Volume 3 Chapter 6 – A Buried, Frozen Memory

"Conductor, after our rigorous inspection, we have confirmed there are no suspicious individuals on board your carriage. All potential hazards have been eliminated. You may proceed with your journey at ease." Returning from his sweep, the militia captain, flanked by his flunkies, made this declaration to the conductor in a linen coat, wearing the face of officialdom.

Suspicious individuals? Who would ride a horse-drawn carriage if they were suspicious? If anything, you guys were the biggest hazard on this vehicle.

Though that’s what the conductor thought, he didn’t dare show it. All he could do was thank them profusely.

“Mm.” The militia captain grunted heavily and swaggered off the carriage with pompous strides, his pockets now nicely heavier.

As if seeing off the Buddha, the conductor wiped the sweat off his brow and instructed his crew to get the vehicle moving again.

“There shouldn't be any more inspections ahead. Apologies, everyone, for the trouble.” Once the carriage restarted, the conductor came to reassure the shaken passengers.

“Conductor, do you have to deal with inspections like that every trip?” Dylin asked.

“That was just bad luck this time. It’s not always like this. Those militia scoundrels—where there’s a goose, they’ll pluck a feather. No matter what, they’ll bleed us for something.”

“But that doesn’t happen with the regular army, right?”

“The regular army at least understands the rules. Most of the official patrols take our money quietly. Our boss even has some ties to their commanding officer, so they wouldn’t dare step out of line.” The conductor explained.

“To do business at the Empire’s frontier, you need connections. Otherwise, one day they might just throw you in a cell on charges of heresy.”

“The Empire’s standards for identifying heretics are really that arbitrary?”

“Young man, you don’t seem to be from the Empire. The Empire’s standards for heresy aren’t arbitrary—they’re excessively strict. So strict that a lot of innocent people who shouldn’t be considered heretics are caught up in the net. That’s what lets these soldiers extort people under the guise of law enforcement.”

So that was it.

Dylin understood now—basically, if you didn’t want to end up in jail, you had to cough up a bribe. Otherwise, they’d slap a heresy label on you and ruin your life.

If you got someone halfway decent, maybe you’d get off. But if not, they’d take your money and then turn on you anyway. And good luck finding anyone who’d listen to your complaint.

Yimi tilted her head slightly, baffled by this incomprehensible human behavior.

She couldn’t understand why humans went out of their way to trouble their own kind—just like she couldn’t understand the humans who stared at her like she didn’t belong.

“The road ahead is smoother now. These militia patrol only the border region. On the outskirts of frontier towns, you’ll find only regular troops. You don’t need to worry about inspections anymore,” the conductor added.

As he said, their journey to the Empire’s frontier went smoothly after that.

When they arrived at the final stop, Dylin and Yimi disembarked. Dylin hadn’t brought any luggage this time—just a Gold Elf girl who wanted to kill him.

As soon as he got off, he spotted the city walls nearby flying the Empire’s eagle flag. Compared to Coleman City, this wall looked old and poorly maintained. Hard to believe this was a frontier city of the continent’s great Empire.

The development here seemed behind the times. The walls looked like they had been haphazardly rebuilt with scraps from other old city walls, as if those responsible didn’t care about appearances—just minimal function to repel attackers.

Yimi stood still, blankly staring at the janky wall. It seemed like this was her first time seeing such a peculiar construction.

Outside the town stood a few watchtowers, surrounded by farmsteads and visible travelers along the fields.

So people did live nearby?

Yet Dylin couldn’t shake the eerie lifelessness in the air. Despite being surrounded by people, there was no real sense of life.

Only a few passengers got off at this terminal. Other than some traveling merchants, barely a handful remained on the carriage.

As a frontier outpost, very few people came into town—no lines at the gate.

“You two want to enter the city?” After processing a few merchants, the two stationed soldiers turned their gazes to Dylin and Yimi. The moment they saw Yimi, their eyes lit up like hungry wolves.

Yimi lowered her head slightly, disturbed by their gazes, unwilling to meet their eyes.

“Yes, we’re students from Coleman City. We’re here on vacation.”

“Ha, vacation?” One of the soldiers blinked, unable to hide his smirk.

“What, is that a problem?”

“No, no problem at all. Vacation, huh? Then you’ve come to the right place,” the guard said with a sarcastic grin. “Kanz City will definitely give you a warm welcome.”

“Alright, you can go in.” After a quick check of their IDs, the guards let them pass—much to Dylin’s surprise.

“Here’s a word of advice: once inside, talk less, don’t stare at the wrong people, and most importantly, stay out of trouble. Also, that girl of yours draws too many eyes—you should cover her with a veil or something,” the guard said with a teasing sneer.

Was it really that extreme?

Taking Yimi’s ID back, Dylin couldn’t help wondering how she had even enrolled in Coleman Academy. Did others—elves or not—know her identity?

But there was no way she’d tell him now.

Once inside, Dylin planned to find an inn. But the city atmosphere was far different than he imagined.

Though there were plenty of people in the streets, the entire city felt dead quiet. Aside from footsteps, no one said a word.

It felt like a city of the walking dead. Dylin looked up—still afternoon. Not curfew hours.

Too strange.

Seeing the blank-faced citizens, he recalled the vibrance of Coleman City. The contrast was stark.

Coleman’s population might not be as dense, but its people acted like normal human beings. Not like here—shoulders hunched, walking like zombies, not truly living.

Did he really come to the right place?

Dylin stared in silence.

“Um, excuse me, could you tell me where the nearest inn is?” Dylin politely asked a passerby. But before he could finish, the man brushed past him as if he wasn’t there.

What the hell was going on?

“Excuse me—sorry to bother you, but could you tell me where the nearest inn is?” He tried again with another resident. The man glanced at him, then walked away silently.

Next, he tried asking a woman. Her child seemed eager to respond, but she quickly covered his mouth and left in a rush.

Was this city cursed not to speak? Did speaking bring death?

Finally, the seventh person he asked didn’t ignore him. Though he still didn’t speak, he pointed silently in the inn’s direction.

That, in this city, was already considered helpful.

Dylin and Yimi walked in the direction indicated, passing through a market. Unlike the bustling markets of other cities, this one was dead quiet. Vendors had fixed prices. If you wanted something, you paid. No haggling, no shouting. No words at all.

Too bizarre.

Was this related to the heretic purges?

Pulling Yimi into an old inn, they found the front counter manned by a snoring fat innkeeper. Upon hearing someone enter, he groggily looked up.

“Two rooms.”

The innkeeper handed them two labeled keys. After accepting the coins, he flopped back down to sleep.

‘Breakfast included. Don’t cause trouble.’

So read the note he’d left.

Dylin looked at the note, then at the snoring innkeeper, caught between a laugh and a sigh.

“You’ll stay in this room, alright?”

Yimi nodded. She was a prisoner of war, after all. She had no right to complain even if Dylin had told her to sleep in the street.

Why two rooms? Not because Dylin feared her attacking him at night—but simply because they were male and female. It wouldn’t be appropriate.

“No—don’t! I’m really not a heretic! Please, spare me!”

Just as Dylin opened his room door, a piercing scream echoed from downstairs.

Dylin descended to find Yimi already there, watching. The fat innkeeper had also been roused and sighed deeply.

At the door, soldiers were dragging a woman away, leaving bloody streaks behind.

A small child followed, crying out desperately, “Don’t take my mama!”

“Shut it! That’s what heretics always say.”

“No! I swear I’m not a heretic! Please, have mercy! My child is still young—he needs his mother!” The woman begged, sobbing.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. The officer, annoyed, ordered his men to beat her.

Right there in the street, they kicked and punched the disheveled woman until she collapsed in a pool of blood. Her child’s cries rang in her ears. Her vision dimmed.

Dylin stared in horror. The onlookers averted their eyes or silently took another route.

To beat a defenseless woman in front of her child like this—was her sin truly so grave?

“Is she quiet now? Good. Take her away.” The officer showed no emotion.

“No—don’t take my mama…” the boy cried, clutching her skirt.

“Damn brat! Interfering with official duties? I’ll beat you too!” the officer roared.

The child didn’t understand. He only knew this was his only family.

“Let go, you little pest!” The officer kicked him aside—hard.

The boy rolled several times and stopped breathing.

“My child… my child…” the mother’s voice barely clung to life.

“Alright, take her.”

“.........”

Dylin was about to act, when he noticed Yimi acting strange. He turned to see her eyes locked on the soldiers, her expression unreadable—equal parts fury and buried fear.

Suddenly, she clutched her head, crouching down, teeth clenched.

The scene had triggered something in her.

It hurt—so much...

Her vision turned crimson, filled with blood. She saw her kin dragged off, taken into rooms reeking of iron. Strapped to tables. Limbs locked.

Figures in white robes, indistinct, wielding tongs and scalpels. Talking among themselves.

Rage and grief surged in her chest. Yimi wanted to stop them—but she couldn’t move, as if someone forced her to watch.

She tried to see their faces. But every time, her consciousness bounced back like it hit a barrier.

When she came again, the robed figures were gone. Only the elf on the table remained.

That Gold Elf girl stared blankly at the ceiling, her once radiant hair strewn across the operating table. Though her restraints were undone, she didn’t try to flee.

Her abdomen was hollowed out, organs removed one by one and preserved like art pieces in alchemical fluid.

“Run! Don’t—don’t do this! Stop!” Yimi crouched, clutching her head, trembling violently—for some unknown reason, terrified beyond measure.

Seeing this, Dylin crouched and gently patted her back.

He didn’t know what she saw—but she was clearly terrified and needed comfort.

Yimi no longer cared who was comforting her. She just buried herself into Dylin’s chest, trembling like a frightened bunny hiding from a storm.

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