Chapter 191: You Are Enough
"Shira, I will definitely cure you."
The man's voice was soft, yet carried an unwavering, stubborn intensity. He held the woman's hand, a hand in which one could barely feel the warmth of life.
"Say no more, Potter." The woman on the bed, Shira, shook her head. Her movements were slow, as if the simple act of shaking her head had exhausted every ounce of her remaining strength. Shira lifted her other hand, wanting to stroke Potter's face, but stopped halfway, ultimately letting it fall limply back down.
"It's useless." She looked up at the moldy patches on the ceiling caused by the dampness. "This is the wraith's curse, a contract forged in death. I should have died two months ago. Relying on a vial of diluted Emerald's Respite every day, I am merely stealing time that doesn't belong to me. And you... what have you paid for this stolen time?"
Shira's gaze shifted to Potter. His clothes were stained with unidentified grime, reeking of a mixture of sweat and dust. His cheeks were sunken, his eye sockets hollow, his once-bright eyes bloodshot. On his hands, old scars layered over new ones, and dirt was packed deep under his fingernails, impossible to wash away. Was this still the adventurer who used to laugh heartily with her in the sunlight?
Potter averted his gaze, forcing a smile. "What are you talking about? Look at how great the Empire is now. Our Sovereign is benevolent; as long as you're willing to work, you won't starve. We just need to keep holding on. One day, we'll be able to buy the real Emerald's Respite."
He began to ramble, describing a beautiful future that even he hadn't experienced. "When that day comes, we'll go to the Evernight Mall and buy all the pretty dresses you want. We'll ride that Bone-Dragon Aviation and look down at the entire Iron Fortress from the sky. And those audio-manga in the bookstore? I'll read them to you... No, we'll listen to them together!"
The more brilliant the future he painted, the heavier Shira's heart became. She knew that a single vial of the genuine Emerald's Respite cost three gold coins. And all Potter had managed to earn by working himself to the bone all day was five hundred copper coins. In the past, they had sold everything they owned just to barely afford one vial of diluted Emerald's Respite a day. Now, they were down to one vial every two days, and she could already feel herself fading. If they wanted to maintain their previous standard of living, how many years would Potter have to work without sleep? She didn't dare to imagine.
"Potter." Shira interrupted his fantasies. "Whether the Emerald's Respite can actually cure me is still an unknown. Even if it could, we can't afford it." Her hand stroked Potter's cheek, feeling the temperature of his skin. "If you're like this, what will you do after I'm gone?"
"Don't worry." Potter gripped her hand, pressing it against his face. "The Empire today is different from before. As long as you work hard, you can definitely live well. The fact that you're still alive is the best proof." He paused, his voice dropping. "Although... the road ahead is a little lonely, I will definitely buy the Emerald's Respite for you. After all, I've grown quite fond of being alone."
Hearing those words, Shira suddenly smiled. She propped herself up and pulled Potter's head into her embrace. "Nobody actually likes being alone, you fool." Her voice was light as a feather, landing softly in Potter's ear. "Eating alone, sleeping alone, walking down a bustling street alone, watching others chatting and laughing... I know it all. You must be having a miserable time outside. You must be suffering so much. Being scolded by tavern owners, ordered about by foremen, bullied by unreasonable guests. So, stop, will you? Go live your own life. You've done enough."
"Find yourself a healthy wife—an elf, or a cute dwarf girl, it doesn't matter. Go see the beauty of the Empire together, experience the richness of this world."
Potter lay in her arms, his body trembling uncontrollably. He remembered a few months ago, when they were free-spirited adventurers. Chasing the sunset across vast plains, sharing a piece of roasted meat in the quiet of the forest. They had roamed the world, longing for freedom, enjoying freedom. Their lives were just like the stories written in Alya's novels, full of unknowns and surprises.
Until they encountered that wraith in a ruined castle.
It had only been a Tier 2 wraith—a battle that should have been trivial for two experienced adventurers. The fight had been easy. When Potter blocked the wraith's claws with his shield, Shira's short sword had accurately pierced the wraith's core. The wraith dissipated in a shriek, but in its final moment, a thread of black mist had silently burrowed into Shira's body.
A deathbed curse. A racial trait possessed by only a few wraiths. They had run to every cathedral in every neighboring nation, but the priests only shook their heads, telling them that unless they found the legendary Bishop of the Gusteko Theocracy, no one could break it. And the price to petition such a great personage was five hundred gold coins. Five hundred gold coins. To them, vagabonds whose entire worldly possessions totaled less than ten silver coins, that was an astronomical sum. Shira had at most three months to live.
Just when they were in total despair, the news spread like wildfire across the continent: an Empire built by the undead had appeared. They possessed a miraculous potion called Emerald's Respite, said to cure all illnesses and curses. It was their only hope. And so, they sold all their gear and headed east, arriving at Iron Fortress.
A vial of diluted Emerald's Respite cost ten silver coins. When Potter fed the first vial to Shira, who had already fallen into a coma, a miracle occurred. Shira's breathing stabilized, and a hint of color returned to her pale face. The potion worked! At that moment, Potter saw hope. He thought that as long as he kept going, everything would be alright.
But reality was far crueler than he had imagined. Iron Fortress was developing at lightning speed, birthing countless opportunities. Hans of the Sunflower Merchant Guild, Scarlett of The Succubus's Dream, Paul of the munitions factory, Alya of the Literature Department—he witnessed the rise of countless commoners. During this time, he had tried. He wanted to be a merchant, but he had no connections, no capital, not even the most basic business sense. He wanted to learn a trade; he went to carpenters, blacksmiths, even bartenders. But those masters only glanced at him and dismissed him for being too old—he had missed the prime age for learning.
He knew nothing. He was just an ordinary human adventurer who was good for nothing but combat techniques. And in this peaceful Empire, combat skills were the least valuable thing of all. And so, he could only scramble to every corner of the city, becoming a temporary laborer for any merchant who would have him, selling his cheapest labor in exchange for the five silver coins that sustained Shira's life.
During this time, he had forgotten how to argue with people; he had forgotten how to express anger. He felt pain; he felt lonely. Whenever work went poorly, his mind would involuntarily wander: What should I do? Who should I ask for help? I want to cry out loud, but I can't. Because Shira is waiting for me to bring the medicine back. How many more days will this continue?
He was confused. God, if you truly exist, when will you spare me a glance?
He had thought of giving up countless times. Abandoning this burden that constantly devoured his life force and starting over alone. If he were alone, relying on his adventurer's skills, perhaps he could live well in Iron Fortress. Perhaps he could be like Hans—seizing an opportunity and becoming a decent merchant. Perhaps he could save up money, pursue a healthy girl, and build an ordinary family. On countless walks home, these thoughts eroded his resolve.
But in the end, when he pushed open that dilapidated door and saw Shira's apologetic, gentle smile, all his resentment and all his pain dissolved into a single phrase: "I'm home."
Thinking of this, Potter lifted his head from Shira's embrace. His eyes were red, but there were no tears. He looked into Shira's eyes and said clearly, word for word:
"You are enough."
"If my future doesn't have you in it, such a future would be meaningless."
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