Turmoil (2)

Leovald's expression hardened. The innkeeper's face turned pale as the name of the child staying at the inn was mentioned.

With a rare expression of round eyes on his now pale face, the innkeeper cautiously scanned the air. Leovald was no longer in the innkeeper's thoughts. The innkeeper's eyes narrowed as if things had gone awry, and a crack appeared on the man's face, which had always been smooth with laughter.

"Damn it…"

The innkeeper bit his lip gently. Leovald immediately recognized that this was not an ordinary situation, as he had never seen the man reveal his agitation so openly. Though Leovald had little patience, he had reached the point of expressing a long-standing doubt. But there is a sequence to things. He extended his arm and cupped the innkeeper's cheek. The touch was smooth, without any roughness.

Among those who stood shoulder to shoulder with him on the battlefield, many had scars or rough skin due to the sun and wind, but the man before him had well-kept skin, feeling like finely maintained leather under his hand. Leovald's fingertips brushed lightly against the man's lips, which had been bitten roughly, making the touch feel peculiar.

"Calm down for now. That habit of biting your lip is not good."

He knew the man was more affectionate than he appeared. It was evident in his kindness towards the street children outside, the guests of his inn, and Leovald himself. This was why the children liked him and why guests frequented his inn. For this reason, Leovald also found himself softened towards the man.

As usual, Leovald prioritized what needed to be done. He needed to calm and comfort the man, then get an explanation from the street urchin to understand the situation fully. The man instinctively grasped Leovald's hand on his cheek, closed his eyes, and took a short breath. What passed over the man's face for a brief moment was guilt and deep self-reproach.

As he pulled Leovald's hand from his cheek, the man whispered, "Alright, let's talk about this later."

Leovald and the innkeeper quickly headed upstairs. The crying urchin had chestnut-coloured hair. Leovald recalled that this child always followed the little one around. The innkeeper knelt down and wiped the child's cheeks, asking what had happened. The child's story was as follows.

Vittorio, who acted as the leader of the street children, primarily checked their sleeping places. Alleys, spots under rooftops, or makeshift shelters the children built using planks and ropes. Vittorio knew every sleeping spot in every alley and would often go around to check the children's numbers and ensure their safety.

Tonight, just like any other night, Vittorio set out to patrol the alleys, and the urchin followed him. Vittorio stopped at an alley where the street children would often gather to rest, draw graffiti, or make symbols. It was their own little plaza. Just as Vittorio was about to approach his friends, a pale man with a rat-like appearance appeared in the street. The children recognized the man. Glimmering on the man's arm was a moonstone bracelet. The innkeeper had once mentioned it as a symbol, explaining that the man often left notes in bricks or narrow gaps before disappearing. The children, familiar with the man's face, had learned that delivering his notes to the innkeeper would earn them tasty treats.

Trembling, the man said, "Here. This is where I usually communicate with them."

At that point, the innkeeper buried his face in his hands and groaned. A vein stood out on his neck, and it seemed he was suppressing a string of curses. Leovald watched him before continuing to listen to the story.

The children, seeing the symbol, thought it might be another game and observed the man from a distance. The innkeeper had repeatedly instructed them, "When that man leaves a note, don't reveal yourselves. Wait until he's gone, then retrieve it."

But today was different. Another stranger appeared behind the man with the moonstone bracelet, scanned the alley, and then snatched the bracelet from the man's arm, throwing it aside. It was probably the count. The count immediately noticed the children's presence and began questioning them.

"Does anyone know anything about this?" he asked, but they all feigned ignorance, sensing the danger.

The count then grabbed one of the urchins by the scruff, and Vittorio, seeing this, immediately intervened to stop him. Vittorio, naturally responsible as the group's leader, stepped in to protect his friends and younger companions.

["Strange, isn't it? My subordinates say they've seen you before," the count remarked. "And I remember seeing you as well. You're even involved here, so it's too much of a coincidence to dismiss all of this."]

["Ugh…"]

["My subordinates said that it was as if they knew their weaknesses and habits in advance, and they exploited them. I figured someone must have been observing them beforehand."]

["..."]

["Yes, you must be the link,"the count continued.]

The man took Vittorio away without further ado.

"Tell them to meet me underground. Don't forget the items. For every delay, I will catch every beggar in this street and throw them underground. If you don't want to lose everything you've built so far and miss out on playing in the big leagues, you'd better move fast," he said.

The urchin, tears streaming down his face, stammered as he relayed the message. His hair, messy from struggling to reclaim Vittorio, stuck to his tear-streaked cheeks.

"W-what do we do? Vittorio…"

Leovald had made up his mind. The Count, having already concluded that there was some cooperation between the masked men and the urchins, was pressing them. He demanded they bring the body immediately.

The child mumbled, "S-so, he said to come to, h-hic—"

"I know where they went. It's okay. I'll bring him back," the innkeeper whispered heavily, his face dark with worry.

That man sometimes acts as if he knows everything. Leovald organized his thoughts as he looked at the innkeeper's profile. The man, who had just calmed and reassured the urchin, leaned in close and whispered.

"Bring your sword."

Those words carried special meaning. He wasn't referring to the simple blacksmith's sword Leovald usually carried, but the familiar weapon resting beneath the counter. Leovald nodded. He had a feeling this would be the case when told to bring his sword, but he asked anyway.

"Where are we going?"

"To the deepest part of the underground."

***

Vittorio slowly opened his eyes. His head was damp, probably from a blow he had taken. His eyelashes felt heavy with moisture, perhaps blood. Stifling a groan, Vittorio surveyed his surroundings. The feeling persisted. There was an odd sensation that had been unsettling him for a while, like the presence of something creeping around. It felt as if snakes or worms were slithering underground.

As Vittorio curled up, the Count was ahead, silently preparing an ambush with his henchmen. The count checked his position and plan, glancing briefly at the child lying on the ground. Even though he had pressed for information about their identity, the child had only mumbled that he didn't know much. As they descended to the fourth basement level, the child's words became scarce. The child flinched as if hearing or sensing something, making it impossible not to notice.

The Count grabbed the child by the scruff and dragged him forward.

"Ugh!"

"Tell me, do you sense something?"

Vittorio opened his eyes and saw a massive lake at his feet. The dark, rippling water didn't look like water at all. The word "lake" seemed inadequate.

Then Vittorio flinched. The source of his unease suddenly became clear.

Beneath the surface, black, blob-like creatures writhed. Although the surface rippled violently, the living mud-like entities couldn't break through.

In the deepest part of the church's underground, at the centre of the labyrinth, lay a spring of holy water. This sacred pool, created from the divine spring, served as a seal, pressing down on the creatures.

Observing Vittorio's reaction, the Count murmured slowly.

"So, you are a discerner."

"..."

"There are occasionally those who can detect their presence very keenly and differentiate their movements. It's an innate trait. The person I serve possesses such abilities as well."

"..."

"Well, Leovald and other knights were said to be like that as well."

The Count then tossed the child to one of his henchmen as if he were merely a burden. There was a specific reason he had come down to this deepest level of the underground.

No, perhaps it wasn't his own reasoning. He didn't think.

<"Use the child.">

<"Go to the fourth underground level.">

<"Wait there.">

"Yes, my lord."

Since his god had whispered such instructions, he followed them without question. That was the nature of servitude.

A sound of hurried footsteps echoed from a distance. Ah, indeed, he just needed to follow that voice.

Two men in black cloaks approached, carrying a coffin, which they thumped down onto the floor. Their gazes turned toward the child, while the Count's gaze remained fixed on the coffin.

"It's a trade. We place our items at both ends and take what we desire."

Count Bermont adjusted the terms of the trade, as both sides placed their desired items at either end. The coffin was left on the floor, and one of the henchmen stood at the opposite end, holding the child. Each group moved toward their respective items.

And at that moment—

A rumble echoed.

The ground trembled beneath their feet, the sound resembling waves crashing, a distant yet near tumult of rushing water.

With a thunderous noise heralding the onset of disaster, the underground roared like a living monster.