"IT'S A MONSTER'S CORE!!!"
Almost immediately, the shout was cut short, followed by a tense silence that seemed to ripple through the guild. Several nearby mercenaries exchanged meaningful glances before studiously returning to their drinks.
Jasper paused, his curiosity piqued. "A monster's core?" he thought, recalling mentions of such a thing in Hope City when he was a mercenary there. Everyone there considered it a useless thing; they did call it a monster's core, but it was more of a monster's heart—it's just that the color of the heart changed, that's all. Yet the man's reaction suggested otherwise. His voice had carried the unmistakable tone of someone who had discovered an incredible treasure.
He turned slightly, considering whether to investigate further, but a burly guard had already positioned himself before the dissection room door, his crossed arms and unwavering stare making it clear that access was restricted.
"Something isn't right," Jasper murmured to Ivar as they left the guild, squinting as they stepped back into the bright afternoon sun. "That reaction was too genuine to be nothing."
"Perhaps another time," Ivar suggested quietly. "Some secrets reveal themselves only with patience."
"Indeed," Jasper conceded. "And I suspect this is one worth waiting for."
They continued their walk toward the inn, their pace leisurely as they navigated the increasingly crowded streets. The afternoon was wearing on, and workers were beginning to fill the thoroughfares as they finished their daily labors.
Jasper noticed Ivar's erratic pace—sometimes rushing forward, other times falling behind—and smiled knowingly. "Are you getting impatient to see your soon-to-be wife?" he asked, his voice tinged with gentle amusement.
Ivar responded with a flustered laugh, his usually composed features softening. The thought of seeing her clearly brought him joy, yet embarrassment colored his reaction. In all his years, he had never held a woman's hand—not even his mother's. Orphaned before his earliest memories formed, he had grown up with only the vaguest concept of family.
"You know, Ivar," Jasper said pensively as they walked beneath the lengthening shadows of the buildings, "I truly envy you. You seem happily in love, and your happiness is evident in every step you take."
"Huh?" Ivar looked genuinely surprised. "Are you the one saying that, Master? With your wealth, you could purchase any wife you desired, or take female slaves without question. Your coffers ensure no one would refuse you."
"As if it were so simple," Jasper replied, his voice growing quieter. "In my experience, which is negligible, girls haven't merely mocked me—they've avoided me like a plague victim." A shadow passed over his features as painful memories surfaced. "I have no desire to force myself on anyone. But imagine falling in love for the first time, only to have the object of your affection not just avoid your gaze but weep at your approach." He sighed deeply, the sound carrying years of rejection.
Ivar fell silent, unsure how to respond to his master's rare moment of vulnerability. They walked in silence for several minutes, the only sounds were their footsteps and the distant hum of the city around them.
Finally, Ivar spoke, his tone deliberately lighter. "You know, Master, I'm certain that someday you'll find someone who appreciates your kindness and sees beyond your exterior. I believe that with absolute conviction." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Or you could become the wealthiest man in the kingdom, and someone will surely love you for that reason alone, at the very least."
"You are not helping here," Jasper replied. "My father was the wealthiest man in the entire kingdom, yet I was treated as nothing more than a curiosity by noble ladies—something to gawk at in their idle hours. And the common folk?" He shook his head bitterly. "They believe I'm cursed, that anyone who touches me will suffer a terrible fate."
His voice grew firmer as he continued, "I could amass all the gold in the world, but changing how people think? That's a far more difficult task." A new determination entered his voice. "But if I cannot have what I desire as the wealthiest merchant, I shall claim it as the wealthiest king instead."
"I'll stand beside you until the end, Master," Ivar pledged quietly. "Until your hair turns gray and your steps grow slow. Just don't forget to make me your right hand when you wear the crown."
Jasper's head tilted slightly downward, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. He reached out, patting Ivar on the shoulder with genuine affection. "You have my word." After a few seconds of walking silently, he added, "And don't talk about hair anymore—you know that I'm bald."
giggle x2
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across street as they approached the inn. It was a modest three-story structure of timber and stone, well-maintained but deliberately unremarkable—the perfect place to conduct business without drawing unwanted attention.
Jasper rapped his knuckles against the solid oak door. After a moment, they heard light footsteps approaching from within, followed by the soft scraping of a bolt being withdrawn.
The door opened to reveal an old woman, her shriveled eyes immediately assessing them before she stepped aside to let them enter. They climbed the narrow staircase in silence, the worn wooden stairs creaking softly beneath their weight. At the end of a short hallway.
Upon arriving at Lysandra's room, they knocked upon the door softly, she swiftly opened granting them entry. The scent of healing herbs and fresh linens greeted them as they stepped in, a welcome change from the stinky streets.
"How is she?" Jasper asked quietly as Lysandra secured the door behind them.
"Awake and somewhat improved, the wounds will heal in time."
The room beyond was small but clean, illuminated by the warm glow of oil lamps. The window was covered with a light curtain that filtered the late afternoon sunlight into a soft, diffuse glow. A small table held various bottles and bandages, evidence of Lysandra's careful nursing.
On the bed lay the woman they had rescued from the harsh treatment, her bruised face turned toward the door as they entered. Though still confined to the bed by her injuries, she was conscious now, her eyes following their movements and a faint smile appeared on her lips.
…
Earlier that day, approximately three hours ago, she had awakened from her unconscious state. Her eyelids had felt as heavy as stone, her vision blurred and unfocused as she struggled to determine her surroundings. A gentle voice had drifted to her ears through the haze of pain.
"Did you wake up?" The voice had been melodious and warm, carrying a gentleness she had almost forgotten existed.
"Mm," she had responded, barely moving her swollen lips as her eyes darted about, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar room.
Something cool and soothing had touched her injuries, and she had focused on the blurry figure tending to her, with a herbal scent filling the room tickling her nose. Gradually, her vision had cleared enough to reveal a woman of extraordinary beauty kneeling beside the bed. Despite wearing normal clothing, and the obvious effort to tend the wound that high ranking women don't have, the woman possessed an elegance that would have suited the highest courts of the land. Her eyes were indeed like the deepest ocean—mesmerizing and fathomless. Her hair fell in silken waves that caught the light with every movement, and her skin seemed to glow with an inner radiance.
"Thank you, pretty lady," she had whispered through cracked lips.
"I'm not a noble to be called a lady," the woman replied with a gentle smile. "I'm a slave like you. Just call me Lysandra."
"Thank you, Lysandra." She had studied her caretaker's face with growing wonder. "You look more like a noble lady than any true noble I've ever seen. Please tell me, where am I?"
"You're in my chamber," Lysandra had explained while applying a fragrant salve to a particularly angry bruise. "Our Master bought you from your previous owner. He intends to wed you to Ivar, who is also a slave in our household."
The injured woman's vision had blurred again, this time with tears that welled up and spilled down her cheeks. "What a miserable life this is," she had whispered, her voice breaking. "I cannot even enjoy a moment's peace or make choices of my own."
"May I know your name?" Lysandra had asked, her touch remaining gentle as she wiped away the tears.
"Mina," she replied between quiet sobs.
"Well, Mina, let me tell you why my master likely purchased you," Lysandra had begun, setting aside her healing supplies to sit beside the bed.
...
"So you mean to say that if that man, Ivar, hadn't expressed interest in me, your master wouldn't have intervened?" Mina had asked after hearing Lysandra's explanation.
"That appears to be the case," Lysandra had confirmed. "But I suspect he was also moved by your suffering and saw an opportunity to help when Ivar mentioned your beauty. That's merely my impression, of course." She had leaned forward, her voice growing more earnest. "What I can assure you of is that he won't mistreat you. Notice how freely I speak with you now. Isn't a forced marriage to a kind man preferable to continued abuse? Here, at least, you'll be safe from harm."
Mina had fallen silent, considering Lysandra's words carefully. As she had pondered her situation, her tears had gradually subsided, as if her body had accepted the reasoning before her mind could fully process it. Lysandra, sensing her need for space, had busied herself with other tasks, allowing Mina the dignity of reaching her own conclusions without pressure.
After enough time had passed to boil a small pot of tea, Lysandra had returned with a tray of simple food. Mina, still too weak to sit up unaided, had accepted Lysandra's help to lean against the headboard while being fed small bites of bread and soup.
Though she had initially fought to maintain her composure, the unexpected kindness had proven too much. Tears had begun to fall anew, transforming her words of gratitude into broken apologies.
"I'm sorry, Lysandra," she confessed between careful sips of broth. "I cannot control my tears. My former master's foolish son would strike me for crying. I was assigned to care for his father—a man so foul that even his own family avoided him. The old man would shout constantly and forget what he had done moments before." Her voice had grown softer as she recounted her hardships. "I rarely slept, tending to him day and night. And after the family ate, they either claimed there was nothing left for me or offered scraps that wouldn't satisfy a cat, even though I'm the one who prepared their food."
Lysandra had been unable to maintain her composure at this tale of cruelty. Setting aside the food, she had gathered Mina in a gentle embrace, mindful of her injuries. "It's over now," she had whispered fiercely. "You've endured enough suffering. It's time for life to reward your patience."
She held Mina until the younger woman's tears subsided, then continued feeding her while sharing stories of her own life since Jasper had purchased her and the others—Ivar and Azm. These tales of kindness and respect had gradually eased the tension from Mina's battered body, offering her the first glimmer of hope for her future in many years.
After finishing her meal, Lysandra had helped her lie down again, continuing their conversation until the sound of knocking announced the arrival of Jasper and Ivar.
"Welcome back, Master," Lysandra greeted. "As you can see, our new member is awake and recovering."
Jasper nodded, his expression thoughtful as he assessed Mina's condition from a respectful distance. "That is good news indeed." He turned to Ivar, whose gaze had not left Mina since entering the room. "Perhaps introductions are in order?"
Now, as they entered the room, Mina's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the men—one clearly her new master, and the other, she presumed, her intended husband. Despite her fears, she noticed that neither looked at her with the cruelty or dismissiveness she had come to expect from men with power over her fate.
Though Jasper's facial features were hidden, her mind, influenced by Lysandra's praise, conjured an image of kindness in his gaze, completely forgetting she'd passed out after seeing his face previously.
A faint smile tugged at her lips as she caught Ivar's unwavering, almost foolish stare. It was the look of someone gazing at something they admired, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a flicker of warmth stirred within her.