The night was as dark as ink. Near the entrance to the Valley of Death, in a wind-sheltered rocky hollow, a small campfire crackled, driving away the chill of the wilderness and the faintly eerie atmosphere.
The four members of the “Masquerade” and Serena sat around the fire, taking a brief rest.
Lilisa hugged her knees, her head nodding as she dozed off.
Rita closed her eyes in prayer, a gentle glow radiating from her, providing a peaceful refuge for the group.
Helga added a dry branch to the fire, sending sparks dancing upward.
She turned her head toward the silent Irene beside her. In the firelight, Irene’s golden eyes behind the mask’s eyeholes stared thoughtfully at the flickering flames.
“Irene,” Helga whispered, almost a breath, “it seems Serena really hasn’t recognized us?”
Irene’s fingers unconsciously traced the cold edge of her mask. Hearing this, her golden pupils constricted slightly, a complex emotion stirring beneath them—an intertwining of disappointment, resentment, and the sting of being belittled.
“Hmph,” Irene’s voice came cold through the mask, deliberately subdued, “doesn’t this just prove it? In her mind, ‘Irene Raven’ is probably no different from some passing stranger wearing a mask. Ten years of growing up together, the closeness of companionship? Hah, it’s that cheap—so cheap that a single mask can completely sever it.”
Her words carried sharp sarcasm and a defensive distance. “Maybe that’s for the best. No need to tell her who we really are, Helga. The ‘Masquerade’ now and her, Serena, are nothing more than temporary partners with a shared goal.”
Helga looked at Irene’s tense profile and sensed the pride and stubbornness deeply wounded beneath her words. She opened her mouth, then closed it, finally sighing helplessly: “… I understand, Irene.”
Night deepened. Lilisa was assigned the first watch, sitting alert on a slightly higher rock, her heterochromatic eyes vigilantly scanning the darkness. Rita and Helga, wrapped in cloaks, leaned against the rocky wall, gradually drifting into sleep.
When it was Irene’s turn, she gently woke Serena, who was resting by the fire with her eyes closed. “Miss Serena, time to switch.”
Serena opened her eyes; her fiery red gaze gleamed vividly in the firelight.
She nodded, stretched her stiff body, and sat in the spot Irene had just vacated.
Irene sat opposite her. Across the campfire, they were silent, with only the crackling fire and the distant, wailing wind from the Valley of Death filling the void.
The silence lasted for a moment.
Serena stared into the flames, her eyes slightly vacant, as if lost in some memory.
Suddenly, she spoke, her voice unusually clear in the quiet night, carrying a rare gentleness:
“Captain… may I call you that?” She looked toward the golden eyes beneath Irene’s mask. “Though you wear a mask, there’s a strange sense of comfort when I talk to you. It feels like… maybe we’ve met somewhere before?”
Irene’s heart skipped a beat, but the mask concealed all expression. She only said faintly, “Never met you. You’re imagining things.”
Serena didn’t mind her coldness and continued as if confiding in a silent ear:
“I’m looking for someone—someone very important to me, someone I deeply hurt.”
Irene’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Fine, let’s hear what she has to say.
“We grew up together, chasing and playing on the grassy fields of Raven Territory, watching the stars from the castle balcony.” Serena’s lips curved into a nostalgic smile. The firelight illuminated the warmth in her eyes. “She was always quiet, loved reading, while I was like a wild boy, shouting about becoming the greatest adventurer, famous across the continent, so everyone would remember the name ‘Sword Saint Serena.’”
She paused, a self-mocking smile tugging at her lips. “Looking back now, it was such a childish and arrogant dream.”
“The stars were especially bright then,” Serena lifted her gaze to the night sky, sliced by the cliffs into a narrow strip where a few cold stars stubbornly twinkled. “We lay on the grass; I told her about my adventure dreams, and she said she hoped her friends and family could be happy and safe—so simple, right? But at the time, I thought her wish was petty, not ‘great’ enough…”
Irene listened quietly. The firelight flickered in her golden eyes, as if reflecting the starlight over that distant meadow.
“Later… I made an unforgivable mistake.”
Serena’s voice sank, heavy with remorse and pain. “Because I was upset by her leaving without a word, I thought she didn’t value us. I… I spread rumors about her, making her the target of everyone’s scorn. I knew how much it would hurt her, but out of cowardice and… the team’s reputation, I never cleared things up, even let it spread…”
She took a deep breath, as if trying to expel the weight from her chest. “I destroyed everything between us with my own hands.”
Saying this, she reached out, a self-deprecating smile crossing her lips.
“Only after the ‘Rainbow Bond’ disbanded… did I truly see what I’d lost.”
Her voice carried a calm finality that was more heart-wrenching than any fierce accusation. “So-called fame, the company of comrades—without the most important foundation, they all mean nothing, crumbling as easily as sandcastles.”
“I took full responsibility for spreading the rumors, explaining the truth to everyone I could reach, everyone who had passed them on… Soon, I believe the kingdom’s public opinion will clear her name. Though this delayed justice might be insignificant compared to the harm she suffered…”
The cost of this was, naturally, Serena’s own ruin—she was nearly ostracized from human society. Even the Sword Saint’s sect would be ashamed of her.
Yes, her father, Reinhardt, had already expelled her from the sect… Now, Serena was just an ordinary solo adventurer, no one willing to team up with the disgraced woman.
Only after experiencing this feeling did she fully realize how terrible her actions had been! It was her idea, so she alone must bear all the responsibility!
As for what lay ahead after finding Irene and apologizing again, Serena did not yet know.
…
She looked at Irene across the fire; her red eyes shone brightly in the flames, carrying a newfound serenity stripped of pretense.
“I only want to find her now, find her at the border. To say ‘I’m sorry’ to her in person. Whether she forgives me… I don’t dare hope anymore.”
“After going through all this, I’ve realized that compared to those empty dreams of being the ‘strongest’ or achieving fame, being able to protect those truly important and live with a clear conscience—that’s real strength and happiness. The old Serena… died in that vanity and foolishness.”
These words, spoken calmly by someone once proud and flamboyant, carried immense weight.
That hard-earned realization, that sincerity stripped of all vanity, gave Serena a completely different aura from the radiant yet sharp sun Irene remembered. She was more like a piece of jade, weathered by wind and rain, smooth and resilient.
Serena finished speaking, exhaling deeply as if shedding a great burden.
She stood, stretched her shoulders, and said, “It’s about time. I’m going to rest. Thank you for listening, Captain.”
She nodded slightly at Irene and turned toward the tents.
Irene did not move.
She remained seated by the fire, her golden eyes fixed motionless on the flickering flames.
The mask concealed all expression, while the firelight cast dancing shadows on its cold surface.
Serena’s calm, weighty words fell like stones into the lake of Irene’s carefully frozen defenses, stirring violent ripples.
The fire crackled, illuminating her silent figure.
The flames seemed no longer just warm—they carried a scorching scrutiny, shining on the corners of her heart cloaked in resentment.
She reached out, her fingertips unconsciously touching the cold edge of her mask, the metal barrier that cut her off from the outside world and, it seemed, from her own true feelings.
The night wind howled, the shadows of the Valley of Death loomed not far off, but at this moment, Irene’s world seemed to consist only of the burning campfire and Serena’s confession echoing relentlessly in her mind.
She stared at the flames, speechless for a long time.