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Moonlight fell across the smooth, gleaming scales of the armor, scattering its light into countless fine, shimmering fragments. It carried a certain delicate, ethereal quality much like sunlight filtering through leaves, but unlike sunlight, it offered no warmth. Instead, it sent a chill crawling down her spine and spreading throughout her body.
These finely crafted works of steel had been forged for one purpose: to take lives. In an age as chaotic and lawless as this one, anyone could immediately tell that these fearsome soldiers meant no good. This was especially true of the man leading them. The terrifying scent of blood clung to him alone, nearly enough to make her faint. The jagged wound slashed across his face was so deep that she could see the pale bone beneath it.
The grating rasp of iron armor scraping against iron sent a shiver down her spine. Beside her, the new mother could barely stand on her own. Her exhausted body, coupled with the sheer terror of the scene, had caused her to faint. Yet, even unconscious, her arms remained locked tightly around her child, refusing to let go.
The newborn infant, sensing its mother's suddenly tightened grip, cried out in discomfort, utterly indifferent to the tense situation around it. The child's cry rang out sharp and clear, instantly shattering the grim, oppressive atmosphere. Several of the cavalrymen exchanged wary glances, and finally, the man standing at the very front spoke.
"Let this new mother lie back down on the bed. We won't harm any of you. Besides, if I truly meant to harm you, there'd be nowhere for you to run anyway."
The healer silently helped the mother lie back down on the bed. After gently soothing the infant, who was still crying, she turned uneasily toward the man, who had pulled up a stool and taken a seat by now.
"My Lord, may I ask what brings you here?"
The girl carefully chose her words, unwilling to provoke the frightening soldier. Some kind of intuition told her that this man had taken many lives, the kind of man who valued human life so little that killing came as easily to him as breathing. All the more reason to tread carefully.
"I've heard you're the only healer in this village," he began. "I've come hoping you might take a look at a wound of mine."
The man leaned back casually against the wall behind him; the "chair" beneath him was nothing more than a dried, weathered log. The pale, silvery moonlight filtering through the window illuminated his face clearly.
His sharply defined, hardened features carried an unmistakable air drawn to his eyes like a hawk circling within drifting mist. The corners of his mouth were slightly upturned; his eyes were fierce and piercing. They radiated a kind of soul-stirring presence and dominance. Beneath his straight, well-defined nose was a pair of thin lips. His jaw was clean-shaven, revealing a strong, angular chin.
His short black hair was swept back, exposing a broad forehead. Above that sat a pair of thick, long brows that slanted upward toward his temples. They twitched faintly from the throbbing pain of his forehead wound.
All things considered, the soldier, who appeared to have killed countless men, turned out to be strikingly handsome, embodying the Imperial standard of beauty. Having visited the Imperial City herself, the healer knew what the people of the Empire considered attractive.
The man before her seemed to be sculpted from that very template. If anything, he was too handsome, almost unnaturally so.
The only thing marring his otherwise striking features was the scar slashing across his right cheek. It ran from his forehead to his cheekbone and split his eyelid in two, enough to make one wonder how he could sleep at night. Moreover, the wound's condition looked poor.
Though it had stopped bleeding, it had taken on a deathly pale color, and the bone beneath was clearly visible through the gash.
A wound this severe would incapacitate most grown men in their prime with agony alone, yet the soldier showed no change in expression. Though his forehead twitched occasionally, his face remained calm and composed throughout, as though the wound were nothing more than a mosquito bite.
"Well? Is there still hope for me?"
There was a trace of amusement in his voice, as though he were quite at ease. But the healer's sharp ears caught the sound of the fully armored cavalrymen behind him tightening their grips on their weapons. Their menacing presence very nearly made her drop everything and flee on the spot in that instant. The tallest and most imposing of them was staring at her with open, predatory intent.
If she said the wrong thing about the man's condition, these soldiers might do something terrible right then and there. Fear left her tongue trembling and unable to form words for what felt like an eternity.
"All right, that's enough. Don't frighten the healer. Wait for me outside, all of you. There's no need to worry. I trust she won't do anything foolish. She looks like a sensible woman to me."
She let out a breath of relief when the terrifying, blood-soaked pressure suddenly vanished from the room.
The soldiers didn't hesitate for a moment before retreating from the room and closing the door carefully behind them. Only once the clatter of their armor had fully faded away did the man finally turn his head back toward her and speak again.
"Healer, tell me your name. Surely you have one, don't you?"
"My Lord, I am called Talina. Tuo Talina. That is my name."
The man rested a finger against his chin and studied her with a genuine, yet unsettlingly invasive, gaze that made her think of something unpleasant. Her fingers instinctively closed around a small, sharp knife tucked within her herb pouch.
"You don't look like a Hols to me. Hols are typically slimmer than you."
"My father is an Imperial man, My Lord. My mother is Hols."
The soldier nodded as though the mystery had been solved at once and continued speaking with a faint smile.
"All right then, Talina, stitch up my eye for me. If you have another idea, that's fine too. In this matter, I'm quite willing to defer to the healer's judgment."
In the darkness, the man beckoned her over. Despite his handsome features, Talina found herself trembling. After his second call, she finally made her way over to him.
"Forgive me, Miss, but I cannot give you my name. It's for the good of everyone here. The less you know, the better. It's safer for you this way."
Talina was the only one in the village who had had any real experience with the outside world, so she immediately grasped the meaning behind his words. A wave of relief and the giddy joy of a narrow escape from disaster flooded her heart. If he was saying this, it meant he had no intention of taking their lives and that alone was enough to ease much of the fear still lingering in her chest.
"Forgive me, My Lord, but your wound is in bad shape. First, it should be cleansed with boiling water brewed from double-leaf grass to prevent impurities from setting in. Only then can it be properly stitched closed with needle and thread."
The man nodded.
"Sounds like a solid plan. But do you have any double-leaf grass on hand? We don't have time to search for it elsewhere."
"We do. It's already boiling in that pot outside. It was originally meant for the new mother, but it's already prepared and ready to use."
The soldier immediately called out toward the door. A moment later, the tall, imposing cavalryman entered, carrying a wooden basin filled with the bluish liquid. He set it down and left the room at once without a word.
"Well then, go ahead and treat me, Healer. Don't hold back. Proceed however you see fit."
The man lightly rubbed the corner of his eye as he said this in a calm, unbothered tone.
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