Percival secured a modest room in an inn. It had a window and a mana-lamp rather than a plain candle.
He stood, gazing out the window at the commoners carrying on with their daily activities.
"It looks different from what you remember, right?"
He turned around to Mercius, who was standing in the center of the room, a spectral form burning blue.
His soul was bound to Percival, tethered by the [Soul Soldier] skill, yet not fully contracted.
For now, he was a weapon in its sheath. Percival could not command him to do anything; and at the same time, Mercius could not act of his own accord.
He was simply a witness.
Mercius drifted toward the window, his silver armor glistening from the sunlight while the azure flames crackled around him.
He looked down at the city he had died defending.
"The lamps are brighter," he rumbled. "And the streets... they are paved with finer cobber stone. It is cleaner. More organized."
