The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

The Eastern Grain Warehouse was larger than Ravian had expected.

The smell of old wheat and damp wool reached him before he crossed its doorway, mingled with the odors of hundreds of displaced people forced to live together inside a building never designed to shelter human beings.

Ravian joined the line stretching before the side entrance. He kept his coat’s hood low, while the strip of cloth remained wrapped around his hair and most of his face.

A City Guard clerk sat behind a wooden table beside the door. Next to him stood a board filled with several rows of numbers—and nothing else.

”Token,” the clerk said without lifting his head.

Ravian placed the dark wooden tile on the table.

The clerk turned it over, made a mark beside the number forty-seven, then handed it back to him.

”Fourth row, east side. Meals are served when the bell rings, and the gates close after sunset.”

Ravian returned the token to his pocket but didn’t move immediately.

”Don’t you need my name?” he asked, somewhat puzzled by how the shelter operated.

The clerk raised his eyes this time.

”The temple sends us only the tokens. We’re trying to feed people and find them somewhere to sleep, not compile a family register for every person who comes through here,” he replied as though the answer were self-evident.

Ravian nodded, paying no mind to the clerk’s tone, and entered.

The woman at the Western Temple had asked for his name, but he hadn’t seen her record it anywhere. She had been distributing clothing, food, and tokens as quickly as possible while dozens of people waited behind him.

’It seems the people of this Empire possess some human decency after all,’ Ravian thought as he stepped farther inside.

The building no longer resembled a grain warehouse in anything but the height of its ceiling and the wooden platforms lining its sides.

Blankets had been hung between the pillars, dividing the vast space into small areas where families slept. Burlap sacks served as pillows, while crates of provisions lined the walls. At the loading dock, workers and volunteers moved food and clothing without pause.

Ravian headed toward the eastern side, looking for somewhere to sit and gather useful information. Then his gaze settled upon a long table near the administrative desk, positioned like some sort of inspection point in the middle of the enormous warehouse.

And seated behind it was Lysandra.

Ravian froze mid-step before catching himself.

’What the fuck is she doing here?’

Shock held him for several seconds, but he quickly resumed walking as though nothing had happened.

’Why?’

’Why in the Creator’s name is she here?’

The question repeated itself inside Ravian’s mind as his thoughts accelerated.

’Is she looking for me? Did they discover that I was the one who escaped to the capital through the waterway?’

’No. That’s impossible. There’s nothing that could directly connect Ravian to the infiltrator—I’m certain of that.’

He felt as though he was missing a vital piece of information, but no matter how quickly he considered the possibilities, he couldn’t find the answer.

’Could her presence here be a coincidence? Was she simply chosen for this assignment because of her competence?’

That possibility seemed far more reasonable.

’That must be it.’

The papers spread across the table and the clerk compiling figures beside her appeared to confirm his conclusion.

’If she had already connected me to the infiltrator, she wouldn’t be sitting here organizing relief records. She’d be searching for me with her sword and the rest of the team.’

Ravian glanced at the pages in the clerk’s hand, all of them covered in writing and figures.

’A final inspection before they give up on the assignment, then? Is the noble lady about to fail her mission?’

’I’d wager she’ll keep wearing that same cold, proud expression even while she’s burning with frustration inside.’

A smile appeared on Ravian’s face for the first time in a long while.

Lysandra’s red hair was tied behind her head, and the sleeves of her military uniform had been folded up to her elbows. Her amber eyes moved between several pages, while a City Guard clerk sat across from her, reading figures and notes from another register.

Ravian saw the small beauty mark beneath her lower lip and confirmed that he hadn’t mistaken her for someone else.

Thanks to his new hearing, he could pick out their conversation despite the surrounding noise and the distance between them, simply by focusing on their voices.

”...These are the final shelter counts for the eastern side,” the clerk said. ”Commander Isabelle wants the completed report by tomorrow evening.”

”And the river lists?” Lysandra asked.

”Kael, Evelyne, and Elias gathered what remained. The lists should reach her today.”

Lysandra placed one of the pages atop the stack before her.

”Then most of our work here is finished. We’ll need another two days—three at most—before we return to the border or receive new orders.”

’So the entire team is still in the capital?’

The smile on Ravian’s face widened before he could stop it.

But it soon faded again.

’And they’ll return to the border within two or three days.’

That was valuable information, but Lysandra’s presence made the situation dangerous at the same time.

She didn’t need to see his entire face to begin suspecting him. She had known him at the camp, knew his real name and appearance, and had seen how he moved. They had also faced several situations together—enough to fix him in her memory even if he had changed somewhat.

His body had undergone a drastic transformation during its reconstruction, but he hadn’t become an entirely different person.

His hair was still white, his eyes were still crimson, and the fundamental features of his face remained the same.

He couldn’t allow her to see any of them clearly.

Nor could he let her hear the name Rayan Veyr.

’That really was a shortsighted choice of alias—but I never expected to encounter any of them here.’

’There’s no reason to remain.’

He didn’t need the bedding or food the warehouse provided. He had only wanted a temporary place to organize his thoughts, and staying had now become far more dangerous than it was worth.

Ravian quietly changed direction and moved alongside the wooden platforms, keeping his shoulders slightly hunched and his steps as slow as those of the other displaced people.

He had covered only a few meters when Lysandra stopped writing.