Journey to Become the Zenith-Chapter 129: The Weight That Doesn’t Fade

The Weight That Doesn’t Fade

Hilda who had returned the remaining women back to their homes, saw the scene she had expected.

The moment they stepped into the village—

It began.

Not with shouting.

Not with violence.

But with something far worse.

Silence.

The narrow dirt paths of Ridge Village were lined with people.

Watching.

Waiting.

Judging.

Their eyes didn’t hold relief.

Didn’t hold gratitude.

They held something colder.

Something sharper.

The women who had walked beside Clara trembled.

Some lowered their heads.

Some clutched the torn fabric around their bodies.

Some—

Just stared ahead.

As if they had already accepted what was coming.

"...We’re home..."

One of them whispered.

But even that word—

Sounded fragile.

Like it might break if spoken too loudly.

Then—

A mother ran forward.

Her hands shaking.

Her eyes already filled with tears.

"My daughter...!"

She pulled one of the girls into her arms, holding her tightly, as if trying to make up for everything that had been taken.

"...You’re alive... you’re alive..."

The girl broke.

Crying into her shoulder.

Clinging to her like she would disappear otherwise.

Clara watched.

Quietly.

Still.

Then—

Another scene unfolded.

A father stood at the edge of the crowd.

His daughter stepped toward him slowly.

"...Father..."

Her voice trembled.

Hope.

Desperate.

Fragile.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t step forward.

Didn’t open his arms.

"...Please..."

She dropped to her knees.

"...I’m still your daughter..."

Silence.

His gaze hardened.

He turned away.

"...Don’t come closer."

The words fell like a blade.

Clean.

Cold.

Final.

The girl froze.

Her hands trembling against the ground.

"...Father...?"

No answer.

Around them—

Whispers began.

Low.

Cruel.

Unforgiving.

"...They’ve been tainted..."

"...They’re not the same..."

"...How can they return like nothing happened..."

Clara’s jaw tightened.

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

Some parents accepted their daughters.

Some didn’t.

And the ones who didn’t—

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t soften.

No matter how much the women groveled.

No matter how much they cried.

No matter how much they begged—

They were ignored.

"...Please... I have nowhere else..."

"...I didn’t choose this..."

"...Please..."

Voices cracked.

Broke.

Fell apart.

But the answers remained the same.

Silence.

Rejection.

Cold eyes that refused to look at them.

Clara gritted her teeth.

A sharp breath escaped her nose.

Her shoulders stiffened.

For a moment—

Her hand twitched.

Like she wanted to step forward.

Like she wanted to do something.

Anything.

But she didn’t.

Because she knew.

She understood it too well.

She didn’t have the power to fix this.

Not with a blade.

Not with strength.

Not with anything she had.

This wasn’t something you could cut down.

This wasn’t something you could fight.

And that—

Was what made it unbearable.

"...Damn it..."

The words slipped under her breath.

Barely audible.

A bitter taste filled her mouth.

Heavy.

Lingering.

She had saved them.

Brought them back.

Done everything she was supposed to do.

And yet—

It still wasn’t enough.

Some of the women slowly stood up.

Not looking at anyone.

Not speaking anymore.

They turned.

And walked away.

No destination.

No plan.

Just—

Away.

Clara watched them go.

Her eyes didn’t follow them for long.

Because she already knew where that road led.

She exhaled slowly.

Then—

Turned.

"...There’s nothing more I can do."

A quiet truth.

One she didn’t want to accept.

But had to.

Without another word—

She left the village.

The sky above had darkened slightly.

Clouds gathering.

Wind brushing faintly against her skin.

The path to Fantom City stretched ahead.

Long.

Empty.

Her steps were steady.

But her mind—

Wasn’t.

"...What can I even do..."

The thought came quietly.

Unanswered.

She didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t look back.

Because staying there—

Wouldn’t change anything.

By the time she reached Fantom City, the sun had already begun to dip.

The city buzzed with life as always—vendors shouting, people moving, laughter echoing from taverns.

Normal.

Unchanged.

Clara walked through it all without slowing.

Without reacting.

Until she reached the adventurers guild.

The familiar wooden doors creaked open.

Noise hit her immediately.

Conversations.

Clinking mugs.

Laughter.

It felt... distant.

She stepped inside.

Walked straight to the counter.

And placed the pouch down.

"...Proof of subjugation."

Her voice was calm.

Flat.

The receptionist opened it.

Counted.

Nodded.

"...Confirmed."

That was it.

No questions.

No deeper look.

Just another completed quest.

Clara turned away.

Walked toward the bar.

And sat down.

The chair creaked softly under her weight.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

But not really.

"...Why does this feel worse than fighting..."

She muttered quietly.

She leaned back slightly.

Staring at nothing.

’This wasn’t what I was expecting when I became an active adventurer again. It’s all that guy’s fault, why would he leave his party to do a solo adventure. We’ve just done one quest and that was it. Well to be fair that one quest was more than what we expected...’

A sigh escaped her.

Long.

Tired.

"...Annoying."

She raised her hand slightly.

"...Beer."

The mug was placed in front of her.

Cold.

Condensation forming along the sides.

She picked it up.

But didn’t drink immediately.

’Wasn’t the whole purpose of me joining his party, was for me to see if he really is a trustworthy person. What am I actually doing right now?...’

Her gaze lowered slightly.

Unfocused.

Then—

Memories surfaced.

Victor.

The way he fought.

The way he moved.

The way he looked at battle—

Not as something to survive.

But something to embrace.

’He’s not what I expected...’

At first—

She thought he was just another arrogant fighter.

Someone who relied too much on strength.

Someone reckless.

But that wasn’t it.

He wasn’t careless.

He was—

Free.

’He just does what he wants...’

Her fingers tapped lightly against the mug.

She remembered the King Drake.

The moment it fell.

The way Victor—

Smiled.

Not mockingly.

Not arrogantly.

Gratefully.

’He even thanked it...’

Then—

The necromancer.

The retreat.

The look in his eyes.

Not fear.

Not relief.

Disappointment.

Because the fight had ended before it reached its peak.

Clara exhaled slowly.

’It’s not like he’s a bad person per se...’

A pause.

’...Well, it’s also not like he’s a good person either.’

Her lips pressed together slightly.

’It feels more like... he only cares about those somehow related to him.’

Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug.

’And everything else that isn’t worth fighting... doesn’t exist to him.’

A faint scoff.

’Well... I guess that’s not really special.’

Her shoulders relaxed just slightly.

’Everyone’s like that.’

A quiet truth.

’People only care about what’s close to them.’

A pause.

’Actually... it’s more abnormal for someone to care about strangers.’

Her gaze softened slightly.

’Still...’

Her fingers stilled.

’I wonder what Victor told Lane to do...’

A faint frown appeared.

’As long as it’s not something excessive...’

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

’And as long as it doesn’t affect my family...’

A pause.

’...Then maybe I can let it be.’

She leaned back slightly.

’That guy...’

A small, almost invisible smile flickered for a moment.

’...He probably has his reasons.’

Then—

A quiet breath.

’Heh...’

Her grip loosened.

’I guess I’m no different.’

A faint, self-aware thought.

’Just another selfish person.’

She finally raised the mug.

And drank.

The bitterness spread across her tongue.

Sharp.

Grounding.

And as she sat there—

Lost in her thoughts—

She didn’t notice it.

Not yet.

That the space he left behind—

The absence—

Was starting to fill with something else.

Something quiet.

Something subtle.

Something that—

Given enough time—

Would no longer be easy to ignore.