CHAPTER 59: A NIGHTMARE OR A NEW JOURNEY?

The scent of blood still lingered in the air, mixing with the dust kicked up by the chaos in the square. Silence had descended like a curtain over the crowd, but whispers—low, quick, reverent—began slithering through the stunned stillness.

"Did you see what Prince Wylder did to those who tried to touch Princess Evelyn? Hehe! Move aside, Prince Bernard is coming."

The words traveled quickly, passed from mouth to mouth like smoke curling between houses. The fear that had frozen the crowd slowly gave way to awe, reverence... and obedience. The brutality of moments ago now seemed, somehow, justified in the eyes of many. A prince's wrath was not to be questioned—it was to be honored.

As if choreographed, several people dropped to their knees once again, their foreheads bowing low. Their eyes stared at the ground, studiously avoiding the prince's gaze as he approached. Among them, a few trembled—not from cold or guilt, but simply from the weight of standing in the presence of a man capable of dealing death without hesitation.

The girl's elder brother, whose name was indeed Bernard, began walking straight toward John.

There was no rush in his stride, no expression of anger or curiosity. His face was unreadable—neither hostile nor welcoming, just calm. The look of a man who had seen too much and had no time for ceremony. John stiffened, unsure of what this new encounter would bring.

Bernard stopped a few feet away from him and spoke with brisk efficiency.

"Thank you for today, but we can't stay here—we must go," he said, his voice curt but not unkind.

His tone carried the weight of someone used to giving orders, someone who expected no resistance. He turned and climbed onto the cart, where his sister—the injured Princess Evelyn—was being gently laid down. Her eyes remained tightly shut, pain still etched on her delicate features.

"Take her to the King's Court Medicus quickly," Bernard ordered, his urgency sharp, his words like sparks lighting dry straw.

Wylder, who had now joined him, echoed the sentiment, reinforcing the command.

Both princes were now aboard, and the cart driver, already shaking with anxiety, nodded rapidly. Without another word, the group rode off in one direction—leaving the marketplace behind, a place now quieted not by peace, but by blood, fear, and awe.

They left nothing behind but questions and silence.

In the aftermath, the crowd remained frozen in place, like a photograph taken at the moment of tragedy. Slowly, as if under a spell, they began to disperse, murmuring, their footsteps unsure, their faces haunted.

Far from the center of the chaos, the old man who had brought John to this place had remained at a distance—watching, worrying, waiting. As the dust began to settle, he let out a long, shaky breath.

"Thank God, everything is okay now."

His voice was barely more than a whisper, but it carried the weight of genuine relief. The events of the last few minutes had clearly taken their toll. He walked over to John, his steps deliberate but slow, as though moving too fast might stir the lingering danger back to life.

When he reached him, the old man's gaze softened. His voice held a quiet pride, the kind that only comes after fear has passed.

"You did a good job, boy. Death passed right by you today, so it must feel strange."

His words struck something inside John. He hadn't yet processed the truth—that he'd come close to death, more than once. That the rock he had thrown, the gaze he had fixed, the life he had inadvertently saved, had altered everything.

"But for now, go and rest," the old man continued, his tone firm now, as if ushering John away from the weight of the moment. "Henry and Lucas, show John his room he'll be staying in."

The old man's two grandsons—Henry and Lucas—stepped forward. They were still wide-eyed, clearly shaken by the spectacle they had just witnessed. Neither said a word as they gestured for John to follow. The three walked in silence, leaving behind the blood-stained marketplace.

They took him to a smaller path, winding behind the main houses, past tall weeds and worn stones. Finally, they arrived at a modest hut. It stood apart from the other homes, its roof slightly slanted, its door worn by wind and time.

"This... means I'll stay here?" John asked, pausing at the threshold, glancing back at the two boys. His voice carried a touch of uncertainty, perhaps even disbelief, at how quickly things had changed.

"Yes-yes, this is the guest area," Henry replied, nodding quickly. "It's a little different from our home, but you'll be comfortable here."

There was a faint smile on his lips—perhaps an attempt to offer comfort after such a jarring day.

"If you need anything, just call us, alright?"

"Alright," John replied, the word feeling unfamiliar in his mouth. Everything about this new world was unfamiliar. From brutal justice to poisoned arrows, from princes to Neuro Cores—it all felt like stepping into someone else's dream.

Or maybe… a nightmare.