SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 591: The Storm That Took Her

Trafalgar recognized that Cynthia was extending her trust towards him.

Her desire to recount past events was evident, and in acknowledgment, he remained silent, seated beside her as the train traversed the storm, its muffled roar pressing against the drawn curtains.

Cynthia rested her head on his shoulder and began to speak.

"As I mentioned, our life wasn't always in the orphanage. We never knew our father, but we had our Mom. Bartholomew and I shared her with you. There were only the three of us, inseparable."

Her voice, though soft, carried clearly over the train's low rumble.

"When we were young, we resided in a village near Velkaris. Bartholomew and I are twins. Our mother was a single parent, and where we lived, storms were commonplace. Back then, I wasn't afraid of them. Bartholomew, however, was always frightened."

Trafalgar listened, his posture relaxed against the seat.

"I suppose he still is."

Cynthia shifted her head slightly on his shoulder, enough to respond without fully lifting it.

"No... He was fearful initially, but he overcame it. He used to claim he would shield me." Her fingers tightened subtly on the fabric near her knees. "I am certain he was still apprehensive, but he wished to protect me, so he would puff out his chest, feigning bravery."

Trafalgar's lips moved almost imperceptibly.

"Ah. That's quite unlike him."

"It was," Cynthia affirmed. "Perhaps that is why it remains so vivid in my memory."

The train jolted again, a prolonged tremor coursing through the carriage before fading into the floor. Cynthia kept her head on his shoulder.

"One day, our mother departed for work. She was a hunter. That's why she carried a bow. She belonged to a group, and we were quite close to them as well. They felt like our uncles. They would visit occasionally, bringing provisions, teasing Barth, and teaching me archery even when I was far too small for the equipment."

Trafalgar remained silent.

"However, one day, they embarked on a hunt for monsters. Their goal was to sell materials, cores, and perhaps any items that might drop. It was their standard occupation." Cynthia swallowed. "They did not return that night."

Her voice trailed off at the conclusion.

"That evening, Sister Alena arrived at our home to convey the distressing news. Our mother was aware of the inherent dangers of the job, but she had no other means to support us. Consequently, she had already informed the Velkaris orphanage that should anything befall her, her two children would be placed in their care."

Cynthia's voice began to quiver.

"On that stormy night, Mom never returned home. We never had the chance to bid farewell. Her remains were never recovered either. She vanished that day while Barth and I were at home, anticipating her safe return."

Trafalgar felt an urge to speak.

No words came to him swiftly enough.

Cynthia had entrusted him with a deeply buried sorrow, and in that moment, any response he could offer seemed inadequate. Before he could formulate a reply, her breathing changed.

She had drifted off to sleep on his shoulder.

Trafalgar glanced down at her.

The storm continued its assault outside the curtain, but within the carriage, the quiet had transformed. Cynthia's face, previously etched with tension, was now softened by sleep. Yet, a faint shadow of her recent recollections lingered around her brow.

Trafalgar remained motionless.

'I truly wasn't expecting that... It wasn't even mentioned in Bartholomew's character profile. It appears the people I know have all endured difficult lives.'

The thought resonated longer than anticipated.

Perhaps this explained Barth's strong attachment to past narratives. Perhaps this was why Cynthia was so fiercely protective of him. Maybe this was why the orphanage held more significance for them than any academy or noble estate ever could.

The train vibrated once more, but this time, the sensation felt distant.

Trafalgar's eyelids grew heavy.

Cynthia slumbered on his shoulder, the storm had subsided into a muted roar beyond the glass, and the carriage's warmth enveloped him. It should have been a secure environment. The train was patrolled. Caelum was aboard. Selara was somewhere nearby.

Nevertheless, something subtle permeated the air.

An aroma.

Faint. Sweet. Almost pleasing.

'What is that scent? It smells wonderful.'

That was the final coherent thought before sleep nearly claimed him.

Nearly.

Trafalgar's fingers twitched.

[Widow's Whisper]

The dagger materialized in his hand, and without a moment's hesitation, he plunged its edge into his own thigh.

The sharp stab of pain instantly pierced through his encroaching drowsiness.

His eyes snapped open.

The wound was superficial, already beginning to mend under the effects of Primordial Body, but it had served its purpose. The mental haze dissipated before it could fully form.

BOOM!

An explosion thundered through the train.

The entire carriage jolted violently, causing unsecured objects from nearby seats to scatter. The lights flickered erratically. Further down the train, a screeching of metal against metal echoed, and the stabilizing runes beneath the floor blazed brilliantly for a fleeting moment before fading once more.

Trafalgar reacted instantly.

He carefully extricated himself from beneath Cynthia, removed his jacket, and fashioned it into a makeshift filter against his face to protect his airways as much as possible.

Something was amiss.

No.

The situation had already devolved into crisis.

He observed Cynthia, then placed two fingers against her neck.

Her pulse remained steady.

'Thank goodness. She's merely asleep.'

The peculiar scent still lingered in the air.

Whatever substance it was, its purpose was clear: to incapacitate individuals silently before the true assault commenced. The unfolding storm, the reduced speed, the sparsely populated carriage, and the extended delay - all these elements had provided an opportune moment for those responsible.

The train was under attack.

Trafalgar’s gaze flickered towards the door, then back to Cynthia. Abandoning her in this vulnerable state was out of the question, yet carrying her while a significant portion of the train was under assault would hinder him critically. He first needed to ascertain the nature of the impending threat.

His grip tightened around [Widow's Whisper].

Footsteps began to approach the carriage from beyond the door.

There were several sets.

Measured, hurried, and distinctly not belonging to panicked passengers.

A muffled voice emanated from the other side, too indistinct to be clearly understood. Another voice responded. The door's locking runes flickered erratically, disrupted by an external force not aligned with the train's standard operational systems.

Trafalgar's eyes narrowed.

'Fuck.'