Palmer strolled out of the room and sat on the recliner on the terrace. The Wind Source Highlands were quite cold in the early morning, with a thin mist spreading across the fields like a pale white spider web covering the ground.

The air was fresh and moist, with a hint of chill. Palmer wrapped the blanket tightly around himself, relaxing on the recliner, savoring the moment of peace.

Palmer always felt that Wind Source Highlands was a great place for retirement, unlike the highly industrialized Oubos in Oath City, where the old atmosphere still remained, and each breath tasted of nature, while in Oubos, he was often choked by the industrial fumes.

When he first arrived in Oubos, it was a truly tough day for Palmer, but fortunately, every day brought extremely novel things that gradually allowed him to forget these awful aspects.

"It feels good to be home..."

Palmer murmured to himself, like a dog who had wandered for many years, returning to its beloved little den. It might be very simple and dirty, but here you can let go of all defenses and feel inner peace.

"Hmm? You woke up really early, Palmer."

A familiar voice came from the bedroom behind him, shattering the peace and tranquility on Palmer's face instantly, and he became uncomfortable and tense.

Palmer was always curious about how Vasilina did it; every time she stepped forward, her footsteps were incredibly light, like a hunter advancing cautiously.

Vasilina came onto the terrace, stretched her body, and the color of her skin faintly showed under the loose pajamas, like a lazy wild cat.

Due to just waking up, Vasilina's eyes were a bit blurry, and the cold demeanor on her body had softened somewhat.

"Move over."

Vasilina reached out and patted Palmer's head. Despite his reluctance, Palmer shifted sideways on the recliner, and Vasilina squeezed in with effort, snatching Palmer's blanket to cover herself, then casually wrapped her arm around Palmer's head, making it unclear whether she was about to kiss Palmer or perform a friendly sleeper hold.

Sleeper hold?

Palmer's body involuntarily shivered, and certain bad memories uncontrollably surfaced in his mind.

The last image from the memory of last night was Vasilina hugging him kindly and incidentally choking him unconscious.

Due to the obstruction of his neck and throat, Palmer fell into a brief suffocation, coupled with insufficient blood supply to the brain, he was somewhat in shock.

Palmer couldn't quite remember what happened next; he seemed like a corpse being dragged back and forth in the hallway, while Vasilina seemed to be saying something to him, probably some angry words.

Thinking about it, although Palmer and Vasilina always kept in touch over the phone, he rarely mentioned meeting in person; like pen pals who had never met, Palmer could speak freely on the phone, but upon meeting, he became extremely flustered, not daring to look into Vasilina's eyes.

Why is it like this?

Palmer was a bit puzzled, clearly everything was so wonderful when he left the Wind Source Highlands; he was off to explore new territories and even got a girlfriend, even though Vasilina was the one who took the initiative on that.

Palmer was a bit sleepy and couldn't understand these things. As he continued to ponder along the path of memories, he seemed to vaguely hear Vasilina's mischievous laughter in his mind.

Ah, Palmer's memory gradually became clear.

All along, Palmer found himself at a disadvantage when facing Vasilina; whether it was physical confrontation or mental gambits, it always proved so.

For a long time, Palmer consoled himself by thinking that as the heir of the Clarks, he needed to observe the noble etiquette to let Vasilina prevail, to excuse his failures in the conflicts.

Vasilina was a very perceptive person; she mocked Palmer for his hypocritical noble etiquette.

"Just an excuse for your justification."

During childhood, Vasilina said this as she stuffed Palmer's head into the mud.

Palmer shouted, "You're a girl; how can you be so rough! Etiquette! Etiquette!"

"I'm a barbarian, shut up!"

Like Palmer, Vasilina was also very adept at utilizing her identity to engage in verbal battle.

Every time Palmer tried to educate Vasilina with civilization, Vasilina would resort to her barbarian lineage, although she's not a real barbarian, some things are carved into the bloodline, hard to change.

The clash between civilization and barbarism often concluded with the latter achieving overwhelming victory, but there was no helping it.

No matter what Palmer said, Vasilina always acted as if she couldn't understand because she's a barbarian, particularly involving physical competition where Palmer stood no chance.

Palmer slowly turned his head; there was Vasilina, so casually squeezing herself next to him, unlike the aloof demeanor others usually observed, she seemed more like a cat snuggling on your lap, though this cat was a tad too large.

How strange...

Palmer remembered playing with other kids, and Vasilina also sported that indifferent demeanor, but when she saw him, she'd laugh and joyfully wrestle with him. Palmer often wondered if there was some unknown grudge between him and Vasilina.

Vasilina was watching the distance, where amidst the mist, the mountains rose like a snow-white canvas. When the first ray of morning light hit the peak, it appeared as if made of gold, glowing with a vibrant shine.

Palmer knew Vasilina was gazing toward her never-visited hometown.

Vasilina noticed Palmer's gaze and looked at him puzzled, "What are you doing?"

"I'm wondering what madness possessed me to fall in love with you."

Palmer was unexpectedly frank, speaking without much thought.

Palmer frequently pondered these matters. He understood that telling Bologue "a girl who can fix motorcycles is utterly cool" was just a trigger, an emotional catalyst. He had already fallen in love with Vasilina long before this trigger, but how did it all start? Palmer couldn't quite figure it out.

Vasilina asked, "Have you figured it out yet?"

"No," Palmer shook his head, "so I'm still thinking."

Palmer felt his mind was a bit sluggish, possibly because he hadn't fully recovered from last night's wrestling; he remembered Vasilina saying something while dragging him.

"Same as always, the more you think, the less you understand," Vasilina advised, "sometimes it's unnecessary to think so clear-headedly, trust your instincts!"

This response very much matched the barbarian mentality.

Palmer understood Vasilina's point. During his coming-of-age ceremony, he saw the elders in the Wind Cellar, who were like mummified figures. Their low, aged voices echoed around him, telling Palmer of the responsibilities he would have to fulfill...

Palmer was nearly crushed by the pressure of that distant future.

"You can run, Palmer, when a Hunter encounters prey that's too strong, we choose to avoid it."

Vasilina used a hunting analogy to comfort Palmer.

Palmer shook his head, "No, I am the heir of the Clarks' family, it's my duty."

Vasilina looked at the crouching Palmer. He was dispirited, yet kept talking about duty; Vasilina grabbed his collar and pulled him up.

"Firstly, duty isn't something decreed by fate. If you want to reject it, running away isn't shameful."

Vasilina was more of an action person than a philosopher; perhaps this was the nature of a barbarian, even if she had lived in the Wind Source Highlands and had never lived a single day of a barbaric life.

After saying these words, Vasilina turned and left. Palmer thought that his cowardice might have angered Vasilina, like jam stuck to a wall, he slumped down again.

Thinking of it, Vasilina lived like a true warrior. After learning her background, despite her poor health, she insisted on training, saying one day she would conquer those high mountains.

Palmer was somewhat timid and afraid of death, which laid a solid foundation for his future tendency to defect at any time.

Soon, Vasilina came back, carrying large bags.

"You carry these things."

Vasilina was panting heavily. She was skilled in techniques and possessed strength, but her stamina was terribly poor.

Palmer asked, "What are these?"

"Tents, hunting tools, medicine, and so on. With these, we can live outdoors for a long time, and if we're lucky, we'll have meat to eat every meal."

Vasilina was serious, she was really planning to take Palmer to escape, she had even mapped out the route.

"I'm torn about whether to bring Leica, it would speed up our movement a lot but this guy eats a lot, its food would be a problem."

Vasilina thought carefully, "Let's bring Leica after all; in case of an emergency, it can be reserve meat."

"Hey!"

Palmer perked up immediately upon hearing Vasilina might take action against Leica.

What answered Palmer was Vasilina's laughter; she was joking. She kicked away those large bags and reached out to rub Palmer's head.

"Besides running away, Hunters actually have other choices."

"What?"

"Call on more Hunters for help!"

Vasilina encouraged Palmer, reaching out to pull him up, whispering softly by his ear.

"I'll always stand by you."

The morning light rose from the horizon's edge; thin mist, like scattered dust, gained a visible shape under sunlight, drifting and dispersing.

Palmer tried to turn his body; a faint pain arose, piercing his nerves like needles, bringing forth more disturbing memories.

Palmer suddenly realized a question: Why did he wake up here? Why was Vasilina by his side when he awoke...

Like a rusted machine poured with a whole bottle of lubricant and rust remover, following a brief period of dry friction, the machine roared to life. His sluggish thoughts were now racing; Palmer's listless face became vibrant and colorful.

Palmer remembered the final story from last night, using his Prayer Believers' body strength, Palmer managed a brief respite, chaotically dashing through the corridor.

Unfortunately, he didn't escape in the end; Vasilina's shoulder throw completely knocked Palmer out, then she kissed him.

Palmer's memory ended here, in the aftertaste of his recollection, he was like a startled horse caught by a Hunter, with its throat bitten through, then gutted open.

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