If You Leave Without a Word - Chapter 66
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
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“Transferring the refugees safely is crucial, but daring to tamper with the Knight Order’s armory is an unforgivable crime. If they had succeeded in stealing, they couldn’t have sold the explosives within the Empire, so they would have taken them across the border to another country. Exporting the Empire’s weaponry is treason.”
“I’m not saying we won’t punish them. I’ve just postponed it.”
Cain responded firmly, but he knew. He knew his actions were unusually lenient. Even he couldn’t define why he couldn’t be more stern with them.
Cain was aware that some knights viewed him differently because of this. To them, a man swayed by a gypsy woman who would sell anything for money was questionable at best.
Even though the so-called ‘Knight of Blood and Ice’ seemed defenseless in front of the enchanting gypsy woman, some junior knights gossiped, which the senior knights sternly reprimanded.
The respect for a steadfast knight might waver, not because of diminished loyalty but because the perception of their leader had changed.
“By not punishing them, they brazenly committed the same crime again, unaware of their wrongdoing. Now, they must be strictly punished, commander.”
The knight was right. The same crime committed twice could not be overlooked.
“All done, Your Excellency.”
After applying the medicine and changing the bandage, the servant, skilled as any physician thanks to his herbalist father, respectfully greeted Cain. With a nod, indicating he could leave, the servant exited the tent backward.
“Bring the gypsy woman here.”
“Yes, understood, commander.”
Cain donned his coat. It seemed he had to confront the gypsy woman directly. Ignoring the knight’s expectant look which hoped for the woman’s punishment, Cain walked away.
He pondered if his inability to be firm with the gypsy woman was because her hair color reminded him of his late mother. The rare red curls were an unusual sight in Nikephos and kept catching his eye.
“This time, you really must hold her accountable. It’s fortunate no one was injured this time, but if she goes unpunished again, the gypsies will take the Knight Order lightly.”
As Cain was about to leave the tent, his eyes caught several pieces of parchment on a makeshift table. They were used for reports to the imperial court but also for writing letters to Agatha, who awaited him in the capital.
Sending a letter to Agatha once a month was perhaps the only spark in the tough life within the camp. Though he never received a reply, Cain felt connected to her by asking about her well-being.
Time had significantly passed since he left the capital. He wondered if she had regained some health and whether if she no longer frowned in her sleep.
Stepping out of the tent, Cain’s brief smile went unnoticed.
The red-haired gypsy woman brought before him looked furious. Considering the circumstances, one might expect her to be apologetic, yet she sat upright, defiantly staring down each knight surrounding her.
As if she were the wronged party, her bold demeanor seemed to perplex the knights until Cain, their leader, appeared. Even as the knights saluted him, the woman’s eyes remained fiercely fixed. It was as if she was challenging them, bristling like a hedgehog ready to defend herself against perceived threats.
To Cain, her defiance seemed merely a comical attempt at intimidation. He had faced far more formidable foes without flinching.
Facing such a slender figure boldly glaring at him, Cain knew he could extinguish her fragile life with a mere gesture.
“What is your name?”
Cain finally asked after a standoff.
“And why do you want to know?”
Came the sharp retort from the woman. As expected, not a bit off from what he anticipated.
Halting the knights ready to teach the disrespectful gypsy a lesson, Cain repeated his question.
“Name.”
The woman seemed taken aback, perhaps expecting an immediate reprimand.
“What name does a wandering life have?”
She muttered reluctantly, gauging Cain’s reaction.
She had faced men before, those who wielded swords and wreaked havoc as their profession, and had seen many like them in her dreadful past. To her, such men usually acted swiftly to extinguish life at the slightest show of fear.
With this in mind, the woman fought off the creeping fear, trying to appear unphased.
“Even a wandering life must have a name it goes by.”
“None.”
