The Possible Truth!

A week had passed since that fateful day.

During this time, Luther had fully embraced a lifestyle of isolation, barely setting foot outside the clinic. He had thrown himself into training, honing his skills relentlessly, determined to push the limits of his endurance. Day by day, his dedication paid off.

Finally, a notification flickered in the upper left corner of his vision:

[Sword Fighting Lv7: You've reached your current maximum physical capacity. To improve further, work on increasing your physical fitness.]

Reading the message, Luther grinned with satisfaction. He dropped to the ground, pounding out fifty push-ups in one swift go to celebrate his progress. Sword training had not only sharpened his skills but had also transformed his body. Muscles he hadn't seen in years were starting to show, and his stamina had improved tenfold.

Just as he finished his set, Harley's voice rang through the closed door, pulling him from his thoughts. "Luther! Lunch is ready!"

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. At first, he'd assumed Harley would bolt the moment things got tough, but she'd surprised him. She was resilient; scrappy, even. Over the past week, he'd learned bits and pieces about her life, her family, and the burdens she carried. He no longer felt the urge to push her away; she had her reasons for being here, and her presence had somehow become oddly comforting.

As he entered the kitchen, he found Harley already halfway through her meal, nibbling on a piece of brown bread. She glanced up briefly before returning to her food without a word. Luther grabbed a large, peeled potato from the table, taking a hearty bite. His appetite had grown with his training, and lately, he'd found himself consuming more than his fair share. Thankfully, potatoes were plentiful, even in these lean times.

Between bites, Luther spoke. "I'm heading out for a bit. Stay here, keep an eye on the place. If anyone comes looking for me, tell them to wait."

Harley rolled her eyes dramatically, muttering under her breath. He had a knack for bossing her around without so much as a thank you. If it weren't for the fact that she was eating his food, sleeping under his roof, and using his supplies, she'd have marched right down to the local office and filed a complaint against him. But, for now, she stayed quiet, chewing on her bread and pretending not to hear him.

Still, the thought of her predicament stung a little. She was young and, frankly, quite pretty; yet here she was, cooking, cleaning, even waking up this strange man every morning. This wasn't how she'd pictured her life.

It was practically like… like being married!

Wait, married? She nearly choked on her bread at the thought. Married to Luther? She sneaked a glance at him, her face flushing slightly. Could he… was there even a remote chance that he thought of her that way? Did he see her as some kind of substitute housewife? The thought was both absurd and mortifying.

She turned to glare at him, a mixture of horror and indignation in her eyes. Noticing her intense stare, Luther looked up, one eyebrow raised in confusion. He met her gaze for a second, shrugged, and went back to his meal, clearly unbothered. He didn't have the faintest clue why she was looking at him like that, and frankly, he didn't care.

She continued to watch him from the corner of her eye, feeling an odd mix of frustration and something she couldn't quite name. As she looked closer, she noticed the stubble lining his jaw, the sharpness in his eyes, and the faint strength in his features. He wasn't entirely unappealing, she had to admit, though he had an air of rugged neglect about him.

No, no! Stop it, Harley! What are you even thinking? She scolded herself, shaking her head slightly. This was madness. This man was practically a barbarian, a hermit with barely enough civility to thank her for a meal. And yet… there was something oddly dependable about him. Something she hadn't seen in anyone else she'd known.

But, she reminded herself, this life of hardship wasn't for her. Following Luther around would mean enduring a life of hard work, solitude, and constant struggle. That wasn't what she wanted… was it?

Lost in her thoughts, she lowered her head, her cheeks now visibly red. She took a fierce bite of her brown bread, trying to push the ridiculous ideas from her mind, all while silently vowing to keep her feelings in check. This was just a temporary situation, she told herself. She'd be out of here soon enough.

Luther took a couple more bites of his potato and noticed Harley's expression shift, her gaze flickering his way with an odd mix of annoyance and… embarrassment? But he wasn't a mind reader, and whatever thoughts were churning in that kid's head were a mystery he wasn't inclined to solve.

If he did know, he'd probably smack her lightly on the back of the head and call her a foolish kid. "What a cheeky little brat," he'd think. "She's barely outgrown her own shoes, and she thinks I'd be interested in her for anything other than a helping hand around here? Ridiculous."

After finishing his meal, Luther leaned back for a brief rest, letting his food settle before he left. Harley, ever dutiful, started clearing the dishes, grumbling under her breath but scrubbing each plate clean. He had to give her credit; she was dependable, if not always thrilled about it.

After a few minutes, Luther stretched, pulled his hood up, and made his way out of the clinic, leaving Harley behind to finish up. He had a plan in mind, a small adventure that might add some practical skills to his already growing repertoire. Word had it that Hunter Ralph, a man known for his prowess in tracking and hunting, lived on West Street. If Luther could pick up a few tricks from him, he'd be one step closer to his goal of independence and maybe even supplement his potato-heavy diet with fresh game.

The streets of Town were eerily quiet as he walked. Those few vendors who dared to keep their shops open looked drawn and weary, eyes hollow with exhaustion or illness. Most people he passed seemed sick, shuffling along with grim expressions. He noticed the pallor of their skin, the rasp in their breath, and instinctively pulled his hood lower over his face, more out of discomfort than fear. Though he didn't fear infection, he disliked the feeling of helplessness it stirred in him.

"If only we could find the source of this plague," he mused quietly to himself. "Naiwensel… if I could locate it, maybe I'd have a shot at saving these people." But he knew better than to get lost in such thoughts. Finding the root of a plague was no small task, especially not when his skills were better suited to a blade than to medicine.

At last, he arrived at Ralph's house. It was small, with weathered wood siding and an air of neglect, like its owner spent more time in the woods than at home. Luther knocked twice, waiting for an answer.

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal a woman with dark circles under her eyes, her hair hanging limp and dry, a shadow of the person he remembered. Luther blinked, surprised. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been healthy, with rosy cheeks and hair pinned back with care. Now she looked worn and bitter.

Her eyes narrowed, glancing at him with irritation. "Didn't I tell you people already?" she snapped, clearly frustrated. "Ralph went out to the forest three days ago and hasn't come back!"

Before he could respond, she slammed the door in his face with a decisive bang.

Luther shrugged, unbothered by her outburst. Her anger, misplaced as it was, told him one useful thing: he wasn't the first one to come looking for Ralph.

"Interesting," he thought. "Who else would be seeking out a hunter?"

Ralph wasn't exactly a socialite, nor did he have much use for the townsfolk unless they needed him to track down lost livestock or wanted fresh meat. Hunters like him usually kept to themselves, unless someone required their particular skills to find something… or someone.

Luther thought back to recent visitors, particularly the Von Kro family, who had shown up in town with an entourage and an air of mystery. Soros, the family's manservant, had come to see Luther several times, despite Luther's warnings about the town's sickness. Luther remembered how Soros had brushed off his concerns with a look of disdain, as if the town's troubles were beneath him.

"Could they be the ones who sought out Ralph?" Luther mused. "They certainly seemed to be looking for something… something they deemed important enough to risk an epidemic."

He remembered the scraps of information Soros had let slip, little hints and clues that, in hindsight, seemed more intentional than accidental. Whatever the Von Kro family was after, it was something of value, something worth disregarding the risks of a plague-ridden town.

"Perhaps I should follow this trail," Luther thought, an idea forming in his mind. If he could find out what the Von Kro family was truly seeking, maybe he'd gain leverage or, at the very least, answers. And if Ralph had been roped into this hunt, that meant Luther had a limited window before he either returned or, more ominously, didn't.

With a determined look, Luther turned on his heel and headed back down the empty street, keeping his hood low and his mind sharp. The answers might be closer than he thought, and if anyone in town was going to uncover them, it would be him.