After Olomuc departed, Geral quickly gathered and harnessed the horses to the carriage. He climbed up onto the carriage and shook the reins, urging the horses into a light trot. The carriage bounced and swayed in a steady rhythm on the paved road while Geral's heart was full of hope once again. At least he had the restraint to not launch the horses in a gallop, even if he felt like it. It was still a long way to Hexopolis in the North of the republic.

Geral's mind was racing with questions as he pondered Anabella's instructions. Why did she choose that remote town for him to go to? Did she want to ensure the girls' safety, or was there another reason? There were many temples of Hora closer to their location, so why did Anabella specify that particular one? Geral wondered if he should take Anabella's body to a different temple to speed up her recovery, but he was unsure how burning her body would trigger her resurrection, respawn, or revival. He wished Olomuc had given him clearer instructions on the available options. Why did the orc, too, have to be so secretive?

Letting out a heavy sigh, he cursed the fact that he had never played as an undead race and had no idea how their resurrection process worked. He scolded himself to follow Anabella's instructions without question. Trying to recall every word she spoke, he wondered if he had missed any crucial details that could render the whole plan useless.

As his mind raced with these thoughts, he did not pay much attention to his surroundings.

The sudden sound of his horses whinnying nervously startled him, and he swore as he noticed figures moving up ahead. Before he could react, riders appeared from both sides, blocking his path.

As he looked behind, he saw another group approaching. Initially, he thought they were robbers, but to his surprise, he recognized some of them as soldiers from the Silver Town dressed in civilian clothes.

Right, he thought, as they were already in the republic's territory; if they had been wearing their military attire, they would have been easily identified as hostiles and attacked by the republic's patrols.

He wondered if they were robbing the handlers to make some extra money or if they were carrying out some shady activity on behalf of the town.

Both cases were bad, and he found himself wishing they were just common robbers. He knew he didn't have any really important valuables in the carriage, only some inventory items and some of Anabella's and her girls' clothes.

He stopped the carriage, realizing there was no way to escape the trap that had been set for him. The fields were full of boulders, and the carriage would break in an instant if he tried to swerve it through them. He let out a sigh, resigning himself to the situation. He decided to let them take everything, as the only thing that mattered was Anabella's body. If necessary, he would carry her on foot, hoping they wouldn't kill him.

Rage surged within him. If his previous team had been with him, they would have fought, but now he was all alone.

The approaching troop halted, and he demanded answers.

"What is the meaning of this?" he barked.

"Geral! You left in such haste that you didn't even bother to say farewell!" came the familiar voice of the inquisitor.

He recognized her immediately, despite the hood that concealed her face. The mere sound of her voice was enough to make his blood boil.

"What does the bloody bitch want?" - he muttered to himself.

He made an effort to compose himself, knowing he needed to handle the situation tactfully.

"Good day, Inquisitor! It's quite unexpected to meet you outside of the city's bounds. Have you taken up banditry now?" he quipped, immediately regretting his choice of words. His tongue had a mind of its own.

Stella's lips curved into a smirk. "That's a pretty serious accusation, Geral. I'm only conducting a routine inspection on behalf of the town. You have nothing to worry about; we won't take anything from your carriage."

He glanced at her dark eyes and let out a sigh.

"Madam Inquisitor, what can I do for you?"

Ah, that was more appropriate. She seemed unimpressed.

"Just step down from your carriage, Geral. We suspect you of attempting to bypass Silver Town's laws. We need to inspect your carriage."

He lowered his head and dismounted from the carriage.

"Oh, come now, Stella. Bypass the laws? What are you talking about? I have already left the town's jurisdiction, and you have no authority here. I am merely fulfilling the final wishes of my deceased wife..." he muttered under his breath.

A few soldiers approached him, and he quickly surveyed his surroundings. With about twenty level thirty soldiers and Stella herself, he knew there was no chance of fighting them off. Talking was his only option.

As Stella entered the carriage, he braced himself for the worst. When she emerged, she wore a mischievous grin.

"Bind him!" she ordered.

"Why? What are you doing?" he protested, but it was too late.

Within seconds, he was overpowered, forced onto his knees, and his wrists bound to his ankles.

She observed his struggles with a satisfied expression.

"Resisting the authority of the state," she muttered.

His breathing became labored as he struggled on his knees.

"Stella, what is going on? Why are you doing this?" he asked, with a mix of confusion and anger in his voice.

"You and your undead lover, did you think you could deceive us?" she sneered.

He gazed at her with widened eyes, unsure of what she had in store for him.

"Set it on fire!" she commanded, pointing at the chariot with a hint of madness in her dark eyes.

He let out a scream as one of her mages hurled a fireball at the chariot's interior, where his dead wife's body lay. He desperately tried to free himself from his bindings while Stella stood by, watching the flames with a wicked chuckle. Now, they were targeting the chariot's wheels with fireballs.

"You're insane!" he shouted at her.

She ignored him for a moment, then turned to face him.

"She must have thought she was clever, and you played along with her game! Did you think you could bring her back? Anabella was condemned to death, Geral. It was a sentence that had been given. Death is final, you know," she said as she gestured towards the burning chariot, which was now crumbling.

"We won't have to deal with that wretch anymore!"

As the chariot burned intensely, he could feel his breathing quicken due to the accumulated fury and the heat. He stared at the relentless flames consuming the chariot and Anabella's lifeless body. As the canvas roof of the chariot had crumbled, her silhouette was now discernible.

A soldier tossed something into the middle, over her body, and the flames rose ferociously several meters high.

His anger boiled over as he confronted Stella.

"Why did you do this? Wasn't it enough to kill her? Did you have to mock me and my pain like this and take away any hope? Why? What did I do to deserve this? Aren't you afraid that I'll come back for revenge?"

Stella exhaled deeply, her eyes fixed on the flames before turning to Geral with an emotionless expression.

"So, my suspicions were true. You were planning to bring her back," she said slowly, then shook her head. "It was a mistake to threaten me, Geral. I don't take threats lightly. But there's a simple solution to this, you know."

She turned to one of her soldiers.

"You! Stay here with him. Once this fire has burned everything down, cut his throat. He must watch until the end."

She turned to Geral with a smug expression on her face, as if she had just won a game.

"See? Problem solved. You won't be coming back!"

She then added with a mischievous glint in her eye,

"Well, unless you plan on coming back as a ghost, that is. Grackak is studying a way to help ghosts take possession of new bodies, and he's been short on volunteers lately. Who knows, maybe he'll succeed. Good luck with that!"

Stella then turned to her troops.

"Let's go! We don't want to be seen by any patrols."

As the group moved to leave, Geral gritted his teeth. He was not going to die without a fight. He reached for the knife that he had concealed in his right boot and began to cut through his bindings.

Luckily, the soldier assigned to execute him was busy checking the horizon nervously for incoming patrols and did not look at him.

Geral shifted his legs to ease the numbness that had set in from his constrained position. The fire was beginning to subside, and the stench of burnt flesh mingling with the acrid smoke was making him nauseous.

"You really screwed up, didn't you?" the soldier suddenly remarked, turning to face him before looking back at the fire. "Your wife wasn't such a bad person, you know. But she shouldn't have freed that slave. She was promised to the gods, and you don't mess with that."

The soldier's casual attitude gave Geral the opportunity he needed to work on the ropes binding him. Though the position was awkward and the ropes were tight, he eventually managed to free himself. He waited for the right moment as the soldier inspected the area.

Geral knew he was outmatched by the higher-level soldier and would only have a chance if he caught him off guard. The soldier moved further away toward the dying flames and picked up a whole, undamaged plank that had been hidden beneath the burning debris.

Geral recognized it; it was the colored plank that stood inside, at the end of the carriage, behind the driver's seat. It had several lovely paintings on it depicting elves living in a forest and some dragons. He wondered, probably the painting was protected by a spell?

The soldier exclaimed, annoyed.

“Huh! This damned thing did not burn!?”

As he stood there examining the plank, Geral judged that was the right moment. He stood up silently and attacked the soldier.

At the last moment, the soldier turned, surprised. Geral let the plank hit his shoulder as he planted his knife in the soldier's right hand. It was not as he intended, he had to change from targetting the neck to the hand at the last moment, but he still could score a hit.

The soldier dropped the plank, pushed Geral away, and retrieved the sword with his bloodied hand.

Geral stepped back and retrieved a shield and a sword from his inventory. Good that these inventory boxes were soulbond, and nobody could rob the items from them. Stella must have completely forgotten about it, or she had ignored it, knowing it was useless to take it.

The soldier cursed, annoyed.

The fight was now more equal, but the soldier still had levels over him. He was stronger and faster, yet he grimaced each time he struck with the sword.

Geral was forced into the defensive. He tried to use the environment to gain an advantage.

But as Geral stepped backward, the soldier pulled a healing potion from a pocket. Geral jumped with a ferocious scream at the soldier as he brought the potion to his lips.

Geral cursed. Soldiers trained by players! This would not have happened with a soldier from the kingdom, but they were obviously differently instructed here and used potions.

Even though Geral had succeeded in spilling the remaining potion, the soldier had already taken a swig of it. He switched his sword to his left hand and smeared his bloodied right hand across his face, attempting to make the most of the potion.

The two continued to exchange blows, with Geral struggling to find an opening while the soldier's wound healed before his eyes. Geral knew he needed to end the fight quickly before the soldier fully recovered, but the soldier was not making it easy. Despite the soldier's diminished ability with his left hand, he still managed to hold his own and even pushed Geral back with a powerful counter-attack.

When the soldier shifted the sword to his right hand, Geral knew he was in trouble. He watched as the soldier drew a long knife in his left hand, and it was clear that he had lost the battle.

Suddenly, the soldier was hit by an arrow, and although it wasn't a fatal wound, it gave Geral a glimmer of hope. As he looked up, he was surprised to see Noviel emerging from the smoke.

He couldn't help but stare at her, and at that moment, the soldier attacked him like a madman. Geral struggled to block or dodge the flurry of blows raining down on him. Despite managing to wound the soldier, Geral was thrown back with a deep gash to his side.

As the soldier turned to attack Noviel, Geral summoned all his strength, rose to his feet, and stabbed the soldier's neck with his sword. A ball of fire engulfed them both at the same moment as blood spurted from the soldier's jugular. Geral fell backward, pulling the dying soldier with him, and lost consciousness.

As he felt gentle hands caressing his temples and healing magic flowing through his battered body, Geral slowly regained consciousness. He heard an angelic voice singing a magical song and realized that his head was resting in the lap of the girl who was healing him.

"Anabella!" he mumbled.

As he opened his eyes, the darkness enveloping him made it hard to see. He could only make out the contours of an elven head and the distinctive pointed ears illuminated by the strange light emanating from the waves of magic enveloping him. As he looked up, he recognized Anabella's alluring figure, with her ample bust hovering above him.

She only laughed softly and continued her sweet chant; her hands continued to work their magic.

He felt still weak but no longer dying. He closed his eyes, feeling how his torn body recovered slowly, waves of magic enveloping him gently, fixing his wounds. While his mind tried to understand what had happened, for the moment, he was happy to feel alive, happy that he had somehow survived and that he was holding her in his hands. He embraced her, determined to never let her go away, and pushed his face against her, inspiring her sweet scent.