Chapter 150: Reunion (Part 2)
Our gazes locked.
Silently staring at each other.
In the hall, the flickering candles danced “whoosh” as warm shadows illuminated the astonished faces of everyone who had stood up, frozen in place, at a loss for words.
The Female Hunter dashed out from the side room, picking up the fallen raven-feather cloak and hurriedly draping it over the black-haired woman standing in the middle of the hall. Right behind her, the Hunter who slammed the door burst out too. Their expressions varied—one was shocked, the other was delighted. That man might be the only Hunter besides Hoover who recognized me. As he stepped out, a myriad of complex emotions played across his face…
Meanwhile, the Female Hunter still looked a bit confused by the situation. The sudden appearance of the black-haired woman startled her, and in panic, she instinctively wanted to shield her mistress but was yanked aside by the male Hunter who rushed in from behind. The Female Hunter protested, “What are you doing—” but the man merely shook his head, hissed a “shh,” and gestured for her to just watch.
“L-Lady…”
Then Hoover took two steps forward.
It seemed like he wanted to approach her, but after two steps, he suddenly halted. He glanced back at me, his eyes still red, hands trembling. He tried to smile but failed, opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The intense emotions brewing in his gaze were trapped within, as if he didn’t know how to express them. After a moment, he simply wiped his face awkwardly and said heavily, “You talk to her yourself!”
With that, he turned and squatted down in a corner.
In the corner of my vision, the Pope Knight named Tarlasya silently positioned himself against the wall, not bothering about his attire, simply closing his eyes.
The not-so-large room fell into a hushed silence.
Almost everyone was looking at us.
Looking at me.
Looking at Lady Catherine, just a few steps away, biting her lip and tightly clenching her fists.
She…
Looked so frail.
So haggard.
Her unkempt hair, like a mess just after waking up, despite still being black, shimmered softly under the candlelight like satin. Yet that shimmer seemed faint, as if the fabric had faded a bit, dry and with many split ends… like it hadn’t been tended to in a while.
That face which always sparkled in my memories also appeared somewhat older.
The lines around her mouth were more pronounced, and crow’s feet danced at the corners of her eyes. Her increasingly emaciated figure made her facial contours stand out more, with visible cheekbones and skin that lacked its previous smoothness, appearing yellowed—no longer the youthful, radiant glow of a young woman.
She wore a very thin black dress.
The raven-feather cloak draped hastily over her shoulders was also black and looked warm.
Her eyes, intensely fixed on me, were likewise black.
Perhaps…
This was the color she had buried in her heart.
It had been nearly three years…
I hadn’t seen my mother for three years.
Meeting again felt as if ten years had slipped by.
Her years.
This left me utterly lost.
I had fantasized about the scene of “reuniting” with her before.
Perhaps it would be during a lavish celebration after the Empire’s Royal War victory, where I discreetly handled everything afterward, standing alone atop the Shanter Castle bell tower, gazing down at the merriment within, at my mother and father’s smiling faces in the shadows, until the night deepened and I slipped away, as if I had never been there.
Or maybe on a bl**d-soaked battlefield, where the Northern Army was embroiled in a bitter struggle thanks to the Church’s interference, surrounded by enemies, and it would require my intervention to save the day.
At that moment, I would don a mask, wrap myself in a cloak, and descend like a divine warrior, quickly beheading the enemy leader and unleashing torrents of Infernal Fire—though maybe that was overkill, so I’d call forth the Chaos Army instead, wiping out every last foe, and afterward, I’d leave. If my father and mother were present, I’d glance at them one last time from afar—just that would be enough.
I never actually intended to meet them in person.
Even if I had thought about it, hesitated…
I never planned to truly do it.
Because I feared drawing them into a deeper conspiracy.
Because I worried that my current state would make them feel I was not really me.
I could rationally and calmly think through all this.
If possible, I wished they would believe I was dead.
I planned to guard them in secret from now on.
I thought that was the so-called “optimal solution.”
Until—
Until this moment, when I saw my mother.
Suddenly, I understood.
I realized how self-righteous my previous thoughts were.
My mother stood right in front of me, looking at me like that.
She didn’t cry.
Not even a hint of expression showed on her haggard face.
She just looked at me.
Her gaze was hollow, dazed, staring for what felt like a long time.
“Ah…”
Then her slightly pale lips trembled, letting out a somewhat hoarse sigh, “Looks like I really am quite ill…”
Saying this, she raised a hand to rub her forehead, and once her gaze regained some clarity, she smiled softly at me before turning her attention to the crowd. She blinked, as if her mind was still processing, and suddenly noticed Hoover standing nearby. Raising her eyebrows in surprise, she said, “Hoover? You’re here… perfect, go fetch her some water, make it icy… no, just grab a bucket of ice, quickly.”
As she said this, her eyes reflected a hint of sorrow, deep exhaustion.
Then she quickly walked towards me.
“Pepé…”
That long-missed call.
She bent down in front of me, exhaling softly, and then after a fraction of a second, she lifted her head again, wiping away the hidden weariness and sorrow in her eyes, leaving only tender affection—just like when I was little, staring at me when I cried my heart out, “How are you? Does anything hurt? Still feel hot? You look quite good today.”
Slap.
bl**d trickled from the wound on my knee.
My mother was completely oblivious.
“Lady!!”
Suddenly, Hoover charged in.
His boisterous shout startled everyone in the room. He took two quick steps back to our side, eyes even redder than before: “Lady, look again… really look, it’s all true! She… she’s Pepé! Pepé is really back! If you don’t believe me, slap me—go ahead, slap me—”
The man choked up, extending his trembling hands as if to grab my mother, but halfway through, his expression hardened, and suddenly he slapped himself instead.
Slap, slap, slap!
The crisp sound echoed through the hall.
“Ow, that hurts…”
Slap—
“Lady, I can feel the pain…”
He gave himself four heavy slaps, and when he tried for another, the now-alert Lady Catherine raised a hand to stop him, “Hoover, what are you—”
“Wah…”
Hoover was crying.
He might have meant to laugh.
“This is real, Lady…”
“This is real…”
“You…”
My mother looked at his comical state, somewhat at a loss: “Enough, enough… In my dreams, I could never comprehend what madness you all are up to… Just hurry and get the ice, I…”
As she said this, she glanced at me again, a fleeting sadness in her eyes. After forcing a smile, she spun around as if to leave: “I’ll go to the kitchen and whip up something for Captain Gray… for her… I… she’s about to burn up; getting ice will help… I don’t want to see that again, I…”
She looked…
More like she couldn’t believe what was happening right now.
I immediately grabbed her hand.
“…m.”
I wanted to call out to her.
But my throat felt a bit dry.
“Mother.”
After a quick clear, I managed to speak normally.
She turned back.
I looked at her, slowly pulling her hand to my cheek and closing my eyes.
“It’s me…”
So cold…
My mother’s hand was so icy…
So cold, yet it had a lovely scent that felt incredibly reassuring and pleasant.
“I’m back.”
I understood, that was the scent of my mother.
