That really was a statement befitting a villain—no matter what world you’re in, you can’t escape lines like that, can you?
Weiss watched as the soldiers scrambled away, stumbling and crawling in their haste to flee, while Fiya sheathed her sword with practiced ease, scoffing in disdain:
“Cowards who can’t even handle a scare. If you’ve got the guts to bully others, you’d better be ready to have your bones broken.”
Weiss made no comment.
If nothing else, getting slashed by you is far more than just breaking a few bones; scaring someone into pissing their pants would be the normal reaction.
Even if they bore the name of Imperial soldiers, this region along the Silent Sun Valley mountain border was never a front-line war zone.
The soldiers stationed here had long since grown rusty, their swords good for little more than intimidation.
Maybe they had slightly better talent than ordinary folk, but in terms of actual combat experience, they were probably less skilled than some half-drunk mercenaries. It was no wonder they acted like a bunch of useless fools, fit only for bullying defenseless, powerless groups.
Weiss let out a gentle sigh.
Faint footsteps sounded behind him—Lortissa walked up from the rear:
“Why did you save them?”
Weiss turned his head and met the golden-haired girl’s emerald eyes.
She always wore a calm, expressionless face, so it was difficult to glimpse her emotions.
But now, those eyes burned with clear indignation and confusion, like twin green flames flickering in the dark.
Weiss forced a sheepish smile, lowered his voice, and leaned close to her ear:
“If I hadn’t stopped you, were you really going to punch those Imperial soldiers to death? That would have made things a whole lot messier, wouldn’t it?”
Reminded by his words, the taut energy in Lortissa finally relaxed.
She turned away, no longer looking in the direction the soldiers had disappeared.
Following Lortissa’s gaze, Weiss also looked toward the little girl.
The girl was still clinging tightly to the golden-haired sister’s clothes, hiding half her body behind her, only her timid eyes peeking out.
Her small body was still trembling, but she managed to whisper her thanks:
“Thank you… thank you, big brother, big sisters.”
“You’re not very brave by nature, but you still found the courage to stand up for your family… That couldn’t have been easy for you.”
Fiya walked over as well, pulling a small crystal vial from her waist pouch, the liquid inside shimmering softly.
“Here, you must have gotten hurt. Put a drop on your wounds—scrapes like these will heal in the blink of an eye.”
The little girl blinked, staring at the healing potion in Fiya’s hand, then looked at the silent Lortissa, and finally turned her gaze to Weiss.
Her eyes were filled with hesitation and anxiety. She suddenly took a step back and waved her hands frantically at Fiya.
“No, no! That must be really expensive, it would be wasted on someone like me… These little scrapes and aches, I—I’m used to them, they’re nothing.”
Fiya held the crystal-clear potion suspended in the air, her face growing more and more awkward as she listened to the girl’s words.
Lortissa said nothing. She reached out, took the potion from Fiya, and without giving the girl any chance to refuse, pulled her injured arm over.
The cool liquid dripped onto the girl’s scraped arm, then was carefully applied to a deeper cut behind her calf.
Under the girl’s shocked gaze, all the wounds—old and new—closed at a visible rate, leaving not even a scar behind. Her skin was smooth as if nothing had happened.
When Lortissa finished, Weiss finally spoke up, half questioning, half reminding, as he gestured to the girl:
“All the food’s on the cart. If you want any, just help yourself.”
The girl glanced up at Lortissa again, almost by reflex.
When the golden-haired sister nodded gently, giving her permission, the girl seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and hurried to the cart laden with sacks of relief food.
At first, she picked up a few loaves of good-looking bread and wheat cakes, hugging them to her chest.
But after a moment’s hesitation, she carefully put them back.
Instead, she grabbed a rough clay bowl, filled it from the large earthen jar with a bowl of thin oat porridge.
Without worrying about anything else, she ran barefoot back through the camp’s maze of tents, hugging her warm bowl of porridge tightly.
Weiss’s gaze followed the small, frail but determined figure. He turned his head and quietly said to Lortissa:
“If you’re concerned, we can go check on them together.”
Lortissa barely hesitated before nodding.
Fiya quickly raised her hand as well.
“I’m coming too!”
She was about to follow, but suddenly remembered something, circled back to the cart, picked up the loaves of bread and wheat cakes the little girl had put back, and after thinking for a moment, grabbed a few strips of smoked jerky as well.
The three of them left together. Behind them, the stunned refugees finally snapped out of their daze.
A stir ran through the crowd before they all swarmed the cart, scrambling madly for the food.
They passed through crooked tents, winding several times through mud and debris.
Following the tiny figure, Weiss and the others reached the most isolated corner of the camp, where only a single dilapidated tent stood alone.
Peering inside, they saw almost nothing—just a layer of dried grass laid out on the ground, reeking of mildew.
A shriveled old man was lying there, breathing faintly.
The little girl hurried over with the bowl of porridge, kneeling at his side.
She used her thin arms to try to help him up, lifting his shoulders as she called out:
“Grandpa! Grandpa, look, I brought food back!”
The old man’s eyes were shut tight. Only his lips moved, uttering a hoarse whisper that could not form a single complete sentence.
The girl could only try her best to feed him with a spoon, mouthful by mouthful, gently stroking his shrunken back to help him swallow.
With the nourishment, the old man gradually regained some strength.
Once he’d finished the last drop of porridge, he finally opened his eyes, slowly and with great effort.
His cloudy gaze fixed on the little girl before him. He spoke, his voice rasping like stones grinding together:
“Ah… Vannie… Am I not dead yet?”
The girl could hold back no longer, throwing herself into the old man’s arms, hugging him tightly.
“No! Grandpa won’t die, don’t say things like that!”
The two wept together. The old man’s bony hand stroked his granddaughter’s soft hair, murmuring again and again, “Good girl.”
After a while, the old man looked up and noticed the three visitors quietly standing in the tent.
He calmed himself a little and asked, somewhat puzzled:
“And these are…?”
The girl quickly wiped away her tears and stood to introduce them.
“Grandpa, these are the kind people who helped me. It’s thanks to them that I could bring the relief food back.”
Weiss stepped forward on his own:
“Hello, my name is Weiss. As you can see, I’m a mercenary. These two are my companions, Fiya and Tissa.”
The old man struggled to sit up straighter, introducing himself:
“My name is Jimurich. This is my granddaughter, Vannie. When we lost our land, I brought her here to work as porters to make ends meet, but who could have expected… Sigh, that things would turn out like this.”
Weiss’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on the old man’s clothes—worn, but of decent material.
“If you don’t mind me asking, the porter work you mentioned—were you working for the Valrona Merchant Guild?”