Chapter_02: Better Liar

Whispers whispered in his ears, their otherworldly tune soothing him. A soft touch brushed past, but he paid it no mind. Another presence lingered nearby, indifferent.

Laughter filled the room, an irritating chorus. He fought the urge to open his eyes, cloaking himself in mystery.

His eyes stayed shut, pretending to sleep. Yet deep down, he felt a void, something he couldn't grasp.

The echoes of laughter returned, bolder and louder this time. Men's voices intertwined in conversation, snippets of their words seeping into his consciousness. Amongst their banter, the word "Holy Land Empire" emerged, accompanied by phrases like "They are fools for meddling with us."

The men's conversation persisted, their voices a muddled blur in his ears. Suddenly, the creak of a door interrupted their exchange, and they addressed someone as "Lady Ana."

As she stepped into the room, the conversation grew clearer. The young lady's presence seemed to bring a sense of order to the previously cryptic discussion.

"Lady Ana, is something wrong?" a man with a gruff voice questioned the young lady.

Lady Ana's voice softened as she replied, "Is that man still unconscious?"

A mix of curiosity and fear coursed through his veins, forcing him to open his eyes. However, he fought against the urge, choosing instead to remain hidden in the shadows.

Could she be talking about me? He wondered, his mind swirling with apprehension. Doubt and anxiety consumed him as sweat trickled down his temples.

Soft footsteps approached, drawing nearer to his still form. After five steps, the footsteps ceased, replaced by a gentle voice that resonated through his being.

"Are you still alive? Wake up, mister," the voice whispered. "He must be dead; let's throw him into the river."

The words carried an unmistakable trap, a lure into awakening him.

Lady Ana, annoyed by his unresponsiveness, began poking him from his chest to his face, her touch growing more insistent. Yet he remained steadfast, his eyes remaining shut, unwilling to succumb to the ruse.

Her voice, like something not of this world, held him spellbound. Its ethereal allure enchanted him completely.

"I have an idea!" Lady Ana exclaimed, her voice rising eagerly. "Could this be like the tale of the sleeping princess? Should I give him a true love's kiss to awaken him?"

Discomfort surged, tempting him to open his eyes. But hesitation held him back, a resistance to the unknown.

He wrestled with conflicting desires, torn between curiosity about the enchanting voice and the safety of keeping his eyes shut.

As the presence drew nearer, the young lady's intention to kiss him became evident. Discomfort surged through him, forcing him to finally open his eyes.

With a cough, Ragnar's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself gazing directly into the lady's face. Flustered, their eyes locked in an intense moment of connection.

The young lady had hair as pure as ivory, flowing in silky strands that seemed divine. Her emerald-green eyes met Ragnar's dark gaze, and time seemed to pause.

This girl... Ragnar found himself glancing a lady with only a ruler's distance.

The lady elegantly wore a white dress paired with a leather jacket, accentuated by stylish dark sandals that exuded feminine beauty.

Lady Ana gently pushed Ragnar's large body, causing her to stumble back gracefully. Guards swiftly positioned themselves between her and Ragnar, holding lances with contempt. They eyed Ragnar with disdain, seeing him as a threatening intruder.

Ragnar sat up on the table and glanced around. The room was messy, with light brown tables scattered around. It looked like there had been a loud party, with spilled beer and signs of a rowdy night everywhere.

Where am I? Things only made him confuse.

Ragnar checked his body, finding numerous bruises on his arms from his ordeal. He was wrapped in bandages from head to toe for support and protection, wearing only the leather pants from the night before.

Which means, I was saved...

As he moved about, a sharp sting emanated from his bruises, a reminder of the pain he had experienced.

With a stare fixed on Ragnar, they posed their questions with caution. "Who do you claim to be? And do you possess any memories of events prior to your unconscious state?"

Caught off guard by the sudden and probing questions, Ragnar felt a rush of fear and confusion. He hesitated before responding, his thoughts swirling as he tried to piece together his fragmented memories.

Why am I here? He remembered the terrifying Ghouls and their relentless attack. Did he survive, or was it a dream? The vividness made it feel real. Fae and the others didn't make it, but Cliffe bravely protected him until the end. The scars from their bites remained.

Finally, Ragnar found his voice and spoke, his words carrying desperation.

"Tell me, is Cliffe unharmed? Is he safe?"

Ragnar's first reply didn't answer the soldiers' question directly. Instead, he asked another, adding to the tension.

The last image Ragnar had of Cliffe was of him reaching out his hand. Given their similar situations, Ragnar considered it plausible that Cliffe had also survived.

Instead of being understood, the soldiers grew more frustrated. Their faces hardened, and their blades drew closer to Ragnar's face.

"Answer our question first, or face the consequences," the soldier at the forefront declared.

Engaging in conflict with these soldiers would be unwise. I must carefully consider my actions and choose my words wisely. Ragnar strategized carefully.

Taking a deep breath, Ragnar finally spoke, his voice steady and unwavering.

"I am Ragnar Frostpyre, originating from the west," he declared, revealing his identity to the soldiers.

Ragnar's inner thoughts raced as he gazed at the soldier upfront.

These guards might also be royal guards. Ragnar couldn't afford for them to suspect he was a treasure hunter, hired by a noble to find hidden treasures. He had to stay calm and conceal his true intentions.

"Press on, Ragnar!" the soldier bellowed, Ragnar's heart pounding as the deadly tip of the blade inched closer to him.

Taking a moment to collect himself, Ragnar's gaze drifted to the window on his left, where the warm sunlight bathed the magnificent structures outside the room.

"I've been tasked by my uncle to travel south alone, searching for a crucial item needed for his ongoing technological project," Ragnar explained cautiously, mindful of the soldiers' scrutiny.

"But," he added, "as I headed back west, my lantern unexpectedly went out, leaving me at the mercy of dark and dangerous forces."

I lied for the second time of my life. I'm also a better liar now than I was then. Ragnar was known as an introverted person since he was a child despite how big he is. Therefore, he didn't lie as much, and was considered a bad liar.

The soldiers eyed Ragnar with growing suspicion. The soldier at the front questioned him, "What item does your uncle need you to find?"

"It's a molten core," Ragnar responded, his voice steady.

Cliffe was an amazing storyteller. He would tell Ragnar stories ranging from history to science. One of the tales he would tell Ragnar were cores.

A spherical object filled with energies used to power technologies. Yes, a molten core is one of the models of those cores, specifically, it was the recent core Cliffe had told Ragnar.

The soldier's gaze narrowed, his suspicion mounting. "A molten core? What exactly is it, and what is its purpose?"

"A molten core is primarily used for conducting and serving as the central component for electrical systems. It is highly sought after and often sold at auction houses for a hefty price. Does that answer your questions?" Ragnar maintained his composure as he explained.

Cliffe also provided descriptions to these cores. For example, the molten core was created by a scientist named Dunn Perro.

The soldiers cautiously lowered their lances, bringing a sense of relief to Ragnar. He exhaled deeply, thankful for his newfound safety.

"Well, it seems you're not a threat. You can go," one soldier announced, settling back with the young lady.

Despite the sting, Ragnar continued, heading for the exit. Just as he reached for the door, the soldier called out again.

"Here are your clothes; these are new ones we bought for you." With a toss, the soldier handed Ragnar the new clothes, to which Ragnar responded with a sly smile.

As Ragnar reached for the door handles, signaling his intention to leave, a serious expression crossed the soldier's face.

"Wait, we're not done yet..." The soldier fixed his gaze on Ragnar. "Didn't you say you traveled south alone?" His voice held a hint of suspense as he questioned Ragnar.

"Yes," Ragnar replied, his confusion evident.

The soldier continued, his tone filled with judgment: "Then tell me… Who is this Cliffe?"

A chilling shiver coursed through Ragnar's spine, his realization of a grave mistake sending shockwaves through his body. With wide eyes and a bewildered expression, he stared at the soldier, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. The air grew thick with suspense as the room fell into an eerie silence.

The other soldier, caught off guard by the unexpected question, exchanged a surprised glance with his comrade.

Ragnar's mind raced, feeling a sense of dumbfoundedness wash over him. How could he have forgotten that he had asked that very question?

I'm not a better liar after all...