12. "The eyes will tell you."

"If I cannot remember… Make me remember," Mordret declared, pulling Eliza closer and narrowing his eyes, fixated entirely on her gaze. He couldn't comprehend what lay behind those eyes.

A swirl of emotions filled Eliza's eyes. She didn't even blink as Mordret's hand touched her right cheek. He gently caressed her soft, glossy skin, an experience foreign to Zephyr, who had never stared at a woman for this long.

Eliza stood motionless, resembling a doll, allowing him to do as he pleased. Her moist cheeks bore witness to her sadness, even though she tried to conceal it, leaving her feelings for Mordret unclear.

Cupping her round face, Mordret brought his forehead close to hers and closed his eyes, while Eliza offered no resistance. Their lips were mere inches apart, her rosy and velvety lips inviting him. Her gentle breath tickled his face.

Yet, he resisted temptation, concentrating on the warm touch of their foreheads. As Zephyr remained focused, a surge of foreign emotions flooded his mind, as if his memories with Eliza were being transferred to him. He traced every velvety line on her lips with his thumb, sending shivers down his spine. His right hand slipped under her arm, holding her waist and pulling her closer as if cherishing something immensely precious.

Mordret's body trembled from the warmth of Eliza's breath. Her porcelain figure yielded to him like a vessel of love.

Eliza stared at Mordret, unsure of how to react, as he didn't touch her as she had expected. Instead, he seemed desperate to understand her desires. The answer lay on her lips, but she couldn't put it into words. It was her Lord's duty to answer her call. She prayed to the forgotten gods to let him remember.

…

Inside the void filled with blurry and dull memories, Zephyr wandered like a madman, consumed by the desperate need to find the answer for Eliza. He was unsure of why he was so driven. What was his relationship with this NPC in the game? He didn't know, but he knew one thing: for Mordret, she was significant.

Scouring the newfound foreign memories, Zephyr tried to comprehend Mordret and Eliza's relationship. "She was worried sick when she saw me wake up with forgotten memories. I am her 'Lord'... But I am not, as she knows... Then what does she want from me?! Arghhh!!!! Hell, how am I supposed to know?!" Eliza acted both cold and warm at the same time, daring to wear something provocative for the man who wasn't her Lord. But why? What kind of relationship was this?

Numerous scenes appeared before Zephyr, leaving him confused about where to start. He feared Eliza might grow weary and leave him, worried she might never return. And if that happened, Mordret wouldn't survive; he would perish.

The warmth of Eliza's body suddenly felt fleeting, making Zephyr even more anxious. He wasn't a simp, nor did he care about losing the quest. But the Mordret inside him cared about all these things.

"Well... Probably she is the only thing this bastard cares for. After all, he even killed thirty-two trainers at the age of nine. The last memory I had was about the woman he brought food–" Zephyr suddenly paused as something…

Click–

Something clicked, and the missing pieces of a certain puzzle fell into place. A woman with blue eyes was someone Mordret cared for. Eliza, too, had blue eyes and was someone Mordret cared for. The same monster who didn't hesitate to kill humans thrice his age in inhuman ways cared for someone.

That meant... "Eliza is somehow related to that woman, right?"

As if answering his call, a window displaying the last fragments of memory appeared before him.

[Memory Fragments of Mordret Valorborn. (1)]

...

Progression Continues.

…

... "Boy… What are you doing here?" Mordret stood in front of the shackle in the back of the mansion, gazing at the old woman holding a food plate.

He said nothing and continued to stare at her until she grew tired of it. "Sigh… Get inside, child," the elderly woman replied to his unspoken request.

He placed the food plate on the table after entering the room and sat on the floor in a dark corner, calmly staring at the blank window, where the last rays of moonlight entered.

"Food after a week, hm?" The elderly woman sat beside him and continued her work. "You killed another instructor, I assume?" she spoke with another sigh.

Mordret did not answer, nor did he glance at her. He simply breathed, enjoying the calmness in the air.

"Did you bring your sword with you?" She narrowed her eyes, and Mordret handed her the weapon. Women always spoke in encrypted language, where asking for something meant they wanted it, making it quite difficult to discern.

She got up from her seat again, her face wrinkled, and she took the sword from him, staring at the stained weapon as if it were cursed. "Thirty-second instructor… Hmm…" She nodded and sheathed his sword back.

After taking a bite from the food Mordret had brought, she remarked, "The blade has turned blunt, and the cracks near the hilt will break the blade sooner. It won't cut through the bones anymore."

Mordret nodded in response, gazing at her wrinkled face and ocean-blue eyes that remained radiant as ever.

"The angle is off as well… Hmm…" She thought for a while and added solemnly, "Last question… But, the weight of your sword has increased, Mordret. Hasn't it?" Mordret looked down, and his silence answered her question.

"Do you know why that happened?" She took another bite from the plate and answered her own question, "Because it killed. The more your sword kills, the heavier it will become. The more blood it sheds, the more its hilt will crack. And the more bones you break and the more flesh you tear, the worse its blade will become." She took the food plate and approached Mordret.

She held a spoonful of food in front of him. "The sword is only meant to kill, Mordret. Your heart won't find solace if you dive deeper into the bloodshed. It'll only get heavier and heavier until it drowns you in the deepest abyss." Mordret chewed the cold porridge.

"There is no turning back, Mordret," her voice tinged with concern, unable to witness a kid suffering any longer.

"I won't turn back." However, the kid's words brought even more dread.

"Haah…" She sighed for the last time. "Fine then… You will never stop, I assume, but do not hope." She got up and went near a small chest in another corner of the room.

Opening it, she took out a small pouch and approached Mordret again. "I won't live any longer… The purpose of my life has been fulfilled, and if this is fate, I accept it." With those words, she handed the pouch to Mordret.

"A sharp sword needs solace; that's why a sheath is always there, to calm that bloodthirsty weapon. That's why you'll meet someone, my grandchild to be precise." Under the moonlight, the woman's image turned blurry.

"She'll take care of you. She'll become your sheath and even your sword when you need her. Please use her as you wish." She smiled.

"How will I recognize her? And what's her name?" After staring at the pouch for a while, Mordret asked the fleeting figure, utterly unamused by the woman's sudden disappearing act.

"Ah! It's been years since I met her… the last time she was this small… and the last time I saw her, I had called her… Amy? Emmy? Jeremy– no, no… Hmmm…" As she was about to disappear completely, she finally remembered.

"Aha! Ellie! I remember! Her name is Ellie!" Mordret wasn't a fool to not notice the tears in the corner of the cunning woman's eyes. She added that stutter to hide those tears, but failed completely.

"And to recognize her?" Her eyes shone brightly as she disappeared with her parting words.

"The eyes will tell you."

…

"Ellie." As soon as those words escaped Mordret's lips…

***

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