You Will Surely Forge Your Own Path.

"Alicia! It's raining, come back inside quickly!"

Arthur shouted towards Alicia from the doorway, but she didn't respond.

Growing anxious, he found an umbrella on the first floor and ran outside with it. Before he could reach Alicia, however, she swayed and tilted to the side, collapsing.

"Alicia!" Arthur cried out in alarm.

But before she could hit the ground, she was caught. Shaya had appeared at her side at some point.

Arthur ran over just then, raising the black umbrella he held, sheltering them both. He, however, was drenched by the heavy rain.

Shaya looked at Alicia in his arms, raising a hand to touch her forehead with the back of his hand. Her forehead was burning, her face visibly flushed, and her breathing was weak and rapid.

Alicia was sick, and very seriously ill.

Her fever wasn't breaking. Shaya estimated it to be around thirty-nine to forty degrees Celsius, and her consciousness seemed somewhat hazy. Arthur spoke to her from the side, but she could only offer vague, unclear responses.

Shaya carried Alicia back to her bed and used magic to remove the moisture from her body.

Arthur sat by the bedside, a basin of warm water, around thirty degrees Celsius, placed beside him. He reached out, took a towel from the basin, wrung it out, and then placed it on Alicia's forehead.

He then looked at Shaya with concern.

"Shaya, is she going to die?"

"Nonsense," Cassifa said with amusement. "Are there any people who don't die?"

Shaya was sitting in front of Cassifa, warming himself by the fire. He silently took a piece of wood from a nearby basket and placed it on Cassifa's mouth. Then, he placed the now-filled kettle onto the fire and replied, "Why would you ask that?"

"I'm a little scared," Arthur said uneasily. "Grandma Dean was like this too, and then she left a few days later."

Shaya nodded, then said, "Don't worry. I might not know about others, but she should live a long time."

"Indeed," Cassifa said, crossing its small flame hands over its chest and nodding.

"Even though she's over ninety, has experienced the loss of loved ones, was drenched under a snowy mountain at two or three degrees, and now has a fever causing hazy consciousness that won't break.

She should be fine."

Arthur's eyes immediately welled up.

Shaya glanced at Cassifa.

Cassifa flinched back, hiding its mouth in the pile of firewood, only its sly eyes peeking out.

Shaya chuckled helplessly. "Children under ten can't understand your sense of humor."

"He seemed quite intelligent when he first arrived," Cassifa said.

Arthur reacted, his face flushing. He shouted angrily, "Cassifa! Alicia is like this, and you're still joking!"

Cassifa cackled, then retreated back into the firewood pile.

Shaya slowly stood up and picked up the coat hanging on a nearby rack. "When Alicia wakes up, remember to give her some warm water."

"Where are you going?" Arthur asked. "To get a doctor?"

Shaya recalled his previous experience going to the hospital with Sebas.

"There's no need to get a doctor," Shaya said. "I'm going to buy some things."

With that, he walked down the small steps, turned the dial to yellow, and went out.

The streets of the Imperial Capital were still quiet, though it wasn't raining today.

Swaying kerosene lamps illuminated the luxurious mansions on either side. Compared to these buildings, Shaya's place in the Imperial Capital was rather shabby, but he didn't mind.

On the streets, one could see gentlemen in tailcoats and elegantly dressed women walking. It was much livelier than before.

Despite the recent unrest, the Imperial Capital still displayed the prosperity befitting a national capital.

However, what was different was that Shaya saw some unfamiliar soldiers on the streets. They carried guns and marched in unison, as if on patrol.

Changes in regime inevitably caused unrest, let alone in Britannia, which was still in the feudal era.

Therefore, Shaya was not surprised by this. He ignored the soldiers and walked slowly through the streets, arriving at the restaurant where he had eaten with Sebas before.

At this moment, the tables and chairs placed outside had already been cleared. A carriage was parked at the restaurant entrance, already loaded with various items, piled two to three meters high.

The restaurant owner, Hart, was still stacking things onto it.

He quickly noticed Shaya's arrival and stopped his work, greeting him.

"Sir."

Shaya had occasionally come here for breakfast a few times in the past few days. Through casual conversation, Hart had learned that this mysterious young man lived nearby.

Shaya looked at the mountain of goods on the carriage and then at the shop.

"Aren't you going to stay open?"

Hart sighed. "Have you heard about the major events happening in the Imperial Capital recently?"

Shaya nodded.

"Prince Victor also returned from the southern front a few days ago," Hart said. "He is Emperor Moria's half-brother."

He paused, then continued, "That's not a simple person. The Imperial Capital won't be peaceful in the days to come."

"You're quite a wise man," Shaya said.

Hart chuckled, "Well, I've been running my shop here for many years."

Then, he asked, "Do you need anything?"

"I'd like to buy some ginger and brown sugar," Shaya said. "Do you have any?"

Hart recalled, "I remember having some left over from making gingerbread last Christmas. Wait a moment, I'll go look for it."

With that, he walked back into his shop. After a few minutes, he came out holding two small bags and handed them to Shaya.

"This is all I have left. I'm not sure if it's enough."

Shaya opened the bags and looked inside. "It's enough."

He paused, then curiously asked, "Where are you planning to go?"

Hart thought for a moment. "I'm going back to my hometown, Saxili, in the south of the empire. My niece is getting married soon, and I'm going to attend the wedding."

"Are you still going to open a restaurant?" Shaya asked.

Hart smiled helplessly, "Everyone in Saxili knows how to roast meat and make sausages. You can see a shop like mine every fifty meters.

Otherwise, I wouldn't have left my hometown to open a shop in the Imperial Capital."

"It sounds like a nice place," Shaya said.

"Of course!"

When talking about his hometown, Hart became very enthusiastic.

"It's a place you'll definitely never regret visiting. There are plains that stretch as far as the eye can see, and towering snow-capped mountains. Especially the fjords there; it's a small area, but it can dock incredibly large ships.

And the beef there is the best in Britannia! Even the Imperial Palace and nobles go there to buy it.

The people there are also very simple and kind, never causing conflict with anyone."

"I have been thinking about moving recently," Shaya said. "Your place sounds pretty good."

Hart seemed very pleased. "Saxili will always welcome you."

Shaya also smiled, lifting the two bags in his hand. "How much for these two bags?"

"No, no," Hart quickly waved his hand. "They're just some seasonings."

He paused, then thought for a moment and smiled.

"If you really must give me some reward, then wish me success in making a name for myself in my hometown."

Shaya didn't reply. Hart looked up, a little puzzled, and met his eyes.

His dark eyes held the stillness and tranquility of the night, and no one could discern his emotions in them.

A moment later, his eyebrows lowered, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, revealing a faint smile, and he slowly spoke.

"You will definitely make a name for yourself."

His voice was magnetic and steady, carrying an undeniable certainty.

For some reason, Hart felt a very strange sensation.

If before, he had been standing at a crossroads of destiny, surrounded by mist invisible to the naked eye, unsure of his life's direction.

But as the words of the person before him fell.

The mist was torn apart, and his destiny, beyond that crossroads, revealed an incredibly straight and broad road, its direction unknown.

Yes, this was how he felt at that moment, intensely so.

He came back to his senses, his throat moved, wanting to say something, but his myriad thoughts, in the end, coalesced into two words.

"Thank you."