SI

Chapter 96: Harlan

When I first picked up Shattered Innocence, it was just to pass the time. The story was ongoing, with plots and subplots unfolding in every corner of its world, characters thrown into chaos, and a complex web of alliances and betrayals. I found myself reading it at a rapid pace, devouring chapter after chapter. But despite my speed, I wasn't just skimming through the pages.

I paid attention to the details—every little thing that the author weaved into the story, the hints dropped, the subtle foreshadowing that would later come to fruition.

The cast of characters was massive, each with their own quirks, backstories, and motivations. Some were easy to overlook, but others—well, they had a certain spark. They were the ones that stood out, the ones that kept me hooked even when the plot seemed to be dragging.

One character, in particular, caught my interest early on: a blacksmith. He wasn't one of the main characters, not by a long shot, but there was something about him that made him more than just a background figure.

The way he was described and the depth of his character, despite his limited appearances, all hinted at something more.

The blacksmith wasn't just a simple artisan hammering away at metal. He had a past, a story that was hinted at but never fully revealed. His presence in the story was subtle, but the impact he had on the characters and the plot was undeniable.

The weapons he forged weren't just tools; they were extensions of the people who wielded them, imbued with his craftsmanship and a touch of something almost mystical.

I found myself intrigued by him, eager to see how he would influence the events to come. And it wasn't just about the weapons he made—there was a wisdom to his character, a depth that suggested he knew far more than he let on. Every interaction he had with the main cast felt significant as if he was guiding them in ways they didn't even realize.

In a way, he was similar to Master.

At the very least, the influence he had on me was very similar to the influence he had on the main cast.

Though his past was not fully revealed, I remembered a certain phrase. It was something that caught my attention.

"I've seen my fair share of battles. Spent some time in a border city, a place that was struggling to keep its head above water because of the war. The Valerius Plains weren't kind to anyone, and Rackenshore… well, it was one of the hardest hit."

That phrase had stuck with me, even though it was just a brief mention, a passing comment in a larger conversation. The blacksmith didn't delve into the details of his time there—he rarely spoke about his past in any depth—but the way he said it, the way his voice softened, and his gaze grew distant, it was clear that the experience had left its mark on him.

Rackenshore.

The name had seemed so insignificant at the time, just another place in a world ravaged by conflict.

At least for a reader, that could be explained in a way that is easy.

But for me, who was now a citizen of this world and someone who had deserted from the battlefield, that phrase contained a meaning.

Or a clue.

'There is a high chance that the blacksmith is in that city.'

That was the primary reason why my first direction was this city.

Since it was close to the border, it did not take too long for me to reach this place. After all, it was close to the border, and so was I. It was even shown on the map that Elias had left behind. The city seems to be a very old one.

In any case, that old man who had appeared out of nowhere, his presence commanding the room with an effortless authority—it had to be him. Harlan.

It was him. The blacksmith.

I couldn't help but smile to myself. It was almost surreal. I had come here with a purpose, and now that purpose was within reach. There was still much to do, much to learn, but the first step had been taken.

[You seem pretty satisfied with yourself,] Vitaliara commented, her voice laced with amusement.

"I am," I admitted, my tone reflecting the satisfaction I felt. "I've found him."

[The blacksmith,] she guessed, her keen intuition piecing together my thoughts.

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on Harlan. "Yes. And now, it's time to see if he's willing to help."

Vitaliara purred in approval, her tiny paws shifting slightly on my shoulder. [Then let's get to work. You've made it this far, Lucavion. Don't let this opportunity slip away.]

She did not even question how I knew Harlan was here, though if she were to ask, the only answer I could give to her would be that someone told me.

Finishing the last of my meal, I pushed the plate aside and stood up, my movements deliberate and calm. I could feel Harlan's gaze on me as I approached the bar, but he didn't speak right away. Instead, he watched me with those wise, knowing eyes, the kind that had seen much and understood even more.

When I reached the bar, I nodded to him in greeting. "Old man," I said, keeping my voice low and respectful.

The old man raised an eyebrow, clearly curious about what I was going to say next. "Yes, young man? What can I do for you?"

I took a deep breath, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. "I'm looking for a blacksmith. I believe you're the one I've been searching for."

For a moment, Harlan's expression didn't change; at least, that was how it looked. However, I could see that a small pressure was emanating from him.

Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he let out a soft chuckle. "Is that so?" he said, his tone carrying a note of intrigue. "And what makes you think I'm the one you're looking for?"

"Just a hunch," I replied, keeping my tone light, though my gaze was unwavering as I met Harlan's eyes.

The old man's smile didn't falter, but I felt the subtle shift in the air, the pressure that seemed to radiate from him growing slightly heavier. "Well, your hunch is wrong then," he said with a casual wave of his hand. "I'm no blacksmith and certainly not the person you're looking for."

I didn't react immediately, letting the silence stretch between us. Instead, I held his gaze, searching for something—anything—that would betray his words as false. It was a gamble, a shot in the dark, but I had a feeling I wasn't entirely off the mark.

After a few moments, I leaned in slightly, my voice lowering to a near whisper. "If that's what you wish to say, that's fine. But…" I paused, letting my words hang in the air for a heartbeat longer. "It would be quite unfortunate if word got out that the legendary blacksmith who once forged the holy sword was staying here in Rackenshore, wouldn't it?"

The effect was immediate. The easygoing smile that had graced Harlan's face vanished in an instant, replaced by an expression of cold, steely focus. The subtle pressure I had felt earlier now intensified, wrapping around me like a vice, and for a brief moment, I felt the weight of his presence—a presence that spoke of countless battles and an unmatched skill in the craft of war.

Harlan's eyes, which had been warm and fatherly, now bore into mine with an intensity that made it clear I had struck a nerve. "You're playing a dangerous game, boy," he said, his voice low and edged with a warning. "You might not like where it leads."

I didn't flinch under his gaze. Instead, I met his intensity with my own, refusing to back down. "I'm not looking for trouble," I said, my tone steady. "I'm looking for the best. And if you're the blacksmith I think you are, then you're exactly who I need."

Harlan held my gaze for a long moment, the tension between us thick and palpable. Then, slowly, the pressure began to ease, and the stern expression on his face softened just slightly.

"You're persistent," he finally said, his voice carrying a hint of reluctant admiration. "I'll give you that. But persistence alone doesn't forge a blade, young man."

I nodded, understanding the weight of his words. "I'm willing to prove myself," I replied. "Whatever it takes. I didn't come all this way just to turn back now."

Harlan studied me for a few more seconds, then let out a long sigh as if conceding to something he had been resisting. "You've got guts," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "But guts don't guarantee skill."

He straightened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something like respect. "Very well," he said, his voice firm. "We'll see if you're worth my time. But be warned—if you fail, I won't waste another second on you."

"Understood," I replied, feeling a surge of determination.

Harlan's expression softened just a bit, and the faintest hint of a smile returned to his lips. "Then let's get to work," he said while standing up. "Add it to my tab."

"Got it."

And then he turned to look at me.

"Come boy, what are you waiting for?"

"Ah…."

I got caught off guard by his rapid decision, but it was not an unwelcome one.

"Okay."

Since it was the display of skills.

I was confident.

Chapter 97: Harlan (2)

Harlan led the way out of the inn, his stride purposeful and brisk, leaving me to follow in his wake. The old man moved with a surprising energy, given his age, and I found myself quickening my pace to keep up with him.

We walked through the narrow streets of Rackenshore, passing by buildings that had seen better days. The city bore the scars of war—cracked walls, broken windows, and a general air of weariness.

But there was also a sense of resilience here, a determination to rebuild and carry on despite the hardships. It was fitting; I thought that a blacksmith like Harlan would choose to remain in a place like this.

Eventually, we reached a small, nondescript building tucked away at the edge of town. The sign above the door was faded and nearly illegible, but there was no mistaking the sound of metal being worked inside. The rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil echoed faintly through the air, a sound that spoke of countless hours of labor and skill.

Harlan pushed open the door and stepped inside, gesturing for me to follow. The interior of the smithy was dimly lit, the walls lined with tools and racks of old weapons, many of them covered in a fine layer of dust. The forge at the back of the room glowed faintly with embers, the heat radiating outward and filling the space with a dry warmth.

The weapons scattered on the ground were a mix of swords, axes, and spears, all in various states of disrepair. Some were rusted, their edges dulled by time, while others were chipped or bent, the remnants of battles long past.

Harlan walked over to one of the piles and picked up a sword, its blade pitted and rusty. He held it up, inspecting it for a moment before turning to face me.

The sword was nothing special—a simple, single-edged blade with a worn hilt—but the way Harlan held it made it clear that he knew exactly how to use it.

Without a word, he pointed the sword at me, his eyes narrowing. "Come at me," he said, his voice gruff and commanding.

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden challenge. "Are you serious?" I asked, my hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of my own sword.

Harlan's expression didn't change. "Don't make me repeat myself, boy," he growled, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Is that so?"

Harlan's challenge hung in the air, the tension between us thick and charged. My hand gripped the hilt of my estoc as I drew it in one smooth motion, the blade glinting faintly in the dim light of the smithy.

Harlan's eyes, sharp and calculating, never left mine as he held the rusty sword with an air of familiarity that hinted at years of experience.

There was no hesitation in his movements, no sign of age slowing him down. Despite his weathered appearance, the old man exuded a strength and presence that belied his years.

It was clear that Harlan was not someone to be taken lightly.

–SWOOSH!

Without warning, Harlan lunged forward, his rusty blade cutting through the air with surprising speed. I barely had time to react, bringing my estoc up to parry the blow.

'Indeed. Not a weak one.'

The force of his strike reverberated through my arm, and I realized just how strong he was. This wasn't going to be an easy test.

I pushed back against his blade, creating a momentary distance between us. Harlan didn't give me time to catch my breath, following up with a series of rapid strikes that forced me on the defensive.

His movements were precise, each swing of his sword calculated to keep me off balance. Despite the worn state of his weapon, Harlan wielded it with deadly efficiency.

I shifted my stance, relying on my speed and agility to evade his attacks. My estoc, designed for thrusts and quick strikes, found its mark as I aimed for the openings in Harlan's defenses.

But each time I thought I had an advantage, the old man countered with a move that forced me to reassess my approach.

'This crafty old man. He is using his strength advantage.'

While I may have been improving myself quite well, just from the first clash alone, I could see that Harlan was someone who was stronger than me in terms of raw power.

It became clear that Harlan was testing me, pushing me to see how I would react under pressure.

His strikes grew heavier, and I could feel the weight of his experience behind each blow. But as the battle wore on, something clicked within me.

'I can see it.'

The blade.

The style.

While it may not be easy for a good swordsman, for someone like Harlan, who was rather using his raw strength, it was not that hard to assess his swordsmanship and decipher it.

I began to see the patterns in his attacks, the subtle shifts in his stance that telegraphed his next move.

I adjusted my own movements, and my strikes became more focused and efficient.

With each exchange, I matched Harlan's strength with my skill, the clash of our blades echoing through the smithy.

CLANK!

My estoc darted forward, aimed at the gaps in his defense, and I could feel the momentum shifting in my favor. Harlan's eyes narrowed as he recognized the change, but he didn't slow down. If anything, he became more aggressive, testing the limits of my abilities.

CLANK! SWOOSH!

But in the end, it came down to one single swing.

THUD!

One single swing made the blade fly and hit the ground.

"How was it?"

I asked, with my breath slightly fast.

Slightly.

Harlan's eyes slowly shifted downward to the blade hovering just below his chin. The estoc's tip was steady, mere inches from his weathered skin. I expected him to acknowledge my victory, maybe even offer a begrudging nod of respect. But instead, his face twisted into a frown, deep lines of disappointment etching across his features.

He remained silent for a long moment, the weight of his gaze fixed on the blade. My breath came in shallow bursts, the adrenaline from our clash still coursing through my veins. Yet, as the seconds ticked by, the satisfaction I'd felt moments ago began to wane, replaced by a growing unease.

Finally, Harlan let out a low, rumbling sigh. His frown deepened as he slowly reached up and, with a firm yet deliberate motion, pushed the tip of my estoc away from his throat.

The blade scraped lightly against the calloused skin of his palm before falling to his side.

I lowered my weapon, confusion gnawing at me. "What's wrong?" I asked.

Harlan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he bent down, retrieving the rusty sword I'd disarmed from him. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the edge with a critical eye as if the fault lay not in my performance but in the weapon itself.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of frustration and something else—something I couldn't quite place. "You've got skill, lad," he said, his voice rough and low, like gravel being ground beneath a heavy boot. "But skill alone isn't enough."

I blinked, taken aback. "I don't understand."

What was that supposed to mean?

Skill alone is not enough?

Harlan's eyes bore into mine, his frown deepening as he continued. "You fight well, lad. Damn well. Like someone who's seen life and death more times than they care to remember."

I felt a strange mixture of pride and confusion at his words. I wanted to thank him and acknowledge the compliment, but something in his tone made me hesitate. There was an edge to his voice, a warning that cut through the praise.

"But that's precisely the problem," Harlan added, his voice growing harsher, like the grating of steel against stone. "You're skilled, no doubt about that. You wield that blade with lethal precision. Every slash, every strike—you know how to kill. Your blade moves with purpose, and you've honed that purpose into something deadly."

He took a step closer, his gaze narrowing as he studied me, searching for something deeper. "But that's what makes you terrifying, boy. That's why you're dangerous."

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. "Dangerous?" I echoed the word hanging heavy in the air between us.

Harlan nodded slowly, his expression grave. "Aye, dangerous. Like a wild beast. You fight with the intent to kill, with the bloodlust that you don't even try to hide. It was there, clear as day, when you disarmed me. You're not just fighting to win—you're fighting to end your opponent.

And that's what makes you like a beast, boy."

He paused, his eyes never leaving mine, and I felt the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. "Your weapon," he continued, "is a graceful one. An estoc is a blade of precision, of finesse. It's meant for thrusting, for finding the gaps in armor, for striking with elegance. But the way you fight… it's anything but graceful. You wield that blade like a beast, all raw power and bloodlust.

There's no balance, no harmony between you and your weapon. It's as if the sword itself is screaming against the way you use it."

Somehow, while his words looked weird, they felt true.

"That is why, no matter how good your sword is. In your hands, it will not last long. And I refuse to create a weapon that is tied to such a fate."

It seemed I was still lacking.

Chapter 98: Harlan (3)

Harlan's voice softened, though his gaze remained stern. "There's more to wielding a blade than just knowing how to kill. A true swordsman understands the balance between power and grace, between the blade and the hand that guides it. You've got the skill, boy, but you lack the understanding.

You're letting the beast inside you control the sword rather than mastering the beast and letting the sword become an extension of yourself."

'Mastering the beast inside me?'

The moment I heard about this, I suddenly thought of the past. They were fragments, fleeting images of a time when everything was simpler yet far more complicated.

When I first picked the weapon, and my master started teaching me, he also mentioned the same thing.

'You are smiling when you fight.'

He had watched me with those sharp, discerning eyes of his, and I remember the day he spoke to me about it.

///////

It was a clear afternoon, the sun casting long shadows over the training grounds. I stood before him, clutching a wooden practice sword, my young heart pounding with excitement and something else—something darker.

Master had approached me, his expression unreadable, but there was a seriousness in his gaze that made me stand a little straighter, my grip tightening on the hilt.

"Kid," he had said, his voice calm yet firm. "There's something you need to understand about the path you're choosing. The sword is more than just a weapon. It's a reflection of the soul that wields it."

I had frowned, not fully grasping his meaning at the time. To me, the sword was something that I meant to use. Something that was an extension of mine.

But Master had seen beyond my naïve understanding.

He had seen the beast lurking within me, the raw, untamed hunger that drove me to pick up the blade with such fervor.

"There's a beast inside you," he had continued, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's different from the ones in others. Yours is different….You do not seek simple strength. Having strength will not satisfy you."

His words struck a chord within me, a truth I hadn't fully acknowledged. I had always thought that my desire to grow stronger was like everyone else's—a natural drive to protect myself.

But Master was right. There was something deeper, something more consuming.

"You want more than just strength," Master said, his voice carrying a weight that made my heart pound. "You want to clash blades. You want to converse with your blade rather than with words. Every swing, every thrust—it's like you're speaking through your sword, revealing all the things you've buried deep inside."

His words felt like he was pulling back the layers of my soul, exposing the raw truth that I had tried to keep hidden, even from myself. The blade wasn't just a tool for me; it was a voice, a way to express the emotions and thoughts I couldn't put into words. The thrill of battle, the connection between two warriors clashing with all they had—that was where I felt truly alive.

"But there's a danger in that," Master had said, his tone growing somber. "When you speak through your blade, you're opening yourself up, laying bare your soul. And in that thrill, in that moment of connection, you start to lose yourself. The beast inside you takes over, driving you to fight harder, faster, more recklessly.

It's not just about winning or losing—it's about the rush, the feeling of being fully alive in that moment."

Of course, before he could talk to me further, he left this world, leaving me still pondering what he meant by that.

And still, I had yet to find the correct balance.

///////

As the memory faded, I found myself back in Harlan's smithy, the echoes of my master's words still ringing in my ears.

Harlan was right. The way I fought was raw, unrefined, driven by a hunger that wasn't entirely my own. I needed to find a way to bring balance between that primal urge and the precision my weapon demanded.

"Mastering the beast inside me…" I muttered under my breath, the resolve hardening within me. It was a journey I had begun long ago but one I had yet to truly understand.

Harlan, still watching me closely, seemed to recognize the shift in my demeanor. "You've got the skill," he repeated, his voice softer now. "But skill without control is like a sword without a hilt—it'll cut you just as easily as it'll cut your enemy. Remember that."

Vitaliara's voice echoed in my mind, her tone calm but laced with concern. [I didn't say anything before because it wasn't detrimental, but you know you change when you hold the sword, Lucavion. There's something different about you, something that even I can sense.]

I frowned slightly, her words striking a chord with the thoughts that had been swirling in my mind ever since Harlan's harsh critique. "You've noticed it too?" I asked quietly, glancing at the estoc in my hand.

[Of course I have,] she replied, her voice gentle. [You become… sharper, more focused, but also more distant. It's like you're letting something else take over, something that's not entirely you. It worries me.]

I let out a slow breath, the weight of her observation pressing down on me. "What do I need to do?" I asked, turning my gaze back to Harlan. "To make you forge a weapon for me? One that can help me master this… beast inside."

Harlan looked at me for a long moment, his eyes studying me with a depth that made me feel exposed as if he could see every flaw, every doubt within me. Then, his gaze dropped to the estoc in my hand, his expression hardening slightly.

"The blade you're holding now," Harlan said, his voice gruff but steady, "it's on its last breath. You've pushed it far beyond what it was meant to endure. If you want me to forge a weapon for you, I need you to prove that you can control yourself—control that beast."

I nodded, my grip tightening on the hilt of my estoc. "How?"

Harlan's lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "There's a group of bandits that have been causing trouble around these parts. They've taken advantage of the war and the lack of order, and they've been terrorizing the nearby villages. Clear them out. But here's the catch: you have to do it with the blade you're holding now.

If it remains intact by the time you're done, you will get your new weapon."

But while he was saying that, his last words caught my attention. "If I succeed, I will get my new weapon?"

Harlan's smile widened, a glint of something almost playful in his eyes. "If you succeed, you'll get your weapon. But I get the payment upfront."

"Payment upfront?" I echoed, confused.

Harlan's eyes sparkled with knowing amusement as he saw the confusion on my face. "Indeed. Spill what you have. The materials."

I hesitated for a moment before asking, "How did you know?"

Harlan chuckled, his rough voice carrying a hint of warmth. "I've seen far too many people like you before, lad. That gleam in your eye, the excitement you're trying to hide… it's the same look every swordsman gets when they've found something precious. It's as clear as day. You wouldn't be so eager for a new weapon unless you had the materials to make it worth my while."

A sigh escaped my lips as I realized how transparent I must have seemed to him. It was as if I was a child in front of this old man, someone who had seen and done far more than I could imagine.

The feeling was oddly familiar—reminiscent of my time with Master, though there was a subtle difference.

At that time, when I was with Master, I was really a kid.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I reached into the small pouch at my side. "I suppose there's no point in hiding it then," I said, pulling out a handful of rare, gleaming scales that I had gathered."

Harlan's eyes lingered on the scales I handed him, the gleaming surface reflecting the dim light of the forge. He ran his fingers over the rough texture, his expression a mix of admiration and surprise. "The scales of an Abyssal Wyrm… No, these are from a Lesser One," he said, his voice carrying a note of recognition. "You hunted this beast yourself?"

I met his gaze evenly, nodding. "I did."

For a moment, there was silence as Harlan studied me, his eyes narrowing slightly. The weight of his scrutiny was palpable as if he was trying to see through me and understand what kind of person would challenge such a creature at my age.

He finally let out a low, impressed whistle. "Only someone like you would have the guts to take on a beast like that at your age. Most would run from a Lesser Abyssal Wyrm, not seek it out."

A smirk tugged at my lips, the corners curling up just slightly. "I'm a beast myself, after all."

Harlan chuckled, a deep, rough sound that echoed through the smithy. "It's good that you know yourself," he said, a gleam of respect in his eyes. "Most people spend their whole lives trying to figure out who they are. You've already got that part down."

I shrugged, the weight of his words settling on me. "It's something I've had to learn, whether I wanted to or not."

Harlan's gaze softened slightly, the gruffness in his demeanor easing just a bit. "You're young, but you've been through a lot, haven't you? That kind of experience… it shapes a man, for better or worse."

His words struck a chord within me, a reminder of the battles I had fought, the lives I had taken, and the scars—both visible and invisible—that I carried with me.

"It's made me who I am," I replied quietly, the truth of it echoing in my heart.

Harlan nodded as if understanding more than he let on. "Well, lad, you've got the spirit and the skills. But remember, a good weapon isn't just about what it can do. It's about the bond between the blade and the wielder. If you can keep that sword intact while clearing out those bandits, you'll have earned yourself a weapon that will be with you for life."

"If the blade is not enough?"

At some point, I doubted that a blade made from the scales of a peak rank-3 monster could endure that much in the future.

"Then it is the blade's fault, not yours. Just focus on yourself, for now, kid. You may not see the blade yourself."

"Haha….that is right."

He gave the scales one last look before setting them aside with care. "I'll start preparing the forge. You focus on the task ahead. But don't forget—this isn't just a test of your strength. It's a test of who you are."

I nodded, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. "I understand."

As I turned to leave the smithy, I somehow felt a little fulfilled.

'Let's rest now. It has been a while since I stayed in an inn.'

Thankfully, I had some money from Empire in the pouch.

Something that could last me for a little while.

Chapter 99: Rest

I made my way back to the inn, my mind still buzzing with the conversation I'd had with Harlan. The smithy's warmth lingered on my skin, but the cool evening air quickly chased it away as I walked through the narrow streets of Rackenshore.

The city was beginning to come alive again after the lull of the afternoon, with people slowly returning to their homes, eager to escape the dangers that lurked in the dark corners of the world.

When I reached the inn, I could hear the murmur of voices and the clatter of dishes before I even stepped through the door.

The place was busier now, the earlier tension that had filled the air seemingly forgotten as the patrons relaxed into their routines. The scent of cooked food and ale wafted out, mingling with the faint smell of smoke from the hearth.

Pushing open the door, I stepped inside, the warm atmosphere of the tavern washing over me. The inn was indeed more crowded than before, with more people seated at the tables, enjoying their meals or talking in low voices.

The earlier incident with Radgar and his men seemed like a distant memory now, though I noticed a few wary glances thrown my way as I entered.

I ignored them, making my way to an empty table near the corner. The familiarity of the place was comforting, a stark contrast to the unknowns that awaited me in the coming days.

The girl, Greta, noticed me as I sat down, and I saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She seemed surprised to see me back so soon but quickly composed herself, giving me a small nod before returning to her duties.

I leaned back in my chair, letting the hum of conversation wash over me. The room was alive with the sounds of clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter. It was a stark contrast to the quiet intensity of the smithy, but in its own way, it was just as comforting.

I could go and get my new room right away, but it had been a while since I was in such a crowded place.

The months that I had spent in the forest somehow made me yearn for the presence of humans around me for a little.

That is why I decided to stay here a little bit.

As I sat there, I couldn't help but think about what Harlan had said.

'Harness the beast inside you. How am I going to do that?'

It was a question that I would need to ponder for a while.

The bandits wouldn't be easy to deal with, especially if I had to preserve the integrity of my blade. But I welcomed the challenge. It was a chance to push myself, to see just how far I could go, and to gain something more than just a new weapon.

As the night wore on, the inn gradually began to quiet down, the patrons finishing their meals and drifting off to their rooms. I remained at my table, lost in thought, until Greta approached with a warm smile.

"Would you like a room for the night, sir?" she asked, her voice gentle and polite.

"Yes, please," I replied, nodding.

Greta gave a small nod of understanding and handed me a key. "Room's upstairs, third on the left. It's not much, but it should be comfortable enough."

"Thank you," I said, taking the key from her hand.

She hesitated for a moment as if she wanted to say something else but then decided against it. "If you need anything, just let me know."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me to my thoughts once more.

As Greta walked away, Vitaliara's voice piped up in my mind, her tone laced with amusement. [She probably wanted to spend the night with you, you know.]

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. "No, I don't think that's the case."

[Oh? And why not?] Vitaliara asked, curiosity evident in her voice. [She seemed rather hesitant, as if she wanted to say something more.]

"It's just a hunch," I replied, glancing at the key in my hand. "But the way she looked at me… it wasn't out of lust or desire. It was something else."

[Something else?] Vitaliara's interest was piqued, and I could feel her attention focused on me as I made my way toward the stairs.

"Yes," I nodded, making my way up the creaky wooden steps. "Her gaze… it had a certain softness to it. It was almost like she was searching for something, or maybe she just needed reassurance. But it wasn't anything like what you're suggesting."

[How can you be sure of this?]

"Let's say I have seen my fair share of such looks."

[Really?] Vitaliara mused, her tone thoughtful. [Humans can be complicated, can't they? So many emotions wrapped up in a single look.]

I chuckled softly, reaching the top of the stairs. "That's true. But it's also what makes them interesting."

[Well, whatever it was, you handled it well,] Vitaliara conceded. [But if she does come knocking at your door tonight, don't say I didn't warn you.]

I smiled at her playful tone. "If that happens, I'll be sure to thank you for the warning. But for now, let's just focus on getting some rest."

With that, I reached my room, the third on the left, as Greta had indicated. The door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, revealing the small, simple space within. I set my belongings down on the table and took a moment to absorb the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the room.

The bed looked inviting, and I felt the day's weariness weighing heavily on me.

But as my head hit the pillow, and I allowed my thoughts to drift, I knew that for now, the best thing I could do was rest since tomorrow, I would most likely need to deal with something.

The actions of yesterday did not disappear after all.

*******

The morning light filtered through the small window, casting a warm glow across the room as I slowly opened my eyes. The first thing I noticed was the sun's position in the sky—already quite high.

[You slept in longer than usual,] Vitaliara commented, her tone laced with mild amusement.

I stretched, feeling the lingering weariness in my muscles. "I needed it," I replied, my voice still a bit groggy. "After everything that's happened, it's better to let my body rest and recover fully."

[Fair enough,] she conceded. [But don't make it a habit. We have a lot to do.]

I smiled at her reminder, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "Don't worry. I am not lazy."

After washing up quickly and gathering my belongings, I made my way downstairs. The inn was quiet, the remnants of last night's activity all but gone.

The scent of fresh bread and cooking meat wafted through the air, reminding me that it was indeed morning and the world outside had already begun to stir.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw the owners of the inn bustling about, preparing for the day ahead. The inn girl, Greta, was nowhere to be seen, but there was another woman, older, with a striking resemblance to her. She had the same kind eyes and soft features, though the lines on her face spoke of years of hard work and care.

The woman noticed me descending the stairs, and her eyes widened slightly. She hesitated for a moment, a flicker of fear crossing her face, but she quickly composed herself, offering me a polite smile. "Good morning, sir," she greeted me, bowing her head slightly.

"Good morning," I replied, nodding in return. The woman's fear was subtle but noticeable—likely due to the events of last night. I didn't blame her; anyone would be cautious after what had happened.

She seemed to sense my understanding and relaxed a bit, her smile becoming more genuine. "I hope you slept well," she added, her voice warm despite the slight tension in her posture.

"I did, thank you," I replied, glancing around the inn. "You must be Greta's mother?"

At the mention of her daughter's name from my mouth, the woman, Elena, made a slightly tense face.

'Makes sense that they are tense.'

I may not be an expert at reading the people, but I can see the reason why she did that. Considering that her daughter was targeted by an Awakened before, she must have assumed the same would be happening.

'Though I am not like them, let's not make things uncomfortable.'

"Is the breakfast ready?"

Elena seemed to hesitate for a brief moment, but then she nodded, her smile returning though still tinged with a hint of caution. "Yes, it is. Please, have a seat, and I'll bring it right over."

I offered her a reassuring smile, hoping to ease the tension. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

I chose a seat near the window, where the morning light streamed in, casting a warm glow over the room. The inn was starting to fill with the quiet hum of activity, patrons beginning their day with a meal or a cup of coffee. It was a peaceful scene, a stark contrast to the tension of the night before.

As I waited, I glanced around the room, taking in the simple but cozy surroundings. The inn had a rustic charm, with wooden beams overhead and a stone fireplace that added to the warmth. It was a place that had seen its share of hardships but had endured, just like the people who ran it.

A few minutes later, Elena returned with a tray in hand. She carefully placed a plate of eggs, bread, and some fruit in front of me, along with a steaming cup of tea. "Here you are, sir," she said with a small smile. "I hope you enjoy it."

Normally, I did not like eating sweet things like fruits in the morning, but I decided to give it a try. Maybe something could be different; who knew?

"Thank you, Miss," I replied, nodding to her.

She lingered for a moment, her eyes searching mine as if trying to gauge my intentions. I met her gaze steadily, keeping my expression calm and friendly. Finally, she seemed to relax a little more and gave a slight bow before turning to attend to other guests.

As I began to eat, I could feel Vitaliara's presence, her watchful eyes taking in everything around us. [You handled that well,] she remarked, her tone approving. [But they will not drop their guard around you.]

"That is fine. In the end, I will leave this place soon anyway; there is no need to overly make things complicated."

CREAK!

Just as I was about to take another bite, the door to the inn burst open with a loud bang, the force of which caused several patrons to jump in their seats.