Chapter 39 - [38] Whispers Over Ale

-Third-Person Perspective-

Rainer gazed at the state of the village with a heavy heart.

This plague didn't merely kill; it stripped the villagers of their dignity. It drained their spirit, leaving them not just physically weak but emotionally defeated. Pale faces, emaciated bodies, and hollow stares were all that remained of people who once thrived with purpose.

The sight that hurt the most was the children. Youth that should've been brimming with vitality now seemed like mere shadows of what they could have been. This plague spared no one—young or old, man or woman. All were equal victims of a force they didn't understand.

And yet, in the midst of this darkness, there was Clara.

Her steps were light, her presence almost too bright for a place steeped in despair. With every door she knocked on, every villager she spoke to, she brought something more valuable than the food she carried.

"How are you feeling today, Mr. Henry?" she asked gently, crouching down to meet the weary gaze of an old man seated outside his crumbling home.

The man slowly raised his head, his sunken eyes softening at the sight of her. "Better, Clara… Better, thanks to you."

She smiled and placed a piece of bread into his trembling hands with care. "Don't forget to eat, okay? And call for me if you ever need anything."

Rainer watched all this in silence. Earlier in their journey, he'd thought of Clara as just an overly optimistic girl, too naive to last in a world as brutal as this. But now, he was starting to see her differently.

She wasn't just naive—she was determined. The way she addressed each villager, offering genuine words of comfort, was more than kindness. It was resolve. Her smile, though small, brought fleeting glimpses of hope to faces that seemed to have long abandoned it.

For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Rainer found himself thinking that there was something… different about this girl.

At the next house, a young woman cradling a baby opened the door. Her face was haggard with exhaustion, but she mustered a smile upon seeing Clara.

"Clara… You came again," she said, her voice trembling with gratitude.

"How's the baby, Mrs. Lilian?" Clara asked, her attention shifting to the small bundle in the woman's arms.

"She… still has a fever," Lilian replied, her voice faltering.

Clara extended her hand, gently touching the baby's forehead. "You need to rest too, Lilian. Don't forget to eat something. We'll find a way to make this better, I promise."

As they left the house, Rainer finally spoke up. "Are you always like this?"

Clara glanced at him with a puzzled expression. "What do you mean?"

"Trying to help everyone, even when you know there might be nothing you can do," he replied flatly, though there was a faint warmth in his tone.

Clara's expression softened into a small smile, and she resumed walking. "I just want them to know they're not alone. Sometimes, that's enough to help someone hold on a little longer."

Rainer looked at her for a long moment before turning his gaze back to the path ahead. "You're too kind for a place like this."

Clara let out a small laugh, light but full of resolve. "Then maybe that's why I'm here—to make sure this place doesn't lose itself to the darkness entirely."

Rainer didn't reply, but her words echoed in his mind.

He had never thought of himself as someone who needed hope or inspiration from others. But watching Clara, he couldn't deny the small cracks forming in the armor he had worn for so long. The icy resolve he had carried since his loss was beginning to thaw, bit by bit.

Clara wasn't just helping this village; in a quiet, unspoken way, she was helping him, too. For the first time in what felt like forever, Rainer felt a faint sense of purpose—something beyond just survival.

Or maybe… someone.

Faint memories clawed their way to the forefront of his mind. Ghostly voices from the past—pained, urgent, and full of emotion—called out to him in fragments.

"You have to survive, Rainer!"

"Young master, please live!"

"Rainer!"

Familiar yet blurred faces danced in his thoughts, dragging him back to moments he would rather forget. Guilt and loss surged in his chest like an unrelenting tide.

He shook his head slightly, trying to push the memories away. His expression remained composed, but a trace of unease crept onto his features.

Clara, walking beside him, noticed the shift. She stopped, her brows knitting in concern as she turned to face him.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, her gaze earnest and kind.

Rainer flinched slightly, startled by her question. He turned to her with his usual stoic expression, though a flicker of doubt lingered in his eyes. "Ah, it's nothing… Maybe I'm just tired."

Clara raised an eyebrow, but her gentle smile stayed. "Oh! If that's the case, you should rest back at the church. There's a small room in the back—it's not luxurious, but it's comfortable enough."

Rainer hesitated, unsure whether to accept the offer. The idea of relying on anyone didn't sit well with him, especially not in front of someone like Clara.

Shifting his gaze, he muttered a flimsy excuse. "No… I think Arkan already found somewhere else."

Clara tilted her head, confused for a moment, but she didn't push further. "Well, make sure you do get some rest in a comfortable place, okay?" she said, her smile never faltering.

Rainer gave a small nod, his lips pressed tightly together as he fell silent once again.

Deep inside, though, he couldn't deny the quiet impact Clara was leaving on him. Her warmth was something he hadn't felt in a long time—and maybe, just maybe, it was what he needed to start finding his way again.

-Arkan Lawrence-

Leaving Rainer and Clara behind, I walked through the quiet village with a faint smirk. If I let those two spend more time alone, who knows? They might grow closer. Not bad for their character development—every good story needs those moments.

But I had other priorities now. Information.

The plague, the curse, the overly charismatic priest—all were pieces of a larger puzzle that still eluded me. If I wanted to uncover the truth behind what was happening in this village, observation alone wouldn't be enough. I needed rumors, gossip, or even wild speculation to start connecting the dots.

When thinking about the best place to dig for information, my mind immediately went to one particular location: a tavern.

Sure enough, I soon found myself in front of a small, weathered building with a faded wooden sign above the door, marked by the faint outline of a beer mug. Classic. As I pushed the creaking door open, the faint smell of alcohol mixed with burning wood hit me, carrying the warmth and weariness of a place that hadn't seen much joy in a long time.

Inside, the atmosphere was dim but not entirely dreary. A handful of villagers sat around, each nursing their drinks in solitude. Their faces were weary, though not completely void of life. Maybe the alcohol gave them brief respite from the grim reality lurking outside.

I walked over to the bar, claiming an empty stool in the corner. The bartender—a burly man with short gray hair and a face that seemed permanently lined with fatigue—looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

"A mug of ale, and maybe an interesting conversation," I replied with a faint smile, leaning casually against the counter.

The man gave a quiet snort, wiping the bar's surface with a worn cloth before pouring amber liquid into a wooden mug. "If it's interesting conversation you're after, you've come to the wrong place. Folks around here only talk about the plague and death."

"Ah, but sometimes those kinds of stories lead to important revelations," I countered, taking the mug and sipping lightly.

He eyed me with mild suspicion. "You're not from around here, are you?"

I shook my head. "No. I've been sent by Marquis Arleon to investigate the state of this village. But I prefer hearing directly from the people who live here rather than relying solely on formal reports."

His expression softened slightly, though caution remained etched in his features. "If you want to know, this village has been falling apart since the plague took hold. The healthy left a long time ago. The weak stayed behind… to slowly waste away. Not much anyone can do for people like us."

I nodded, letting sympathy show in my expression. "And Father Howard? He seems to be a figure of great respect around here."

His face changed subtly, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. He quickly masked it with a casual shrug. "He's a good man. Brings food, prayers, comfort. If it weren't for him, this village might've been abandoned entirely."

His words sounded sincere, but there was something beneath them—hesitation, as though he wanted to say more but held himself back.

"And do you think he's truly capable of saving this village?" I pressed gently, careful not to seem accusatory. "Given the state it's in?"

The bartender fell silent for a moment, then exhaled heavily. "He's doing what he can. But this plague… It feels like something more than just a disease."

I squinted slightly. "What do you mean?"

He glanced around the room, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone as he leaned in closer. "Some say it's a curse. The ones who got sick first… were all wearing those pendants handed out by the church. But I don't believe in stuff like that. Father Howard couldn't possibly do anything wrong."

Bingo. So the rumors about the pendants weren't isolated. But it seemed the villagers' faith in Howard made it hard for them to see him as a potential threat.

"Thank you for sharing that," I said, setting a few coins on the counter.

The bartender gave a small nod and returned to wiping down a spot on the bar that was already spotless.

As I finished my ale, my mind raced through the implications of what I'd just heard. Pendants, a supposed curse, and a priest adored as a savior—it all sounded painfully cliché, like something ripped straight from the pages of a dark fantasy novel. And yet, I couldn't shake the sense that this story was far from simple.

Emptying my mug, I made up my mind. I had to tread carefully from here on out. If Howard truly was behind this, he would surely catch wind of anyone sniffing too close to the truth.

And that made things dangerous—not just for me, but for Rainer and even Clara.