They decided to relocate. Before they did so, Abraham and Itia stocked up on liquid amber from the Stone of the Suffering God.

The poison had only really affected Alba-udun, who was still in a kind of trance and would carry out any command. The squad wasn’t against it — they’d needed a little break from the dwarf’s endless verbal barrage.

The rest of the squad had spent too long in the smuggling and thieving business and had made sure to become immune to various types of poison. After all, poison was the ruler of the seedy underbelly of society.

After moving a few hours away from their old location, they set up a new temporary camp. They didn’t even set up any tents, electing to just lay down some mats so that their meditation would be a little more comfortable and then lit a fire.

A map imbued with special magic displayed Kafem’s location that was heading north, toward a marsh that bore a very strange name — Eglhen. Or maybe the name only seemed strange to Hadjar, who was used to the fact that in most other regions, these sorts of areas had more descriptive names. For example, the Marsh of Light Fog. Or the Gray Marsh. Or something else that would make it clear to a traveler what they would be dealing with.

They’d already decided to wait long enough to give Kafem and his mercenaries a half-day head start. That way, there’d be plenty of distance between them, but not too much. So, there was nothing left to do but meditate until dawn.

Hadjar had volunteered to be on guard duty. After all, they might end up attacked by bandits or wandering monsters. He doubted that he would be able to meditate in peace for the next few hours anyway, even though there was something for him to meditate on — his short fight against Kafem in the physical world had been as effective for his training as several thousand neural network fights.

Now Hadjar was sitting and lightly touching the strings of his Ron’Jah. Music refused to come from his heart, and he didn’t know why.

“Death is near, General.”

Hadjar moved to the side, giving Guy enough room to sit next to him on the log. The dancing flames were reflected in his silver mask, which hid half of his face. Only once, very briefly, had Hadjar seen what exactly the axeman hid behind this mask. It had been enough for him to understand how strong the bonds of friendship between Guy and Abraham were.

“Zzzz,” Abraham seemed to almost confirm Hadjar’s thoughts with a snore. Apparently, not everyone was meditating…

“Your soul isn’t calm right now, is it, Hadjar?” The axeman asked unexpectedly.

Guy hardly spoke at all. When half of your mouth and teeth were missing, it became quite difficult to do so. In order to speak clearly, Guy had to use some special Technique. In any other situation, Hadjar would’ve ignored such a tactless question, but he appreciated the fact that Guy really did want to talk about this. It wasn’t as easy for him to approach others as it was for Albadurt.

“I don’t know, Guy,” he touched a string and it let out a melodious note. How long had it been since he’d last played music? “I don’t know.”

“Death is near.” The axeman sighed. “Today, it was closer to me than usual. I felt its breath on my face...or rather, on what was left of it.” Guy reached for his mask, but didn’t touch it. “Thank you for coming to save me, General.”

“We all came,” Hadjar corrected him.

“You all did,” Guy nodded.

They were silent for a while. Hadjar wondered how old this man was. Three thousand years? More? He himself, when you accounted for everything that had happened to him, was very close to completing his second century of life. How old was he now? One hundred and seventy years? One hundred and eighty? Three mortal lives could come and go easily in such a long time…

“How long do mortals live these days, Hadjar?” Guy asked suddenly, like he’d overheard his thoughts.

“Sixty years... Maybe seventy,” Hadjar shrugged.

He took a stick and used it to adjust a burning log. The coals hissed gratefully. The heat from the fire greedily licked his hands, forcing Hadjar to once again recall the times when he had been a General. Why was he thinking back on those years more and more with each passing day?

“So it’d be about twenty-eight times…”

“Pardon?”

Hadjar had almost never communicated directly with Guy, and he certainly hadn’t seen the man smiling before. To be honest, it was rather horrifying to behold.

“I’m a twenty-eight times great grandpa,” Guy replied. He stretched out his palms toward the fire and shuddered a little. “Warmth... I haven’t experienced it for a long time…”

“You have-”

“I had,” Guy interrupted him, and wrapped his ragged cloak more tightly around himself. “I had a daughter, Hadjar. A long time ago. Sometimes, I forget what she looked like. Our memory, no matter how perfect it is, will always remain human. We simply don’t want to remember a lot of things.”

Hadjar said nothing. He had already noticed that as well. It was becoming more and more difficult for him to remember the faces of his parents, of Nero and Serra.

“Today, I saw her so clearly in front of me,” the half-faced man continued, “As if it had all happened just yesterday. She was a good girl. She loved magic. I didn’t mind.”

“Guy, I-”

“Listen to me, General,” Guy said sternly, and Hadjar fell silent. “When she was three centuries old, she met a wandering mercenary. He wasn’t the best match for her, but... Children are just guests in our lives. I let her go. They wandered for almost seven centuries until they finally came back. It was the very beginning of the war. I was commanding a regiment back then.”

Hadjar’s eyes widened slightly. He had always known that Abraham and Guy had military backgrounds, but he hadn’t suspected that Guy had served as a senior officer.

“He was wounded. Badly. He had lost all his power. Outwardly, he looked normal, but his whole energy body was in tatters. My daughter tried to help him at first, but then it became clear that all her efforts were in vain.” Guy fell silent. It was clearly difficult for him to tell this story.

“She…”

Guy nodded, “She broke her own Core,” he confirmed Hadjar’s suspicion. “She chose to live a mortal life. They lived for less than half a century after that. Then death came for them. They died together in the night. My grandchildren woke up, but my child died. They both seemed like they’d just fallen asleep, but... death is near, General. We must never forget this.”

Choosing to live a mortal life... It was a difficult decision. Such actions were extremely rare in the Nameless World. The stronger the cultivator, the less often it happened, even when it came to their one and only partner on the path of cultivation.

“Today, I realized that my twenty-eight times great-grandchildren live in this world. And I also realized that I would never get to see them.”

Hadjar didn’t know what to say, so he remained quiet.

“This is a strange place, Hadjar,” Guy got up and adjusted his mask. “I feel like a mortal here again.”

“Me too.”

The axeman nodded. He returned to his mat and assumed the lotus position.

“Maybe each of us, since we feel like mortals here, will be able to understand what they live for and what they die for.” Guy then plunged into meditation.

Hadjar remained on the log, sitting alone with his Ron’Jah, not understanding what exactly Guy had tried to tell him.