Night Journey

Chapter 3 Ouroboros

Opening his eyes, Cillian was greeted by a glass sky bathed in warm sunlight.

It hasn't been cleaned in a long time; the glass is covered in stains, puddles, and autumn leaves that fell last year and haven't completely rotted yet.

Cillian tried to get up, but a sharp pain shot through his body in protest.

Looking around, a map of Baiya Town hung on the wall, sharp longswords were stuck in the weapon rack, and ammunition boxes were slightly open, the brass shell casings giving off a soft glow.

"Armory room?"

This is the armed preparedness room in White Cliff Town, near the Lighthouse of Light. It serves as Nuen's home and is also where Cirien conducts his daily training.

"I...I'm still alive?"

Recalling the last scene before he fell into a coma, Cillian remembered that he held on until dawn. The light of the morning sun dispelled the gray fog and burned the evil demons to snow-white ashes, leaving nothing behind.

Cillian breathed a sigh of relief and was just about to turn over and enjoy his newfound life in a slightly more comfortable position when he heard the clanking of chains.

"what?"

Cillian turned his head and saw that a pair of shackles were being put on his wrists and tightly fastened to long nails on the wall.

It was at this moment that Cillian realized that he was not lying on a bed at all. He had been training in the armory for nearly ten years. How could Cillian not know whether there was a bed in the armory or not?

Cillian was lying on a blanket, and considering that he was covered in injuries, he symbolically covered himself with another blanket.

"Something's not right... something's not right."

A sense of crisis inexplicably rose in Cillian's heart, as if he had just escaped one danger only to fall into another.

"Oh……"

Suddenly, the tension and fear on Cillian's face disappeared, and he muttered to himself, "Although I held on until dawn, I was still shrouded in gray fog and corrupted by chaos."

Having figured this out, Cillian relaxed a little, peacefully closed his eyes, and looked so calm that he was practically ready to shovel a handful of dirt into his face... yeah right!
Ignoring the pain in his body, Cillian struggled to sit up. He first lifted his clothes to see if his hard-earned abs had changed from eight to sixteen, and then checked if he had a few extra toes.

After confirming that everything was normal, Cillian opened his mouth and forcefully pushed his fingers into his throat until he felt nauseous and about to gag, but he still couldn't feel anything like a wisdom tooth.

"Maybe...it's alright?"

Cillian collapsed weakly onto the blanket, trying to comfort himself.

He was always a carefree guy, and he quickly calmed down and quieted down.

Slowly raising his left hand, which was bound by shackles, Cirien opened his palm. Apart from the calluses left by years of training, there were shallow wounds, some new and some old.

Cillian carefully examined his palm and remembered that before he was completely devoured by Chaos, his palm seemed to light up, and then the suppression of Chaos on him disappeared.

That golden ouroboros mark.

"Is it an illusion?"

Cillian carefully wiped his palms, but saw no marks, only reddened skin.

Footsteps came from outside the armory.

A young and rough voice broke the silence first, with a hint of impatience in its tone.

"It's been two days, and there's still no sign of Cillian. Could he really be dead? Let's not waste our time keeping watch here."

“Maybe,” another slightly immature, curious voice chimed in, “corrupted by chaos into demons, and then scorched to ashes by the sun.”

"You two, shut up!"

The female voice, filled with anger and anxiety, abruptly retorted to the first two voices, "Are you so eager for Cirion to die? Isn't he your brother? How can you say such heartless things!"

"Hey, Ava, you know we call each other brothers, but we're not related by blood at all. There's no need to take it so seriously."

The rough voice responded nonchalantly, with a hint of mockery.

He said nonchalantly, "Besides, how many of our brothers have died already? Look, it's my turn to be the leader now. It's perfectly normal for someone to die. Cillian might not be so lucky."

Ava was speechless.

“Cillian might really be safe and sound,” the young voice analyzed cautiously. “When the teacher brought him back, didn’t he examine him carefully? There are no signs of chaotic contamination on him. Maybe he just hasn’t recovered yet.”

"But even the teacher isn't 100% sure that Cillian is fine, otherwise they wouldn't have tied him up here like an animal."

The rough voice retorted dismissively, deliberately emphasizing the word "shoulder".

The sound grew closer, accompanied by heavy footsteps. The door creaked open and a tall figure strode toward Ciri.

Cillian neither closed his eyes and pretended to be dead, nor did he show any joy at surviving.

To be honest, after hearing his two brothers' evaluations of him, Cillian felt a tightness in his chest and found it really hard to feel any joy, let alone celebrate his survival with them and burst into tears.

Cillian stared blankly at the doorway, where a resolute face, perfectly matching his gruff voice, came into view.

Tim Soflowa.

One of the orphans adopted by Nunn, and the leader of the Soflowa brothers, he was only a few years older than Cirien, and had a burly build, resembling a magnificent black bear.

Following Tim in was the owner of that youthful voice.

A boy slightly shorter than Cillian was Mick, the youngest of the Soflowa brothers.

In stark contrast to Tim's short, wiry hair and muscular physique, Mick appeared more delicate and slender, with soft, fluffy blond hair that added a touch of boyishness to his appearance.

When Nunn first brought Mik back, given his young age and frail health, Cillian mistakenly thought that the Soflowa brothers would finally have a petite little sister.
Cillian stared coldly at his two brothers, who returned the same indifference until Tim, the eldest, couldn't contain himself and burst into laughter. Cillian knew they were deliberately speaking so loudly.

Although the three are called the Soflova brothers, they are not related by blood, and Nunn never considers himself to be their adoptive father.

More like students undergoing training together than brothers, Tim cherishes this familial bond and always refers to each other as brothers.

Tim feigned surprise, waved enthusiastically, and wore an exaggerated smile.

"Oh, little brother, it's so good to see you alive. I was so worried about you."

Cillian glared at him without any politeness. "You weren't like this just now. Don't pretend to be nice here."

"Don't argue with him. You know he always likes to make silly jokes and deliberately provoke people."

Mick tried to persuade him from the side, a helpless smile on his face.

Cillian cursed, "You little brat, do you think I didn't hear you?! Don't think I can't deal with you just because you're hiding in the back."

“Cillian!”

A clear female voice rang out again, and a pair of small hands pushed the two brothers aside.

The girl's face still held a touch of childlike innocence, with a few freckles adorning the tip of her nose. She tied her long, beautiful hair behind her head and wore a simple white dress.

Her chest rose and fell slightly, her eyes were moist as if she were about to cry, and her eyes were full of worry and concern.

Cillian met the girl's gaze, and he couldn't help but feel his heart beat faster, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Clearly, compared to her two unreliable brothers, the girl showed more concern for Cillian, at least in appearance.

"Oh, Ava, good morning."

Cillian racked his brains to come up with this sentence.

He wasn't good at dealing with girls, even though he'd known Ava for years.

Ava, the daughter of the mayor of White Cliff, grew up playing with the Sofrova brothers and is the only young person in White Cliff who can keep them in check.

Her method of disciplining the Soflowa brothers was simple: if the three brothers did anything out of line, she would tell their father, the mayor, who would then find the even more respected Nunn.

Nunn will teach the three brothers what reverence is.

"It's great that you're okay."

Ava rubbed her eyes, her nose slightly red. Compared to the three trained brothers, her mental resilience was ultimately much weaker.

To express her excitement, Ava took two steps forward, just about to hug Cillian, when Tim picked her up and placed her obediently beside him.

The three of them stood there, gazing at Cillian from afar.

Cillian frowned and said, "The way you guys are looking at me makes me feel like a piece of cheese that's been fermenting in a dark corner all summer and is covered in mold."

"You are indeed covered in mold, you just can't see it."

An aged voice came from outside the door, and whether it was a misjudgment of their senses or not, they all felt that the temperature inside the room had dropped a few degrees.

Tim and Mick immediately stopped smiling, straightened up, and straightened their backs. Ava, standing beside them, also tried to control her emotions and imitated the two, standing neatly like soldiers waiting for a general's inspection.

Cillian paused for a moment upon hearing the voice, then forced himself to move his body despite the pain.

Realizing he couldn't stand up, Cillian simply knelt on the blanket, chest out and head held high, awaiting the scrutiny of the newcomer.

The approaching footsteps felt like a heavy hammer blow to the heart; the arrival of the other person made the atmosphere incredibly oppressive and tense.

A fearsome figure slowly appeared before Cillian's eyes.

He was a man who embodied many contradictory traits.

He possessed a robust physique and an undeniable sense of power; however, as he slowly approached Cillian, his voice became hoarse and deep, like that of an old man. His face was etched with the marks of time, and his gray hair fell in disarray, adding to his weathered and cold demeanor.

Cillian once joked that the other party was "a well-fermented homemade fake liquor mixed with razor blades."

No one can explain the logic of Cirion's long and short sentences.

After entering the room, the man didn't say another word, merely looking down at Cillian.

Cillian mustered her courage and met the man's gaze.

"teacher."

He said.

The next moment, a gentle breeze swept across his face, and a longsword wrapped in bandages was placed against Ciri's neck, the cold glint of its blade piercing his eyes precisely.

Cillian couldn't remember how many demons this cross-shaped sword had slain in the past ten years, nor could he count them all, nor could he recall the battles this cross-shaped sword had fought before those ten years.

"Teacher... I'm back alive."

Cillian spoke slowly and deliberately, his gaze showing no sign of yielding.

Nunn frowned, as if Ciri was some kind of enigma he couldn't understand.

"All go out."

He hissed.

(End of this chapter)