Tusha-5

"Refuge Valley? What kind of place is that?"

"It's a basin guarded by the Stromgarde forces, with some adventurers and refugees. It's mostly safe there, Miss Glocara, and they need a capable doctor who can work day and night. Perhaps Refuge Valley is more suitable for you than Stromgarde. Of course, I'm just an outsider making a suggestion; the decision is yours."

"Are you planning to go there too?"

"Impossible. I forgot to mention; the soldiers of Arathi Basin are most enthusiastic about hunting trolls. And ogres. And anything else they find displeasing."

This conversation took place just fifteen minutes ago. Now, Glocara realizes that she is about to face Refuge Valley directly. What "the decision is yours" technically meant is not a lie, but other choices imply Glocara walking alone on highlands infested with mountain lions, bandits, spiders, and ogres.

"Let's go, Miss Glocara. I can only accompany you this far. Guards will patrol here soon, and we can't let them see you with a troll."

Glocara looks at the downhill path leading to the interior of Refuge Valley, about a hundred yards away, then back at Tusha. Tusha holds his right hand with fingers closed, moving it up and down in the air, urging her to hurry.

"As long as you show your identity to the guards when you go in, it will be fine. They won't attack an external human who seems non-threatening. As for what happens after you enter, it's up to you."

"I don't need you to make decisions for me."

"Regardless, I can only go this far. If I want to survive, I have to turn back to the east and head to Hammerfall. You're not hesitating, are you?"

"Of course not."

Glocara realizes that this is the end of her journey. In these months, everything she has seen, heard, and experienced has been much more than she imagined. Yet, mentally, she doesn't feel tired at all. She still looks forward to absorbing more from the path she has traveled. However, suddenly, it's coming to an end. She has to stop – like closing her eyes, seeking a long and sweet sleep; but with just a blink, sunlight through the window wakes the sleeper mercilessly.

"I'm leaving."

Glocara turns around, takes a step with her left foot, kicking a small black stone; it rolls for a while, about to stop, but is blown away by a sudden gust of wind. She doesn't look back to see if Tusha is still making that strange gesture or tighten her shoulders against the disdainful cold wind. Now, in her heart, vague anticipation dominates, like a tranquil dark blue hill waiting for the moment when the clouds disperse to bathe in moonlight.

After arriving at Arathi Highlands, every time Glocara asked, "Where in the Highlands have we reached?" Tusha always gave vague answers. "We need to walk more," was his frequent response. Initially, Glocara interpreted Tusha's behavior in three ways: one, he got lost. Two, Arathi Highlands are too vast to accurately explain the location. Three, he doesn't really want to stay here and plans to take her somewhere else. But tonight, Glocara thought of a fourth and only correct explanation: he intended to escort her to Refuge Valley and concealed it to avoid unnecessary arguments.

Regarding Tusha's suggestion fifteen minutes ago, Glocara not only had no room for debate but also no position to argue. If they walked this far based solely on the lack of obligation and necessity to travel together, like friends who stick together with no reason, now that agreement comes to an end. In fact, Glocara had long suspected whether Tusha really intended to go to Hammerfall because he rarely talked about it, but the initial excuse for their actions had lost its meaning. They should, and must, part ways.

Glocara approached the vast downhill road. When she saw two guards appearing at the slope, she reflexively crouched behind a rock, not out of fear but hesitation. It wasn't about deciding whether to temporarily stay in Refuge Valley; that was her only option. The hesitation was about feeling the need to do something before entering that unfamiliar territory.

Like a bird returning, placing a twig into its nest, she quickly remembered what her "twig" was. At least, she had to say thank you to Tusha or bid a slightly more formal farewell than just "I'm leaving." This was her immediate thought. As for whether this thought and the initial impulse that triggered it were the same, she didn't consider. Because standing up to walk back, opening her eyes wide to see if Tusha was still in the same place, she had no time to think about those obscure buried things. Only the action mattered, and that action was a proper farewell. Farewell to her assistant, her riding instructor, her protector, her guide.

So Glocara stood up and retraced her steps. She hadn't walked far when she returned to the original spot, but Tusha was no longer there. In the following days, she sometimes wished her compensatory actions would end here, just turning back to Refuge Valley. But she was not satisfied, walked a little further, then looked around—this way, she saw something that she had imagined many times but had never expected to materialize with more details.

Tusha was half-crouched, moonlight casting a layer of proud pallor on his back. There was a corpse at his feet, dressed as a Refuge Valley guard, with nothing above the neck, and black blood soaked half of the body. Another soldier—still alive—was kneeling in front of Tusha, his upper body almost on the ground. Glocara saw what Tusha was doing: he held the head of the dead body in his right hand, pinching its lower jaw with his left hand, opening and closing it in front of the surviving guard, as if playing with a puppet. Glocara couldn't hear what Tusha was saying with the forced movements of the dead body's head: "Just say it, and it won't be like me. Oh, where is my body? Did you see it?"

The reason for doing this was that the surviving guard was more stubborn than Tusha had imagined. Since Glocara had left, he needed to know immediately who the contact person Varokar mentioned in the arsonist's note was. There was no reason to waste a single second. If possible, he would prefer to say hello to the guard and ask about Varokar and then say thank you and goodbye. But for the Refuge Valley soldiers always fighting trolls, it was impossible. So he decided to use a more effective method. From the initial reaction of the guard, Varokar's status was still relatively prominent. Revealing his whereabouts was a serious military mistake, so these two loyal men remained silent. To break the deadlock, Tusha cut off the head of one of them.

"Still don't want to say anything?"

Tusha continued to play with the dead man's head while speaking, but the surviving guard seemed determined not to speak, trembling and pressing his forehead against the ground, as if suggesting Tusha to quickly chop off his exposed neck. Tusha was somewhat annoyed, not because he couldn't get an answer but because he despised someone who sought death while causing trouble for others. He certainly didn't intend to fulfill the guard's wish, as it would be a complete waste of time. He threw the dead man's head backward and reached into the snakeskin bag at his waist, preparing to find a way to make the desperate guard speak. Because this was the wilderness, interrogation was not very convenient, but there were always ways—especially for him.

At this moment, Tusha saw Glocara. She was not far away to the west, not standing still but approaching. Though her steps were like a drop of water about to fall, slowly soaking the entire sheepskin parchment, her pace increased slightly. Tusha could see her expression; her eyes showed a faint panic, seemingly bleached, but there was no disgust, surprise, or any sign of wanting to scream or turn away. If summarized, Tusha felt that he saw dangerous curiosity and a concern he couldn't understand. Tusha was puzzled; he didn't know why this woman had turned back, why she broke the seal that should have been sealed forever.

Tusha's nose felt a little itchy on the side, and he sensed an invisible silver thread near his ear, pulling his nerves taut. Whenever it was necessary to kill, he had this feeling. Now that he saw Glocara, this feeling did not disappear. He couldn't figure out if it was the aftermath of just killing someone or an instinct warning him: don't leave witnesses.

Woman, don't come near me. Don't walk to my side at this moment. Quickly turn back; you must turn back.

But Glocara kept moving forward, and her steps even slightly accelerated. Tusha hadn't figured out what to do, but the only thing certain was not to wait for her to come close. This corpse, this head, this begging man, belonged to Tusha's scene, an individual territory independent of the outside world. He couldn't let Glocara come in and destroy the secrecy and harmony of this territory. Just like someone swinging a long sword wouldn't want someone suddenly holding down his hand. Whether talking to Glocara or taking action, it was impossible to achieve in this territory.

Tusha threaded the blade through the begging man's palm, nailing him to the ground, then stood up and walked toward Glocara. He had to maintain the right pace to simultaneously consider the distance on both sides: preventing either the guard or Glocara from escaping. Yes, he had given Glocara a chance to turn back, but she didn't take it, so now Tusha had to be prepared for her to escape. First, he had to face her, and after that, he couldn't predict what would happen.

At that moment, Tusha noticed a change in Glocara's expression. The disgust and surprise that were impossible to find before appeared in her eyes. She leaned forward, as if to say something. It was at this moment that Tusha made a mistake: he thought Glocara had finally decided to turn back. According to the original idea, he would catch her, but his feet didn't move—he was waiting. This momentary relaxation made him not immediately feel the attack from behind.

Something hit Tusha's shoulder from the left; the impact spread from the scapula to the spine like a rapidly spreading spider web. Tusha fell to the ground and saw the clumsy yet cunning, huge yet agile, ignorant yet cruel creature: an ogre.