Endless Debt Chapter 1148 - 11: Suffocation

"Thinking about your hometown again?"

With soft footsteps, Palmer arrived on the terrace, a glass of cool water in hand. He sank onto the sofa and offered the drink to the person beside him.

"Just lost in thought."

Vasilina accepted the glass, took a sip, and then placed it down. She snuggled deeper into the sofa, pulling a blanket closer, seeking comfort.

Palmer also relaxed, leaning against Vasilina. Their gazes drifted towards the imposing mountains flanking the Wind Source Highlands, their peaks piercing the clouds.

"You know, I haven't actually visited the Mountain Ridge yet," Palmer remarked.

"Me neither, surprisingly, despite being born there," Vasilina replied, a wistful look in her eyes. "They say the environment is so brutal that someone as delicate as I am would perish instantly without the Clarks' aid."

"Sounds incredibly wild."

"It's simply a matter of survival," she stated.

A comfortable silence settled between them as they continued to stare at the mountain range, so close yet seemingly out of reach.

The Mountain Ridge forms the core of an ancient mountain system, its immense height causing its summits to soar above the clouds, resembling an ethereal ladder connecting to the heavens. Legend has it that when the sun ascends, the peaks cast colossal shadows, shrouding the lands below in an unnatural twilight.

These mountains are perpetually draped in heavy snow, their surfaces adorned with glaciers and ice sheets, giving them an air of mystery and remoteness. At such extreme altitudes and amidst such severe weather, phenomena otherworldly in nature—furious blizzards, deafening storms, and brilliant auroras—frequently manifest within their confines.

To many aspiring cultivators, these summits are revered as sacred ground, thought to be the abode of celestial beings, where sacred rites and pilgrimages are commonly undertaken. They also beckon a multitude of adventurers and explorers, all eager to test their mettle and venture into the unknown.

However, no one has ever managed to conquer the summit, with the sole exceptions being the Mountain Clan, the Philrads, and those granted their explicit invitation.

"The naturally weak simply cannot endure there due to the excessive Ether," Palmer suddenly interjected.

"The Ether concentration at the Mountain Ridge is staggeringly high. Within that extreme environment, Ether nearly solidifies, manifesting as snowfall and auroras. Curiously, the surplus Ether there hasn't triggered any Catastrophic Phenomena but has instead achieved a delicate equilibrium with the tangible world."

Due to the stringent isolation maintained by the Philrads, the outside world remains largely ignorant of the Mountain Ridge's true nature. The Clarks, residing beyond the mountains in the Wind Source Highlands, have maintained an amicable relationship with the Philrads since antiquity, thereby gaining access to its hidden truths.

"It is truly an Extraordinary Realm; consequently, the Philrads seldom venture beyond the Mountain Ridge. There, their abilities are expressed to their fullest potential, but this power, transcending the mundane world, also functions as a selective filter, barring entry to the overwhelmingly weak."

Palmer gently draped an arm around Vasilina’s shoulder. He had been spending his recent vacation on the Wind Source Highlands, though it felt more like an unconventional form of prolonged work. Daily, he delved into the Clarks’ archives, seeking any fragments of information pertaining to the Night Race.

Progress regarding the Night Race had been slow, yet within the ancient tomes, Palmer had unearthed connections linking to the Philrads, which in turn unveiled the mysteries of the Mountain Ridge.

Vasilina listened to Palmer, her eyes drifting closed, a subtle sense of peace enveloping her.

"Would you like to visit your ancestral home and see it?" Palmer asked, his gaze fixed on the mountains. "I've never been either; perhaps we could seize the opportunity to explore it together if it arises."

"It is probably best not to. Even the most skilled mountaineers find it a formidable challenge to ascend those formidable peaks," Vasilina advised.

Palmer countered, "Climbing is unnecessary for me; I simply need to fly."

By harnessing the Power of Storm and navigating through successive transparent cyclones, the perilously rugged terrain would transform into a straightforward aerial expressway for the Clarks.

"With your current strength, attempting to fly there would prove excessively demanding."

"I am making progress," Palmer sighed. "Not everyone can achieve successes as effortlessly as Bologue. His transition to an Undead was remarkably smooth; I cannot compare to that."

"When do you intend to achieve the realm of a Negative Power User?" Vasilina inquired.

"I await the summons."

"What?"

Vasilina blinked in surprise, then a smile touched her lips as she playfully ruffled Palmer’s hair, leaving it standing like a bird’s nest.

"My sense of humor is still functional, I presume? Not completely dulled by endless work, am I?" Palmer asked, a genuine smile gracing his face.

"Be serious for a moment!"

Vasilina deftly wrapped her arms around Palmer’s neck. Palmer felt a brief sensation of being squeezed, which quickly subsided, replaced by a comforting softness and warmth.

Internally, Palmer experienced a conflicting blend of apprehension and fondness towards Vasilina’s actions. When she was tender, the proximity was surprisingly soothing, yet a slight increase in her pressure, and Palmer felt as though she could quite easily detach his head.

Despite Vasilina's naturally delicate constitution, her wild bloodline endowed her with strength far exceeding that of ordinary individuals. A playful tap from her could, reportedly, crack several of Palmer's ribs.

"I truly cannot picture you as the Patriarch; it feels as though you'd lead the Clarks into disarray," Vasilina remarked, playfully mussing Palmer's hair as he rested in her arms, his apparent gentleness a stark contrast to the overwhelming power she possessed.

"Take your time; I don't believe it's a significant issue," Palmer responded.

Having spent time with Bologue, Palmer had adopted a more pragmatic outlook, disengaging from matters of the distant future and concentrating solely on the present.

The title of Patriarch seemed an aspiration too far in the future for Palmer, as intangible as a fleeting dream. His thoughts were more occupied with the prospect of additional days of leisure.

The recent holiday had thoroughly immersed him in the tender affection of Vasilina… Though occasionally a source of irritation, Palmer found himself surprisingly fond of the sensation of being guided by another.

"Is being heartless a family tradition of yours?" Vasilina inquired, a hint of distress in her voice.

"All I can say is that I genuinely take after my father."

In the perception of many, Palmer and Fuen were mirrors of each other, both in their physical resemblance and their temperaments.

One should not be deceived by Fuen's current calm demeanor; in his younger days, he was as impulsive as Palmer, if not more so.

Fuen never displayed any embarrassment about his past recklessness, nor did he concern himself with the judgments of others.

"We are the children of the storm, as unburdened as the wind," Fuen would often declare.

Initially, Fuen's pronouncements were perceived as wise, yet upon closer examination, they merely served as justifications for his impetuous actions.

"Palmer."

Vasilina suddenly uttered his name.

"What is it?"

Palmer, who had been drifting towards sleep, abruptly opened his eyes, his awareness sharpening considerably, accompanied by a slight tremor of nervousness.

"Why the sudden apprehension?"

"Ah… it's just a reflex, nothing significant," Palmer stammered.

When Vasilina reached the peak of her anger, she never raised her voice. Instead, she would offer a serene smile while gazing at Palmer, then softly call his name. The speed of her address and whether she used his full name allowed Palmer to accurately gauge the depth of her displeasure.

Like a meticulously trained reflex, Vasilina had mastered this method of communication with Palmer.

"What did you wish to convey?"

"Well… I've been contemplating a move to Oubos City, Opus," Vasilina revealed, "to work alongside you."

"Huh?"

Palmer's mind went completely blank.

"What, do you harbor any reservations?"

"No… no, it's just remarkably sudden," Palmer replied, his thoughts in a jumble, unable to fully grasp the announcement. "What prompted this sudden decision?"

"Because you are too far away from me."

Vasilina's expression shifted, taking on a troubled hue, and Palmer sensed an unsettling shift in the atmosphere. He felt an urge to withdraw, but his head was firmly held within Vasilina's grasp. Though Vasilina gazed down at him with apparent gentleness, Palmer could distinctly perceive an unusual intensity in her eyes.

This was not the first time Palmer had encountered such a look from her, and it instantly conjured a cascade of unwelcome memories.

As a "savage" by nature, Vasilina had possessed boundless energy since her youth, coupled with an insatiable curiosity for various grappling techniques. She had effortlessly mastered them after only a cursory understanding.

The adage 'practice makes perfect' held true.

Vasilina required a willing participant for her training, and tragically, Palmer invariably became the one subjected to her constant practice.

"Far… how far, precisely?"

A growing sense of unease began to permeate Palmer's thoughts, and he found himself experiencing a sudden pang of homesickness. It wasn't for his home in the Wind Source Highlands, but rather for his dwelling in Oubos City, Opus.

"Far in the literal sense; our physical distance is too great. It takes months for us to see each other, and the time we do spend together is regrettably brief."

As Vasilina spoke, her grip on Palmer's face tightened, her fingers kneading his skin with increased force. Palmer felt as though his very skin was on the verge of being stripped away, his skull protesting under the intense pressure.

"I do not question your devotion to me, nor do I doubt that a peculiar individual like yourself would be desired by anyone else, but to put it simply… it leaves me with a measure of disquiet," Vasilina confessed.

Vasilina pulled Palmer closer, their breaths mingling intimately. Despite the appearance of tender closeness, Palmer's face contorted as if he were being strangled, teetering on the brink of suffocation.

"What if? What if someone else harbors the same peculiar fondness for you as I do?"

With that declaration, Vasilina planted a fervent kiss upon Palmer. He lacked the capacity to appreciate the warmth of their lips; instead, he felt as though he had been mauled by a leopard, a significant portion of his very essence seemingly drained away.

Vasilina then tightened her hold, her embrace becoming unyieldingly firm.

Her soft voice echoed in Palmer's ear.

"My dearest wish is to keep you entirely to myself, Palmer."

Palmer felt as though he were trapped beneath an immense hydraulic press, his entire being compressed until flat, his bones emitting faint groans of protest. He found no space in his sensations to acknowledge Vasilina's affection; his entire focus was on the overwhelming feeling of impending suffocation.

I'm going to perish, I'm going to perish, I'm going to perish!