Arthur, confused as to why the pilgrim was so adamant on treating the situation like an interrogation, stared back with clenched jaws and creased brows as he leaned back, struggling to maintain eye contact.
"I work for Sir Bertrand," he replied, often switching his gaze between the pilgrim's piercing eyes and the ruined road. "W-well, that was the case, until he forsook me."
"Ah for the nobleman, Bertrand, you say?" the pilgrim repeated, holding his gaze as he leaned forward, forcing Arthur to take a step back as he added:
"And why had he forsaken you, a young man, capable of performing labour for wages not even the poor would work for?"
"I... don't know?" Arthur stammered, wondering the same question as well. "He was never pleased with my work, so… I suppose he wanted to find a replacement?"
The pilgrim stepped back, studying Arthur once again. "Strange that he would leave someone who can't even demand his own rights in a situation like this one."
"Huh?"
"You lack confidence; you lack courage," continued the pilgrim, circling around Arthur with his hands held behind his back. "You are but a man who's been avoiding nature's nurturing; seeking only to remove yourself from a life that demands you make a living for and govern yourself, rather than by someone else's decree." He stopped next to Arthur, studying his side profile as he added:
"A pity... you are not fit to become a pilgrim."
'That's... perfect!' so thought Arthur, not fond of the insults, but very much pleased with the idea of not even qualifying to become a pilgrim. 'As long as I remain silent, then maybe I can get out of this...'
"Ya might wanna reconsider that evaluation of yours, good pilgrim," the crone interrupted, immediately grabbing attracting Arthur's wide eyes in the process as she added:
"That eldrite that was killed—frozen in place 'ere—was the work o' this young'un, I tell ya."
The pilgrim, who was just about to pick up his bow and quiver, stopped in his tracks and stared into the boundless water across the guard rails ahead, slowly standing back up as he looked back over his shoulder.
"You, madame, claim that this boy, with no training, dealt with an eldrite on his own?"
The crone nodded enthusiastically before saying:
"Not only had he done it by himself, but the retired pilgrim livin' right under the great bridge fell short to the same eldrite."
"Nan," Arthur whispered through his grit teeth, "what are you doing?"
"I'm helpin' ya get on the road to your destiny," she replied, without sparing him a look. "You're a fool to think you're not capable o' slayin' these monsters."
Arthur stared at the crone for a few seconds, before taking notice of the pilgrim returning to invade his personal space once again.
"Did you deal with the eldrite on your own?" the pilgrim.
With no intention of lying, Arthur once again struggled to hold eye contact and replied hesitantly:
"Y-yes, I did... but it was nothing short of a fluke!"
"Listen to me well, boy," he grabbed Arthur by the collar of his shirt to stare deeper into his eyes. "In the business of hunting eldrites, there's no such thing as a fluke. The only thing that is a fluke is that we were born in a time where the Black Sun appears," he let go of his grip on Arthur's shirt and stepped back as he added, "which only occurs once within a three-hundred-year span."
Arthur slowly averted his gaze from the pilgrim down to the road between them with his wide eyes, staring at the cracked road where tiny insects crawled in and out of the darkness between, attacking a group of even smaller ants that fought back. He pondered if that meant he was going to be drafted into the ranks of the pilgrims, despite his strong desire to stay away.
"But I have no intention to become a pilgrim. I don't want to get involved in the work of pilgrims. I'm not fit for it and you've said so yourself."
"You're getting too ahead of yourself," said the man as he walked back to the guard rail and leaned against them. "I hadn't said anything about turning you into a pilgrim..."
"O-oh, right," said Arthur, letting out a deep breath as he felt a sense of relief wash over. "Then what—"
"... yet," the pilgrim interrupted, revealing that he was not done talking as he waved a hand. "That doesn't mean that my opinion can't be changed. You killed the eldrite, yes?"
In an instant, Arthur's relief quickly died off as he fidgeted with his fingers, his quivering voice answered:
"Yes."
The pilgrim stared at Arthur for a moment, quietly chuckling until he laughed loud, quickly calming down and saying:
"You did better than that. The scythe you used to split its neck—one that's as thin as a blade of grass—put it into a permanent state of catatonia. It never died, but to the untrained eye, one would think that it was slain. But no," the pilgrim stood up and waltzed forward as he stared at Arthur, "you turned it into a statue, something that not just anyone could hope to accomplish without proper training."
Arthur once again leaned back, but this time, he stared back with squinted eyes of his own as he asked:
"So what does that mean for me?"
"It means," the pilgrim said as walked back to retrieve his bow and quiver, "that your future lies with the Order of Pilgrims. You are to become a full-fledged pilgrim."
"What!? No! I don't want to be a pilgrim! If I wanted to throw my life away then I could've so many years ago!"
The pilgrim, uninterested in Arthur's lamentations, reached into his coat and pulled out a notebook and pen before saying:
"Tell me, boy, do you have a name?"
"Why should I tell you that?"
"Because I'm asking you politely."
"And if I refuse?"
"My hands are the ones who ask impolitely."
Arthur grit his teeth, realizing that there was no escape from becoming a pilgrim at this point, whether he liked it or not.
He sighed. "Arthur. My name is Arthur."
The pilgrim looked up from his notebook after writing and asked:
"No surname or family name or whatever you want to call it?"
"Ve... Velkyn."
"Arthur… Velkyn," the pilgrim read aloud as he wrote. "What is your age, Arthur Velkyn?"
"Surely my name is enough."
"I don't ask more than twice, Arthur. Even the eldrites obey me immediately."
Arthur shook his head. "Twenty. I will turn twenty-one as of this year."
"Date of birth?"
"I don't know."
"Are you testing the promise of my hands?"
"W-what? I'm serious!"
"Surely you must have one that you've used before? Or even a rough estimate?"
It took him a bit of thinking, but eventually, Arthur replied:
"Somewhere around the second third… I guess, second-third, second day, maybe."
"Second… third… second… day… good. Pilgrims," he called out, grabbing the others' attention, "We shall return to Central Erthyl. This will be the last time I lead you all… Ulysses, step forward."
Immediately, the great mace-wielding pilgrim stepped forward from amongst the group and replied with a muffled voice saying:
"Yes, master?"
"I don't say it much to anyone, but you four were of the better group of pilgrims I've met. Ulysses, I am pleased with your ability as a lone wolf, and as a comrade. You may inherit the Way of the Dominus. Understood?"
"Yes. Thank you, master," Ulysses replied, stepping away.
"Then let us head back... Arthur, you will stay with me, while the others will guard elderly—"
"Ya need not guide me to Central Erthyl, good pilgrim," the crone interrupted, smiling as she looked at Arthur, who stared back with creased brows. "An old lady like me has got nothin' to offer for those in Central Erthyl. I'm not fit to work either, and I won't be able to keep up with ya. I'll only be slowin' all o' ya down."
"Madame," said the pilgrim as he looked at her, "it's not a matter of how quickly or slowly we return to Central Erthyl, or whether you can offer anything for Central Erthyl; it's a matter of saving the lives of those who cannot defend themselves."
The crone shook her head as she smiled, saying:
"I said it to young Arthur, and I'll say it to ya as well, good pilgrim: I've lived a long enough life; one that not many get to live at all. I can hardly enjoy anythin' now with this old and feeble body o' mine. Returnin' to Sabaoth would be a better fate for meself."
The pilgrim stared in silence, before averting his gaze to the road and closing his eyes as he said:
"If that is what you wish, madame, then we shall leave you to yourself."
"May Sabaoth's blessin' be upon ya, good pilgrim, and young Arthur as well," she replied, this time looking straight at Arthur as she added:
"I know ya ne'er wanted to become a pilgrim, but trust me young'un, you're gonna be just fine... Ya won't have to live in someone's shadow for the rest of your life."
Arthur watched as she walked back to her home, before saying:
"Nan, thank you for taking me in. May the blessings, favour, and eternal mercy of Sabaoth be upon you."
The crone waved without looking back, before disappearing into the house.
Just as quickly as the old woman disappeared, Arthur felt a hand rest on his shoulder, looking to find the pilgrim's black glove.
"Then from now on," said the pilgrim, "Olga, Leona, William, and Ulysses, what you do now is your choice, but whatever you choose, your duty as a pilgrim remains. I will take this boy to Central Erthyl..." He paused, slowly casting his piercing gaze into Arthur's eyes as he added:
"And as for you... From now on, you will know me as Isaac, and you shall be my apprentice."