That afternoon, Cashew stood alone inside her small house. Her sorrowful eyes quietly gazed out the window.
In her hands was an old drawing, its edges slightly wrinkled. It was a picture she had drawn when she was still a child. In the drawing there were only two people—herself and her mother.
"Mom, I drew this for you."
"It's beautiful… my daughter really is talented."
Those gentle words and warm laughter of her mother still seemed to echo somewhere deep within Cashew's memories.
She let out a soft sigh.
"If Mom were still here… you would probably protect me, right?"
Cashew lifted her head and looked outside the window. The small village had returned to its usual peaceful appearance.
"Don't run like that, Melen! You'll fall!"
Outside in the yard, old man Gouda was playing with his little grandchild.
"You just stay home. I'll go instead."
Heartman gently supported his wife, who was carrying their first child.
"This cane… even kick it couldn't break it."
Old man Hendrik slowly walked ahead, leaning on his worn wooden cane.
Those familiar sights stirred an indescribable feeling in Cashew's heart.
"Cashew… Cashew…"
A faint voice called her name.
She turned her head and looked around, but saw no one.
Cashew stood up, about to put the drawing away when she suddenly jumped in surprise.
"I'm here, Cashew."
Mayor Heguel was standing outside the window.
"I just came by to see if you're alright. How are things now?"
Cashew gently shook her head.
"I'm fine. I only lost a few things."
Heguel clasped his hands behind his back as he looked at her.
"If you want, you can come stay at my house tonight. There are a few elderly people being cared for there, so it's quite safe."
Cashew quickly shook her head.
"Thank you, Mayor… but I'll sleep here. I can't sleep well in unfamiliar places."
Night fell.
The lights of the village slowly went out one by one as every household drifted into sleep.
Only Cashew's house still glowed faintly.
She sat by the window, quietly staring into the darkness outside.
Cashew gently touched her arm—the place where John had groped her.
His filthy words still echoed in her mind.
But then another voice rose, drowning out those disgusting memories.
"Don't cry. You must be strong enough to protect yourself."
It was Almond's voice.
The words of someone who seemed to have never been loved… yet somehow they gave Cashew a sense of strength.
She looked down at her hand.
It was this very hand that had slapped John across the face.
Cashew slowly clenched it into a fist.
"Maybe… I should go to the stream."
The oil lamp on the table flickered softly in the wind.
"Almond… he definitely isn't the same kind of scum as those men."
She picked up the oil lamp and walked toward the door.
But then she stopped.
The door opened… then closed again.
Creeeak.
Cashew hesitated.
She didn't dare step outside.
Yet she couldn't bring herself to return inside either.
Finally, the door gently closed behind her.
Cashew quietly walked toward the stream, the small oil lamp lighting the path ahead.
"Drink up, you idiots! It's not like this money is ours anyway!"
On a nearby hill, John and several soldiers were sitting around a campfire, drinking heavily.
The flames flickered wildly between them.
One of the men slapped John on the shoulder.
"Women are usually terrified of you, John. Some even volunteer to become your toy."
John smirked and took a large gulp of alcohol.
"Damn it… there are plenty of them, sure. But none of them are pretty."
The man beside him burst out laughing.
"And yet that woman in the village dared to slap you. She's got some nerve."
John glanced at him and laughed.
"If I catch that woman…then we'll have ourselves a toy."
Another soldier asked,
"What if she already has a husband?"
John immediately drained the rest of his bottle and smashed it onto the ground.
"Then I'll make her my toy right in front of him."
The whole group burst into vulgar laughter.
One of them pulled out a set of sleeping clothes from a large sack.
"Look at this! I stole it from that woman. Smells nice."
The others roared with laughter.
"Marcus, you're so desperate you're using women's clothes now?"
Marcus stood up angrily.
"Shut the hell up!"
He stormed off into the darkness.
Marcus walked toward a patch of bushes to relieve himself.
"Those bastards… I should've hidden it and kept it for myself."
Suddenly, a large shadow appeared behind him.
A hand instantly covered Marcus's mouth.
He didn't even have time to scream.
Back at the campfire, John frowned.
"What's taking Marcus so long?"
One of the men chuckled.
"I bet he's polishing his sword again."
The group burst into laughter.
After a while…
Marcus walked out from the darkness.
But he didn't say a word.
He simply sat down quietly.
John frowned.
"Hey… Marcus… why do you look taller than usual?"
Marcus didn't answer.
He just sat there silently.
Another soldier stood up.
"I've got something fun."
He pulled out a bag of coins.
"Anyone who calls me 'father' gets some money."
The whole group laughed loudly.
John bowed his head.
"Father, please give your son some coins."
The others followed.
Then it was Marcus's turn.
He spoke softly.
"Yes… father."
The group paused.
"Why does his voice sound weird?"
John shrugged.
"Maybe the sword king caught him."
They all laughed again.
John tilted his head back and drank.
But when he lowered his head—
Fwoosh!
The fire suddenly went out for a brief moment.
When the flames rose again…
One spot in the circle was empty.
Marcus had moved and was now sitting in that place.
John blinked repeatedly.
"…Huh?"
He began counting.
"One… two… three… wait… five people? That's strange… I remember there being six."
One of the men sneered.
"You're drunk. Five plus you makes six."
John rubbed his eyes.
Fwoosh!
The fire went out again.
When the flames returned, another man had vanished.
Marcus had moved again, sitting in his place.
"…Four…"
John stammered as he grabbed an empty bottle and pointed it at them.
"Stop screwing with me or I'll smash all of you!"
Fwoosh!
The fire died once more.
When it lit up again, Marcus had shifted forward again.
"…Th… three…"
John fell backward in terror.
Marcus suddenly stood up.
In an instant, he covered one soldier's mouth and slammed him violently to the ground.
John trembled as he counted one last time.
"O… one…"
Marcus pointed at him.
"Two."
The cold voice sent chills through John's spine.
He scrambled backward on the ground, trying to crawl away.
Marcus slowly approached.
"Was it fun? The woman you were just mocking…I'd like to meet her too."
Marcus removed his cloak.
It wasn't Marcus.
It was Almond.
He had been disguised the entire time.
"This punch…"
Almond clenched his fist.
"…is for her."
His fist shot forward.
The punch slammed directly into John's face.
John was sent flying backward and instantly lost consciousness.