Upon hearing Weiss’s words, Ji Mulici’s cloudy eyes suddenly brightened. He struggled to sit up straighter:
“You… How do you know?”
Weiss’s gaze fell upon the old man’s collar:
“The Varona Chamber of Commerce’s insignia. It’s faded, but still recognizable.”
The old man nodded, his eyes flickering, though there was still a hint of wariness in his expression.
Fia, at the right moment, placed the food she’d brought onto the grass mat. A faint scent of wheat drifted from the coarse cloth bag.
Lortissa silently removed the water flask from her waist, twisted open the wooden stopper, and handed it to Vannie beside her.
The little girl timidly accepted it, but didn’t drink. Instead, she carefully held it to her grandfather’s parched lips, letting him take a sip first.
Weiss paused, his voice softening even further:
“There’s no need to be nervous. I’m also a mercenary hired by the Varona Chamber of Commerce, looking for someone here on the borderlands. They say the Chamber’s young lady, the president’s own daughter, hasn’t returned to Wucheng after heading toward the Valley of Still Days.”
Ji Mulici’s body visibly tensed, his gaze flickering uneasily:
“You mean… Miss Kadelyxi?”
Weiss secretly took out his phone. The faint glow of the screen briefly lit up his face as he checked the memo and confirmed the name on the commission. Then he crouched down, meeting the old man’s gaze at eye level.
“May I ask, do you know the details?”
The old man’s voice was slow, hard to tell if by nature or due to his inner hesitation.
After a long while, he finally spoke slowly:
“Actually… we were the attendants who followed Miss Kadelyxi to the borderlands.”
“And you came to the borderlands for…?”
“Well…”
Ji Mulici glanced away from Weiss, casting his eyes toward the shadowy corner of the tent.
“The young lady… yes, she came to survey the border, to see if there’s a chance to expand the trade routes. Near Stillday Town, we were attacked by Aberrant Forms, and in the chaos, we were separated…”
As he spoke, the old man shot his granddaughter a glance.
Vannie immediately understood, nodding her head vigorously in agreement.
“Were there any other attendants who came with you?”
A look of helplessness and grief crossed the old man’s face. He slowly shook his head:
“There were… but after the Aberrant Forms’ attack, none were seen again. Here at this refugee shelter, I haven’t found a single familiar face.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Two, two or three days, I think.”
The old man stammered.
The little girl beside him softly corrected:
“It’s been four days, Grandpa.”
Weiss exchanged a glance with Lortissa at his side.
If he calculated the timing—
Four days ago was about when the western border garrison of the kingdom dispatched a messenger to the Empire’s border, reporting the Aberrant Tide’s situation.
At the very least, it showed that the Fernan Domain of the Empire had responded in time.
But why hadn’t they sent troops to join the suppression of the Aberrant Tide?
The question flashed through his mind.
Still, it was all in the past. As a mere mercenary, he could only find it odd and had no real position to question it further.
For now, the commission was more pressing.
“Do you remember where you got separated?”
The old man furrowed his brow, raising his eyes in confusion:
“It was… it was…”
He didn’t finish.
Suddenly, a chaotic sound of footsteps erupted outside the tent. The clamor of trampling feet mingled with the harsh clatter of metal, growing nearer.
Almost the instant the noise began, Fia placed her hand on her sword’s hilt at her waist, watching the tent’s entrance with vigilance.
Lortissa, like a silent cat, quietly shifted her position, moving into the shadows beside the doorway.
“ Tch, I thought they’d be slower than this.”
Weiss clicked his tongue, rising unhurriedly to his feet and brushing the grass from his trouser legs.
“Old man, get some rest. Little girl, take good care of your grandpa.”
Just as he finished, Lortissa tried to lift the curtain and slip out first to investigate, but Weiss raised a hand to block her.
The mercenary shook his head at the blonde girl, then turned to the swordswoman, signaling with his eyes.
Fia understood at once, nodding solemnly.
“—Mercenaries inside! Come out and surrender, now!”
Before the people even arrived, a coarse roar sounded from just outside the tent, making the whole shelter buzz.
Weiss took a deep breath, turning his head to give the frightened grandfather and granddaughter a reassuring smile:
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. Just a few clowns to deal with. Tissa will stay here with you.”
With that, he stepped outside first.
Fia followed close behind.
It was past noon, and the sky outside the tent had grown even brighter.
Over twenty fully armed Imperial soldiers immediately surrounded them the moment they appeared. The tips of their spears flashed coldly in the dazzling sunlight.
The squad leader—the same one whose wrist had been broken by a stone earlier—stood beside an officer, a triumphant sneer on his face as he pointed at them with his uninjured hand.
The officer at the front wore a relatively tidy uniform. He swept his gaze coldly over the two standing before the tent:
“These are the ones? Just two mercenaries?”
“It’s them!” the squad leader shouted eagerly, then hastened to add,
“No, there’s another! There are three in total! They stole relief rations and assaulted Imperial soldiers!”
The officer’s scornful gaze slid off Weiss and turned instead to his subordinate with clear disgust:
“You let just three mercenaries put you all on alert? Useless. And you call yourself a sergeant.”
The squad leader shrank back in embarrassment, retreating a step.
But the officer, businesslike, moved on to the main matter. Personal insults aside, he wasn’t about to neglect his duty.
He issued the order directly, wasting no more words:
“Disturbing the settlement camp and attacking Imperial soldiers—arrest the troublemakers on the spot!”
The soldiers obeyed at once, shouting as they surged forward.
Weiss stepped back in perfect coordination.
Not to avoid the enemy, but to give Fia behind him room to act.
The black-haired swordswoman slowly drew her blade.
The long sword came free from its scabbard without haste, almost elegantly.
But as the sword tip cleared the sheath, a violent gale—utterly at odds with the movement’s languid grace—erupted.
It was not magic, but swordsmanship alone, the air compressed to its very limit and then blasted forth.
A string of dull thuds rang out.
The five soldiers at the front slammed into an invisible wall, knocked to the ground, shields and all, writhing in pain.
The remaining soldiers froze, fear written across their faces as they stared in disbelief at the black-haired swordswoman holding her sword.
The officer’s face turned ashen in an instant. He clapped his hand hard on the sword hilt at his waist:
“So you’ve chosen to resist to the end?”
Weiss stepped forward, lifting his hand slightly as he tried to reason gently:
“Sir, we were only helping the little girl reclaim her rightful portion of relief food.”
“Rightful?” The officer let out a cold laugh, his tone full of mockery and disdain,
“There’s no ‘rightful’ here—only what we give.”
The moment his words fell, he abruptly drew his sword.
The attendants beside him drew their weapons at once, forming an encircling posture around Fia.