CHAPTER 56

Inside the carriage leaving the convent.

There was a red-haired girl sitting quietly in a shaking carriage with tears threatening to fall from her big eyes.

The sight of her carrying less than a bundle of luggage on her chest was an image that would arouse sympathy in anyone who saw her.

"Was it tough over there?"

"....It was just okay."

"Weren't they feeding you properly? Why does a small girl like you look so thin?"

".....They gave me enough."

Zemina answered the barrage of questions shortly, avoiding Vlad's gaze continuously.

"Why are you acting like that?"

"What do you mean..."

"Why are you avoiding my eyes like this?"

"..."

Zemina couldn't easily meet Vlad's gaze, even amidst his reproach.

It was the sight she had longed for, yet when faced with the situation, only an awkward atmosphere pervaded.

"Are you feeling awkward just because we haven't seen each other in half a year?"

Though Vlad was somewhat disheartened by Zemina's subtle reactions, it was inevitable.

'...You've changed so much.'

The subtle emotions of an adolescent girl were something even the parents who raised her couldn't fully understand.

The difference in those subtle emotions partly stemmed from Vlad breaking away from the image Zemina had of him.

'He really looks like a noble.'

Zemina glanced briefly at Vlad with a somewhat admiring gaze.

The thick golden hair that was once popular among the back alley prostitutes now shone with such luster that it seemed almost dazzling, and regardless of the clothes or armor he wore, he exuded the confident demeanor of a gallant knight.

"..."

Facing her own pitiful self in contrast to his radiant figure, Zemina quickly clenched the frayed end of her sleeve into her palm, fearing that Vlad's gaze might reach her.

Even so, not all of her wretched appearance could be concealed.

Though they once relied on each other with a ragged blanket in the back alleys, the sight of the boy now seemed distant, making Zemina feel melancholic.

She doubted she would even be allowed to stand by the boy's side now, so she merely bowed her head into the bundle she held, feeling dejected.

"Hey!"

"Yeah?"

Startled by Vlad's sudden call, Zemina lifted her head.

Feeling something unknown flying into her mouth, she widened her eyes in surprise.

"Eat this and snap out of it. You've been moping around since earlier."

"..."

Feeling the sweetness spreading in her mouth, Zemina quietly let her tongue down.

"What's this?"

"Caramel. I got it from a knight I know."

"How did you get something this expensive? Did you steal it?"

"....Think whatever you want."

With that, Vlad turned his gaze out the carriage window as if he couldn't be bothered to say more.

Watching his indifferent profile, Zemina recalled the way the boy used to be.

It was the same back then.

During the days when they struggled to survive, Vlad would somehow manage to bring her a piece of bread.

Just like now.

"Sigh..."

Tasting the bittersweetness of tears and the sweetness of caramel, feeling the flavor of their reunion spreading on her tongue, the girl let go of the tears she had been holding.

"Why are you crying again? Seriously."

"You're so late!"

Seeing the girl finally let go of the tears she had been holding, Vlad merely frowned as if he found it bothersome.

Finding the image of the boy she knew within the changed Vlad, Zemina finally felt relieved and could shed tears in peace.

There were things that didn't change despite the passage of time and the changing environment.

Zemina found that incredibly comforting.

※※※※

At a dock in the back alleys.

By the slowly flowing river, Harven and Vlad sat with a bottle of liquor, engaged in conversation.

"How come my ship isn't among those many boats?"

"..."

As the sun gradually set, boats crowded the dock, from small fishing boats to large cargo ships responsible for Shoara's logistics.

Observing the boats anchoring in order of their size, Harven couldn't help but lament.

"You know my original dream was to be a watchman."

"I know."

Harven was usually a neat and tidy guy who stuck to his words, but when alcohol was involved or when he saw boats, he showed a different side.

And the blond boy was the one who had seen that side the most.

"Being a watchman seems impossible now. How can I climb a mast with this leg?"

"..."

Vlad picked up a pebble and tossed it towards the riverbank upon hearing Harven's words.

He knew that he was one of the reasons Harven's dream had been shattered.

"So nowadays, I'm learning how to read maps and constellations. Come to think of it, being a watchman is too tough."

"...You never change."

Vlad turned his head slightly to look at Harven and began to laugh.

From the Voice, to Zayar, to Josef, and even to Jorge.

Many people had taught the boy knowledge, skills, and the direction of life, but perhaps the brown-haired man sitting next to him now was like the original teacher.

Harven's relentless pursuit of breakthroughs in life undoubtedly influenced Vlad greatly.

"So, Marcella and Zemina are still there, right? At that inn in the bustling district?"

"I can't just leave the two of them alone with the blood-covered Rose's Smiles."

"Yeah, I guess you'll have to look after both of them for a while."

"That's right."

As Vordan organized One-armed Jack's belongings, he handed Vlad a voucher related to Rose's smiles.

It was the boy's rightful claim as a legitimate avenger, but it was also Josef's wish.

And that voucher was now with Marcella.

The boy hadn't forgotten the kindness of that day.

"Is Marcella still running the brothel?"

"I don't know, really."

"Sometimes I used your name to get free drinks, you know."

Listening to Harven reminisce about old memories, Vlad took a swig from the whiskey bottle he held in his hand.

Watching Vlad smoothly gulp down the whiskey, Harven suddenly felt thirsty.

"Is it good? Wanna switch with me?"

"Are you kidding?"

There was no reason for Vlad to exchange the expensive whiskey for cheap rum, but he did it anyway.

Because he owed something to Harven too.

"Ha! You can tell good liquor just by smelling it!"

"....Bad liquor smells the same."

As Vlad caught a whiff of the stench emanating from the cheap rum, he tightened his grip on the bottle cap.

"..."

Despite nearing summer, Harven still covered his forearm with long sleeves.

Vlad rolled his tongue in his mouth as he looked at the scars that were visible when he held up the whiskey bottle.

The new scars on Harven's arm were obtained in exchange for secretly ferrying a boat when Vlad was trying to escape Shoara.

"...You're lucky you're only half dead."

"I almost killed half."

As the twilight descended, Harven's smile seemed oddly melancholic to Vlad.

In the back alleys where life hung by a thread, Harven did his best for Vlad.

Harven, who hijacked the boss's boat and floated it down the river.

If One-Armed Jack's men who saw that scene hadn't flocked to the dock, it might have been another member of the organization, not Otar, who blocked the boy.

On that day, the boy was nothing more than a debtor, borrowing favors here and there to save his own life.

"They say it's amazing that a cripple like me managed to float a boat alone. My boss likes that kind of thing. That's why I am only half dead."

"He seems to like everything."

"That's why I am alive. Thanks to him, we get to drink such good whiskey."

Watching Harven gulp down the whiskey as if it were a good medicine, Vlad smiled quietly.

"What are you thinking of doing next? Going back to Sturma?"

"I'll stay here for a while. It's a kind of standby."

"Looks good on you. A man who takes orders from the noble family. You've made it."

Ignoring Harven's drunken talk about how he should leave soon or take Zemina with him when he goes up, Vlad dismissed it as the ramblings of a drunk.

"I'm going to look for some people around here for a while."

"Who?"

Watching the sun set slightly to the west, Vlad licked his lips.

While it might signal the end of the day for some, for the people in the alley, it signaled the beginning.

"I need to look for hidden treasures of One-armed Jack or things we haven't collected yet. Money bug is always digging around in various places. You might be able to help."

"Heh heh. The whiskey isn't free, huh."

Seeing Vlad smirk at him, Harven gripped his cane.

Today, the staff that the boy had whittled down seemed reassuring.

"And Marcella seems to want to find other prostitutes."

"Wouldn't they have all been sold off?"

"They must be somewhere around here."

"Hmm."

Josef wanted to root out every last bit of One-armed Jack's hidden treasures in the alley.

And Madam Marcella wanted to find the prostitutes scattered.

Gold coins and prostitutes.

In the footsteps of the prostitutes sold off by loan sharks, there would surely be glimmering gold coins forged from their tears.

As the intermediary of Bayezid between duty and favor, Vlad, the last remaining knight of the prostitutes, accurately discerned what he needed to do.

"There must be some connection between the two tasks."

"Still, it seems troublesome. I tried looking around, but some of them don't even leave a trace."

"Who?"

"Anna, for one. And a few others."

Vlad remembered the prostitute who was beaten by the man who called him a mercenary. Since she had a lot of debt to begin with, he thought she would have been sold off to a harsher place, but he didn't expect her to disappear without a trace like this.

"Yeah, it's quite unusual for there to be no trace at all."

Harven furrowed his eyebrows, sensing that Vlad's words weren't just empty talk.

During the time when One-armed Jack ruled the back alleys, many things happened that shouldn't have.

"If you need help, just call me. The organization has shrunk a lot lately, so I might not be of much help, though."

"Got it."

Harven put strength into his cane, balanced himself, and stood up.

Though his body was uncomfortable, seeing Harven somehow manage his work made Vlad think a lot.

"I'm going."

"Sure."

Vlad waved with one hand as he watched Harven's back returning to work.

The setting sun cast Harven's shadow long.

His shadow, more unsteady than before, wasn't just because he was drunk.

"I have to pay it back."

Josef had said.

Whether it's gratitude or resentment, when repaying, you should at least double it.

A single bottle of whiskey wouldn't be enough to repay Harven's kindness.

"I'll have to stop by."

Vlad turned his body and began to walk in the opposite direction Harven had gone.

The boy heading towards the alley filled with resentment remembered Josef's words well.

Life is a series of repayments.

And now the boy knew it was his turn to repay.

With the faint lights of the alleyway, the boy's hair fluttered.

It was more vivid than anything else.

※※※※

In front of a shabby blacksmith's shop filled with mud.

An old blacksmith, who looked as unsightly as the shabby shop, was sitting there with an unmotivated look.

The only customers who come occasionally are mercenaries who come after hearing rumors and unsophisticated back alley thugs.

"······."

The old man, who had very little time left to live, was finally feeling despondent that his life was wasting away like this.

No matter where in the world one is born, everyone deserves to hold at least one star in their heart.

But raising that star to the night sky is another matter altogether.

"....Should I close up today?"

Feeling particularly uninspired lately, the old man rose from his seat with the creaking of old age.

As he was tidying up the tools, he paused when he saw a nail embedded high up in the forge.

There hung a sword.

And the old blacksmith remembered the boy who had been looking at that sword.

He wondered what had become of the unadorned sword that held his unfulfilled dreams. Was it being used somewhere, doing something?

"Probably doing just fine."

Knowing well the cruelty of the world, the old man had already come to terms with the fact that his star might not shine brightly.

He simply wished for it to be floating in a better night sky than this cramped place.

"Closing up already today?"

"Yeah. Come back later."

"But I can't, I'll be busy from now on."

At the voice from behind, the old man chuckled.

As if you lot would be busy.

You don't need the sharp blade I make, you can stab the other person with the metal skewer you are holding.

"This sword needs some work. It's been neglected for too long."

"······What?"

The old man reacted to the words coming from behind.

There was clearly the word "sword" in the words just heard.

"Other blacksmiths can't fix this. Only you can."

"······."

The old blacksmith slowly turned around, setting down the tools he was holding.

"Oh..."

In his cold eyes, a shining blonde figure entered.

It was the color that he had cast out into the world with the girl that day.

"Not happening?"

"No, no, it's fine. It's fine."

The old man worked the bellows on the brazier as he saw the welcome guest who had been coming for the first time in a long time.

Inside the forge, where the fire always seemed on the verge of dying, the old man's passion was ignited after a long time.

"Have a seat."

The old blacksmith, who gave the boy a seat, accepted the unadorned sword he had made with a careful gesture.

Shing-

"That's right."

The old blacksmith smiled as he looked at the sword with scars here and there. The old blacksmith couldn't help but feel proud seeing the utility his creations offered, especially when it was something he had made himself.

"Where did these scars come from?"

"Well, those are from a vampire goblin. I wasn't used to the sword then, so I..."

"And this one?"

"That one... When I was trying to catch a Deathworm. I was baiting it, and it, uh, scraped the ground. Tried to pull it out."

As the old blacksmith listened to the boy's explanations about the scars on the sword, he wasn't berating the boy. He was reveling in the deeds accomplished by the sword he had crafted.

It was fulfilling its purpose faithfully.

Unlike him, who is rotting here.

The blacksmith of that day remembered the boy who had been staring at the sword he had crafted endlessly.

But today's blacksmith was smiling as he looked at the scars on the sword created by that boy.

"Wait. I'll repair it for you."

The old man quickly closed the shop door and began working solely for the boy.

Amidst the sounds of the hammer striking down from the alleyway and the boy's voice echoing, the old man's words resonated.

"So he struck down the shield there, asked my name."

"Is that so? And then?"

The old blacksmith dreamed along with those sounds.

He saw himself standing in the scene where the boy's eyes looked on and the unadorned sword achieved its feat.

The old blacksmith smiled as he looked at the scenery visible among the sparks flying out.