Eiron returned home.
The air was still damp, as if the forest behind him had decided to leave its saliva in the wind.
His steps were slow, light… like walking on the corpse of a lie he'd forgotten to bury.
He was thinking.
Not about the poison.
But about that calm that comes before dirty things.
"Will I regret it? Will I be rewarded? Or will I just… try?"
He opened the door.
The creak of wood, the smell of cold broth, the faint crackle of a fire somewhere in the past.
Then—
"Morning survival."
Garun.
In the kitchen.
Sitting, slicing bread with a small blade, as if last night hadn't been just a dagger in his back from a woman he trusted.
Eiron stopped.
As if time swallowed his tongue, as if the air forgot how to breathe between them.
A moment of silence.
Two, three.
They both know… and don't know.
As if something in the night had slipped into them and never left.
"Mm… I thought I'd bring you some juice."
Eiron said it while touching the inside pocket of his coat where the poison and magic dose were, as if it held a gift, or a bomb, or a third thing that shouldn't be said aloud.
Garun looked at him, smiled as usual:
"Thanks, you don't have to."
"But I insist."
Eiron smiled, the smile of a man who wants to be useful—or at least not suspected.
He entered the kitchen.
Primitive cooking tools. A forgotten fire. A kettle bleeding its rust slowly.
"Damn… last time I cooked, I was ordering delivery and cursing the taste of plastic."
He started mixing water with some mashed fruits. Cutting, squeezing, trying not to look like he was about to kill someone… or himself.
Behind him, Garun's voice suddenly spoke:
"Why did you come to this village in particular? I mean… of all places, of all maps… Drane?"
Eiron blinked.
"Good question."
Then a short laugh from Garun:
"Sorry, maybe I crossed a line."
Eiron sighed, poured the mashed fruit into the kettle, then said:
"It's fine. You're my host. You have the right to ask."
He went quiet again.
Then added, in a tone confused yet calculated:
"I feel something strange in this village… that's all. I can't explain now."
Garun fell silent, as if searching his mind for a map of meaning.
Then he said:
"Yesterday, someone told me you came from the alchemist's place."
Eiron didn't answer.
"And before that, they said you were at the dwarf blacksmith's."
Still no reply.
"They're the strangest people in this village. And probably the most important."
Finally, he spoke:
"I went to the blacksmith to make a dagger. For my own defense… and the village's. If it comes to that."
He turned to him, eyes lit with something like reason:
"You said it yourself. The wolf attack is close. And you won't hold out like last time."
Garun nodded, slowly.
He swallowed the idea of the dagger.
But not the other one.
"And what about the alchemist?"
A moment's pause.
Eiron raised his eyes, looked into his, then said in an overly calm voice:
"She's deceiving you, Garun."
Garun laughed.
A light laugh, half mockery, half denial.
But Eiron didn't laugh.
"I'm serious."
He said it clearly, without a twist.
Garun stared at him for a long time.
Something in the laugh faded.
He started thinking.
Then—
Eiron poured the juice.
He filled a ceramic cup.
And handed it to him.
"At least… I'll be useful here in something."
Garun took the cup, thanked him quietly.
Then they sat.
Between them, juice.
And between the juice… something that couldn't be poured, couldn't be tasted, but whose flavor remained.
Something like a decision.
Or its end.
Garun stared into the cup.
Seconds.
As if the pale fruit juice hid a question he didn't want to answer.
Then he took a deep breath.
His posture grew heavier, his voice slower… more sincere.
"Everyone in the village relies on me now, as you see. No ruler, no leaders, just me… and corpses hanging from memory."
He looked toward the window, as if the light there could forgive him:
"You saw it yourself. The slave market, the hungry dogs, the women who don't cry—because they forgot how."
He added:
"Even the kingdom… we fear it. We fear it remembering us, more than forgetting us."
Then he smiled, half a smile:
"But we don't leave. We don't sell the land. We resist… with a soft ferocity that can't be seen."
Silence. As if something heavy was fermenting in his chest.
Then:
"The people of this village are wonderful, truly. But… it's just… I no longer feel the trust of one of them."
His hand wrapped around the cup.
"Nor their support."
A gaze into nothing.
"As if I've lost something else… besides…"
"Your erection?"
Eiron said it quietly, staring at a piece of untouched bread as if it were a secret.
Garun blinked.
Then looked at him with shy contempt:
"Yes. With full disgust."
Eiron laughed, a laugh that didn't insult but explained:
"You know, Garun… you're a strong man, maybe the strongest. But Celia… is stronger than you now."
Garun raised an eyebrow.
"Her strength isn't muscular. It's emotional. She feels, while you… just breathe."
"You mean I've lost my manhood?"
"No. You've lost your role."
He sipped from his cup—though there was nothing in it.
"She trusts you, respects you, sometimes even worships you. But she's not getting enough."
"Enough of what?"
"Of you."
He paused a moment.
Then added, in the tone of someone reciting a secret verse:
"Have you ever thought she doesn't need love… but control? That she wants to be under you, not above you? That she wants the chance to command her body's desires… without shame?"
Garun looked at him with suspicion.
Then with sadness.
"She just… doesn't talk."
"Because you don't open the door."
Eiron leaned forward slightly:
"Sometimes, you have to let her out… all of her. The desire, the beast, even… the temporary betrayal."
Garun shook his head, but slowly… less firmly.
"This isn't betrayal, Garun. This… is balance."
"What balance?"
"Between you and her body."
"You're asking me to allow…?"
"I'm asking you to save yourself. And her."
Another silence.
Heavier than air.
His eyes dropped to the table, then to his clenched fist… as if trying to squeeze the refusal out of it.
His lips moved, but no sound came.
He breathed slowly, as if something was pulling him back while another pushed him forward.
He wanted to laugh mockingly, to shut the conversation down… but for the first time, he felt the wall in his chest crack a little.
Then—
"Thank you."
Garun said it, hoarse-voiced.
"For the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm talking to someone clean. Innocent. Not after anything."
He looked at him, with real eyes.
"And that's what we've lost in this village."
Eiron smiled, half a smile, like someone swallowing a small light:
"Maybe I'm just new… I still don't know how to get dirty."
He stood.
Patted Garun's shoulder.
A quick look, a glint in the eye that couldn't be read as either sympathy… or regret.
"I'll go meditate in my room."
He said it like a prayer, or a truce with a postponed sin.
Then vanished behind the hallway.
And the cup… still on the table.
Waiting for what was said to be forgotten, and what wasn't said to be drunk.
Eiron closed the door behind him, sat on the edge of the rough bed, and pushed every remnant of his conversation with Garun out of his head… for now.
It was time to check the rewards he had received in the morning.
[System – Target Information Panel]
Name: Selina
Type: Human
Level: 5
Status: Aroused, Submissive, in a state of repressed lust
Seduction susceptibility: High – active external influence
Emotional bias: Pathologically inclined to love Garun, will do anything to please him
He smiled.
"Selina… what a beautiful mess you are."
He sat for minutes analyzing the data, like an ethical equation with no solution.
"Level five… so that's why the effects didn't work on her when my level was weaker."
He closed the panel and moved on to the second reward.
[Third Eye]
Description: Allows observation of someone bound to you by an instinctive link, in the form of a multi-angle camera view.
Usage condition: At least one person bound to you instinctively.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Instinctive link? Zara…"
He opened the list, and indeed, found only one name.
Zara.
He pressed to try it.
The moment that followed slowed his breathing…
The image burst into his mind: the river, calm as black glass, and in its center Zara's body, completely naked, gleaming under the sun like a sculpture carved from pure sin.
The water curled around her waist, sliding slowly along her curves, then broke against her thighs like a kneeling servant, before continuing down her long legs that ended in toes sunk into soft mud.
Her hair clung to her shoulders, dripping, drop… by drop… to the last place he had no right to describe, yet saw with painful clarity.
A sudden heat pooled in his body, and a smile crept onto his face on its own.
He chuckled quietly, then louder, a laugh unhealthy and laden with admission:
"I swear… this is the greatest invention after the internet."
He leaned his head back, closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to etch the image into his mind forever.
Then murmured with a sideways smile:
"And since the internet doesn't exist here… it's definitely the best."
He sprawled on the bed, the scene still open before him.
Exactly the way he liked it.