chest.

  The old man held her tightly, his own sobs mixing with hers. Mark stepped forward, embracing them both as tears slipped down his own face.

  "I'm sorry… I couldn’t protect Rob… It’s my fault," the old man choked out between his cries.

  "No, Dad," Maggie whispered weakly. "We know it wasn’t your fault. If we hadn’t left for that stupid war… we could have been here. We could have protected the town."

  The old man sighed heavily, resting a trembling hand on her head.

  "You must be exhausted. Come inside and rest."

  Mark hesitated before speaking.

  "Father… we found someone on the brink of death on our way here. Perhaps he’s from a nearby village."

  The old man’s gaze shifted to the carriage, concern flashing in his weary eyes.

  "Ah… ah… ah...Debor..."

  Iryoku awoke, his body screaming in pain. Each breath burned his lungs, sending sharp stabs of agony through his chest. His vision blurred for a moment before slowly adjusting to his surroundings.

  He was lying in a simple bed inside a rustic home. The air smelled of herbs and aged wood. Beside him, a small table held a few bandages and rags, evidence of recent care.

  Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright, his muscles protesting with every movement. His gaze remained fixed downward as memories came flooding back—Deborah.

  Tears welled up in his eyes, his body trembling.

  "Why…?" His voice was barely a whisper, raw with grief. "Why can't I protect the ones I love…?"

  His broken sobs filled the quiet room, his face contorted with sorrow.

  Then—

  A soft creak.

  The door swung open.

  Startled, Iryoku looked up to see a young woman with black hair, dressed in the simple garb of a villager. Her eyes widened in surprise.

  "Ah! You’re awake!" she exclaimed before quickly turning around and rushing out of the room.

  Moments later, she returned, accompanied by two men—one a young man with brown hair, dressed in modest working clothes, and the other an elderly man leaning on a cane.

  The younger man spoke first.

  "You're awake. Don't worry—we’re friends."

  Iryoku’s weary eyes shifted toward the old man, something about him stirring a distant memory.

  "Do… I… know you?..." he asked weakly.

  The elder studied him for a moment before nodding.

  "I thought so… You’re the young man who brought back the remains of our children," he said, bowing slightly. "My name is Walter."

  The young woman and the brown-haired man also bowed their heads.

  "Thank you. If not for you and your group, we would have never been able to lay our child to rest," the woman said, her voice trembling.

  Iryoku’s eyes widened in shock. The grief in their faces was unmistakable, their tears barely held back.

  A lump formed in his throat.

  "I… I’m sorry... for your lost...," he murmured weakly.

  Walter stepped forward, settling into a nearby chair. Sensing Iryoku’s pain, he gently steered the conversation elsewhere.

  "My daughter and her husband found you half-dead on the roadside. Were you attacked by monsters? Or… perhaps one of those beams of light struck near you?"

  Iryoku stiffened, his breath hitching. His mind flashed back to the dragon.

  His hands clenched the sheets beneath him.

  "How… do you know about the Death Ray?" he asked, his voice trembling.

  The young man—Mark—exchanged glances with the others.

  "Is that what it’s called?" he asked.

  The weight in the room thickened as the three of them revealed the truth.

  About a week ago, streaks of blue-white light had rained down across the land—originating from the north and stretching southward toward the capital.

  Anything—or anyone—caught in the light had vanished instantly, leaving no trace behind. a lot of people were gone without a trace.

  The land bore deep scars where the beams had struck, great gashes carved into the earth itself.

  Was it an attack? Or perhaps… divine intervention?.

  Iryoku's face paled, a cold chill creeping into his bones.

  The devastation he had witnessed… was not an isolated event.

  It was far, far worse.

  Iryoku's breath hitched as a sudden realization struck him.

  "The girls… The girls that were with me last time—have you seen them?" His voice was frantic, desperation clouding his face as he turned to Walter.

  The elder’s expression darkened with regret.

  "I'm sorry," Walter said solemnly. "I haven't seen them since the last time they were with you."

  Iryoku clenched his teeth, his hands gripping the blanket beneath him. Ignoring the pain that wracked his body, he struggled to push himself up.

  "What are you doing?! Stay down!" Maggie cried, rushing to his side, concern etched across her face.

  But Iryoku shook his head stubbornly, his breathing ragged.

  "I need... to find them… They're looking for me!" he declared weakly, desperation laced in his voice.

  Mark and Walter quickly moved to help Maggie restrain him, gently but firmly easing him back down onto the bed. His body was in no state to move, and they all knew it.

  They had no mages to heal him—only herbs and bandages. It was all they could do. Thankfully, his body had an unnatural ability to mend itself, but it would take time.

  Lying there, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion, Iryoku turned his gaze toward Mark.

  "Do you have any news from Uruk?" Iryoku asked weakly.

  Mark's expression darkened, his jaw tightening.

  "I don’t know… and honestly, I couldn’t care less about those people," he admitted. "My wife and I were drafted into the king’s army, sent straight to the front lines. But then…" He hesitated, his voice thick with emotion.

  "We received a letter from Father about Rob’s passing."

  His fists clenched as he continued, his tone now bitter, laced with grief.

  "We went to war believing we were protecting our child and our town—only to return and find out what had happened to him."

  His words hit Iryoku like a hammer. A deep sorrow twisted inside him, suffocating.

  After a long silence, Iryoku spoke, his voice weak.

  "I don’t like them much either… You could say my group and I were drafted into this mess just the same."

  He exhaled shakily, then muttered, "My girls… they’re probably in Uruk. I have to go there and find them."