Episode 7 – Meeting in Cheringen
“Ugh…”
Rasca slowly pushed himself up, but his chest throbbed with pain.
Looking down, he saw his torso neatly wrapped in fresh bandages.
Who patched me up?
Still confused, he sat on the edge of the bed.
On the bedside table were a glass of water, a red apple, and a neatly folded shirt.
His throat was dry, but after a moment’s thought, he reached for the shirt first.
It wasn’t new, but the fabric was good quality.
Click.
As he pulled the shirt over his shoulders, he heard the turn of a metal doorknob.
Instinctively, his hand shot to his hip—but his sword was gone.
The scabbard and belt were missing, too.
Whoever saved him must’ve taken them.
He moved cautiously toward the door.
The old brass knob still felt faintly warm, like someone had just touched it.
Slowly, he stepped out into a long corridor.
Stone walls, tall ceilings, wide windows… it looked like part of a big manor, maybe even a castle.
But—
Old. Very old.
The beams groaned, the windows were worn, and the halls were bare of decoration.
Whoever lived here had once been wealthy, but now… clearly fallen.
He was about to move when he noticed small pieces scattered on the floor.
“…Leaves?”
Tiny green leaf bits trailed in a line, as if pointing the way.
After a moment of hesitation, he followed.
If it were a trap, it wouldn’t be this cute.
His footsteps echoed softly on the faded but well-kept carpet.
Whoever tended the place, at least tried to keep it clean.
The leaves led him not to the grand entrance, but to a side door.
Beyond it, sunlight burst in. Rasca squinted, raising a hand until his vision adjusted.
There—someone small and slender was crouched, watering a planter.
As his eyes cleared, he saw a woman in a pale yellow skirt and a white blouse.
Her ashen-blonde hair was tied up, her sleeves rolled, arms pale and slim.
The sunlight caught on the curve of her neck beneath the bun.
Under long lashes, her green eyes were focused, serious.
But her flushed cheeks, small nose, and soft lips made her look less strict—more… like a rabbit.
Soft. Gentle. Almost fragile…
For the first time in years, Rasca felt curiosity stir.
He wanted her to look up. He wanted to see what color her eyes would hold if they met his.
He stepped forward just as she straightened, watering can in hand.
Their eyes met.
“Oh—you’re awake.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile, a mix of relief and polite caution.
“This is Cheringen. The southeastern edge of the Tropez Empire.”
She tucked the watering can into its box and looked back at him.
“I don’t know how you got hurt, but I found you collapsed in the market alley. I brought you here to treat you. Some of your things seemed dangerous, so I put them away safely. Your bag too. I’ll return them later.”
Dangerous things… my sword and knives.
He studied her calm face, the loose strands of hair sliding against her cheek, the fine down at her ear.
His fingers twitched with a reckless urge to touch.
“Um… does it still hurt? The wound was pretty deep.”
She asked carefully, green eyes shining with concern.
Have I lost my mind? he thought, almost reaching out—
“Mom!”
A child’s bright voice rang out, quick footsteps pattering closer.
The woman’s entire face lit up—so different from before.
“My girl!”
A little girl with pink hair in braids rushed into her arms.
…Mother and daughter.
The thought jolted him back to reality.
So she’s married, then.
Two rabbit-like faces—one older, one small—turned toward him.
For a heartbeat, Rasca’s strange haze vanished, replaced by sharp awareness.
Later, in the bedroom, Rasca sat up on the bed again.
Three pairs of curious eyes studied him.
“So… your name?” Maximilian was the first to ask.
“Rasca,” he answered easily, his tone mild.
Beside him sat Celeia and her daughter Lotte.
Rasca was officially “the patient,” resting in the same room he had woken in.
Vera and Maximilian had come as soon as they heard the stranger had regained consciousness.
“No last name?” Vera asked, tilting her head.
“No, none.”
Which meant: a commoner.
Rasca only smiled sheepishly and nodded.
His lips tugged upward gently, eyes softening as he smiled—an expression that made people drop their guard without realizing it.
“My mom treated him really hard!” Lotte piped up, blinking her bright eyes.
“She put medicine on his cuts and washed his face too.”
Celeia flushed a little.
I only did what I had to, since I decided to bring him here…
The way Lotte told it, it sounded like Celeia had devoted herself out of pure kindness.
Before she could correct her daughter, Rasca bowed his head.
“I truly owe you my life, ma’am. Without you, I’d be dead on the street.”
“O-oh… it was nothing,” Celeia murmured, uneasy under his warm blue gaze.
Earlier, in the garden, he had looked dazed, almost lost.
Now, sitting upright, he was strikingly handsome—smiling politely, voice gentle, yet with something unreadable beneath it all.
Just my imagination, Celeia told herself quickly.
She deflected.
“Really, it was my daughter who found you first. If not for Lotte, I wouldn’t have noticed.”
All eyes turned toward the girl. Lotte ducked her head, then shyly lifted it.
“I’m Lotte.”
Rasca’s lips curved in a deeper smile as he leaned slightly toward her.
“Then thank you, Lady Lotte.”
His teeth flashed white, his expression so kind and beautiful that the little girl froze, eyes wide, lips parted in innocent awe.
Maximilian cleared his throat.
“The wound wasn’t too deep, but you lost a lot of blood. What happened to you?”
Before Rasca could answer, another voice cut in.
“That accent—Teian, isn’t it? You’re from the Kingdom. What business do you have in the Empire?”
Sir Hayder strode in, eyes cold as steel, glaring down at Rasca, where he sat on the bed.
“Sir Elden…”
Celeia’s voice was tight with unease.
She didn’t notice the way Rasca’s gaze had turned to her at once—sharp, attentive, weighing.
