"What a bunch of trash!" They left hours ago and still haven't shown any signs of coming back."
When I stepped out of the train car, the first thing I saw were a pair of blue eyes so intense, so deep, that they seemed to reflect the entire night sky, as if the stars of the Milky Way were hidden within them.
...
Like a painting worn by time, blood trickled down his pale face, while his blue eyes held a sadness that tried to hide behind an indifferent expression. Two corpses lay on the ground, and an elderly man, prostrate, shed a flood of tears that seemed to absorb the light around him. The scene was shocking, but in its tragedy, it held a strange, breathtaking beauty, as if the pain and fragility of life were intertwined in a delicate web.
"Crazy..."
***
"What is Amelia Hart doing here?" I wondered, as my thoughts drifted aimlessly. I couldn't concentrate; confusion completely overwhelmed me.
Many speculations crowded my mind, each trying to take shape and make sense. It was as if I were trapped in a whirlwind of doubts and possible scenarios, none of which could completely clear the confusion that enveloped me. But suddenly, something changed. It was as if, in the midst of that chaos, the pieces began to fall into place unexpectedly. From one moment to the next, the answers began to take shape, and everything seemed to point to the mercenaries being nothing more than assassins, sent to ambush this girl who, at first glance, seemed weak. But in reality, she was the only daughter of one of the three most powerful guilds in the world: Dawn.
Most likely, without realizing it, we were mere pawns in a power struggle. A growing anger took hold of me as, like a movie, I relived the same scenes over and over: the old man mourning the loss of his wife, a broken promise, a life marked by the impact of what he could never fulfill. I was angry, furious with this girl. It wasn't her fault—I knew that—but I still felt furious with her. It wasn't rational; I understood that, but the sadness and frustration kept dragging me down.
Tring!
[System Notification]
-[Mission]
*Survive (Complete)
[Congratulations! You have acquired the Master of a Thousand Weapons trait]
Haha...
It's over...
Three men entered the room. They wore worn black suits. Some of them had visible marks on their faces and hands—scars they couldn't hide. Their movements were steady, but it was clear they were strained by fatigue. They were armed, not with modern weapons, but with staffs or swords they carried at their waists or slung across their backs.
"Miss, everything has been resolved," said one of them, in a firm tone, though tinged with a slight hint of weariness.
She looked at him briefly, saying nothing, and with a slight nod of her head, she agreed.
I stared at her intently, and after a few seconds, Amelia slowly approached me.
...
"What happened here?" she asked in an authoritative voice, without even looking at the others, focusing solely on me, as if expecting an immediate and uncompromising answer.
Ignoring her, I walked past and approached the old man, who had fainted. I tried to help him, looking for a way to revive him, not wanting to say a single word. I didn't care what she might say at that moment.
"You…!"
As if sensing my clear refusal, someone approached her and began to explain everything.
As if sensing my clear refusal, someone approached her and began to explain everything.
***
Shortly afterward, security forces arrived on the scene, and their presence brought about an immediate change in the atmosphere. The tension that had built up began to dissipate, but only to give way to a new authority. The commander, with speed and determination, set about organizing the evidence and taking statements from witnesses, directing everything with precision, as if every step had been carefully planned. Meanwhile, the chaos that had reigned until that moment began to transform into a more methodical process.
After a thorough background check and an inquiry into the reason for my trip, they finally gave me permission to leave. They spent what felt like hours reviewing my documents, grilling me with a series of questions ranging from the most basic to the most detailed. Every answer I gave was scrutinized, and the atmosphere grew increasingly tense. However, in the end, after what seemed like an eternity, they informed me that there was no reason to hold me any longer. With one last glance at my papers, they released me, letting me go, but the feeling of having gone through an ordeal beyond what I could have imagined haunted me. Although I had gotten out, something inside me left a much deeper mark.