"..."
Lawrence leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, as if the rain outside might hear. "You're thinking about something," he said, studying Arlon's expression. "What is it?"
Arlon's gaze remained fixed on the sleeping man, his posture straightening as he spoke. "Just fitting the pieces together," he said, his tone measured. "Whatever we're caught in, it's bigger than we thought."
Lawrence's brow furrowed, but he stayed quiet, his eyes narrowing as he tried to read between Arlon's words. Finally, with a slow exhale, he stepped back, his silence an uneasy truce.
Meanwhile, Arlon's thoughts remained locked on the narrator's cryptic words, each line carving its way into his mind like an unfinished puzzle demanding to be solved.
Whatever this is, it's not going to be simple.
Drip— Drip—
As the rain continued its steady rhythm outside the inn, the soft patter against the windows created a calming backdrop. Inside the room, the doctor inspected the man carefully, his practiced hands checking for signs of further injury. After a moment, he straightened and turned to Arlon and Lawrence.
"He's stable," the doctor said briskly, adjusting his gloves. "Keep him warm and fed. Rest will do the rest."
Dimitri, standing quietly by the door, gave a respectful nod before stepping forward with a tray of food. He placed it on the small bedside table and adjusted the tray with meticulous care. "This should be enough to keep his strength up when he's ready," Dimitri said before turning to Arlon and Lawrence. "If there's nothing else, I'll excuse myself."
With that, Dimitri exited the room, leaving the two alone with the injured man.
Arlon glanced at the food tray but didn't comment. Instead, his sharp gaze moved back to Lawrence and then to the man resting on the bed. His mind churned with the pieces of information they'd already gathered about the mercenaries, the Pry cult, and the village of treasure.
"So," Arlon began, his tone measured as his gaze flicked back to the man. "Let's start again. You were looking for the missing mercenaries?"
The man stirred slightly, his eyes opening as he nodded weakly. "Yes... My name's Taron and I am a merchant" he said, his voice hoarse but steadier now. "I was sent to find the mercenaries who disappeared five years ago."
"Five years ago?" Arlon echoed, his brow furrowing in surprise. The thought struck him hard—if the mercenaries had been missing for that long, they could easily be dead by now.
As if reading his mind, Taron added, "I know it's a long time, but we needed confirmation. Either they're dead... or they've been hiding in the village of treasure all this time."
Lawrence frowned, his arms crossing over his chest. "Why is your boss so focused on finding them after all this time?"
Taron's gaze flicked to Lawrence, then back to Arlon. "They took something valuable," Taron admitted, his voice rasping. "A magic scroll my boss gave them. He wanted answers, but they vanished—and so did the scroll."
Arlon's mask of calm didn't waver, but behind it, his mind turned. A stolen scroll, a village tied to the pry—this was no simple theft. It had threads tangled in something far larger, and far messier.
"And your boss believes they found the village of treasure?"
Taron nodded weakly. "That's the theory. The mercenaries were always after the village. My boss thinks they found it, and that's why they never came back."
"What do you know about this village of treasure?" Arlon asked, his tone probing as he leaned slightly closer.
Taron hesitated before answering. "Not much. Just rumors. They say it's an ancient place, a realm of a God, filled with treasures beyond imagination. But no one knows exactly where it is or how to get there. That's why it's so valuable."
Arlon's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. A realm of a God, he repeated in his mind, the weight of the words hanging heavily in the room.
"Gods are bad," Lawrence suddenly said, his voice breaking through the quiet tension.
"...!"
Arlon and Taron both turned to him, startled by the blunt declaration.
Lawrence, You can't just say something like that! What if he knows nothing about the Seven Heavens? Arlon thought in disbelief, his mind reeling.
Arlon cleared his throat quickly, coughing to break the awkward silence. "So," he said smoothly, directing the conversation back on track. "What can you tell us about the magic scrolls?"
Taron's expression shifted uneasily, and he hesitated. "About that... I don't know if I can say much," he admitted, his voice trailing off.
"..."
Arlon noticed the hesitation immediately. He gave Taron a faint, reassuring smile and straightened. "You don't have to answer if you're not comfortable," he said calmly.
"You should focus on resting for now. If you need anything, just let us know."
Taron blinked at the unexpected understanding and nodded weakly. "Thank you," he murmured.
"Rest well, Sir Taron," Lawrence added with a polite nod before following Arlon out of the room.
Click—
As they stepped into the hallway, the sound of rain echoed softly around them. Arlon glanced at Lawrence, his expression unreadable, but his thoughts churned. There were too many unanswered questions, too many loose threads.
The village of treasure, the missing mercenaries, the Pry cult… It's all connected, Arlon thought grimly. And whatever that magic scroll is, it's at the center of everything.
———
Morning came, the golden sunlight breaking through the clouds as it cast a warm glow over the village. The air carried the faint scent of rain, fresh and earthy, while droplets still clung to leaves and rolled down the softened soil.
Inside the inn, the lounge stirred with quiet activity. A few patrons sat scattered at the wooden tables, eating breakfast and chatting in low murmurs. Among them, one table drew subtle glances from nearly everyone present.
At the center of the room, Arlon ate in unhurried silence, his black mask drawing wary glances. The calm authority in his presence was enough to keep most whispers hushed.
At his side, Lawrence was seated, his focus divided between his meal and the faint hum of the room around them. Occasionally, his gaze flicked to Arlon, as if trying to decode the attention they were receiving.
Ace lay sprawled lazily on the table beside Arlon's plate, his sleek black fur catching the light. The cat's sharp red eyes scanned the room with faint disinterest, though his ears flicked now and then, catching the whispers of curious patrons.
"They're staring again," Lawrence muttered under his breath, leaning slightly toward Arlon.
Arlon didn't look up from his plate. "Let them," he said simply, his tone indifferent. "It's nothing new."
Ace huffed softly, his tail flicking. "It's your fault for wearing that mask all the time. You're practically begging for attention."
Arlon's hand paused briefly before picking up his cup of tea. "It serves its purpose," he replied, his voice calm and measured, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.
Dimitri approached the table with practiced ease, setting a small tray of food down for Ace. The black cat's ears perked up at the scent, but his sharp red eyes quickly flicked toward the surrounding patrons. Catching the subtle but lingering gazes directed toward Arlon, Ace's tail swished irritably, his fur bristling slightly.
"Do they have nothing better to do?" Ace muttered under his breath, shooting a pointed glare toward a nearby table before focusing on the food in front of him.
Clearing his throat, Dimitri leaned slightly toward his lord. "My lord," Dimitri said, his voice low as he stepped closer, "the room upstairs might be more... private." His eyes flicked to the gawking patrons, the hint of a frown betraying his unease.
Ace huffed, poking at his food with a paw. "Yeah, let's hide him away so the 'great and noble heir' can have his peace," he quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Despite his mocking tone, there was a hint of protectiveness in his gaze as he glanced back at the gawking patrons.
Arlon glanced up at Dimitri, his calm demeanor unshaken. He caught the underlying intention behind Dimitri's words—a polite excuse to shield him from the attention—and offered a faint nod of acknowledgement before speaking.
"It's fine," Arlon said simply, his voice steady. "There's no need to worry. I'm comfortable enough here."
Dimitri hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly. "As you wish, my lord."
As Dimitri stepped away, Ace glanced up from his tray, a sly glint in his sharp red eyes. His tail flicked lazily as he spoke, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Blending in, huh? I'm sure that works wonderfully for someone like you."
Arlon didn't react immediately, instead cutting a small piece of food from his plate and calmly taking a bite. "It's not about blending in," he replied evenly, his voice low enough that only Ace could hear. "It's about making them think twice before getting involved."
Ace let out a soft snort of amusement, his ears twitching. "So, it's intimidation through indifference. Classic you."