Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 821 - 762: The Hope of Exile
Silvery white gravel rolled into the cracked crevices of the ground, the ant-like grains covering the earthworm-like fissures under the urging of the wind. Jeremiah stood up and issued directions to shift the course to the team behind him. Without hesitation, after a brief rest, the group of Exiles continued to move forward.
Jeremiah put his scarf back on, which shielded his cracked lips from the knife-like wind, as if the thirty seconds spent replenishing moisture never existed. His parched throat continued its powerless protest, and Jeremiah’s thoughts began to drift, rising and falling amidst the scattered sound of footsteps.
The geographical environment of Posuwa was deteriorating, and as the Guide, he must find routes that were convenient and energy-saving for the team, away from those soft sandy areas that were gradually expanding, their constraints on the wagon wheels no less than a quagmire. The Exiles could not slow down, slowing down equaled waiting for death, those "former kin" were all following behind. Jeremiah even began to envy those lost-minded Fallen Demons, their bodies cursed and controlled, not having to worry about hunger or thirst. The agility that ignored terrain and the strength given by demonization were even more terrifying. Because of these Demons, Exiles were exhausted from running for their lives, and indulged in fear night and day.
But Guides like Jeremiah were the most weary among the Exiles. Guides needed knowledge and couldn’t just worry about what to eat today. A Guide needed to fully understand the land beneath their feet – the death of the soil, the intensifying desertification, the decreasing routes and dwelling places. Delivering bad news obtained with his own eyes and palms which constantly formed pressures that wearied the nerves of despair. It was like holding a depleted oxygen tank; the more you tried to breathe hard, the more suffocated you felt.
The Exiles would eventually vanish; the land of Posuwa had retracted its mercy. The more they explored for survival, the closer they felt to the end. Perhaps it was exactly this despair that drove Jeremiah to believe in Rosa’s hope. That optimistic and energetic girl, Jeremiah thought Rosa was out of place in this land, her somewhat naive and absurd ideas bringing a lovely contrast to such an excellent Guide.
Jeremiah believed Rosa wouldn’t come back. It was a realist judgement made by a pessimistic Guide, venturing alone into the heart of Posuwa, Jeremiah couldn’t think of any other outcome. Jeremiah liked Rosa, it was a feeling he had buried long ago, because of which he had once naively asked his father if they belonged to some kind of declining nobility, the sort that matched with royalty. His father’s answer disappointed him, but it was within his expectations, just like his usual pessimism. Jeremiah loathed his own pessimism, because it always overlapped with reality.
Do I hope Rosa will come back?
Jeremiah questioned his heart like this.
No, I don’t hope so.
He looked at the bracelet on his wrist, recalling the appearances of those who had returned, each a nightmare, turning "welcome home" into a taboo phrase among the Exiles. He didn’t wish to face such a Rosa, perhaps she had already passed on, resting in a cradle of flowers and honey, her tightly pressed lips pink, the dew maintaining their moisture. The best guess was that she had left, escaped from the Exiles, living alone in a foreign land abundant with food. Yes, Jeremiah regarded the Exiles as a burden; he believed the responsibility of a Guide was torture. The more he liked the girl, the more he hoped she would leave.
"She’s like a princess, why should she have to take care of a bunch of mud-legs who drag her down."
Jeremiah knew the best was the most unrealistic; once again, he loathed his own judgement. He looked back at the marching Exiles, his compatriots with numb expressions from hunger. More than sympathy, what surged was sorrow. He would move forward with that promise to her, leading everyone on, waiting for her return, or our halt.
Jeremiah had long stopped believing in gods; he never indulged the thought that Rosa could come back.
So, when Rosa did return, Jeremiah’s emotions were the most intense.
His eyes widened, the scarf that had shielded his mouth and nose had slipped off at some point, sand sticking to the wounds on his lips, Jeremiah remained oblivious. His eyes filled with the sight of Rosa, wearing a green leather skirt, her cheeks tender like milk, her loose hair appearing to conceal stars. She sat in a carriage framed by plant vines, followed by rain and rainbows, stepping on grass that sprouted flowers, the greens becoming her hood. Like a princess stepping out of a fairy tale, surrounded by a swarm of magical little sprites.
His mind went utterly blank, pessimistic thoughts, the gap between them, even any and all irrelevant things were forgotten, Jeremiah was filled with rising amazement inside, and admiration slipped out unconsciously.
"My God, you’re truly beautiful."
Jeremiah’s straightforward admiration caught Rosa off guard, as he had never complimented her appearance before, but it didn’t feel bad. Rosa smiled and silently thanked Phantom for the travel arrangements proposed. Even though Jeremiah was just laughing daftly, looking quite silly, Rosa responded to him as usual.
"I’m back," Rosa said as she retrieved her rucksack from the bustling underbrush and touched shoulders with Jeremiah, "I’ve found some help—these Phantoms." The massive Phantoms nodded in greeting. It was only then that the astonished Exiles realized these were not special effects behind Rosa.
Jeremiah quickly came back to his senses, but his face remained flushed. He awkwardly shifted his gaze away from Rosa’s face, his voice somewhat hollow, "I always knew you could do it."
"Mm-hmm," the girl replied cheerfully, taking out a full water skin from her rucksack and handing it to Jeremiah, "Gods do exist, Jeremiah. There are not only gods who shelter us, but other gods as well. Do you believe it now?"
Jeremiah pushed the water skin back and stubbornly retorted, "I’m not thirsty, I believe more in the royal blessings protecting the descendants. If it weren’t for you, Rosa, no one else could have done all this."
Jermiah’s emotionally intelligent response startled Rosa for a moment. Irritably, she opened the water skin and forced it into his mouth, "Don’t be disrespectful to the gods, you idiot. Spout less sassy remarks."
Jeremiah didn’t answer as his throat was filled with the sweet nectar, which to him was more attractive than even Rosa.
The Phantoms distributed food and water to all the Exiles. It was only at the end that the numb-minded Exiles remembered to cheer, praising Rosa’s name and quietly adding the suffix of Her Highness. Although Rosa emphasized the Phantoms’ credit, the crowd didn’t change their chanting but added the Phantoms’ name behind hers. The Phantoms relished the joy of helping others without any further thought, leaving Rosa somewhat uncomfortable, unable to command these excited grateful ones.
Rosa gave a moving speech as she disclosed the plan to climb the cliffs to everyone. The high prestige she had earned made all the Exiles quickly agree to this seemingly absurd and impossible idea, so quickly that it was almost without thought. After the Phantoms assisted with the transport and redirection of the cargo, Rosa asked Jeremiah nervously, "Was I too rash?"
The ease of it all made Rosa herself find it ridiculous, and she began to retreat a bit.
The satiated Jeremiah stated, "You have given us hope, and we are willing to believe in you, especially since you’re wearing a princess dress." Even he, who often contradicted Rosa, nearly had his views completely altered. The Exiles were now completely bowing to the royal prestige.
The seed of hope was sown in the hearts of the Exiles by Rosa and the Phantoms.
Now the only concern was those hound-like Demon People. Jeremiah was quite confident; unless they were surrounded by a vast number or an unexpected situation occurred, their group could definitely reach their destination. But soon, Jeremiah’s pessimism took over again. The recent unrest among the Demon People was evident to all, and the craziness accumulating in Posuwa was like the oppressive calm before a storm, weighing heavily on his mood.
Jeremiah braced for losses, knowing that if caught by those Demon People, the Exiles would have to abandon some of their own to continue fleeing—a sacrifice of the few for the survival of the many. They couldn’t resist; the curse of the land loomed ominously.
A week later, they hadn’t even seen a shadow of a Demon Person.
Jeremiah exclaimed in disbelief; despite the repeated warnings from his bracelet, not a single Demon Person had attacked the group. He looked ahead at Rosa leading the convoy, his heart pounding.
"I believe in gods now."
