So, Zero had eaten his fill the night before, so much so his stomach felt ready to burst. Waking up early the next day to the clamor of noises flooding the tavern, amidst loud bursts of laughter, he murmured something in his sleep, rolled over, and buried himself deeper in his pillow, continuing to sleep. In this cold world, only by curling up tightly in his small quilt could he feel any semblance of comfortable warmth.

Before long, he was jarred awake by the sound of the door pushing open, accompanied by Sifiglan’s soft voice saying, “Wake up, come with me.” He sat up groggily, opening only half an eye. Out of habit as a slave, he asked no questions, immediately rising, dressing, and following in Sifiglan’s wake. Descending the stairs, he saw numerous patrons drinking at tables in the tavern hall near the banister.

All eyes were fixed on a corner of the tavern, filled with terror and pointing fingers. There, blood lay splattered on the shining floor like dried mud. Bart’s corpse remained sprawled out, beside it lay the broken, cyan-colored battle blade that had fallen from his grasp.

The tavern owner dared not provoke one of the city’s foremost tyrants. Thus, the entire night passed without anyone daring to clear the scene, fearing that mishandling the body might draw the attention of the tyrant’s associates, which would surely mean his own bones would end up flavoring a soup pot.

Sifiglan’s exquisite silver boots tapped crisply against the wooden stairs, a sound like notes plucked from a stringed instrument, inevitably drawing every eye toward her. When they beheld Sifiglan, clad in a sweeping, silver robe, their pupils widened under the mysterious light.

A fierce gleam shot from their eyes, fixed burning hot upon Sifiglan. However, the tavern owner looked as if he had seen a ghost or the God of Death; his slightly plump, stout body shook violently, his legs betrayeding him with an involuntary tremor, and his face turned deathly pale.

An elegant smile curved Sifiglan’s lips as she walked toward an empty table. Just as she was about to sit, Zero swiftly stepped forward, pulling the sleeve of his garment to quickly wipe down the chair. He then bowed his head to Sifiglan and murmured, “Big Sister, you may sit now.”

Sifiglan glanced at him, her lips twitching slightly, but she said nothing, taking her seat. She watched as Zero raised his sleeve again to meticulously wipe the tabletop before her, and a ripple, like a drop of rain falling into a lake, stirred within her heart.

Zero finished wiping the table in a flash and then stood beside her, composed and utterly serious, like a young guard.

Sifiglan spoke softly, “You sit too.”

“Slaves are not permitted to sit.” “I told you to sit,” Sifiglan said, a touch of exasperation in her voice.

Hearing the slight sternness in her tone, Zero feared she might grow angry and abandon him. He immediately stopped arguing, walked to the chair opposite her, and then, to the astonishment of everyone in the tavern, including Sifiglan, the boy jumped onto the chair, crouched down like a small dog. His face flushed hotly; this was the first time in his life so many people were paying him such focused attention. His heart hammered against his ribs as he whispered, so quietly only she might hear, “Slaves can only squat. I will squat.”

Sifiglan nearly choked in her disbelief.

The others, sitting farther away, hadn't caught Zero’s words, but they watched the strange boy’s behavior with a mixture of shock and amusement.

And so, someone let out a laugh.

Then, the laughter abruptly ceased.

The person who had laughed suddenly froze mid-movement, their eyes losing all luster and color, turning to a vacant, ashen gray, before they slumped forward onto the table.

Those at the neighboring table gasped in alarm, shoving the fallen man hard, but he wouldn't budge. A quick check for breath revealed none.

“Ah!” A shriek of terror, sharp as a blade, pierced the silence of the entire tavern. “A dead man!” Everyone stared at the man who had suddenly collapsed, wondering what strange ailment had struck him down so suddenly.

Only the tavern owner nervously turned his head, looking toward Sifiglan nearby. He saw her wearing a serene smile, gently sipping from a teacup. Across from her, Zero remained crouched like a little dog on the chair, watching the man who had laughed with wide-eyed curiosity.

A low sound of sobbing emanated from the woman at the dead man’s table. She wept, wiping her tears, her sorrowful appearance evoking pity.

“Ding.”

From behind the exterior curtain of the tavern, the sound of a small bell rang out, like a raindrop landing on a placid lake, sending ripples spreading through the air.

For some inexplicable reason, everyone instinctively turned to look. Then, a snow-white, slender hand lifted the curtain-like drape, and someone stepped inside. Light bathed her form; she wore a voluminous black robe that seemed filled with wind, billowing softly. A wide black hood concealed her head, leaving only a sweep of soft black hair spilling from beneath, framing a beautifully defined jawline. Without seeing her face, everyone was already captivated by that exquisite jaw.

Zero couldn't help but look over, his face alight with curiosity.

Sifiglan continued to savor her tea, gazing out the window at the accumulated snow on the rooftops and streets, a faint, melancholic light flickering in her eyes.

The woman in the black robe walked in, her refined black leather boots making firm, straight steps as she passed the tavern owner standing near the counter, as if he were invisible.

The aisle beside her led directly to Sifiglan's table. She walked straight past.

Then, she swept by.

Without moving her head, she sat down at an empty table not far behind Zero. The noise in the tavern seemed to have been soundlessly swallowed the moment she entered.

A profound silence descended upon everyone.

Even the woman whose husband had just died stopped crying, staring blankly at the black-robed figure. She couldn't understand why she couldn't tear her eyes away, held captive as if entranced.

Zero couldn't resist turning to look back, just as Sifiglan slowly lowered her teacup and looked up at him. “What will you have for breakfast?”

Zero snapped back to attention, turning to look at her blankly. “I don’t eat breakfast.”

“You don’t eat breakfast?” Sifiglan raised an eyelid. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not hungry.” The moment Zero spoke, his stomach issued a loud, rumbling sound. The body is sometimes more honest than the mouth, causing his face to instantly flush crimson.

Sifiglan gave him an exasperated look. “Are you going to say that slaves don’t eat breakfast?” Zero’s face grew even redder.

“Snap!” Sifiglan elegantly snapped her fingers. The tavern owner scurried forward like a summoned bear, standing respectfully and trembling at the corner of the table before her. “How may I serve you, Madam?” he asked obsequiously.

Sifiglan looked at Zero.

Zero, face bright red, looked toward the tavern owner beside him. After a long pause, he managed to force out a few words: “Boss, I’d like a bowl of gruel.” The tavern owner blinked in confusion.

Sifiglan rolled her eyes dramatically, waved her hand, and ordered, “Bring him three steaks, medium-rare, two glasses of milk, and one pan-fried Dragon Sparrow Egg.”

The tavern owner scribbled the order, bowing and scraping. Upon hearing the last item, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow with some distress. With a pained expression, he managed, “Sir, we’re out of Dragon Sparrow Eggs, they all sold out. The new shipment hasn’t arrived.” Sifiglan took a sip of her tea, not sparing him a glance, and stated calmly, “If you don’t have them, go get some. If you can’t procure them, I will be angry.”

The tavern owner’s legs shook, his teeth chattering, “Yes, yes! I’ll run to another establishment and borrow some!” With that, he turned and fled in a streak.

Zero watched the tavern owner’s crestfallen retreating back and looked toward Sifiglan with a touch of unease. “Big Sister, is it right to treat him like that?”

Sifiglan regarded him with interest. “Shouldn’t a slave obey their master in all things? Why do you think my actions are inappropriate?” Zero scratched his head, his face red. “But, I don’t see you as my master.” “Then what do you see me as?”

“I see you as my older sister.”

Sifiglan’s body trembled faintly, then she regained her composure, turning to gaze far out the window, silent for a long while.

Not long after, the tavern owner returned, carefully carrying the freshly prepared breakfast to Zero. Zero stood up and politely said, “Thank you.”

Sifiglan didn't turn, saying toward the window, “Eat quickly. We have something to do shortly.” “Mmm!” Zero nodded instantly, diligently beginning to eat. He indeed ate fast; in less than two minutes, he was finished, his mouth stuffed tight with beef, bulging visibly. He had to pound his chest a few times before he could forcefully swallow it down, then he quickly downed the milk in large gulps.

“Let’s go,” Sifiglan stood up.

Zero looked at her curiously. “Big Sister, aren’t you eating?” Sifiglan didn't look back, stating indifferently, “I don’t need to eat.” Saying this, she stepped over Bart’s stiff corpse and walked toward the exit. As she reached the tavern doorway, she suddenly paused, then turned back to Zero. “I didn’t bring any weapons with me on this trip, so I’ll give you a rather poor one for now. Once I acquire something better, I’ll get you something proper for self-defense…”

“Huh?” Zero was stunned.

Sifiglan turned back, lightly waving her hand in summons. The broken cyan greatsword lying near Bart was enveloped in a mysterious force, flying before her. Then, over the two fractured pieces, a ripple of transparent energy flashed, making the air look as though it were shimmering like water.

Then, Zero watched as the two broken halves of the greatsword miraculously rejoined, fusing seamlessly. The intrinsic patterns of law upon it were clear and intact; the weapon had been perfectly restored, bearing no trace of damage.

Sifiglan placed the cyan battle blade into Zero’s hands. Zero held it, brandishing it side to side, his face a mixture of excitement, curiosity, and a hint of awe.

Sifiglan’s eyes flickered slightly. She said, “This knife is yours, use it to defend yourself. Let’s go.” Her voice carried an unusual tone as she turned and walked out of the tavern.

Zero looked at the sword in his hand, treating it like a brand new toy, unwilling to let go as he followed Sifiglan out. He lifted the curtain and stood at the doorway. The dazzling light poured down from the sky like liquid mercury, enveloping him in a faint glow.

Zero squinted slightly. Having been in the gloom for so long, the sudden, intense light was clearly disorienting.