“I will get stronger.
Without using others’ power, I’ll get stronger on my own. Then I’ll protect you.”
She reached out and gently rubbed that fluffy head.
“Okay.”
Outside the window, the sun was setting. In the distance, the light was still on in Ross’s dormitory.
He sat at his desk, the book Examination of the Holy Sword Legend spread open before him. He flipped through page by page, his eyes hollow yet focused.
Irina’s voice echoed in his mind—
“Your Highness, as long as you listen to me, everything will be fine.”
He turned a page, his fingers lightly tracing the image of the Holy Sword on the page.
“Everything will be fine.”
He repeated softly, his voice as light as a chant.
Outside the door, Freya stood there, raising her hand to knock.
Her fingers paused in front of the door for a moment, then she knocked.
The door opened.
Ross stood behind it, his blond hair messily hanging over his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes even deeper than during the day.
The moment he saw Freya, his expression didn’t change—
Not surprise, not joy, not even confusion. He just stood there, like a machine that had been paused.
“Freya.”
He called her name, his voice as flat as reading a textbook.
Then his gaze passed over her shoulder, landed on Lyra, and then returned.
“Something wrong?”
Freya looked at him.
Up close, his condition was worse than during the day—
His pupils were slightly unfocused, his lips dry and peeling. His whole body seemed hollowed out from the inside.
She remembered the Ross from childhood, eyes bright like stars, his smile making the whole world shine.
The person standing before her now was nothing but an empty shell.
“Yeah.”
She sidestepped and walked into the room.
Lyra followed behind, her red eyes scanning the surroundings warily.
The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight. Only a small lamp on the bedside table was on, casting a dim yellow light.
A book lay open on the desk—
Examination of the Holy Sword Legend, flipped to a page with an illustration of the Holy Sword.
Freya’s gaze lingered on that book for a moment.
“You’re still reading this?”
Ross followed her gaze, then walked over and closed the book.
“Just browsing.”
He shoved the book into the drawer, his movements natural, but Freya noticed that before putting it away, his fingers lightly caressed the cover—
A gesture full of attachment, like stroking something precious.
“Ross.”
Freya’s voice was soft.
“Have you felt like something’s not right with you lately?”
Ross’s movements paused.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you felt like your mind is covered by something? Like some thoughts aren’t your own, but they keep spinning in your head?”
She paused.
“Have you felt like you’re listening to someone more and more, and can’t leave them?”
Ross stood there, motionless. His lips parted slightly, then closed.
In those hollow blue eyes, something flickered—
Like a drowning person struggling beneath the surface, reaching out to grab something, but not quite reaching it.
“I…”
His voice was hoarse.
“I just want to become the Holy Sword Hero.”
“Do you want to become the Holy Sword Hero, or did someone make you want to become the Holy Sword Hero?”
Ross’s expression changed.
He looked at her, the hollowness in his eyes beginning to crack, revealing what lay beneath—
Not anger, not confusion, but fear.
Like a person suddenly realizing they’d been standing on the edge of a cliff for a long time, with no memory of how they got there.
“I…”
His voice began to tremble.
“I don’t know…”
Lyra stood by the door, watching this scene. A flash of sympathy crossed her red eyes.
She thought of those animals in the mountains, tamed by hunters for so long that even if the cage door was opened, they wouldn’t dare to walk out.
‘It’s not that they don’t want to—it’s that they’ve forgotten how to think. This blondie is the same.’
“Boss,”
she said softly.
“He’s scared.”
Freya nodded.
She took a step closer to Ross.
“Ross, look at me.”
Ross lifted his head, his blue eyes full of bewilderment.
“When you were little, you gave me a cat.
It was white, with blue eyes. Beautiful. I named it Little Snow.”
Freya’s voice was very light.
“Later, it got sick. You carried it three blocks to find a vet. You lost one of your shoes, and the sole of your foot was cut by a stone, bleeding a lot. But you kept holding it, refusing to let go.”
Ross’s lips began to tremble.
“Little Snow didn’t make it. You cried. You hugged me and said, ‘Sorry, Freya, I couldn’t save it.'”
Freya’s voice grew softer.
“Do you still remember?”
Ross’s eyes turned red.
He stood there, his whole body starting to shake, like a withered tree that had been buffeted by the wind for too long, finally beginning to teeter.
“I remember…”
His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible.
“I remember Little Snow, remember you wearing that blue dress, remember the roses in the garden blooming so red…”
His tears fell.
“I remember you calling me Big Brother Ross, remember you running after me, remember you falling and crying, thrusting your scraped knee in front of me…”
He reached out, as if trying to grab something.
“Freya, how did I become like this? How did I…”
He didn’t finish.
Because his body suddenly stiffened.
Those blue eyes flew wide open, pupils contracting violently—then he began to convulse.
“Boss!”
Lyra rushed over.
Freya caught Ross, his body shaking violently, veins bulging on his forehead, incoherent sounds spilling from his mouth.
The Examination of the Holy Sword Legend that had been shoved into the drawer began to glow. Golden light seeped through the cracks in the drawer, growing brighter and brighter, more and more blinding.
“Lyra! Now!”
Lyra didn’t hesitate.
She dashed over, pulled open the drawer. The book lay inside, the Holy Sword pattern on its cover burning—
Not with flames, but with an older, darker light.
She reached out and grabbed the book.
Heat instantly spread from her fingertips up her entire arm.
The light moved like a living thing, crawling up her fingers, trying to burrow into her skin, invade her blood.
She heard a voice, very soft, very gentle, like Irina’s voice—
No, it was Irina’s voice.
“Let go. This isn’t your business. You’re her pet. Just do your job as a pet.”
Lyra’s lips curled into a grin, revealing that little wolf fang.
“Pet?”
Her fingers suddenly tightened, the spine of the book letting out a crack under her palm.
“Have you ever seen a pet that bites?”
She gave a hard yank—
The book was ripped out of the drawer, the light exploding in her palm like a lit firework.
The heat turned into a sharp sting, the sting into a burn, but Lyra didn’t let go.
She just held the book, watching it burn in her hand, watching the light slowly dim.
Ross’s convulsions stopped.
He collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, his clothes soaked through with cold sweat.
His eyes were open. In those blue eyes, the hollowness was slowly receding, replaced by a dazed bewilderment, like someone who had returned from very, very far away.
“Freya…”
His voice was so soft, like a newborn baby.
“I did so many wrong things…”
Freya crouched down and looked at him.
“I know.”
“I hurt you… I listened to words I shouldn’t have, trusted someone I shouldn’t have…”
His tears flowed again.
“I didn’t mean to… I really didn’t mean to…”
“I know.”
Freya’s voice was very soft.
“You just wanted to be liked too much.”
Ross was stunned.
He looked at Freya, at those light purple eyes. There was no disgust, no contempt, only a calm look—like watching a lost child finally find their way home. He reached out, wanting to take her hand.
Freya didn’t pull away.
She let him hold it.
“Ross, promise me something.”
“What?”
“From now on, no matter what anyone says to you, first ask yourself—is this true? Is this what I want to do?”
She paused.
“Your mind—you need to use it yourself.”
Ross looked at her for a long time.
Then he nodded.
Outside the door, at the end of the corridor, a slender figure stood there.
Irina watched the half-open door, watched the scorched book on the floor, watched Ross sitting on the ground, watched Freya crouching beside him.
Her fingers slowly tightened, digging into her palm.
That book had contained the mana she’d infused into it, mana she’d spent a long time refining.
Now it was all gone.
But she didn’t go in. She just stood there, watching for a long time. Then she turned and walked into the shadows.
The sound of footsteps faded into the distance.
Inside the room, Lyra crouched beside Freya, tossing the scorched book on the floor and shaking her burned red palm.
“Boss, this thing won’t cause any more trouble, will it?”
Freya glanced at her hand, her brow furrowing slightly.
“Does it hurt?”
Lyra grinned, showing that little wolf fang.
“It doesn’t hurt! Just a little hot!”
Freya didn’t say anything. She just took her hand and turned it over to look at the palm—
It was red, with blisters starting to form in a few places.
Her brow furrowed even deeper.
“Really, it doesn’t hurt!”
Lyra quickly pulled her hand back and hid it behind her.
“Boss, don’t look!”
Freya looked at her for a long time, then sighed.
“Put some medicine on it when we get back.”
“Okay.”
Lyra nodded obediently.
Ross sat on the floor, watching this scene, watching Freya hold Lyra’s hand to check the wound, watching Lyra hide her hand behind her back with a silly grin.
He suddenly understood something.
That natural closeness, needing no pretense. That unspoken understanding with just a glance. That unreserved trust he had never received from Freya.
He would never have it.
“Freya.”
He spoke.
She turned.
“Thank you.”
He paused.
“And… I’m sorry.”
Freya looked at him for a long time.
“Stay away from Irina from now on.”
Ross nodded.
Freya stood up and headed for the door.
Lyra followed, and at the door, she glanced back at him.