Chapter 153 - The Place to Return (1)

It was a morning filled only with the sounds of chirping birds.

Perhaps because they had driven out the regular guests, the employees were moving busily through the quiet inn.

"It smells good, Marcella."

"Are you awake already?"

With a natural stride, Vlad sat down at the small bar reserved for employees.

This place, once used by Jorge and his gang members and now mostly used by Vlad and Haven's group, was currently filled with the fragrant smell of soup.

"Where's Haven?"

"He went out early in the morning. Said he's guiding the dwarves around or something."

"Is that so?"

It seemed Haven was determined to board the dwarves' ship after all.

Even if that wasn't his goal, building a friendship with the dwarves wasn't a bad thing at all, so Vlad let it be and picked up the soup bowl in front of him.

"Thanks for the food, Marcella."

"Zemina made that, though?"

"..."

Vlad simply picked up his spoon in silence as he looked at Marcella, who was giving him a playful smile.

The red hair was moving busily inside the small bar.

Watching Zemina deliberately turn her back as if she didn't even want to make eye contact with him, Vlad could only smack his lips.

"How long are you going to stay sulky? It's not like I'm the one who gave it away in the first place."

"... I'm not doing anything."

Perhaps unable to bring herself to deny it, Zemina's lips were in a pout as she forced herself to turn away.

"The dwarves specifically said they wanted to use the old man's smithy. I tried to direct their attention to another smithy too."

"..."

She knew it couldn't be helped, but that didn't mean it wasn't upsetting.

Having been with Vlad since childhood, they shared many memories, but the memory Zemina cherished the most was the one related to the unadorned sword.

Vlad wasn't the only one who took pride in the unadorned sword.

"It's a good thing if the dwarves use it in the first place. Just like how Rose's Smiles is getting attention right now..."

"Ugh, I don't care. I'm going to go check on Noir, who actually listens to me."

If it was going to be left abandoned anyway, it would be good for anyone to use it.

Moreover, since it was the dwarves, who were hailed as master artisans, using it before they left, it could be considered an honor in its own right, but Zemina's inner feelings were still complicated.

"What's wrong with her."

Vlad furrowed his brow as he watched Zemina go down the stairs as if avoiding him, but the one whose insides were truly burning up was likely Marcella, who was watching the two of them.

"If this were the old days, I would've just shoved the two of you into a room together."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Your soup will get cold. Hurry up and eat."

Lamenting that she had to beat around the bush for something she would have solved in a single room in the past, Marcella simply gave a bright smile.

"Anyway, where are you going today? It seems Mr. Vlad is the busiest person in Soara these days."

"I'm thinking of dropping by the smithy first and then heading to the church. Lord Andreas asked me to do something."

"You're on a level where you exchange favors with the Bishop? You've grown a lot, Vlad."

Marcella gently stroked the head of Vlad as he ate his soup.

It couldn't be helped that they felt disappointed in each other.

As was evident right now, Vlad had a mountain of things to focus on, and Zemina must have endured a great deal while watching over him.

"By the way, how much did you pay?"

"For what?"

"The donation. The one you paid to the convent."

Marcella's eyes widened in surprise as she looked at Vlad's hand holding out his bowl for seconds.

"I heard the convent didn't even open the doors for you back then."

"..."

Vlad always ate a light breakfast, but today he held out his bowl, as if signaling that he had a lot of strenuous work ahead of him.

"I heard later that they only fed the kids there one meal a day."

"... Yeah. So I've heard."

Just as Zemina had an unforgettable memory, Vlad also had a memory he couldn't forget.

The day he first went to the convent, the red-haired girl he had met with a swelling heart was so emaciated it brought tears to his eyes.

"Is that why you're going to the convent today?"

"That stupid girl doesn't know anything."

Grumbling to Marcella for no reason, Vlad looked at the refilled soup bowl and picked up his spoon.

Considering he was thinking of her so much yet all he got in return was her sulking, it was understandable for Vlad to feel wronged.

"Right. Do well today."

Watching the two who were slightly out of sync but ultimately faced each other, Marcella ended up laughing.

She was right to quit running the brothel after all.

Because such a sight could never have been seen in the filthy Rose's Smiles of the past.

Looking at Vlad as he continued to eat his soup, Marcella stroked his head once more as if praising him.

* * *

Dark circles hung under his eyes, as deep as the height of the piled-up documents.

The old man looking at Joseph did not hide his worried gaze.

It hadn't been long since he heard the news that he had collapsed, yet he was handling such a grueling workload, so it was impossible not to worry.

"I have been quite busy lately."

Joseph met the old man's gaze and smiled awkwardly, but it only served to highlight the darkness of the circles under his eyes.

No matter how much Joseph had grown, in the eyes of the old man, he still looked as pitiful as a young child.

"No matter how busy you are, you must take care of your health, Young Master."

"Still, facing Sir Lamund after such a long time makes me feel like my fatigue is melting away."

The person who could address Joseph, a noble blood of Bayezid and the mayor of Soara, as Young Master.

The retired Bayezid knight Lamund looked at Joseph's sunken cheeks and, out of resentment, ended up glaring at Jager for no reason.

"Anyway, what brings you here? Is there perhaps an urgent matter?"

"I haven't come because of any urgent personal matters."

Having fulfilled even the duties of the lowest, Lamund had achieved a truly perfect retirement and had been passing the time returning to his manor near Varna.

Living the retirement life any knight would have dreamed of, Lamund was someone who had no reason to go out of his way to visit Soara unless, as Joseph said, there was a special occasion.

"Did you come because of Vlad?"

"Oh. Of course, that is also a reason I came to see that boy."

Upon hearing Vlad's name, Lamund began to smile with pleasure.

For Lamund, the closest city was Varna, but the city he was glad to visit was Soara, and it was an undeniable fact that one of the reasons for this was Vlad.

"I plan to check up on him while I'm here, but I didn't come specifically for him."

However, the reason Lamund had come all the way to Soara was not just because of Vlad.

"Would you take a look at this?"

With those words, Lamund set down a piece of paper.

As if it had rolled around on the ground, the paper was dirty here and there, but the characters written on it were preserved well enough to be clearly legible.

"... It is the crest of the Vatican."

"That is correct."

However, what caught Joseph's eyes first was the crest stamped at the bottom, rather than the text written on the paper.

The crest of the church, similar to the Northern Orthodox Church but taking a distinctly different form.

The remnants of the Vatican, which the Northern Alliance had pushed out, were now right in front of Joseph's eyes.

"I heard that papers like these have been spreading from the villages and small communities lately. Of course, the servants at my manor can't read, so it didn't matter, but..."

The remnants of the Vatican, which were subtly spreading from the outskirts, avoiding the eyes of the rulers.

It wouldn't have much of an effect on ordinary farmers who couldn't read, but if even one person recognized it, rumors born from the text would spread far and wide by word of mouth.

Because the crest engraved at the very bottom of the paper was something even those who couldn't read would be able to recognize.

"... Listen, people of the North. God is enraged by the emergence of a false heterodox faith."

Joseph read the paper Lamund had brought aloud.

However, it was probably not Joseph's fault that he stumbled and couldn't read it smoothly.

The handwriting, which was too embarrassing to even call bad, was such a mess that it would be more accurate to say it had been drawn rather than written.

As if someone who didn't know how to read or write had penned it.

"Faith in false idols is an act that greatly insults the only One. We can already see calamity befalling you before our very eyes..."

But the content it contained was clear.

It was a shallow trick and an all-too-obvious intention.

Anyone could see that the paper carried the intent to incite, but Joseph couldn't help but feel a strange sense of displeasure from it.

"... A plague shall strike. Before the year is over."

It began as a warning, but ended as a curse.

A deep silence began to settle in the office at the final line, declaring that disaster would strike those who followed false words.

"... It is quite specific. They've explicitly stated the time and the event."

"Indeed. It feels too strange for this to have been made simply to scare people."

If it had been written purely to instill fear, it would have been better to express it vaguely.

But the problem was that the phrasing inside the paper was far too specific, betraying that intention.

"... If this prediction misses the mark, it will only backfire on them."

Joseph quietly looked down at the heavily crumpled paper.

Crudely made, yet filled with conviction.

Such incitement was worse than doing nothing at all, but Joseph knew full well that the Vatican was not a force to be taken lightly.

That text, which seemed more like a prophecy, continued to weigh down a corner of Joseph's heart.

* * *

A street in the back alleys where a cold chill could now be felt.

It wasn't a bustling place like Rose's Smiles, nor was it a densely populated area; there were only a few crumbling, old buildings on this street.

However, from the end of the cold street, warmth began to spread little by little, as if a bonfire had been lit.

It was a warmth that originated from the old smithy, which had been closed for a long time.

CLANG-! CLANG-!

The rhythm was different, but the sound was similar.

Along with the warm orange light, the sound of hammering spreading from the smithy began to weave through the dark back alleys just like in the past.

"... I don't get it."

Halting his hammering for a moment, Sigurson scratched his head as he looked at an iron ingot that was still radiating intense heat.

"Is this something that's supposed to be possible here?"

At his muttering, the dwarves around him shook their heads all at once.

It was understandable that the dwarves were puzzled, because the iron ingot smoothly reflecting the surrounding light was undeniably of premium quality to anyone's eyes.

Even in the eyes of the dwarves, who were artisans from birth.

"No matter how you look at it, it makes no sense. This is ridiculous."

"It's absolutely impossible with that furnace."

"With the equipment here, you'd only be able to fix something on the level of a kitchen knife."

After pondering for a long while, Sigurson and the dwarves simultaneously looked at the old furnace inside the smithy.

----?

Flustered by the numerous gazes directed at it, the young lizard looked around.

However, contrary to its innocent expression, the little guy was currently swimming inside the bright red molten iron.

With an expression that seemed to say, 'This is nice and toasty, isn't it?'

"I've heard that something called a spark existed, but this is my first time seeing one."

"There is probably no one here who hasn't seen one for the first time, Captain."

"Right, we've only ever heard about them in stories."

Having been disastrously destroyed, the few remaining traditions of the dwarves were, as Sigurson said, merely drifting about like tales.

The pride they needed to recall and the dignity they needed to protect were fading, and the potential of the dwarves was slowly dying out even at this moment.

"... We have to take it with us, no matter what."

But now, when everything had collapsed, right in front of Sigurson and his crew was swimming a spark said to have heated the glorious furnaces of ancient times.

A young spirit that had traveled all the way here aboard the sword of a knight named Vlad.

The two worlds, having only just connected and met for the first time in an eternity, stared at each other for a long time.

"Uh, u-uh?"

"No, that's not it!"

But perhaps because they had been apart for too long.

Having forgotten how to communicate with each other, the young lizard looked at the desperate eyes of the dwarves and ended up jumping to conclusions.

'I guess you need more of this?'

"No! Don't throw up right now!"

BLEEEGH-

Guessing what was about to happen, Sigurson quickly waved his hands, but the young lizard was far too excited.

A world expanding through the boundaries that touched.

For the young spark, the world of dwarves was like a perfectly fitting puzzle piece.

"Bring sand, not water! Sand!"

"Everything's burning here! No!"

"Aaaagh! Stop spitting!"

The screams of the dwarves erupted alongside the high-purity molten iron.

Unable to endure the scorching heat, the dwarves kicked open the door and rushed out, and Vlad, who had just arrived, ended up letting out a squeak.

"Huh?"

That was the sight Vlad saw when he dropped by the smithy to retrieve the armor they had taken to repair.

The young lizard spewing fire in excitement, and the old smithy burning to the ground.

And the screaming dwarves.

But even inside the smithy, where the warmth had long since escalated into blistering heat, the young lizard saw Vlad and wagged its tail as if pleased to see him.