From the day the Executioner demonstrated Jade Slash, Orum began a three-day regimen of training in the art outside the Executioner's stone house.
For those three days, he threw his whole body and mind into studying this powerful combat art.
Orum pitched a crude canvas tent right on the open ground of the Executioner's front yard.
It was standard camping gear for the Ice Hawks Company on field missions.
In the dim, oppressive light of Everdusk Forest, the gray-brown coarse canvas looked especially plain and rough.
Mud from earlier missions still clung to the cloth, and in places he could even see the clumsy stitches where branches had torn it and it had been mended.
Still, for professional adventurers who scraped out a living in the wilds and lived by the blade, a place that kept off the wind and rain was already a considerable luxury.
The inside of the tent was cramped, with barely enough room for one person to lie flat.
Orum piled his pack and weapons in a corner. The Flame-steel glaive, wrapped in thick purple satin, lay on the ground, giving off a restrained purple gleam.
A thin damp-proof mat covered the floor, with a sleeping bag and a few scattered supplies on top of it.
Every morning, when the eerie purple-black dawn light of Everdusk Forest spilled down, Orum would wake in his sleeping bag and spend a few minutes seeing to eating, drinking, and the rest of his bodily needs.
Once that was done, Orum drew a thin-bladed knife from his belt.
In the dim light the blade gave off a cold gleam, its edge honed so sharp it could slice through leather with ease.
He gripped the handle and felt the chill of the metal against his palm.
Orum's gaze gradually grew sharp and focused, and a biting killing intent slowly surfaced in his eyes.
Then Orum strode toward the front yard, dead leaves rustling faintly under his feet, the sound strikingly clear in the silent early morning.
But when he reached the front yard, he found it empty.
The Executioner, who used to sit beside that whetstone, was nowhere to be seen. Only the low stool stood there alone.
Since the first day three days ago, the Executioner had not appeared in the front yard again.
Instead he had shut himself inside that grim, eerie stone house.
Yet Orum could still hear it clearly: from within the sealed stone house came an unceasing, piercing sound of blade sharpening.
The sound carried a bone-deep chill.
Every scrape of the whetstone against the blade sent a shiver down his spine, as if an invisible edge were brushing along it, stroking it upward one vertebra at a time.
"Shhk... shhk... shhk..."
The steady, unbroken rhythm of sharpening drifted out from deep inside the stone house.
The tempo never wavered, as though some eerie ritual were underway, without the slightest pause or change.
Orum stood in the middle of the front yard, gripping the thin-bladed knife in his hand. He stared at the shut stone house, and his brow furrowed tight.
From within the house, the sharpening went on without pause.
The sound had lasted a full three days and had almost never stopped.
Orum realized with a chill that, apart from meals and sleep, the Executioner spent nearly all his time sharpening his blade!
A question began to form in Orum's mind.
Why was the Executioner so obsessed with sharpening his blade?
Once the question had appeared, it took root and sprouted in his thoughts like a fast-growing seed.
He began to think seriously about this seemingly simple question that held such deep implications.
What was sharpening a blade for?
For fighting.
For killing!
A blade had to be sharp enough to be of the greatest use in battle.
Only then could it cut through an enemy's flesh with ease and harvest their life.
Then who was the Executioner going to kill?
The question filled Orum with unease, and an inexplicable chill shot up his spine and into his skull.
Since the man was an executioner, then by ordinary reasoning the people he put to death should naturally be criminals sentenced to die.
But judging by what Orum had seen and heard in Greentown these past few days, that conclusion seemed deeply contradictory and strange.
The townsfolk of Greentown, though their origins and backgrounds were shrouded in eerie mist, were remarkably honest and law-abiding in how they lived.
Orum recalled what he had witnessed in recent days.
The townsfolk who passed him on the streets were all mild and courteous.
The farm women who rose early would greet him with a smile.
The craftsmen mending roofs would nod in acknowledgment.
Walking around town, Orum had never once seen any townsperson show the bearing of a criminal or wrongdoer. On the contrary, they were all gentle and polite, even excessively quiet.
That quiet was like the elegant composure of those who have seen everything the world has to offer.
A person who had seen through the world would naturally not break rules kept for hundreds of years for the sake of some base desire.
Decades without a criminal case...
Orum mulled it over.
According to Grandpa Mayor Rom, he had once proudly told the Ice Hawks Company: "In our Greentown, it's been a full few decades since there was any crime like theft, harassment, or assault!"
When Rom said this, his face had shone with heartfelt pride, as though it were the most honorable thing about Greentown.
Orum remembered the scene clearly.
Rom had been sitting on the bench at the edge of the square, that eerie purple-black light falling on his graying hair, and the old man's eyes had glowed with sincerity.
Could it be that every single townsperson in Greentown was the most law-abiding citizen under heaven?
Sure, the little town lay deep in the dark, gloomy Everdusk Forest, but did every resident here really possess a heart as precious and pure as gold?
The thought filled Orum with an indescribable sense of absurdity.
Still, the townsfolk of Greentown really did seem to have nothing to do with crime.
Which raised a question: if the townsfolk of Greentown never committed crimes and were all good people, then what was the point of having an executioner at all?
Orum's brow furrowed tight.
Whose punishment was the Executioner there to carry out?
Whose head was he going to cut off?!
Orum took a deep breath.
He was no fool. He knew perfectly well that the Executioner, sharpening his blade day after day without rest, must be doing it to kill, to execute some target.
Who that target was, Orum did not yet know, but a terrifying suspicion had already risen in his mind.
Perhaps...
the target the Executioner was sharpening his blade for was none other than outside adventurers like them?!
The thought poured over his heart like ice water.
His back was instantly soaked in cold sweat.
The hairs on his body stood on end.
If this guess was true...
If the Executioner really was preparing to cut them down...
then the Ice Hawks Company's present situation was that of lambs awaiting slaughter!
Every minute they lingered in this cursed town was a dance on the edge of a blade!
"No good!"
Orum raised his head. "I have to tell Felix about this right away!"
Orum put away the thin-bladed knife and hurried out of the Executioner's stone house.
Along the familiar alley, he headed straight for Ith's basement.
That was the Ice Hawks Company's temporary base for now.
He pushed open the heavy iron door.
Dim candlelight met his eyes.
The basement was filled with a damp, musty smell, and the moss on the walls glowed a faint green in the weak light.
Felix was sitting at a crude wooden table, leafing through an old parchment scroll.
The edges of the scroll were worn, and some of the writing on it was blurred.
Ronald leaned in a corner, wiping down his warhammer.
Raygore sat silently on the other side, his Tombstone Greatsword laid across his knees.
At the sound of footsteps, Felix looked up.
His azure eyes turned toward Orum, a flicker of surprise in them.
"Little Orum, what brings you here?"
Noticing the anxiety on Orum's face, Felix reacted quickly and asked, "Is something urgent going on?"
"Captain."
Orum hurried to the table.
"I have important intelligence to report."
He didn't waste words. He laid out everything he had observed over the past few days, along with the suspicion in his mind.
The Executioner's unceasing sharpening.
The townsfolk of Greentown being unnaturally well-behaved.
The contradiction in the logic.
And that terrible conjecture: the Executioner's target might be outsiders like them!
Orum spoke quickly, but with clear structure.
He described every detail accurately.
When Felix had heard him out, he set down the parchment scroll, and his slender fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop.
"Thud, thud, thud."
The steady tapping echoed long through the basement.
After a moment, Felix raised his head.
A sharp gleam flashed in his azure eyes.
He spoke slowly. "I understand, Orum."
"But judging from the intelligence we've gathered these past few days, the Executioner's target shouldn't be the Ice Hawks Company."
Felix's tone was calm and certain.
That certainty made Orum freeze for a moment.
"Not us?"
Orum frowned.
"Then who?"
Felix did not answer right away.
He stood, walked to the wall, and lightly rubbed the moss there with his fingertips.
"The Executioner's real target should be someone else, or rather, something else."
Orum's heart stirred.
Something else?
Did he mean some kind of monster?
Or... the eerie beings that attended the Dark Conclave?
Felix turned around and looked at Orum.
"We've been quietly asking around these past few days too."
His tone turned serious.
"We've been making all kinds of preparations for the coming Dark Conclave."
"The Dark Conclave is about to be held, and it will be our best chance to obtain precious resources."
A glint of anticipation lit Felix's eyes.
That anticipation was mixed with some kind of hunger he couldn't put into words.
Orum noticed the detail.
Felix was always steady and composed, and rarely showed emotional shifts this obvious.
What on earth could make the Ice Hawks Company's captain care this much?
Felix walked back to the wooden table and took a neatly folded sheet of parchment from inside his coat.
Its edges had yellowed.
It was covered with dense writing and symbols.
"I bought this from an information broker in town."
Felix unfolded the parchment.
"It has some intelligence about the Dark Conclave."
Orum leaned in to look.
The parchment listed the assorted rare items that might appear at the Dark Conclave.
Necromantic spellbooks.
Cursed weapons.
Ancient magical tools.
And all sorts of rare materials and alchemical recipes.
Every one was costly, and could not be had at any price in towns outside.
But Felix's finger finally came to rest on one particular line.
"Silver Dragon's True Blood."
Orum's pupils contracted slightly.
Of course he knew what that meant.
Dragon blood, especially the blood of a true dragon, was among the most precious magical materials in the world.
It could awaken the dragon bloodline.
Strengthen the body.
And Silver Dragon's True Blood was among the very best of it.
Silver dragons were metallic dragons, proud by nature and immensely powerful, and obtaining their true blood was about as hard as climbing to heaven.
So the value of this Silver Dragon's True Blood was extremely high, and Felix could not bring himself to refuse it.
Yet at this moment, Felix stood in a dim corner of the basement, his back against the damp stone wall.
His head was lowered.
His arms were crossed.
His slender fingers lightly rubbed at his sleeve.
The motion was slight, but he repeated it again and again.
The dim candlelight cast shadows across his handsome face, blurring his expression.
No one spoke.
The basement was terrifyingly quiet.
Orum, Ronald, Raygore, everyone kept silent, and no one dared disturb Felix's thoughts.
Felix's emerald eyes drooped slightly, his lashes casting fine shadows on his cheeks.
He was thinking.
The price was paid in precious memories.
It meant he would permanently lose some important experience from his life.
Those memories would be wiped away completely.
As though they had never happened.
It was like having a piece of flesh gouged out of the river of his life, and the friendships, loves, and family bonds of the past would be separated from him by a veil, never to be touched again.
Felix's brow furrowed tightly.
He thought of many things from the past.
The days in the Royal Capital.
The friends.
The smiles.
If those memories vanished, would he still be himself?
But the value of Silver Dragon's True Blood...
Felix's breathing grew heavy.
He knew what it meant.
It was the most precious material for awakening dragon blood.
With Silver Dragon's True Blood, Felix's road all the way up to Gold-rank would run smooth and unobstructed! No bottleneck could hold him back!
Time passed, second by second.
The candle flames swayed gently in the faint draft.
At last, Felix raised his head.
His gaze was firm again, all the confusion and hesitation gone.
In its place was a resolve that verged on solemn.
"I think it's worth it."
Felix said softly, his voice quiet, but every word rang like iron.
Orum looked at him and thought of Felix's rich, colorful, truly dazzling life experiences.
With his generous nature, noble status, and that handsome face, nearly flawless, he was practically a walking legend in the social circles of the Royal Capital.
Countless noble daughters wished to become his lover.
Countless beautiful women had fallen for him.
Felix remembered someone once joking that if all his admirers were lined up, they could wrap around the Royal Capital's towering city walls a full circle.
A person with such a rich life was, within Greentown's peculiar economy, an extremely "wealthy" sort of person.
His precious memories were enough to trade for many priceless treasures.
Including, of course, that rare Silver Dragon's True Blood.
"Losing a stretch of memory..."
Felix's voice was soft.
"In my view, it may not be such an unbearable consequence."
Watching Felix's gaze grow steadier, Orum understood the turmoil within the captain's heart.
Felix had already made his choice.
To raise his strength, paying a price in memories was worth it.
At least, that was how he saw it.
Just then, from another corner of the basement came Ronald's muffled voice, thick with disgust.
"I don't agree."
Every eye turned to Ronald.
He stood in the corner with his arms folded across his chest.
His face was filled with clear refusal and resistance.
His brow was tightly furrowed.
His expression was as grave as if he were facing some blasphemy.
"I don't want my memories harmed in the slightest."
Ronald's voice was low and firm, carrying an unshakable resolve.
He drew a deep breath and went on.
"My soul belongs wholly to the Lord of Dawn."
"Keeping my soul pure is my supreme duty!"
Ronald's eyes turned fervent.
It was the piety peculiar to a believer.
In his understanding of faith, memory was part of the soul.
To trade in memories was to sell off fragments of one's own soul.
It was a betrayal of his faith, and unfaithfulness toward the Lord of Dawn.
"No temptation will make me abandon my loyalty and faith to the Lord of Dawn."
Ronald's voice echoed in the basement.
"This is the bottom line for me as a Lathander priest!"
After he finished, the whole basement fell into brief silence again.
And yet.
Just as everyone thought Ronald would hold to his principles.
The situation took a dramatic turn.
Felix seemed to remember something. He took the parchment from inside his coat and looked it over carefully.
"Oh, right."
Felix's voice suddenly rang out.
"The information broker also mentioned that a fragment of a holy hammer produced by the Lathander church might appear at the Dark Conclave. It's called the Blood of Lathander."
The moment he finished speaking.
Ronald's expression froze.
He stood rooted to the spot as if struck by lightning.
His eyes went perfectly round and his mouth fell slightly open.
"Lathander..."
Ronald's voice began to tremble.
"A fragment of the holy hammer?!"
His breathing quickened.
His chest heaved violently.
Those eyes that had been so resolute now wavered wildly.
Felix nodded.
"Yes, the very Lord of Dawn you worship."
"It's said the holy hammer was once held by a high priest of Lathander, and shattered in some war."
"Fragments containing four drops of its sacred blood scattered across the land and became precious holy relics."
Hearing Felix's explanation, Ronald's face flushed red.
His hands began to shake.
In the next instant.
The stance Ronald had held so resolutely a moment ago collapsed completely.
His attitude reversed a full one hundred eighty degrees.
His tense shoulders loosened all at once, his clenched fists flew open, and his ten trembling fingers reached forward as if to seize some unseen treasure.
Ronald's lips quivered violently, his throat bobbed up and down, and he let out a loud gulp as he swallowed.
His face went from pale to flushed, blood surging wildly into it until his whole face looked like a piece of red-hot iron, and he bellowed, "We have to attend the Dark Conclave!"
Standing to one side, Orum watched Ronald's completely different reaction and couldn't help asking in confusion, "Weren't you dead set against it?"
His brow was knit tight, his eyes full of bewilderment.
Ronald whirled around.
His eyes were wide and round, burning with fanatical flame, like a pilgrim who had witnessed a miracle.
That blazing light made even Orum feel uncomfortable.
"That's the Blood of Lathander, the Holy Hammer of the Faith!"
Ronald shouted in excitement, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the basement and shaking dust loose from the ceiling.
His voice was hoarse and shrill, edged with near-mad exhilaration.
"I'm willing to trade all of my memories for this supreme fragment of the holy hammer!"
Ronald clenched both hands into fists, his whole body trembling with excitement.
His breathing came fast, his chest heaving, as if he might suffocate from overexcitement at any moment.
"Even if I turn into an idiot on the spot, I don't care! Hahahahahahaha!"
Ronald burst into loud laughter, full of madness and ecstasy.
The laughter echoed through the enclosed basement and sounded especially eerie, enough to make one's hair stand on end.
Ronald was nearly bouncing off the ground.
He paced back and forth through the basement, gesturing wildly with both hands, unable to hide his excitement at all.
His steps were erratic, now sprinting, now stopping short, the flagstones slapping under his feet.
"Why hasn't the Dark Conclave started yet!"
Ronald urged, itching to rush to the gathering this instant and spend everything he had on a single fragment of the Blood of Lathander.
The principles he had stated so firmly earlier had long since been flung beyond the ninth heaven.
Before the temptation of a Lathander holy hammer fragment, Ronald's so-called resolve was as flimsy as paper.
Orum and the other members exchanged glances.
A flicker of helplessness crossed Felix's emerald eyes, and Raygore silently shook his head.
Everyone was stunned by Ronald's contradictory, lightning-fast change of face.
Orum couldn't help grumbling inwardly: This guy drops his integrity at the drop of a hat...
A moment ago he'd been declaiming passionately about keeping his faith pure.
And the instant he heard about the holy hammer fragment, he tossed his principles straight into the trash.
Just as Ronald was fervently fantasizing about getting the holy hammer fragment, a faint sound of sobbing came from another corner of the basement.
"Hic... hic..."
The sound was tiny and muffled, yet especially clear amid the commotion.
Everyone followed it and saw, in the shadows beyond the reach of the candlelight, Melina crouching against the wall, curled into a ball, her shoulders trembling slightly.
Her black beast ears drooped atop her head, and her fluffy wolf tail was wrapped tightly around her body like a frightened little animal.
The sight surprised Orum a little.
Because Melina was, at this moment, awake.
Normally she was always in that deep, half-dozing state.
But right now she was unusually alert, which was a rare thing in itself.
Melina had clearly heard all of the intelligence about the Dark Conclave.
Including the special rule of trading memories for treasures.
Yet her reaction to the news was the exact opposite of Ronald's and Felix's.
Melina crouched aggrieved against the wall.
Hugging her knees, she buried her face between them and curled up even tighter.
Her body trembled faintly, like a withered leaf in the wind that might be blown away at any moment.
From her big, watery eyes, crystalline tears dripped down, pitter-patter.
The tears slid down her pale cheeks and fell onto the stone floor with a soft sound.
In the dim candlelight those droplets shimmered faintly, like shattered stars.
"I... I don't really have many precious memories..."
Melina's voice was thick with a stuffy nose, and sounded terribly wronged.
Her voice shook, each word seeming to be squeezed from deep in her throat.
She went on between sobs: "My memories with family are so short... My parents, very early on..."
Melina did not finish.
But everyone understood what her words meant.
Her family background seemed to have been a very unfortunate one.
"I don't have many friends either..."
Melina's voice grew smaller and smaller, tinged with deep inferiority and loneliness.
Her head sank lower, as though her whole body wanted to melt into the shadows of the corner.
"Not many people who care about me..."
At this, Melina's tears fell even harder.
Her shoulders shook violently, and she let out muffled sobs.
That gloomy, lonely mood made the whole basement grow heavy.
Orum stood where he was, an indescribable feeling rising in his chest.
He looked at Melina's small, thin figure and suddenly realized a cruel fact.
In Greentown, a place where memories and emotions served as currency.
someone like Melina was the poorest of all.
She had no rich life experience.
No precious friendships or loves.
Even her family bonds were pitifully few.
In this cursed town's economy, Melina was like a penniless beggar.
She didn't even qualify to take part in the trade.
"How ironic..."
Orum sighed inwardly.
"Those with rich lives are millionaires here."
"And those who have been lonely all their lives can't even put up a bargaining chip."
The mood in the basement was as heavy as a lump of solidified lead.
The candle flames cast swaying shadows on the walls.
Melina curled up in the corner like a wounded little beast.
Her shoulders trembled slightly.
Tears kept sliding from those big, watery eyes and pattering onto the cold stone floor.
Each tear bloomed on the ground and left a dark stain.
Orum stood there looking at the pitiful, helpless, wronged girl.
A sympathy he couldn't put into words welled up in him.
He hesitated for a moment.
In the end, he still walked over to Melina's side and crouched down in front of her.
"Melina."
Orum spoke softly.
His voice was gentle and sincere, carrying heartfelt concern.
"We care about you."
The words were spoken quietly, but rang especially clear in the silent basement.
Melina's sobbing paused slightly.
Orum continued: "Captain Felix and Vice-Captain Raygore rescued you from the Old Hag's alchemy shop."
"Wasn't that because you're a companion we treasure?"
Hearing this, Melina's body went faintly rigid.
She slowly raised her head.
She looked at Orum through blurry tears.
A flash of shock and disbelief passed through those black eyes.
"Really...?"
Melina asked in a trembling voice thick with congestion.
"You really... care about me?"
Orum nodded earnestly.
His gaze was frank as he looked straight into Melina's eyes.
"Of course it's true."
"We're companions, comrades in arms."
Just then, Felix stepped forward as well.
Tenderness showed in those azure eyes of his.
"Orum is right."
Felix crouched and gently placed a hand on Melina's shoulder.
"You're an important member of the Ice Hawks Company."
"That has never changed."
Listening to her teammates' comforting words.
Melina's tears flowed even more freely.
But these were no longer tears of grievance and sorrow.
They were tears of being moved.
The feeling of being cherished and needed sent a warm current through Melina's heart.
It was like a ray of warm sunlight suddenly breaking through a long, bitter winter.
"Thank you..."
"Thank you all..."
Melina said, choking up.
Her voice was full of heartfelt gratitude.
She wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
She tried hard to put on a sincere smile: "Thank you, Orum, Felix, Raygore..."
"Thank you for treasuring me."
Melina said earnestly.
Her eyes shone with resolve.
"I'll keep this friendship in my heart."
"I will never forget it!"
The heavy mood in the basement finally eased a little.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
A gratified smile appeared on Felix's face.
Ronald set aside his worries too.
Everyone thought Melina had finally climbed out of her self-destructive state.
And yet.
In the very next moment.
Melina's expression suddenly turned a little dazed.
Her eyes began to glaze over.
As if she had fallen into some kind of muddled train of thought.
"The memory of this friendship..."
Melina murmured to herself.
Her voice became drifting and unsteady.
Her eyes gradually widened.
An eerie light flickered in her pupils.
As though she had thought of some astonishing idea.
Her whole aura began to go wrong again.
"The memory of this friendship... must be very precious, right?"
"And if the memory of friendship is so precious..."
"then at the Dark Conclave, it should fetch quite a few treasures."
Melina clutched her forehead, her logic growing muddled and frenzied.
"If I sold every memory I have..."
"and exchanged them for the supplies the Ice Hawks Company needs..."
Melina's voice shook more and more, a sickly light gleaming in her eyes.
"then I could repay everything you've done for me!"
Hearing this, Orum froze completely.
He never expected.
That his comforting words would give Melina such an outrageous idea.
"Melina, what nonsense are you talking!"
Orum couldn't help raising his voice.
Felix chimed in at once: "Calm down, Melina!"
But Melina could no longer hear any advice.
She had fallen into a frenzy of self-moving, self-sacrificing fervor.
That state was like a zealot gone off the rails.
Lost in a fantasy of martyrdom she had built for herself.
"Yes, that's it!"
Melina said excitedly.
Her hands clenched tightly into fists.
Her whole body trembled slightly with emotion.
"I'll sell all my memories!"
"And trade them for the most precious treasures to offer the Ice Hawks Company!"
"And even..."
Melina's thoughts had become completely scrambled.
She began to come up with even more outrageous notions.
"I could even sell myself..."
"Enough!"
Orum cut her off.
But Melina couldn't hear a word of it.
She was completely immersed in her own world.
Orum watched Melina sink once more into this self-destructive, muddled state.
She had even come up with the crazy idea of giving herself away.
He sighed deeply and shook his head helplessly.
"There's nothing to be done."
Orum stood up and turned to leave the basement.
He knew that nothing he said would work right now.
In a state like this, Melina could only wait until she calmed down on her own.
Anyway, Felix and the others were there to look after her, so Melina wouldn't come to harm.
Orum strode toward the exit of the basement.
In the dim passage, only a faint light filtered down from above.
The moss on the walls gave off a musty, rotting smell.
Just then.
Orum suddenly felt someone gently tug at the hem of his clothes from behind.
The pull was light.
Tentative and cautious.
As though afraid Orum would get angry.
Orum was briefly stunned, and turned around.
The one holding the hem of his clothes was none other than Melina, who had been in such a self-destructive state a moment ago.
Now Melina's face was as red as a ripe apple.
Her eyes darted about.
She didn't dare meet Orum's gaze.
She looked a little shy, yet carried an expectation she couldn't quite put into words.
Her whole air was completely different from the frenzied state of a moment ago.
"Orum..."
Melina called his name softly.
Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's whine.
Orum looked at her in puzzlement.
He didn't understand what this girl of wild mood swings was up to now.
Melina bit her lip.
As if gathering her courage.
At last she asked, stammering: "Are you just... leaving like this?"
After saying this, she blinked those big, watery eyes.
Her gaze carried an unmistakable hint.
Gulp. A clear bob of her throat sounded.
It completely gave away what Melina was really thinking.
Her throat moved of its own accord.
Saliva began to gather in her mouth.
Clearly she was thinking of some delicious food.
Her body had already responded honestly.
Seeing this, Orum finally understood Melina's true intention.
The corners of his mouth couldn't help curling into a smile.
So that was it.
Whenever Melina was down or in a bad mood, Orum would bring out all sorts of delicacies to feed her.
Those treats included spicy dried small fish, candied fruit, and preserved fruit.
All of them precious ingredients Orum had brought from the outside world.
Every time she ate such treats, Melina would quickly recover from her low spirits.
And a happy smile would return to her face.
Over time.
This pattern had formed a kind of conditioned reflex in Melina's subconscious.
So much so that now, whenever Melina saw Orum, she couldn't help reacting physically this way.
Saliva would start flowing from her mouth without control.
Her tongue would stir restlessly in her mouth.
As if she had already tasted the food ahead of time.
Orum looked at Melina's expression, feeling both amused and helpless.
The wiring in this girl's head was really too simple.
One second she was despondently planning to offer up all her memories.
The next she was completely captured by the lure of food.
Orum slowly took a silvery metal box from his pocket.
Fine patterns were engraved on its surface.
In the dim light of the passage, the metal box gave off a soft silver-white sheen.
It looked especially exquisite.
Melina's eyes were instantly drawn to the box.
Her gaze locked onto it.
Her eyes were full of longing.
"Inside are small dried fish with my special blend of chili sauce."
Orum said unhurriedly, deliberately drawing out his tone.
Hearing the words "special blend of chili sauce,"
Melina's throat bobbed again, betraying her.
Saliva flowed even more freely.
"I can give them to you..."
Orum changed tack.
"But there's a condition."
Melina quickly nodded.
She looked at the silver box with eager eyes: "What condition? I'll agree to anything!"