3-12

This is a makeshift shelter leaning against a large rock. Inside, Rahol has been gazing at the distant western desert all night. At the edge of his vision, countless faint white dots of light rise from the ground, jostling and flowing with each other. These are Qiraji insects gathering with their bioluminescent organs. The dark spaces between the points of light contain more of their kind. They might be expanding their nests or migrating. In Silithus, nights with only moonlight are the best because other light sources can only be two things: the flames of Twilight cultists or the bioluminescence of Qiraji insects.

He had seen such scenes many times. It indicated that the Qiraji insects wouldn't launch a large-scale attack anytime soon. The new mercenaries were often filled with fear because they didn't understand any of the desert's patterns. Rahol knew. He knew better than anyone. Because of this, he decided to sleep for a while, knowing that nothing would change until the next morning.

He folded a thin blanket and placed it in the crevice of the rock, resting his head against it. He had to sleep sitting up because it was too dangerous to lie down outdoors. Before closing his eyes, he noticed something like a thread sticking out from under a rock at his feet. He reached out and pulled it out. It was half a string of a necklace; a silver necklace. Perhaps the rest of it was broken off under the rock, or maybe it was always like this. Its design indicated that it belonged to a woman, or at least should belong to a woman. There was no reason to explain why it was under a rock in Silithus. Rahol put it back where it was.

On the day he secretly left Stormwind, he left his fiancée a necklace. He wrote a farewell letter using the most refined words and the most persuasive reasons, weighed down with the box containing the necklace. He believed she would understand his thoughts. She was a very learned woman who understood the importance of personal consciousness, so she would surely agree with everything in the farewell letter and bless him. This was what Rahol considered romantic and far more noble than love. He believed that the true human love worth pursuing was dignity. An important step in achieving dignity was escaping the life path others had prescribed for him.

Getting into the best military academy and being engaged to a countess famous for both beauty and intelligence, Rahol didn't feel he had ever put in much effort. After graduating with top honors, he wanted to go to the front lines, but his parents arranged for him to join the Royal Guard of Stormwind Keep. His fiancée's appearance was sudden; through conversations with her, he learned that their parents had been discussing this for months. Unknowingly, he was close to a future that many people couldn't even get near in their lifetimes. His fiancée was the same, educated from a young age to become a flawless lady. When walking together in the streets, they knew how much jealousy they were subject to.

Initially, it was difficult for Rahol to find faults in his fiancée. As the wedding date approached, he grew increasingly troubled because she was ready to embrace such a future as if marrying him had always been her ideal. Surrounded by servants since childhood, she lacked independent living skills but considered it natural. Rahol thought this was wrong. He hadn't seen much of the world, but he had learned a lot from secretly reading books against his parents' wishes. Just seeing a beggar on the streets of Stormwind made him uneasy. The person in front of him must have lived past fifty. He once had dreams or simply wanted a better life, gaining wisdom through hardship, but ended up like this. His fiancée wouldn't spare these people a glance. When she had to pass by, she wouldn't show direct disgust but would gently push Rahol away.

One night, Rahol was half-lying on the sofa, examining the gold pocket watch his father had given him. He had recently heard that some people made a living panning for gold from sand and gravel; due to market control by buyers, a day's work might only earn them a loaf of bread. He suddenly felt a strong sense of self-loathing, immediately stood up, and even the feeling of leaning against the soft sofa made him uneasy. Looking at the expensive items in the room, he thought of strange equations: how many years would it take an average farmer to buy this candlestick, this set of wine glasses? How much sweat and blood would he shed in those years of labor? Then he realized that assuming an average farmer would want to buy such luxury items was absurd and foolish, plunging him into a deeper sense of crisis. He had to leave; otherwise, he felt he would experience a prolonged mental death. That night, he wrote a letter to his fiancée, his handwriting trembling slightly because it was on high-quality scented stationery.

When he left, he knew he was embarking on a journey to find dignity. This wasn't just his personal dignity but a spirit present in the daily labor of all who suffered, as ancient as the earth and the sea. His disgust for his own class reached its peak, but he also felt an unprecedented expectation and emotion because he was about to truly take control of his life. Those who had supported his despicably comfortable life, he would approach them with the utmost respect and remorse...

On the journey, he killed three robbers. In the next town, he heard that one of the dead robbers was the incompetent son of the mayor. Intense panic turned his journey into an escape, and he couldn't rid himself of guilt no matter where he stayed, until he hid in Silithus.

"Rahol."

A voice from outside the shelter woke Rahol. He got up and walked out. Standing before him was Champion. Although awake, he hadn't fully recovered his energy, ate little every day, and couldn't muster the strength to care for his scorpions.

"Sleeping? On watch?" He glanced into the shelter, then said.

"Nothing will happen."

"Not necessarily, Rahol. Because I'm here. If I hadn't woken you up and had just come in to stab you, would you have known?"

"Just tell me what you're here for. I don't recall asking for reinforcements."

"You know, I've thought about this for a long time... but I think you owe me some more compensation for this mishap."

"Mishap? I don't see any mishap. You insisted on giving that woman a hard time, provoking the natives; it was all your own doing."

"Why skip over the main point? Feeling guilty? My best fighting scorpion died, that's the mishap, and I can't just let it go. If it weren't for you making me throw it at that woman, all this bad luck wouldn't have happened. Five gold coins aren't even worth my scorpion."

"If Marlis gave you a task to scout the Twilight camp, but you decided to charge in and got yourself killed, would you think Marlis should be responsible for your stupidity?"

"I'm talking about you. You disgusting little man... what's this, using someone else to humiliate that woman? Is it because you can't stand the native stealing her from you? You're a madman, Rahol. I really don't care what's going on in your head. Give me five more gold coins, and this will be over."

"It is already over. The native won, you lost."

"Five gold coins will settle it, or I'll let everyone in the fortress know about this."

"Don't forget, you're the one who took on this disgusting job."

"So what? I've saved enough money and I'm about to leave this hellhole. But you've been here for over twenty years. Everyone knows you, remembers you. You're the oldest here, but also the most laughable. The Rahol who only dares to provoke a woman through someone else's hand..."

"You're wrong. I'm not afraid of everyone knowing."

"I understand, I understand. The key is those two people, right? But what's the difference? Haha, you're actually jealous of that native... I heard the person who raised him is your friend, right? It's not surprising that this kid doesn't think much of you as an elder."

"Alright, Champion. I'll pay you. But remember, things are not as you think. I had more important reasons for making you do this. Things your scorpion brain can't understand. Admit that, and I'll give you five gold coins."

"Whatever, say what you want. I'm just asking for my due compensation, not trying to make you bow down. We've known each other for some time, just give me the gold, and let's part ways. I won't be here much longer, so why hold a grudge I can't avenge?"

"Good."

Rahol drew his sword. Champion had just placed his hand on the axe handle when his head was cut off.

Saying he only asked Champion to throw the scorpion at Agnes with no other intention was indeed a lie. Rahol had some expectations of what would happen next.

He wanted to see Agnes's reaction. He was curious about how long this woman from an obviously extraordinary background could sustain her adventure. He also wanted to know what Bassario's reaction would be. Nothing reveals the inner self of the humiliated more than a public insult. Watching Bassario grow up, this was the first time the adoptive son of his deceased friend, Jose, had stepped out of the self-isolating habits of the natives to stand up for an outsider. This made Rahol feel both intrigued and gratified. However, on the other hand, it also displeased him because the connection between Bassario and Agnes was closer than he had imagined, indicating that Agnes had no plans to leave Silithus anytime soon.

You should leave. The sooner the better. You still hold onto your sympathy. The universal dignity I swore to find back then is merely the ability to turn universal sympathy into action. Suffering doesn't necessarily nurture it; it might even erode it. At least, Silithus is a place that continually wears it down. These twenty-odd years in the desert have made me a mere talker, and now, look at this wretched man. I used him and then killed him without a trace of guilt. I had hoped this little trick would make you leave.

In the dim moonlight, the blood from the corpse seeped into the sand; with each grain turning red, Rahol gained another reason to stay in Silithus.