CHAPTER 67: The Road That Leads Forward
(Two Days Later)
Mr. Eli stood before the door longer than he meant to.
His fingers hovered over the worn metal knob, unmoving, as if the simple act of turning it might decide a fate he was not ready to face. The corridor behind him was quiet—too quiet—filled with the soft creak of old wood and the faint hum of a town slowly healing.
Beside him, Vennessa clasped her hands together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale.
"Please… God," Mr. Eli whispered, his voice barely more than breath. "Let him be alright."
He turned briefly to look at Vennessa. Her eyes were red, shadows dark beneath them from days without proper rest. She nodded, silently urging him forward.
With a shallow breath, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
They moved through the house the same way they had for the past three days—slow, cautious, as if afraid that any sudden sound might break something fragile. The familiar scent of herbs, medicine, and faint traces of holy water lingered in the air.
As they reached the bedroom door, Vennessa lifted her hand to knock.
Before her knuckles could touch the wood, a voice boomed from the other side.
"Who's there?"
Both of them froze.
Then—
"Come in."
The door flew open.
Relief crashed over them so suddenly it nearly stole the strength from Vennessa's legs. She exhaled sharply, one hand pressed to her chest, while Mr. Eli closed his eyes for a brief moment, murmuring a silent thanks.
They stepped inside.
And stopped.
Their eyes widened in disbelief.
Zodac stood at the center of the room, tall and steady, his back to them. The man who had been barely conscious days ago, who could not even lift himself from the bed without collapsing in pain, now stood upright—solid, unmoving, like a blade driven into stone.
He turned.
The purple discoloration that had once crawled across his chest and neck was gone, his fair, muscular torso restored to its natural color. Only his left arm and shoulder remained tainted, veins still dark beneath his skin, tightly wrapped in layered bandages.
But he was standing.
"It's working," Mr. Eli breathed, awe and disbelief warring in his voice.
Zodac nodded once. "The holy water slowed it."
He looked down at his arm, flexing his fingers slightly before wincing. "Do you still have more?"
Mr. Eli hesitated. "Only a little. Not enough to cleanse your arm completely."
Zodac exhaled slowly.
"But," Mr. Eli continued, "if we change the bandage today, there should be enough left for one more dose. It should buy you enough time to reach the capital."
"Then I leave today," Zodac said immediately.
There was no hesitation. No fear.
"Leave me," he added.
Mr. Eli and Vennessa obeyed at once, retreating from the room and closing the door behind them.
Inside, Zodac turned toward the corner where his armor rested neatly on its stand. Its dark surface gleamed faintly in the dim light, runes etched into the metal like silent watchers.
"Equip," he said.
A bright green glow flared around the armor as it vanished from the stand and reappeared on his body piece by piece. The glow dimmed, then faded entirely, leaving him fully armored.
Ready.
Or as ready as a cursed man could be.
"Aghh—" Zodac groaned suddenly as a sharp surge of pain ripped through his left arm, radiating up into his shoulder and chest. He clenched his jaw, refusing to cry out, riding the pain until it dulled into a familiar ache.
With his right hand, he lifted his cross bag, checking its contents—potions, tools, supplies. Nothing missing. Nothing forgotten.
He slung it over his neck and walked toward the door.
—
Outside, the town greeted him with life.
Zodac sat quietly on a low wooden bench while Vennessa knelt beside him, carefully undoing the straps of his armor to access his arm. His gaze drifted across the streets.
People laughed.
Merchants called out their wares.
Children ran past with careless joy.
The same people who had once been pale, trembling, barely clinging to life now moved freely—smiling, planning, living.
A strange warmth settled in Zodac's chest.
Relief.
Something he rarely allowed himself to feel.
"Are you sure you can do this?" he asked suddenly, glancing down at Vennessa. "This armor… it's complicated."
She smiled faintly. "It's berserk armor. High defensive stats. But you're right—I've never seen one like this before. Whoever forged it must've been one of the best blacksmiths in the kingdom."
Her fingers traced his shoulder, searching for the hidden seams.
"But the concept is still the same."
She tugged at a strap he hadn't even known existed. The armor shifted slightly, opening just enough for her to reach the bandages beneath.
Zodac blinked. "I didn't even know that was there."
Vennessa's face flushed as she reached inside, her fingers brushing briefly against his chest as she worked the bandages loose. Her hands trembled.
"You're shaking," Zodac noted calmly. "Are you alright?"
"I—yes," she said quickly. "Just… nervous."
She winced as he suddenly groaned.
"Aghhh—!"
"I'm sorry!" she cried, nearly dropping the bandage.
He shook his head. "It's fine."
Then, to distract her, he asked, "How do you even know how to do this? Unstrapping armor like this isn't something a regular nurse would know."
She paused.
"I'm not a regular nurse," she said softly. "My father used to make armor like this."
Zodac looked at her. "A blacksmith?"
"Yes," she smiled faintly. "A master craftsman. He could make any type of armor… beautiful designs, flawless balance."
Her hands steadied as memory replaced fear.
"Where is he now?" Zodac asked gently.
Her hands stopped.
She turned away, reaching for the bandage soaked in holy water.
"He's gone," she said quietly.
Tears slid down her cheeks.
Zodac said nothing.
As she resumed wrapping the fresh bandage around his arm, she spoke again, forcing cheer into her voice.
"We tried to reach the water elemental hero when the fog first came," she said. "There was no response."
"We sent several letters to the capital asking for support but no replies"
She smiled weakly. "We thought the king had abandoned us… but then he sent you. Our savior. Long live the king."
The air around Zodac shifted.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
"I am no puppet," he said flatly.
Vennessa stiffened.
"No one sent me," he continued. "Your king and I are not on talking terms. And we never will be."
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I just thought—"
"Forget it," he said.
—
Later, at the town's entrance, Mr. Eli handed Zodac a pouch.
"Three hundred silver," he said.
Zodac took it.
**
**(300 Silver)**
"I'll return for the rest," Zodac said.
As he turned to leave, the sound of hooves approached.
A carriage rolled into view, pulled by two strong horses.
"I arranged transport for you," Mr. Eli said. "The capital is far."
Zodac nodded. "Thank you."
He climbed inside.
As the carriage rolled away, Vennessa and Mr. Eli stood watching—praying that the road ahead would not claim the hero who had already given so much.
And Zodac stared forward, toward the capital… toward light.
And whatever awaited him there.