CHAPTER EIGHT: Two Strangers and their daughter
The rich aroma of simmering sauce sauntered through the air, curling into Blade’s senses before his mind even stirred. Hunger struck first, rousing him from slumber with a sharp pang in his stomach. Even before his eyes cracked open, his mouth had already begun to water. His body demanded food.
Fully awake now, he rose from the bed and followed the tantalizing scent, leading him straight to the kitchen. Without thinking, he reached for the pot lid and lifted it—only to hiss in pain as the scorching metal seared his fingers. The lid clattered to the floor with a sharp clang, and Blade instinctively shoved his fingers into his mouth, attempting to cool the burn.
“Is that your father?”
A soft yet amused feminine voice caught his attention, and he lifted his gaze, still sucking on his fingers. Standing before him were two figures—a young girl and a woman, both clad in locally woven dresses.
The woman tilted her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “He looks more like a fool to me,” she remarked before striding into the kitchen.
Blade merely stared, momentarily lost for words.
“You sure took your time waking up,” she continued, balancing a plate on the top of her foot before smoothly flicking it into her hands. With effortless grace, she rinsed it under the tap before making her way to the pot. “You must be one of those men with no regard for their own lives. You should count yourself lucky to still be breathing. You lost a dangerous amount of blood, needed a transfusion, and had four infected bullet wounds. Honestly, if I hadn’t seen your face, I would have mistaken you for a perforated sieve.” She chuckled at her own joke while serving the sauce, setting it on the table alongside a loaf of bread.
Blade’s amusement quickly soured. A realization hit him like a blade through the ribs—he had no idea who this woman was. The thought that she might be a spy from Elder Hans shot through his mind like wildfire.
Without warning, he seized her wrist and twisted it behind her back. “Who are you, and who sent you?” His voice dropped into a lethal growl, his grip tightening.
The woman barely flinched. Instead, with a sudden burst of movement, she drove her elbow into his abdomen—right where an old wound still festered.
A sharp groan tore from his throat as pain crashed through his system, forcing him to his knees. He clutched his stomach, breath ragged.
Before he could recover, her foot came down on his shoulder blade, pressing him to the ground with surprising force. Blood dribbled from his lips as he gritted his teeth.
“Killing you right now would be effortless,” she mused. “You’re injured, weak, and, frankly, emotionally unhinged.”
Embarrassment flared in his chest like a second wound. Gritting his teeth, he shoved her leg off him and staggered to his feet, still holding his stomach.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, unfazed. “If I really wanted you dead, do you think I would’ve waited for you to wake up? I had a whole week to slit your throat. But I didn’t. So, tell me, why do you wake up and assume I’m the enemy?”
She met his glare without hesitation. There was something in her gaze—empathy, perhaps—but whatever kindness she held quickly withered under the cold steel in his eyes.
Blade had never lost a fight. Not even against Viper. And now, a woman—of all people—had defeated him without breaking a sweat. His pride throbbed harder than his wounds.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, unwilling to endure further humiliation.
But as his fingers curled around the little girl’s wrist, intent on taking her with him, another voice interrupted.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
He ignored the woman’s call.
“The weather’s turning. It’ll rain soon,” she warned.
He still didn’t reply.
There was no way in hell he was staying under the same roof as a woman who had so effortlessly put him in his place.
The child followed without question, though she had no idea where he was leading them.
As they walked, Blade’s mind churned with unspoken fury. His body ached, but his wounded ego screamed louder.
“Who does she think she is?” he muttered. “Emotionally unstable? Me?”
The little girl glanced up at him, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
Their aimless journey was cut short when they nearly collided with a woman wearing a straw hat. She carried a basket of oranges and looked at the child with a warm smile.
“Your father’s awake?” she asked.
The girl nodded.
Blade inclined his head slightly in greeting.
“You still look pale,” the woman observed, her voice laced with concern. “You shouldn’t be walking around after losing so much blood. Honestly, if it weren’t for your wife, you wouldn’t have survived the night you arrived here.”
Blade stiffened. “Wife?”
Before he could ask further, another villager rushed up, calling for the straw-hat woman’s attention. “Sister Martha, there’s an emergency at Milar’s home!”
Sister Martha barely hesitated before pressing the basket of oranges into Blade’s hands. “Take these. You’ll need your strength.”
And then, she was gone.
Blade stood there, utterly bewildered. Slowly, he turned to the little girl. She stared back.
He noticed her clutching her shoulder, her small teeth biting into her lower lip.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head.
Blade exhaled heavily. He had no choice. If they stayed outside any longer, the rain would drench them, and the little girl would fall sick before he even had a plan.
Swallowing his pride, he tightened his grip on her hand. “Let’s go back.”
And with that, they turned back.
The rain had barely begun to fall when they stepped back inside. The house was aglow with flickering candlelight, fire torches casting warm shadows across the walls. The scent of the now-warming sauce welcomed them in, wrapping them in something dangerously close to comfort.
For the first time, Blade took in his surroundings. The home was simple, rustic. The kitchen doubled as a dining area, small yet efficient. Hanging flower pots dangled from the ceiling, adding splashes of green to the earthy tones. It was nothing like the sharp, clinical world he was used to.
“You’re back,” the woman said, her voice betraying mild surprise as she stepped into the room from the staircase.
The little girl approached her, presenting the basket of oranges.
“Did Daddy buy these for us?” the woman asked.
The child nodded.
A teasing smile curved the woman’s lips. “Oh, how sweet of you, Daddy.”
Blade bristled at the title.
“Go take a shower, Lenora,” the woman instructed. “Then come back for your meal.”
The girl nodded obediently and scampered off.
Blade wasted no time. “You told the villagers I’m her father?”
The woman simply pressed a finger to his lips.
He slapped her hand away.
“She lost her memory,” she explained calmly. “Right now, she believes you’re her father.”
Blade’s jaw tightened. “And the villagers? Did they all lose their memories too?”
The woman smirked. “If you don’t like it, go tell them you’re an assassin from the Citadel of the Robes. Let’s see how welcome you feel after that.”
Blade scoffed. “Says a Scarlett Blade assassin.”
The woman exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “I see you figured that out. What was it? The Leg Suna?”
She turned away, rinsing plates in the sink. “If you’re waiting for me to apologize for bruising your ego,” she added, “don’t hold your breath. But you also haven’t thanked me for saving your life, so I guess we’re even.”
Blade narrowed his eyes.
“We both have enemies,” she continued, “and this village is the perfect cover. You’re a man, I’m a woman, and we have a child between us. The illusion of family keeps us safe. So, do we have a deal?”
She extended her soapy hand.
Blade exhaled through his nose, grudgingly clasping it. “Hopefully, I won’t have to see your face for too long.”
The woman smirked. “Life has a way of surprising you.”