Chapter 102: Paid in Full!

“How… how did you come to have this?” Shaya grabbed the fire fork in his hand, his heart instantly steadying. With this sharp weapon, even if Hastings returned, he might stand a chance. He immediately pressed the dragon scale close to his chest, slipping it inside his clothes, then struggled to stand.

The woman’s expression was cold as she pointed at the injured goblin beside them. Shaya didn’t understand her meaning. She frowned and suddenly pulled out a short knife, tossing it to him, then pointed again at the goblin.

Shaya understood immediately but shook his head. “No! It saved my life.”

The woman’s brows twisted slightly, and she let out a light hum—her first sound since they met. The voice was crisp and clear, yet as cold as ice. She ignored Shaya, turned, and rummaged through a leather pouch behind her for flint. Casually gathering some dry twigs, she quickly sparked a fire. Then from a cloth bundle, she took out a small, egg-sized object—originally hard and stone-like, a deep jade green, but after roasting it over the fire for a while, it softened into a sticky paste. She took back the short knife, scooped a small amount, and handed it to Shaya, motioning toward his wound.

Shaya nodded in understanding and evenly applied the paste to his burning injury. Immediately, the searing pain was replaced by a cooling sensation.

Confusion filled Shaya’s mind, and he almost spoke, but the woman’s face was as cold as a glacier—not just her expression, but her very presence seemed to radiate a chilling aura that warned strangers to stay away. She revealed only half her face, and by Shaya’s standards, it was quite ugly. Several times he tried to speak but was silenced by her indifferent gaze, swallowing his words.

When Shaya scraped a bit of the healing paste for the goblin, the woman showed a faint displeasure, shooting him a reproachful glance and coldly saying, “This medicine is precious.”

Her voice was naturally pleasant but utterly devoid of warmth, as if spoken by the dead. She carefully wrapped the leftover ointment in a leather cloth and tucked it into her bosom. Then she gathered more dry branches, feeding the fire until it blazed brightly, and finally settled beside it.

After a moment, the warmth from the fire brought a slight flush to her pale, jade-like cheeks, giving her a trace of vitality. Summoning courage, Shaya spoke, “Um… may I ask who you really are?”

She took down a pouch, pulled out some meat cakes, and placed them on the knife blade over the fire. Without turning, she huffed coldly, “No need for idle talk. I know who you are—Shaya, Captain of the Guard of the Rodria Cavalry Regiment, right?”

“That’s me,” Shaya replied with a grunt. “But who are you?”

The woman didn’t answer. She gently rotated the knife, ensuring the meat cake cooked evenly, then said slowly, “I’ve been following you for two days. When Hastings captured you outside the city, I knew immediately. I just didn’t expect him to be so fast—I almost lost track.”

“Following me?” Shaya’s curiosity piqued. Anyone able to keep up with Hastings was no ordinary person.

“You were captured by those goblins, and I trailed behind. Hastings is formidable; I dared not reveal myself recklessly. Otherwise…” she trailed off.

Shaya chuckled, “Wasn’t that guy scared off by you?” He glanced at the longbow slung on her back, tightly sheathed in black leather.

“Not scared off by me,” she shot him a cold glance. “He’s far stronger. In a direct fight, he could defeat me in ten moves, and within thirty, he’d behead me.”

Shaya stuck out his tongue. Ten moves to defeat, thirty to decapitate? Having faced Hastings multiple times, he knew well the man’s prowess. If it were himself, Hastings wouldn’t need thirty moves—three or five would be enough to cut him down beneath his horse.

As if reading his thoughts, the woman’s icy eyes flickered with an odd expression. “Don’t be surprised. With your skill, surviving a few strikes from him is already impressive. Hastings is known as the greatest warrior in Odin’s army, ranked as a high-level ninth-rank warrior. Across the entire continent, only about ten can reach that level.” She looked at Shaya deeply. “Hmm, you’re mid-level, aren’t you?”

Shaya shook his head. “I’m not sure myself.”

She handed him a roasted meat cake. Hesitant at first, Shaya took it with both hands and murmured a quiet thank you. Starving, he ignored the heat and devoured it in a few bites. Watching his messy eating, the woman frowned slightly, then turned away to continue roasting the meat.

With his mouth full, Shaya mumbled, “So, why did Hastings run away?”

The woman snorted coldly, not turning back. “You’re quite curious… He and I know each other. We’ve dealt with one another before. He owes me a favor, but today’s business settles that debt. Next time we meet, it’ll be a fight to the death.”

The more Shaya listened, the more curious he became. “Who… who are you? And why did you save me?”

She snorted again, tossing the last meat cake to Shaya. He quickly caught it and hesitated before tearing it in half to share with the goblin. The goblin, already weak, glanced at Shaya but said nothing, instead hungrily devouring the meat.

“If it were up to me, your survival means nothing to me. But since you’re from the Rodria Cavalry Regiment, I couldn’t just watch you die. So don’t thank me—thank your identity as a Rodria Cavalryman.” She sighed softly.

The woman stood and surveyed the surrounding wilderness. “Once you’ve eaten, we move. I’ll escort you back to Wildfire Town, and then my part is done. Let’s go! I won’t waste time with you. If you can’t keep up, crawl.”

Despite his injuries, Shaya forced himself to stand. The woman was unbearably cold; without a backward glance, she strode off. Watching her faltering figure, Shaya’s pride surged—this woman was missing a leg, yet here she was pushing forward, and he, with both legs intact, was no better.

He endured the pain and followed, but after a while, looking back, he saw the goblin limping behind, clutching its shaking chest muscles, its face twisted in pain.

Shaya sighed and called out, “Hey! Stop following! Go back to your tribe!”

The goblin didn’t answer, only grimly kept moving forward.

Shaya frowned, walking a few steps away. “I’m heading back to Wildfire Town. Why are you following me?”

Finally, the goblin shook its head. “Wife! My wife!”

Seeing the goblin’s stubbornness, Shaya couldn’t help but chuckle. If the goblin were always this devoted, even as a goblin, his persistence would inspire some sympathy. But Shaya knew the “wife” the goblin kept muttering about was actually a handsome goblin male. That realization made his feelings oddly complicated.

He quickened his pace, hoping to lose the goblin. Surely, it would give up eventually.

Yet, even after hundreds of meters behind the woman, the goblin still doggedly followed. Its chest was smeared with green blood beneath the ointment, flowing messily, but it bore a fierce expression, gritting its teeth onward.

Shaya felt guilty. Stomping his foot, he cursed, “Fine! You saved my life! I can’t just let you die!”

He ran back, helped the goblin up, and said, “I’ll take you to Wildfire Town, but your wife is his own business. I can take you to see him. If he agrees to come with you, I won’t stop you. But if not, you can’t force him.”

The goblin snorted and fell silent.

After a while, the woman led them forward to a forested area where, as they had passed before, she brought out two horses—evidently prepared in advance.

She glanced at Shaya and the goblin with clear impatience. The exposed half of her face was as if encased in ice—beautiful, yet carved from cold stone. Suddenly, she pursed her lips, turned back, and approached swiftly. Without warning, she drew her short knife and lunged forward, stabbing toward the goblin’s neck!

Shaya’s expression changed instantly. He pushed the goblin aside and blocked the blade with the fire fork. With a sharp clang, the knife’s tip snapped off and flew away. Furious, Shaya shouted, “What are you doing?!”

The woman’s expression was unmoved. “Killing.”

“Why?” Shaya demanded angrily.

“Burden,” she said, each word as chilling as shards of ice.

Shaya exploded in anger, brandishing the fire fork. “No! It saved my life!”

The woman frowned, staring at Shaya with eyes full of frost and no emotion. Shaya forced himself to meet her gaze. After a moment, she turned away, silently sheathing her knife. “If you insist on taking the goblin, share a horse. If you fall behind, I won’t wait. If Hastings catches up, I’ll run first.”

Shaya’s chest tightened with frustration. Snorting, he lifted the goblin onto a horse, then mounted himself.

True to her word, the woman didn’t wait. She spurred her horse ahead, paying no heed to Shaya behind. As a woman, she was naturally lighter, while Shaya and the goblin weighed much more, so the horses’ speed gradually left them far behind. She pressed relentlessly onward. Shaya suffered terribly, with no time to rest. The jostling reopened his wounds.

When the woman finally stopped to rest, she watched coldly as Shaya struggled to catch up. Having rested, she mounted and rode off without the slightest concern for him.

They traveled without pause for two days. Shaya barely slept or ate, barely keeping pace. At dusk on the second day, the silhouette of Wildfire Town’s walls appeared on the horizon. Only then did the woman stop, waiting for Shaya to arrive, gasping for breath.

“We’re here.”

She spoke coldly. “I’ll leave you here. Dismount and walk the rest yourself.”

Shaya had bottled up his anger for two days. If not for the fact she inexplicably saved his life, he would have long since exploded. He dismounted grimly, set the goblin down, then looked at the woman, deeply inhaling. “No matter what, tell me your name. I want to know who I owe my life to.”

The woman sat silently on her horse, gazing at the walls of Wildfire Town. For a fleeting moment, a faint sorrow flickered across her face, but it vanished quickly.

After a long pause, she took a deep breath. Her eyes returned to their cold edge as she reached into her cloak and tossed something at Shaya’s feet.

Looking down, Shaya froze.

It was a badge—made of brass with gold trim, hexagonal patterns carved on it, proudly bearing the emblem of the Thirteenth Cavalry Regiment!

“Tell Adric for me,” the woman said with a cold smile, “Veya has fully repaid the Thirteenth Cavalry Regiment, and him, Adric. From now on, I am no longer Rodrian. Nor am I Byzantine.”

With that, she suddenly drew her short knife and slammed it into the badge, splitting it clean in two with a sharp clang.

She sneered coldly, didn’t spare Shaya another glance, grabbed the reins of the other horse, and with a sharp shout, spurred away—never once looking back.

Shaya stood there, staring at the broken badge on the ground for a long time before coming back to himself.

Veya…

Veya?

She was Veya?

Adric’s former captain of the guard?

Veya… was a woman?!