CHAPTER 74: THE BODY PILLOW REFUSED AGAIN...

Chapter 73: The Body Pillow Refused Again...

The camp was set much like the previous night—tents pitched in a small clearing, the faint orange glow of the fire flickering against the canvas walls, utensils cleaned, a few hushed conversations traded before sleep. Soon, silence swallowed the night save for the rustle of the wind through leaves and the occasional pop from the campfire. Two of Ethan’s soldiers stood watch, their silhouettes barely moving, their eyes glowing faintly with summoned vigilance.

Inside their tent, the stillness pressed close. Ethan lay on his bedroll, eyes half-shut but mind restless. Across from him, Lirael shifted. He could sense her stirring long before she whispered his name.

"...Ethan?"

He turned his head slightly, voice low but alert. "I’m awake. What is it?"

Her slender hand reached toward the corner of the tent, fumbling inside her pouch. She pulled out a small glass vial—the stamina potion he had given her after the battle. Even in the dim light, the liquid shimmered faintly, glowing with restrained vitality. She held it as if it were a jewel too precious for her to touch.

"I... should return this," she murmured. "Something like this... it must be worth a fortune. Too rare, too expensive for me to keep."

Ethan pushed himself up on one elbow and gave her a sharp look, not out of anger but something far heavier. His voice softened, steady as steel yet carrying warmth.

"Lirael. Don’t say that."

Her eyes flicked up to his, startled by the firmness in his tone. He sighed and leaned back, his gaze steady.

"There’s nothing expensive or precious between us. Not a thing. The only thing I consider precious... is you."

Her breath caught, the words striking deeper than she expected. Heat touched her cheeks, and she instinctively turned her face away, clutching the vial tighter.

"...You shouldn’t say things like that so easily," she whispered.

"I don’t say them easily," Ethan countered, his voice low but unyielding. "I say them because I mean them."

For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind brushing against the tent walls.

Lirael swallowed, then tried again, her voice barely more than a murmur. "But... something like this potion, it must have cost you something precious in return, right?"

Ethan scratched his head, searching for words. "It’s... difficult to explain. Let’s just say I didn’t buy it in the way you think. My system gave it to me in exchange for... something else."

Her brows furrowed. "Something else? What could be worth that much?"

He exhaled, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Think of it like... experience points in a game. When I kill something, I gain a currency I can trade for things like this. And now that you’re bound to me... your kills feed into it too. So, in a way, you’ve already paid for this potion. More than enough."

The tightness in her chest loosened. She let out a slow breath of relief, but her expression soon twisted into curiosity—and a faint frown.

"...This system of yours. It’s like... you’re taking an exam while everyone else has to study, struggle, and sweat—yet you walk in with not just a cheat sheet, but the entire answer book."

Ethan chuckled softly, a low, rumbling laugh that filled the tent with ease. "That’s one way to put it."

Her lips twitched, almost a smile, but she quickly masked it.

After a pause, Ethan shifted, glancing at her with a hesitant grin. "...So, about that pillow..."

The faintest hint of amusement glimmered in her eyes.

"No."

He sighed dramatically and flopped back onto his bedroll. "Cold-hearted elf..."

"Persistent human," she replied smoothly, though the edges of her voice carried warmth.

The night carried on, quiet and gentle. Outside, the soldiers kept watch. Inside, beneath the canvas, the air was filled not with words but with the unspoken comfort of trust slowly growing stronger.

Ethan was just about to close his eyes when Lirael’s voice broke the silence again. Soft. Hesitant. Almost nervous.

"...Ethan."

His gaze drifted back to her. "Hm?"

Her fingers toyed with the glass vial in her lap, her eyes refusing to meet his. Finally, she gathered the courage to speak, her words tumbling out in a whisper.

"I’ll... give you a reward."

That made him sit up straighter, curiosity instantly sharpening his expression. "A reward?"

"Yes," she said, her tone flustered but determined. "If—if you can manage to sleep without your... ’body pillow’ for the rest of this journey."

For a moment, Ethan just stared. Then, his head snapped toward her, his eyes narrowing in mock seriousness, as though she had just proposed an impossible trial.

"What kind of reward?" His voice carried a dangerous edge of suspicion. "You expect me to endure that kind of torment without knowing the compensation? Lirael, do you have any idea the suffering I’ve been through, night after night, being denied?"

His exaggerated tone made her lips twitch, and before she could stop herself, a soft giggle escaped. She quickly covered her mouth, but her eyes betrayed the amusement.

"It’s a secret," she said at last, tilting her chin slightly in playful defiance. "But I can promise this much—it won’t be unsatisfactory."

Ethan leaned closer, his brows furrowed as though trying to pierce her soul with his gaze. "...Not unsatisfactory, huh? That’s vague. You do realize I’m staking my sanity here."

Her cheeks colored, but her smile lingered. "Then endure, if you want to find out. That’s the price of the reward."

He groaned, flopping back onto his bedroll dramatically. "Cruel. Absolutely cruel."

Lirael let out another laugh—quiet, melodic, slipping past the walls she usually held so tightly. For the first time that night, her nervousness eased, replaced with something lighter.

"...Goodnight, Ethan," she whispered, softer now, her voice carrying an unfamiliar warmth.

He peeked at her from the corner of his eye, lips curving into a grin. "Goodnight, my stingy elf."

This time, she didn’t correct him.

---

The canvas of night stretched over Velkarth Village

A group of armored men emerged from the darkness, their presence too heavy, too sharp for a village so fragile.

One of his men dismounted, kneeling with a bowed head. "Lord Veyron, we’ve arrived. The signal was traced to this place."

Veyron’s sharp eyes swept the village, his lips curling into a faint, cruel smile. "So... this is where that little bitch chose to hide? Hah. I’ll give her credit—this place is so insignificant, no one in their right mind would look here."

His voice carried a venomous amusement, but it quickly sharpened into irritation as he glanced at the empty streets, lanterns swaying faintly in the night air.

"But tell me," he drawled, his gaze flicking toward the kneeling soldier, "what if she’s already moved? A signal sent five days ago... in that time, even on foot, one could vanish into eight different directions, farther than most men could hope to track."