The morning air was fresh as a light breeze blew through the city, and Orson looked at his wife who sat in front of him. She seemed not to notice him as she continued to eat her food.
Orson looked at her, lost in thought.
Weird. She had the aura of death in her body and no chance to live. The death aura was just that—an aura. It appeared when someone was about to die. Even immortals, in the face of death and oblivion, were nothing more than pawns in a world ruled by the absolute laws of the universe. And the death aura was that one set rule.
Orson looked at her, but weirdly enough, he didn’t pity her. Not when he didn’t have his memories, and not even now.
Orson was a War God. A man who fought and bled for his empire. He had a rule—he was born to fight and he would die fighting. Even after three hundred years of war, Orson never looked back, nor did he regret his service. But after fighting and bleeding for the people and the so-called nobles, they still went after his wife and son. So to cleanse the empire’s sins against the War God, Orson chose to use their blood.
Weird, really. His first wife was dead, but his new wife in this new life was also about to die. Strange, if you think about it. It was like heaven didn’t want him to be married. But then again, why would heaven even care?
Okay, now I’m just going off topic.
With that, Orson shook his head, trying to go back to the topic at hand.
If his wife was going to die, he could have saved her before—when she did not have the aura. But now she did. What exactly could have changed while he was gone? Still, all this was just questions, and the person in front of him had the answers.
Lenora was too busy eating her food to look at Orson, whose face had changed multiple times because he was thinking.
Did Orson care about her? No, he thought. But he did admire her. She was just like him—she was fighting for her world before she got injured and everyone forgot her. But he made everyone forget him. Still, their paths were similar in more ways than one.
Just then, a loud clang hit the table as Lenora looked up after eating. For a woman with beauty and elegance, she ate like a pig, Orson thought as he looked at Lenora, whose clothes had stains of her meal. Even her silver hair had small stains of soup on it.
Orson sighed and got up. He noticed one thing about his new prideful wife—she was a pig in sheep’s clothing. Or was it a wolf in sheep’s clothing? This world used weird metaphors, really. Was the wolf to wear sheep’s clothing? I mean, Orson understood the saying—the sheep looked harmless because it was a wolf, not because it was a sheep. But it was weird because how does a wolf even get sheep’s clothing, and why use that as a metaphor?
Weird.
As he walked for some cleaning cloths, he looked at her. Lenora looked back at him; her eyes—usually cold—looked innocent. She looked like a wronged puppy, and her eyes were as clear as ice cubes.
But Orson was not about to be fooled by the pig in front of him.
Was it bad he was calling her a pig? I mean, look at her. She looked like she went on a battle with the food. Who would believe she just ate the food?
Lenora looked at him and down at her clothes. She knew how she looked and judged from Orson getting cleaning cloths. But her pride would not let her make Orson look at her like some pig.
"What are you looking at?"
Orson looked down at her clothes, then back at her.
Really? That is what you’re asking?
He thought as he moved closer to her. The smell of wine was still on her from her drunk escapade, but she was not going to back down.
"Look, I may look bad, but it’s not my fault that the food was good."
Orson just looked at her.
Was that a compliment, or was she blaming him?
After helping Lenora take her bath, Orson also had his bath to clean himself up before finding new clothes. After dressing, he saw Lenora on the bed.
"Well, I will be outside if you need me."
With that, Orson left the room.
The backyard was beautiful under the snowy ground, but weird enough, even with the snow outside, it was warm as a warm breeze gently blew through the backyard. Orson found a spot under the tree with little snow and cleaned the place before sitting down cross-legged on the ground.
After entering the first realm of Qi Gathering, it was easier to cultivate now, but the spiritual energy in the breach was better than the outside world. And since Orson had gotten a taste of it, everything else just felt not as good as the breach’s. So Orson stopped trying to cultivate and just lay on the ground as the wind blew slowly.
It was a beautiful and peaceful scene.
The second was Lenora. Even if she was going to die, Orson was going to make sure to help her body. But he could not, because of the poison that was eating at her life gate. There is no use making a body strong when what is killing it is still inside. And that was where the problem lay.
When Orson first felt the poison when carrying her, it was metallic, so he thought it was the same poison that killed his body. But he was dead wrong. Lenora’s poison was much more dangerous and deadly. And what was weird was that the poison shapeshifted. After feeling Lenora’s pulse, he noticed her symptoms always changed. So that was the only thing he could think of.
And a poison like that, he was not even sure he could heal.
Just then, the door to the backyard opened, and Lenora wheeled herself out.