Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System-Chapter 38: What Belongs to Me Should Depart with Me

Chapter 38: Chapter 38: What Belongs to Me Should Depart with Me

As night fell, Murphy returned to his familiar quarters next to the main stable.

The moment he pushed open the wooden door, the familiar scent of hay and leather washed over him.

He skillfully lit the fire pit in the corner. The orange-red glow quickly drove away the winter night’s chill, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

It was much warmer here than in the lodgings at the public stables. The thick stone walls blocked the howling wind, and the charcoal burning in the pit gave off a slightly acrid, smoky smell, yet it filled the small space with warmth.

Just as the charcoal fire began to burn brighter, familiar footsteps sounded outside the door.

Bart and Hank arrived, bundled in thick, old coats and carrying a small cloth bag.

Bart rubbed his hands together and sat by the fire pit, pulling a few baked potatoes from the bag. "Knew you’d have a fire going. Here, they’re still hot."

Hank glanced around the room they had once shared, his tone complicated. "Didn’t expect to be back so soon. But Murphy..." He trailed off. "This position is too dangerous now."

Murphy took a potato, tossing it between his hands for warmth. "I know what you’re worried about, but some things you just can’t run from."

Bart took a bite of potato and said indistinctly, "Just eat. Don’t think about it. Time for dinner."

Hank sighed and patted Murphy’s shoulder. "Just be careful."

...

The next morning, as Murphy was adding hay to Red Leaf’s stall in the stable, he suddenly heard the sound of wheels rolling over the stone-paved road outside, mixed with a few scattered footsteps.

His hands paused in their work.

"Murphy! Get out here!"

A familiar voice called out from outside the stable.

Murphy immediately recognized Leo’s voice. He quickly put down his work, strode out of the stable, and bowed respectfully. "Yes, Sir Leo."

Amidst the swirling snowflakes, Leo stood clad in Chain Armor and Leather Armor, his expression cold and stern.

He was pushing an exquisitely crafted oak wheelchair, and in it sat a person Murphy almost didn’t recognize.

It was Sylvan.

The once nearly seven-foot-tall, powerfully built man now had sunken cheeks. The shoulders that had once filled out heavy armor now looked frail beneath an expensive sable cloak.

Murphy bowed again. "Sir Sylvan, Sir Leo."

Sylvan raised a weak hand to catch a falling snowflake, watching it melt in his palm.

"Snowflakes..." His voice was hoarse and weary. "So pure, yet so fragile. Just like the former glory of our Duval Clan—seemingly indestructible, but in truth, gone in a flash."

He turned his head to face Murphy. "Don’t you agree, Groom?"

Before Murphy could answer, Sylvan continued, as if talking to himself, "I once thought bloodline was everything. As the legitimate son of the Duval Clan, I was born destined to inherit this domain. I studied Swordsmanship, horsemanship, and statecraft from a young age. I spent every winter on the training grounds. Even when my hands cracked from the cold and my blood stained the hilt of my sword, I never stopped."

The snowflakes began to fall more densely, accumulating in a thin layer on Sylvan’s shoulders.

Murphy noticed Leo’s right hand suddenly rest on his sword hilt, his gaze as cold as ice. This sparked a faint sense of unease in Murphy. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

Sylvan’s gaze grew dark. He stared at the snow-filled sky, his voice low. "Two summers ago, the Witch Othilia, disguised as Duke Douglas’s daughter, beguiled my father with her sweet words. To open the northern trade route, we organized three expeditions into the Twilight Mountain Range."

The snowflakes fell even more thickly, piling up on Sylvan’s sable cloak.

Sylvan’s voice was thick with suppressed emotion. "I led the first two expeditions. I was gravely injured on the second and had no choice but to let Moby lead the third in my place. Who could have known..." His voice choked. "It was a trap set by the Witch. She triggered the Activated Armor, and my brother was lost there forever."

Sylvan’s gaze snapped to Murphy, his once-bright eyes now bloodshot. "You were a survivor of the third expedition. You must have seen with your own eyes the horror when the Witch revealed her true form—the Activated Armor attacking indiscriminately, the heavy casualties our party suffered..."

The snow fell even harder, the large flakes nearly obscuring his vision.

Murphy noticed Leo’s hand tighten slightly on his sword hilt. The subtle movement made his sense of unease grow even stronger.

He quickly bowed his head, feigning deference. "Sir, my eyesight was poor back then. I couldn’t see the enemy clearly, but I still remember..."

Sylvan cut him off and continued, his voice trembling, "Just as that disaster was unfolding, Bishop Alberto found my father and exposed the Witch’s true identity. At the same time, the Bishop discovered I had long been afflicted by the curse of the Noose of the Undead. But even he was helpless against this vicious curse..."

Sylvan raised his hand with difficulty and caressed his gaunt cheek. "For these past two years, I’ve felt my strength draining away day by day. I often wake up at night gasping for air, as if an invisible rope were truly tightening around my neck."

He paused. Despite the falling snow, the entire courtyard seemed terrifyingly silent.

After a moment, Sylvan’s voice returned, laced with deep pain. "And as I grew weaker by the day, Kelvin gained more and more power. The followers began to flock to his side. Even my own father..." His voice choked up again. "He decided to send me to the South to ’recuperate’."

The snow fell even harder, the large flakes dancing wildly in the air.

Leo’s gaze sharpened abruptly.

Murphy’s breath hitched, but he imperceptibly adjusted his stance.

Sylvan raised his head, letting the snowflakes fall on his face. "Recuperation? It’s exile! He’s going to hand everything that’s rightfully mine to that bastard who has never paid any price for this land!"

A fierce wind whipped snow against his face. Murphy kept his head bowed, like any servant listening to their masters, but the corner of his eye subtly scanned the distant archway.

He shifted his body slightly, as if from the cold, positioning himself so his back was to the archway.

A crazed light burned in Sylvan’s eyes, yet his voice was unnaturally calm. "Since this is how they treat someone who gave everything for this domain, then I won’t leave anything behind for them. Especially..."

His gaze shifted toward the stable. "My warhorse, which rightfully belongs to me, should also depart with me."

"Leo!"

Sylvan’s voice cut through the wind and snow.

SCHWING!

Without a moment’s hesitation, Leo drew his Longsword and lunged forward like an arrow released from its bow!