Chapter 10 A Choice
1190 Words
The mountains lay silent beneath a blanket of snow.
From high above, two figures moved carefully along the frozen cliffs. Seraphel led the way while Fenrik followed a few steps behind.
They had chosen a dangerous route instead of approaching through the village entrance. The village rested inside a narrow valley surrounded by towering cliffs. Only one obvious path led into it, but the mercenaries had already occupied that entrance.
Walking through the front would be suicide. So they climbed.
The hidden cliff path was known only to a few hunters. It was narrow, slippery, and covered with thick ice. One careless step or weak handhold meant death hundreds of feet below.
Seraphel reached for another protruding rock. The ice numbed her fingers almost immediately, but she ignored it. Using the strength from her newly awakened Immortal Function, she pulled herself upward.
Behind her, Fenrik climbed with suspicious ease. She never heard him struggle or dislodge any loose rocks.
Curious, she glanced over her shoulder. He was staring at her.
Not suspiciously. Not cautiously. Almost… amazed.
“…Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
Fenrik smiled faintly. “Who taught you how to climb mountains?”
Seraphel laughed lightly as she reached for another ledge. “I grew up here. So I know these paths.”
It was a simple and believable answer.
Unfortunately, Fenrik didn’t believe a single word.
“Really?” His golden eyes narrowed slightly. “Lying to the person helping you usually isn’t the smartest decision.”
Seraphel froze for half a second, then sighed inwardly. *Again. How does he keep catching me?*
She decided to pretend she hadn’t heard him. Instead, she gathered spiritual energy beneath her feet. The familiar warm and cold currents flowed together through her body. The dual energies strengthened her muscles and made her body feel incredibly light.
Without another word, she pushed off the cliff.
Whoosh!
Her body shot upward in one graceful leap. She landed softly atop the mountain as snow crunched beneath her boots.
A heartbeat later, Fenrik appeared beside her. He didn’t jump or make any obvious movement. He simply arrived. His robes fluttered gently in the cold wind, and not even a footprint remained where he landed.
Seraphel stared. *That kind of movement technique… Just how strong is he?*
Fenrik ignored her expression and looked toward the valley below. “So. What’s your plan?”
“I’ll kill them,” Seraphel answered without hesitation.
Silence.
Fenrik slowly turned his head toward her. He looked at her the same way someone might look at a child announcing they planned to punch a dragon.
“…Really?” His voice stayed completely flat. “They’re trained assassins. You are a noble lady who has apparently spent the last five years hiding in the countryside.”
Seraphel frowned. “Wait. I’m just a villager.”
Fenrik looked at her. Then looked at her again. His expression became even more unimpressed.
“A village girl,” he said thoughtfully, “who possesses one of the world’s eight Divine Immortal Functions. Whose appearance conveniently hides her bloodline. And whose enemies include professional cultivators.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Need I continue?”
Seraphel immediately looked away. “…Sorry.”
Fenrik leaned slightly closer. “What was that?”
She muttered even quieter. “…Sorry.”
“I still can’t hear you.”
Seraphel’s face turned red. “I SAID I’M SORRY!”
Her voice echoed across the snowy mountaintop. Several birds exploded from nearby trees in fright.
Fenrik smiled. It was subtle, but genuine.
Seeing his reaction only made her more embarrassed. She quickly turned away and walked toward the cliff’s edge.
Below them, the village stretched peacefully beneath the afternoon sun. Children chased each other through the snow. Tiny snowballs flew through the air along with cheerful laughter. Smoke drifted lazily from dozens of chimneys while merchants arranged goods outside small wooden shops. Old men sat wrapped in heavy blankets, watching the younger generation play.
It looked peaceful. Normal. Alive.
Beyond the village sat a lonely building. It was little more than an oversized wooden shed—the place where she and Elara had been forgotten for five long years.
Fenrik stepped beside her. “Why the long face? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly decided to become a hero. You plan to save everyone?”
Seraphel shook her head. “No.” She pointed toward the opposite side of the mountain. “I’m looking for a faster route to the shed.”
Elara came first. Always.
The villagers… they were different.
Her expression slowly hardened. She silently thanked fate that Fenrik was a Northerner. He owed these Eastern villagers nothing, so he had no reason to interfere.
Things could proceed as they had before.
Seraphel understood very little about fate or destiny. But she knew memories were valuable. Every event she remembered became a weapon. Every tragedy became knowledge.
If she changed too much, her future knowledge would slowly become meaningless.
The village m******e had happened before. It helped explain Elara’s disappearance and kept the Solvaine Clan from investigating too deeply. Everything fit neatly into history.
Changing that could unravel countless future events.
Besides… why should she save them? Had anyone saved her in her previous life?
She had healed thousands. Soldiers, children, nobles, commoners. She had exhausted herself on blood-soaked battlefields, cured plagues, and saved cities. Yet when she lost her Divine Gift, they abandoned her. Forgotten. Discarded.
Her fingers slowly tightened into fists.
No. She owed them nothing.
If these villagers died, their deaths would preserve the future she remembered. Their sacrifice would help her destroy everyone responsible for her suffering.
It was… necessary.
Wasn’t it?
She became aware of Fenrik watching her. Those golden eyes rested quietly on her face.
For just a moment, she wondered if he could somehow hear her thoughts.
His lips curved slightly. Not mocking. Not approving. Simply… unreadable.
Seraphel quickly looked away. “It’s not my fault people keep trying to kill me. And besides… they’re mercenaries. What exactly do you expect me to do? Cry?”
Before Fenrik could answer, she jumped.
The world disappeared beneath her feet. Wind exploded around her as snow whipped across her face. The mountains rushed upward as she fell.
Spiritual energy gathered beneath her boots. Warm and cold currents intertwined. Her descent slowed, and her body shifted gracefully through the air toward the hidden path leading directly to the shed. Toward Elara.
Behind her, Fenrik stepped from the cliff. Unlike Seraphel, he didn’t seem to fall. He simply drifted downward effortlessly, as though gravity itself had chosen not to touch him.
As the cold wind howled past her ears, a quiet voice echoed inside Seraphel’s heart.
*If you’re willing to sacrifice an entire village… If their deaths mean so little to you… Then what makes you different from Aveline? From Bertrice? From Cedric?*
The answer came almost instantly.
Cold. Certain.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
The only difference was that this time, she would be the one standing at the end.
And they would be the ones begging for mercy.
- Writer
