Another World Witch Training Manual

106. The Death of the Marquis of Tansteen

Marquis Tanstin closed his right eye for a moment, and when he opened it again, there was an indescribable complexity in it.

It was a feeling of relief, but also a deep sense of guilt. He had placed the burden of his unfulfilled responsibilities and his most precious daughter on the shoulders of that young man.

"He is...a good man," Marquis Tansten said, emphasizing each word with all his might. "You must...be good..."

Eve nodded, tears streaming down her face.

She pressed her father's hand to her lips, kissing his rough knuckles and the scars left by his shackles.

Tears seeped through my fingers, mingling with the fluid seeping from my wounds.

"Father, don't say these things," she choked out. "You'll be alright. Xinlai will rescue you, and Miss Alaya has sent the best priests; they will heal your wounds, and you will get better—"

Marquis Tanstin shook his head slightly, a small gesture, yet one that carried an undeniable calm.

"It's too late."

Four words, very light, very heavy.

Eve's sobs caught in her throat, turning into a suppressed whimper.

She wasn't unaware; she just dared not admit it.

My father's health has collapsed. Torture and infection have hollowed out his foundation, like an old tree that looks relatively intact on the outside but is already riddled with holes inside. The first storm could break it.

All she could do was accompany him on his final journey.

"Eve".

Marquis Tanstin's gaze passed over his daughter and fell upon the stone ceiling of the dungeon, where water droplets condensed and slowly slid down the cracks in the stone, like some kind of silent timekeeping.

"Your mother asked me to take good care of you, to watch you grow up, and to see you wear your wedding dress..."

His voice paused, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down, as if he were swallowing something.

I told her... don't worry.

His right eye turned back to look at his daughter's face.

His face was streaked with tears, his eyes were red and swollen, and his nose was bright red; he looked utterly disheveled. But in his eyes, it was the most beautiful face in the world.

"Over the years... I've been thinking about whether I've kept my promise to her."

"You did it." Eve placed her father's hand on her heart, letting him feel her heartbeat. "You did it, Father. You are the best father."

Marquis Tanstin's lips twitched, and the faint smile that had lingered since Xinlai left finally took a clear shape.

It's not a laugh.

It's a sense of relief that comes from finally being able to let go of everything.

His breathing began to slow and become shallow.

Each inhale felt like drawing water from a deep well, heavy and difficult; each exhale was like a sigh, long and weary. The rise and fall of his chest grew smaller and smaller, like the last wave of the receding tide, gently lapping at the beach before slowly receding.

"Eve...don't be afraid."

His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

"Father is just... taking a nap."

Eve buried her face in her father's palm, her shoulders trembling violently.

She wanted to say so much. She wanted to say that she would live well, that she would remember everything her father had taught her, and that he was an upright man, a loyal subject, and a father she would always respect and love.

But all those words were stuck in his throat, and he couldn't utter a single one.

She could only grip his hand tightly, using all her strength, as if that would keep him there and make his loosening hand clench again.

The Marquis of Tanstin's gaze lingered on his daughter's face for the last time. The light in his right eye was already very faint, like a candle flame flickering in the wind, but it still shone brightly and stubbornly, wanting to see his daughter's face for just one more second.

His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out. However, the shape of his mouth was very clear.

"Eve".

Then the right eye slowly closed.

The chest rose and fell one last time.

The hand that Eve held in her palm softened from its tense state.

The dungeon was extremely quiet.

The sound of water droplets falling from the top of the stone, drop by drop, was like some ancient timer announcing the end of a moment.

The torchlight flickered for a moment, then settled again, casting a warm, shimmering light on the dungeon walls.

Eve didn't cry out loud.

She gently placed her father's hand back on his chest, as delicately as if she were handling a fragile piece of porcelain. Then she leaned down and kissed her father's forehead.

The skin on my forehead had cooled down.

"Goodnight." Her voice was hoarse, yet surprisingly calm.

She straightened up, wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, picked up the bandages scattered on the ground one by one, and wrapped them back around her face.

The movements were slow and meticulous, with each bandage wrapped neatly.

The scent of marigolds and myrrh filled the air again, masking the salty taste of the tears.

Edric stood outside the door, his back to the cell.

He held the silver holy emblem in his hand, his lips moving slightly as he silently recited an ancient prayer.

That wasn't an official scripture from the Church of Light, but a song that had been sung on the battlefield for a very long time, for the soldiers who would never return home.

The pastors carrying the stretcher had their heads bowed and their eyes red.

Eve finished wrapping the last bandage, stood back in the middle of the line, closed her eyes, and her eyelashes trembled slightly through the gaps in the bandage.

Edric stopped reciting.

He turned around, took one last look at the Marquis of Tanstin, then closed the cell door and fastened the three locks one by one.

The sound of the locking spring engaging was dull and resolute.

"Let's go," the old pastor said.

The stretcher was lifted again and moved outward along the same path they had come from. The torchlight flickered overhead as the stone steps ascended one by one. A hint of dryness began to seep into the damp air—the scent of the ground, the scent of the outside world.

When they reached the second checkpoint, Valen was still standing there.

He saw the stretcher return, and his gaze once again fell on the figure wrapped in bandages.

"Is the purification finished?" he asked.

"It's finished." Edric's voice was as calm as still water. "He didn't make it."

Valen paused for a moment, then stepped aside to make way.

His face was expressionless, as if he were listening to something that had nothing to do with him.

The death of a prisoner is a very common occurrence in the dungeon.

The stretcher passed in front of him.

Eve opened her eyes beneath the bandages. Through the gaps in the linen, she saw Valen's boots, the flickering firelight on the stone wall, and the ever-brightening light ahead.

Her tears flowed again, silently soaking into the bandages, swallowed clean by the scent of herbal ointment.

Outside the dungeon.

Xinlai stood at the end of the passage, leaning against a stone pillar with his arms crossed. His posture looked casual and relaxed, but his knuckles were white, and his fingernails had dug deep marks into his arms.

Nearly an hour has passed since he left the pharmacy.

During that hour, he mentally rehearsed several different response plans.

What if Valen forces a search? What if Simondo suddenly appears? What if Eve loses control of her emotions in the dungeon?

Each solution has several branches, each leading to a different ending. Most endings are bad.

But he didn't move.

He stood there like someone who had staked everything on a gambling table, waiting for the dice to stop rolling.

Chair legs