Deadric, a tall and rugged man of twenty-eight, stood at 188 centimeters with a faint beard accentuating the sharp line of his jaw. He had lived in that small town for nearly three months. His body was muscular, scarred with the remnants of battles—traces of a past life as a mercenary.
He no longer sought war. Nor fame.
All he wanted was... a bit of peace.
And in the middle of that quiet life, he fell in love.
Her name was Selena—a brown-haired woman whose soft gaze and goddess-like figure seemed carved from marble. She worked at the inn where Deadric stayed.
Every morning as she served breakfast, every small smile on her face made his chest race, like the first time he lifted a sword.
One night, in a small garden lit by hanging lanterns, Deadric stood with clenched fists, hiding a small box that held a simple ring.
The air carried the scent of spring flowers, but the cold sweat on his temple betrayed the storm inside him.
"Selena," he said as she arrived, wearing a casual dress that made her seem even softer.
"I'm not a perfect man," Deadric began slowly. "My hands are stained by war, and my life is full of chaos. But when I look at you... I feel human—not a weapon. I want you... to be by my side. Not as a servant. But as someone whose hand I'll hold—in peace or in war."
Selena went silent. Her face froze. Her eyes widened, confused, and for a moment, they glistened.
Then, like a blade sinking in slowly, she whispered,
"I'm sorry... I can't."
Deadric stared at her. "Why?"
"I... already have a fiancé," she said. But her voice lacked conviction. There was nervousness—maybe even a tremble.
"Then why did you look at me like that all this time?" he asked, softly but firmly. "Why did you smile at me like I was the only one you saw?"
Selena bit her lip, unable to meet his gaze.
"I... I don't know. I just... I'm not ready. This is all too sudden... and I can't refuse my fiancé. It's... been decided long ago."
She took a step back and lowered her head.
"Forgive me..."
She quickly turned and walked away, leaving Deadric alone in that quiet, cold garden.
The ring remained in his hand.
But it no longer meant anything.
That night, Deadric didn't return to the inn.
He drank like a man possessed—glass after glass, burning his throat and twisting his stomach, but unable to burn the ache in his chest. His vision blurred, his thoughts heavy... and his body moved only by anger that slowly turned into emptiness.
On his staggering way home, he passed a narrow alley behind the city market. That's where he saw him—a slave merchant, fidgeting beneath a flickering lantern.
Behind him was just one slave left: a young girl with matted hair, a thin body, and animal-like ears drooping weakly at the sides of her head.
But that wasn't what made Deadric stop.
The girl... had no legs. And only one hand remained.
Old scars covered her pale skin.
And her eyes—those empty eyes—looked straight at him. Without hope. Without fear.
The merchant glanced up quickly, as if surprised someone was still wandering around at this hour.
"She's the only one left," he said hastily, almost in panic. "No one wants her. Her condition... well, you can see for yourself."
Deadric stared at the girl, silent.
"She can't walk. Only crawl. But she's obedient. Doesn't fight. Doesn't speak much. Just silent... like a rock."
The merchant lowered his voice a little.
"But don't worry about disease. She's been examined by a healing mage—no venereal curses, no sickness."
Deadric remained silent, his gaze growing sharper.
"And one more thing," the merchant added quietly but firmly. "She's still a virgin. I know that because... no one's ever touched her.
Who would want a broken slave, let alone a half-human like this?"
He raised the short chain tied to the girl's neck.
"If you're interested, I'll let her go cheap. Just ten copper coins. I just want to go home without any leftovers."
Deadric paused. The night wind brushed his face—cold.
He reached into his pocket and tossed ten copper coins at the merchant's feet.
"Take it."
The merchant quickly scooped them up, handing over the chain with trembling hands.
"You won't regret it... I think," he said softly, then backed away into the shadows of the market.
Deadric looked at the girl again. A broken slave, filthy, her face half-covered in greasy hair. Her eyes still void of expression.
And yet somehow, in that emptiness…
Deadric saw something he didn't find in anyone else—not even Selena.
Maybe it was just a reflection of himself.
He turned and started walking.
The chain still in his grip, dragging the girl slowly behind him.
He didn't know why he bought her.
Maybe because he was drunk.
Maybe because he was angry.
Maybe... because they were both broken.
And so began their story—a story of two souls abandoned by the world, meeting in a night full of emptiness.