Half a mile away from the village stood the barony's graveyard, a small plot of land filled with graves, the final resting place of humans and the inevitable fate none had ever escaped.
In a slightly vacant spot free of tombstones, Arthur stood silently, a sorrowful expression on his face. His gaze was fixed on a fresh grave marked with the letters: R.I.P.
His sorrow wasn't directed at his savior, but the scene, the grave, the stone marker, and the stance he took—evoked a painful memory: the day he had buried his own parents.
Despite the profound grief, his eyes remained dry. He couldn't shed a single tear, yet his heart wept silently. He let the emotions rise without suppression. His mind quieted, his anxieties vanished. He didn't think about anything else, he was simply sad and deeply calm. For the first time since coming to this world, he didn't care about anything, only that moment.
