"The hair?"
The merchant said it with a slightly puzzled look.
Jorald glanced at him for a moment.
"Come on — before the Rebellion, and even now in most other countries — nobles have certain distinguishing traits. One of them is hair color."
"Oh... right."
The merchant said it slowly, like a man turning something over in his head.
Jorald thought to himself — *And who exactly am I explaining this to. Someone who never followed those rules a day in his life.*
"So his hair—"
"Yes." Jorald said. "You noticed correctly. His hair isn't the black or dark brown you'd expect from a commoner."
A pause.
"White — with a faint mix of violet."
"I see." The merchant said, thoughtful. "I didn't pay attention to it. I don't think anyone else did either."
"How would they." Jorald said. "They were in the middle of a fight. And besides — that rule is gone now. The new laws don't allow discrimination based on hair color."
"You're right about that."
---
Jorald was quiet for a moment.
Then —
"But that child's condition — why did you bring him?"
The merchant looked at him.
"How coldhearted are you, Jorald." He said flatly. "What did you want me to do — leave him there to die?"
"Ahem—" Jorald cleared his throat. "I simply meant — forgive me, My Lord." A slight hesitation.
"Relax." The merchant said. "I was just giving you a hard time."
He set his cup down.
"The real reason — Clad couldn't look away. The boy's will to survive. And Clad said something else." He paused. "He said the child has the same ability. The same as him."
Something shifted in Jorald's eyes.
Not alarm — not yet.
Something older than that. Something that pulled at a memory from a long time ago.
"Regeneration." Jorald said.
"Yes."
Jorald's gaze steadied.
"Speak plainly."
"Nothing is confirmed yet." The merchant said. "But that's what Clad said. And the state that boy's body was in — it didn't sit right with me."
---
Jorald straightened in his chair.
His fingers came down against the table — quiet, deliberate.
"Could be those people." He said. "Behind all of this."
The merchant paused.
"They were wiped out."
"And the corrupted are stirring again." Jorald said. "A first-grade corrupted attacked us."
"They don't leave their territory." The merchant said.
"How many were there?"
A moment of silence.
"Just one — a boss-class. The rest were third-tier."
"And all of that — to kill one child."
Jorald leaned back slightly.
"Doesn't that strike you as strange?" He said. "Corrupted going after someone un-awakened?"
"Yes." The merchant said. "Because they only target those with energy. To grow stronger."
Jorald's fingers tapped slowly against the table.
"And that forest—" he said. "Hardly anyone goes in there. Research teams, maybe. Herb gatherers twice a year — and only with a military escort." He paused. "So how did that child get there?"
Silence.
Jorald turned his gaze to the merchant.
"And what were *you* doing on that road?"
The merchant said nothing.
Jorald's eyes sharpened.
"There was another route." His voice had dropped — quieter now, but heavier. "So why did you take that path? Through that forest?" A pause. "With Drake and Jack."
He pressed his fist lightly against the table.
"You know what you were risking."
"Ahem—" The merchant said. "Well... I thought the boys could use the training. And besides — Leo's red sword finally came in."
"Things aren't the same as they used to be." Jorald said.
"Yes, yes — I know."
---
Silence settled between them.
Neither man spoke.
Outside, the wind moved through the manor's courtyard — slow and indifferent.
And then —
**"Aaaahhhhhhhh——!"**
A scream.
The kind that didn't just cut through the air — it *filled* it. Rolled through every corridor, every wall, every stone of the manor.
Both men were on their feet before it had finished echoing.
---
**[Chapter 8 — End]**