Chapter 4: Are you laughing? Why aren’t you laughing?

Calamity never comes alone; painful misfortunes pile up as if to crush a person entirely.

On March 5th in late spring, Korez Town basked in clear weather.

Even at dusk, the air was only slightly cool, but an unnatural warmth radiated near the small temple in the ruins district.

Raging orange-red flames devoured the temple from within, fueled by thick, viscous liquid clinging to the stone, spreading fire across the structure despite stone’s resistance.

The inferno overwhelmed the fragile wooden beams supporting the main hall’s roof, causing it to collapse and partially topple the walls.

Watching the temple reduced to rubble, with flames still gnawing at its remains, Skoll, Ace, and Frosti stood at the entrance.

Their shadows, cast on the abandoned house opposite, looked utterly helpless.

“Our home… this was our home with Suna! Why did they burn it? It’s all we had left! We have to put out the fire…”

Frosti, already emotionally unraveling, saw the temple’s state and, tears streaming, tried to rush into the blaze.

Before she could take a few steps, Skoll grabbed her shoulders, and Ace hugged her tightly.

“Sister! You can’t go! It’s too dangerous!”

“Let me go! I… I…”

As she struggled, weakly casting water magic at the flames, Ace shouted at her.

“Suna’s gone! This place is destroyed—putting out the fire won’t change that! Please, Frosti, we need to stay safe!”

“You’re all awful! Why won’t you put it out? Why won’t you let me try? Ace, do you really hate Suna?”

Faced with Frosti’s flailing fists, Ace and Skoll endured in silence.

Finally, Skoll, who had been clenching his jaw, spoke to her.

“…I’m sorry, I’m too useless. But it’s too dangerous here, and the arsonists might come back. We need to go.”

Trying to soothe Frosti, Skoll, with Ace’s help, forcibly dragged her away.

Before they left, the fire’s heat evaporated Frosti’s tears from the ground.

Even as Frosti resisted, facing the burning temple, Skoll and Ace watched with pain and reluctance as their former home turned to ash.

Meanwhile, Suna wasn’t secretly observing the trio.

She stood before an abandoned warehouse a block away.

Though its door was closed, the thin metal couldn’t muffle the voices inside.

“That kid fights like he’s got nothing to lose! Damn, it hurts. And we didn’t even completely break that box.”

“Yeah, he took down half of our fifteen guys. Next time, we bring more and smash that box right in front of him!”

“We didn’t break the box, but when they go home, they’ll only find a fire. Serves ‘em right!”

“Boss probably wants to torment him slowly before killing him…”

The group discussing this was, of course, the thugs who attacked Skoll, tried to destroy the urn, and set the temple ablaze.

Suna’s right hand morphed into a bone blade, effortlessly cutting the warehouse door’s chain.

She walked in boldly.

“Good evening, everyone. Your conversation sounds interesting.”

The thugs, gathered around a fire barrel, were startled and annoyed by Suna’s entrance, her face hidden under a hooded cloak.

A few near her grabbed maces and swords, surrounding her.

“Who are you? Barging in here—are you tired of living?”

Before the leader could finish, Suna swung a wooden stick, striking him in the head, and he collapsed.

As she attacked, the thugs grabbed nearby weapons, fully encircling her.

Unfazed, Suna ignored their moves and spoke calmly.

“Honestly, you’ve gone too far, even planning to kill them. So, I’m here to teach you a lesson.”

“Hah, a woman’s voice? You think you’re walking out of here in one piece? Heh!”

“I could walk out just using my fists.”

Dropping the broken stick, Suna clenched her fists, careful not to shatter the thugs completely.

Three minutes later, the thugs lay scattered, each with at least two broken bones, groaning in pain or unconscious.

The one who taunted her, now with a swollen face, was held by his collar.

“Laugh now. Why aren’t you laughing?”

After he passed out, Suna tossed him to the ground.

“Ugh, I couldn’t help interfering. They went too far.”

Muttering, Suna noted that while the thugs might be immobile for a month or two—some needing crutches or wheelchairs—she still had to handle the critical task of memory erasure.

Fine tendrils extended from her cracked skin, invading the thugs’ minds, wiping their memories of the last ten minutes as they lay unconscious.

Suna then carved intricate, twisted runes on the ground, arranging the thugs in a bizarre tree-like pattern to stage a strange scene.

Finished, she headed to the thug leader’s house.

By chance, he returned home shortly after she entered.

Reeking of alcohol, he noticed Suna sitting on his sofa and, wary, prepared for a fight while questioning her.

“Who are you? Why are you in my house?”

“Don’t recognize me already?”

With her retort, Suna removed her hood, revealing Saintess Suna’s face.

The leader’s eyes widened.

“How are you still alive?!”