Free Web NovelChapter 338: Chapter 73: The Sound Comes After the Sword
The hood was flung back by the raging Energy, revealing the face of a middle-aged man. He was pale and gaunt, his features etched with utter terror and confusion.
His eyes bulged, fixed on the gaping hole in his chest, as if trying to comprehend what had blasted through all his defenses and ended his life.
There was no answer.
The next moment, his body detonated like a leather sack of gunpowder ignited from within, exploding violently!
There was no shower of blood and gore. In the instant of the explosion, most of his physical matter was further disintegrated and vaporized by the residual dark-purple Energy.
All that remained was a foul, rapidly expanding cloud of mist—a sickening mix of crimson and black—interspersed with a few hard bone fragments and charred remains of tissue, which sprayed outward in all directions!
As the mist and fragments struck the surrounding tree trunks, rocks, and patches of snow, they made a SIZZLING sound, leaving behind corrosive marks and charred spots.
Where the man had stood, all that remained was a shallow, charred crater with edges like molten glass. The air was filled with a pungent, nauseatingly thick stench—a mixture of something burnt and ozone.
The streak of Dark Gold light did not linger after delivering its thunderous strike.
It hovered for a brief instant above the dissipating cloud of foul mist, as if confirming the kill. Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, it silently dimmed and vanished into the endless night, as if it had never been there at all.
Silence returned to the forest. All that remained was the mournful cry of the night wind as it blew over the fresh scorch marks and the crater, carrying the stench of death that would slowly dissipate, eventually diluted by Nature.
...
「Inside the study.」
Murphy nodded slightly. "...Your progress is solid. Don’t grow complacent."
Eleanor nodded seriously, accepting her father’s instruction.
As the night deepened, the flames in the fireplace also seemed to be dying down.
Just then, Eleanor seemed to remember something. "Father, um... would you like to try some cake?"
Murphy looked at her, surprised. "Cake?"
"Mhm," Eleanor nodded, a faint blush flashing across her fair complexion. "I’ve been learning how to bake recently."
Murphy’s brow rose almost imperceptibly, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Why the sudden interest in baking?"
In his experience, Eleanor’s focus was almost entirely devoted to proper pursuits like Meditation and Magic Models. She had never shown the slightest interest in things like cooking or baking, which other girls her age might enjoy.
Eleanor met her father’s gaze with her calm, dark eyes. Her voice was soft, but clear. "I heard Mother say... you like it."
The simple sentence stopped the question on Murphy’s lips.
He looked at his daughter’s earnest expression and was suddenly transported back to a sunny afternoon at Duval Castle, thirty-seven years ago.
A five-year-old Aurora had dragged him along to try the very first honey cake she had ever baked, with the help of a maid.
A faint warmth spread through his chest.
He nodded slowly, the lines of his face softening considerably. "Alright. Bring it here." freēwēbηovel.c૦m
Eleanor’s eyes seemed to brighten. She stood up at once, her movements a little quicker than usual. "I’ll go get it! I made two kinds, one with honey and one with berry jam. I wasn’t sure which you’d prefer."
Hearing this, the warmth in Murphy’s eyes deepened.
He remembered that the first cake Aurora made was with honey, and the second was with berries.
He said in a warm voice, "I like them both."
A faint smile touched Eleanor’s lips. "Then I’ll bring them both."
With that, she turned and walked out quickly, her black dress swishing softly as she disappeared through the doorway.
Murphy was left alone in the study, with the deepening night outside the window and the dying embers in the fireplace.
The instant Eleanor’s footsteps faded down the hall, the night outside the window seemed to ripple for a fleeting moment.
A streak of Dark Gold light appeared in the study without warning, ghost-like, hovering in midair less than a foot from Murphy’s wheelchair.
The light rapidly coalesced, materializing into a Flying Sword about three inches long. Its entire body gleamed with a Dark Gold luster, its design ancient and sharp.
Faint, intricate patterns like naturally formed veins of Thunder were visible on its blade.
The Flying Sword hovered for a moment, and then it moved.
It made no sound, not disturbing even a wisp of air.
It simply, gracefully, reoriented itself, its tip now aimed at Murphy’s abdomen, which was covered by a deep red fleece blanket.
The next instant, it seemed to melt, its form turning translucent as it silently passed through the thick blanket and his clothes, sinking into Murphy’s body and disappearing from view.
Murphy’s body gave a slight, almost imperceptible tremor.
The tips of his fingers, resting on the wheelchair’s armrest, paled for an instant before returning to normal.
He slowly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then exhaled just as slowly. His breath seemed a fraction longer, a touch more substantial than before.
About ten minutes later, the study door was gently pushed open again.
Eleanor walked in, carrying an exquisite wooden tray.
On the tray sat two small, white porcelain plates, each holding a delicate-looking slice of cake.
One slice was golden-yellow, drizzled with crystalline honey. The other was a pale pink, garnished with a few deep-red berries.
A small silver fork rested beside the plates.
"Father, please try some." Eleanor set the tray on the small table beside the wheelchair. She picked up the fork, cut off a small piece of the honey cake, and carefully brought it to Murphy’s lips, her dark eyes holding a flicker of barely perceptible anticipation. "See which one is better."
Murphy opened his eyes. He glanced at the cake so close to him, then at the rare hint of nervousness in his daughter’s eyes. He opened his mouth and accepted the bite.
The sweet flavor of honey melted in his mouth. The cake itself was perfectly soft, its sweetness just right—infinitely more refined than the clumsy attempts he remembered from a young Aurora.
He chewed slowly, then nodded. "It’s good."
Eleanor seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. A flicker of pride flashed in her eyes, but she quickly composed herself and asked earnestly, "And the berry one?"
As she spoke, she cut a small piece of the berry cake and offered it to him.
Murphy tasted it as well. The slight tartness of the berries cut through the sweetness perfectly, creating a more complex flavor.
"This one is also very good," he commented.
Eleanor watched her father calmly try both cakes. Although his expression remained largely unchanged, she could sense that he seemed a little happier.
"I’m glad you like them," she said softly, placing the fork back on the tray. Her eyes curved into a smile. "I’ll try other flavors next time."
Murphy looked at her, his gaze falling on the profile of her face—still youthful, but already showing the first hints of elegance. The warmth in his chest seemed to grow a little more.
He reached out and gently patted the back of his daughter’s hand, which rested on the armrest of his wheelchair.
"Yes," he said. "We’ll try again next time."
