NOVEL NEXT Chapter 32: Chapter 32
It was nighttime, yet the village was alive with activity. Most people were gathered in their homes, sharing dinner with their families. Taverns and restaurants bustled with noise, laughter, and clinking mugs. Groups of men sat together, drinking and swapping stories, their voices carrying into the cool night air.
Meanwhile, Zedd worked in silence at his secluded cabin, his movements careful and deliberate. He dipped a cloth into water and began scrubbing the dried bloodstains left behind from his recent surgery. Every stroke of the cloth erased a trace of the events that had unfolded there.
When he finished cleaning, he gathered the bloodied bandages and stepped outside. He knelt to start a small fire in front of the cabin, tossing the soiled bandages into the flames. He watched as the fabric curled and blackened, the evidence of his work turning to ash.
"I need to remove all traces. No evidence should remain," he muttered under his breath. Not that he cared much about being discovered—he was past that—but caution was a necessity.
He methodically destroyed everything. The remains of melted candles joined the fire, followed by his research notes on synthetic tissue, now rendered obsolete. The bloodstained blankets and covers were the next to burn. Every piece of his work, every hint of his presence, went into the flames.
When the fire reduced everything to ashes, Zedd extinguished it. Using a small shovel, he dug a shallow hole in the cold earth and buried the ashes. By the time he was done, two hours had passed, and the cabin was spotless.
"Nothing remains," he said quietly to himself.
With the cleanup complete, Zedd moved to the next step: packing. He grabbed a sturdy bag and began filling it with supplies.
"I don't need these surgical tools anymore," he decided, burying them near the cabin. Into the bag went his money reserves, carefully divided into two pouches: 500 gold coins and 188 silver coins. He counted them meticulously.
"Not bad," he muttered, allowing himself a fleeting moment of satisfaction.
Zedd's synthetic tissue-covered left side meant he no longer needed food or water. Tiredness had become a foreign concept. Still, he packed herbs, painkillers, anesthetics, and antidotes—essentials for neutralizing poisons or treating wounds. He knew too well the dangers of wild animals or soldiers from the academy tracking him down.
He also packed a few samples of synthetic tissue. His own was highly durable, but if something damaged it, he needed replacements.
Finally, he secured his weapons: shurikens, daggers, kunai, poisonous needles, and his katana, which hung in its sheath across his back. Clad in a dark cloak and a hood that obscured his face in shadow, Zedd stepped out of the cabin.
The cold night breeze greeted him, but the cloak shielded him from its bite. Beneath the flowing fabric, his weapons were hidden, and every step he took was deliberate.
He paused to look back at the cabin one last time. It had been a temporary home, a place of work and refuge. Now, it was nothing but a memory.
Turning away, he walked through the sleeping village. The streets were quiet; the vibrant hum of earlier activity had faded as the villagers retreated into their dreams.
When Zedd reached the village's edge, he stopped and glanced back. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the familiar sight. Memories surged forward—Elara, Reina, and the villagers who had unknowingly shared pieces of their lives with him.
"No, this isn't the time to cry," he whispered harshly, wiping his tears away with a trembling hand. "You're a fugitive. A murderer. A traitor. Worthless trash."
The words cut deeply, but they steeled his resolve. He turned back to the road, his footsteps heavier now.
Despite his efforts, his thoughts returned to the bonds he had formed in the village. Elara, with her haughty demeanor, fiery red hair, and piercing red eyes. Reina, her quiet and shy opposite, with soft black hair and gentle black eyes.
"I hate to admit it," Zedd muttered under his breath, "but I cared about them."
His subconscious echoed in agreement but reminded him of the truth: They're better off without you. You'll only bring them misfortune. They'll forget about you soon enough.
Zedd clenched his fists, forcing himself to keep moving. The village, the cabin, and the people he cared about faded into the distance as he disappeared into the dark, cold night.