NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 44: Arrival of the News in Lacrima

In the desolate corners of the West, a lonely dirt road flowed silently toward the horizon.

Along the road, sun-scorched, withered grasses bowed their heads, and cracked stones lay half-buried in the parched earth.

On the road, a man was moving forward atop an exhausted horse.

His clothes were old; covered in dust, torn in places.

Dried bloodstains could be seen scattered across the fabric.

This man was Cean, the only surviving guard of the caravan.

Ravien had spared him, tasking him to deliver a message to the lord of Lacrima City.

After days of endless travel, he was finally nearing the city.

The city had been built behind thick stone walls.

The houses stood close together, most of them single or double-story buildings, their roofs made of adobe and lime.

Some walls were cracked, and paint peeled off in patches.

The narrow, winding streets were paved with stone.

Small markets were set up at various corners, selling fruits, fabrics, and leather goods.

Among the crowds, town criers shouted announcements while children darted through the alleyways.

In the very center of the city rose a massive castle, built from whitish stones.

The watchtowers on the city walls commanded a view in every direction.

The main gate was made of thick oak beams reinforced with iron plates.

"Sh... ha... sh... ha... I finally see the city."

Despite his weary body, Cean slowed his horse.

He urged the animal toward the city gate.

In front of the gate, four guards stood watch.

They wore leather armor, adorned with iron engravings on their shoulders.

They held spears in their hands, eyes keenly scanning the surroundings.

As Cean approached, one of them—the one with the harsh gaze—immediately moved.

He tapped his spear lightly on the ground and called out:

"Stop right there! Who are you? What business do you have at the city gate?"

Cean pulled on the reins and brought his horse to a halt.

Gathering his breath, he spoke loudly:

"I’m one of the guards from the Fauriel caravan!"

He paused for a moment; his voice cracked but he steadied it.

"A grave event has occurred... I must meet with the lord of Lacrima immediately."

The guard stepped closer, squinting as he examined Cean from head to toe.

He saw the torn clothes, the dried bloodstains, and Cean’s exhausted state.

He was suspicious... but Cean looked far too battered to be lying.

Another guard leaned toward his companion and whispered:

"Did he say Fauriel caravan? They headed east from here last we heard..."

Harsh-eyed, a guard furrowed his brows and turned back to Cean:

"You’re covered in blood. What happened to the caravan?"

Cean took a short breath.

When he answered, his voice was grave:

"I was ordered to report directly to the lord alone."

The guard stared at him for a few more moments, then seemed to recall that it was not his place to question further.

He shifted his spear slightly to the side.

"Alright, dismount now."

Cean struggled but managed to get down.

His knees trembled slightly as he hit the ground, but he didn’t collapse.

The guard signaled to another with a nod.

One of them stepped forward immediately.

"Take him to the castle guards. If there’s anything to be decided about seeing the lord, they’ll handle it."

Cean nodded.

He made no suspicious moves, spoke no unnecessary words.

One guard took the reins of Cean’s horse, while another motioned him forward toward the castle road.

"Follow me," he said in a curt tone.

Cean gritted his teeth and began to walk.

Behind him, the creaking of the city gate echoed.

They entered through the gate into the city.

The narrow streets twisted ahead, paved with dirt-mixed stones.

The air was hot and slightly dusty.

People minded their own business along the streets.

Children ran barefoot, women spun wool in front of their homes, and men worked their stalls, trying to sell their goods.

In the marketplace, a few vendors were selling vegetables and fruits.

At one stall, an old man shouted loudly:

"Potatoes! Fresh and bountiful! Forty born per kilogram! Don’t miss out!"

Between the stalls were makeshift canopies of cloth, swaying gently with the breeze.

There was no fear or urgency on the faces of the townspeople.

Life flowed at its usual pace.

Only a few curious glances were cast at the dusty newcomer and his escort before they returned to their business.

The castle towered at the center of the city.

Its high walls were visible from every part of town.

As they neared the city center, three castle guards wearing different, heavier armor intercepted them.

Unlike the gate guards, these men wore dark blue cloaks bearing Lacrima’s emblem.

The lead guard spoke without even looking at Cean:

"Are you the messenger sent to us?"

The gate guard nodded.

Cean remained silent.

The castle guard gave Cean a quick glance and then nodded.

"You’ll be taken before the lord. Answer the questions briefly and clearly. Don’t pull any foolishness."

He gestured with his hand.

"Follow us."

Leaving the bustling city behind, the group made their way toward the castle gates.

Upon entering the castle, the air grew cooler.

The stone corridors carried a faint scent of dampness.

Their footsteps echoed as they moved; armored sentries stood silently along the walls.

One of the castle guards took the lead.

They advanced quietly.

At the end of a narrow corridor, they stopped before a heavy door, adorned only with a simple carving.

The guard approached the door, grabbing the knocker.

He paused briefly, glancing at the door.

Then, he struck it twice.

A few seconds later, a short, dry voice was heard from within:

"Enter."

The door opened slightly.

The guard entered first, offering a short salute:

"Lady Essena, a messenger has arrived from the city gates. He wishes to speak with the lord."

Behind the desk sat a woman who lifted her head. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

This was Nepal Essena, the secretary directly under the Lord of Lacrima City.

Her long black hair cascaded down her back.

Her eyes were cold and black like polished glass.

Her facial features were sharp; her beauty was stark and intimidating.

She wore a dark blue dress that accentuated her poised demeanor.

Nepal spoke with a short wave of her hand:

"Let him in."

The guard nodded.

Cean stepped forward.

As he entered, he paused for a brief moment.

His eyes caught sight of the woman sitting behind the desk.

The waves of her black hair flowed neatly over the shoulders of her dark dress.

A cold yet striking face...

An involuntary thought crossed his mind:

"Wow... such beauty..."

The thought slipped from Cean’s lips like a faint breath.

His gaze didn’t linger for long.

But Nepal did not miss that brief moment.

The woman lifted her head slightly.

She fixed her gaze on Cean.

Her eyes were expressionless, but there was a heavy sharpness within them.

Her voice came out low, yet cutting:

"What are you looking at?"

Cean flinched.

His shoulders jerked slightly.

He quickly lowered his head.

His voice trembled as he spoke:

"I... I spaced out... Forgive me, my lady."

Nepal stared at him for a few more seconds.

She did not so much as raise an eyebrow or offer any reply.

Her face remained blank, her gaze cold as stone.

As if she hadn’t heard his apology at all, she turned her head away.

She walked silently toward the guard by the door.

After a short pause, she turned her cold gaze toward him.

Her voice was cold and commanding:

"You may leave. Your duty here is done."

The guard gave a short salute and withdrew.

The door shut behind him with a heavy thud.

Silence once again engulfed the room.

Nepal rose from her chair.

It creaked slightly as it slid back.

Her footsteps were silent, but each step carried a sense of purpose.

"Why do you seek an audience with the lord?" she asked.

Her voice was calm, with no trace of warmth in her eyes.

Cean lifted his head slightly but answered without meeting her gaze:

"Fauriel and all the caravan’s guards are dead.

Only I survived."

Nepal’s brows furrowed ever so slightly.

Her eyes lingered on Cean for a moment, as if weighing the gravity of his words.

After a brief silence, she asked:

"Is this true?"

Without a shred of hesitation, Cean answered:

"Yes, my lady."

Nepal gave a small nod.

There was no sign of shock or sorrow on her face.

Only a quiet acceptance.

She replied with an expressionless face:

"I see. So that’s what happened."

The room fell into silence once more.

Then, slowly, she turned toward the door.

Her movements were measured, unhurried.

As she gripped the door knocker, she paused for a brief moment.

She cast a glance over her shoulder at Cean.

"Come. You’ll explain the details before the lord."

Cean silently nodded and followed her with weary steps.

The door opened with a heavy creak.

Before them stretched a long and silent corridor, flanked by stone walls.

Cean and Nepal walked side by side in silence.

The corridor was long, but they reached the end after a few minutes.

Before them stood a large door, different from the others—tinged with dark blue and adorned with simple yet elegant carvings.

The door looked heavy and solid.

Nepal paused for a moment.

She raised her hand and lightly tapped on the door.

This time, her knock was soft, and the harsh tone she had carried earlier had disappeared.

In a sweet, almost friendly voice, she spoke:

"My lord, I have arrived."

Cean glanced at her in surprise.

Is this the same woman from before? he thought.

For a fleeting moment, it was as if someone entirely different had spoken.

Even so, he maintained his posture, averting his gaze to avoid drawing attention.

A strange voice came from behind the door.

It was difficult to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman—

deep and smooth, yet light and delicate at the same time:

"Is that you, Nepal? Come in, darling."

The voice carried both a deep, velvety masculine tone and a light, feminine lilt.

It was as if two people were speaking in unison.

A slight shiver ran down Cean’s spine.

He struggled to hide his reaction.

He bowed his head and remained silent.

Nepal pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The heavy door began to close slowly behind her.

Cean did not move.

Several minutes passed.

Only muffled voices and the occasional faint whisper could be heard from within.

Then the door opened again.

Nepal emerged, her face returned to its former state—neither soft nor harsh, but utterly neutral.

"You may enter now. The lord is waiting for you."

Cean nodded and walked forward quietly.

He paused for a brief moment at the threshold, then stepped inside.