Chapter 3
The snide disciples were blasted across the room by a surge of sword energy, coughing up blood and left sprawled on the floor in utter disgrace.
The elders hurried over when they heard the commotion. Once they got the gist, they brushed it off with laughter, smoothing things over and letting everyone move past it without making a fuss.
"That brat doesn't know any better," one elder grumbled.
"Ah, let it go. He's young, hot-blooded, can't stand a bit of nonsense," another elder said, chuckling.
"Yeah, just like we were back in our day," a third elder laughed, shaking his head.
Things quickly settled down, and the hall returned to its usual calm.
But for Gordon, the frustration inside him kept spreading like wildfire, crowding his thoughts. He couldn't help but picture Samantha's eyes, red and swollen from crying.
I shouted, "Gordon, I hate you!
"I'm not marrying you!"
The more he dwelled on it, the tighter his chest felt. Without even glancing back at Cosima calling his name, he summoned his sword and flew down the mountain.
The night wind was biting cold, but it couldn't cool the turmoil burning in his chest.
At the foot of the mountain, the town was alive with New Year's celebrations. The streets were humming with activity.
Gordon got jostled around by the crowd, feeling a little dizzy, so he ducked into a tavern for a breather.
"Hey, there, want some wine or coffee? Here for a meal or a snack?"
A waiter in rough linen clothes came over, beaming.
As soon as their eyes met, both of them called out in delight.
"Gordon Bessent?"
"Breon Flanagan?"
"It's you! I thought you were dead!" Gordon blurted out, his eyes wide with surprise.
"Hey, don't jinx it! Can't you say something nice?" Breon shot back, rolling his eyes.
By midnight, the tavern was shutting down for the night.
Breon and Gordon grabbed a spot by the window, and Breon poured Gordon a cup of wine, then kicked off the conversation.
Even now, just remembering what happened back then made Breon shudder.
Breon said, his voice still shaky, "Back when we were out training together, we ran into those demonic cultivators from the Bliss Sect. They were after pretty kids, keeping them as pets.
"If it hadn't been for that girl who risked her life to save me, I'd be long gone."
Gordon looked genuinely surprised.
"So you managed to cheat death and get a fresh start. Why aren't you back at the sect working on your cultivation? What made you open a tavern down here instead?" he asked, still puzzled.
Breon chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Right then, a girl with her hair tied up like a married woman marched over, hands on her hips, grumbling as she reached out to grab Breon's ear.
"Breon, hiding out and being lazy again, huh?" she snapped.
"Ow, ow! Don't blame me, honey. I'm not slacking off, I ran into an old friend," Breon protested.
"Old friend?" the girl asked.
She was dressed in simple homespun clothes, a plain hairpin in her hair, and shot Gordon a cautious look.
Breon said, "It's alright, he's someone I met back when I was out training.
"And this is my wife, Deborah Flanagan.
Once Breon introduced them, Deborah finally let her guard down and went off with a grin to whip up some snacks for the drinks.
Breon explained, "Back then, Deborah risked her life to save me. I wanted to bring her back to the mountain and ask my master to take her in, so I could fulfill my wish to repay her.
"But my master wouldn't agree, and Deborah didn't care for that place either. So I went down the mountain with her and stuck by her side, running this tavern together."
"You gave up immortality to live as a mortal? Don't you ever wish you'd chosen differently?" Gordon asked.
Gordon just couldn't make sense of it.
Breon admitted. "Honestly, I was never as talented as you. After what those demonic cultivators put me through, I was scared out of my mind and gave up on chasing immortality.
"Deborah's an orphan, and this tavern was her father's legacy. If I hadn't stayed by her side, her relatives would've taken it from her in no time."
As he spoke, Breon watched his wife busy with chores, a fond smile spreading across his face.
"By the way, Gordon, how did you manage to get out back then?" Breon asked, curious.
The moonlight shimmered in their wine cups, and Gordon went quiet.
He remembered.
Six years ago, he and Breon were snatched by demonic cultivators from the Bliss Sect. Their cultivation was destroyed, bone-locking chains sealed their powers, and they were forced to take aphrodisiacs and endure endless torment day and night.
Gordon was tortured to the brink of madness, so weak he couldn't even end his own life. After his life force was drained, the demonic cultivators tossed him into a dungeon, planning to turn him into a soul banner for their twisted rituals.
Just when Gordon lay in that dungeon, resigned to his fate, he met Samantha.
While all the other captured female cultivators were sobbing their hearts out, Samantha was the only one who managed a smile.
She'd been snatched up as a "talented recruit" because the demonic cultivators saw the emerald pendant hanging from her neck and assumed she was born with spiritual roots.
But when the demonic cultivator found out she was a plain mortal, they cursed her for bringing bad luck and stuck her with latrine duty.
Samantha set down her bucket, fished out a half-hardened bun she'd hidden in her clothes, and quietly slipped it to Gordon.
By then, Gordon had been tortured beyond recognition. He hated everything about this hellhole, including that grubby mortal girl.
He turned away from her.
His voice raspy and harsh as he said, "Just go. Don't touch me. Let me die."
Samantha didn't even flinch. She stuffed the bun in her mouth, chewing, then spoke with her mouth full, her tone dead serious.
"No dying," she said.