Chapter 52: Hero?

Laval's chaotic attempts to distract himself from hunger nearly masked the approaching footsteps.

Glen stopped half a meter from the disheveled noble boy, observing his sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. Instead of pity, a dry chuckle escaped him.

"Hmph... Seems you've finally grasped your situation. The work's passable."

He'd already inspected the pigsty—cleaned with uncharacteristic thoroughness, though still short of his exacting standards.

At the sound of Glen's voice, Laval turned stiffly, his voice a frayed thread. "I… did everything. Food. Please…"

Glen tossed him a crusty loaf. "This'll tide you over. More at home."

Laval's eyes ignited. He seized the bread, tearing into it like a rabid animal, crumbs scattering across his filthy shirt.

"Slow down. You'll choke," Glen warned, though amusement laced his tone.

The boy gulped the last morsel, cheeks bulging, and stared at Glen with unabashed desperation.

"Let's move." Glen jerked his chin toward the path. "Remember this lesson, little lord. Next time—clean better."

Laval nodded so vigorously his matted curls bounced.

———

The cottage welcomed them with the rich aroma of simmering spices. Tia, tasked as Glen's sous-chef, moved with giddy precision—her chance to witness culinary sorcery firsthand.

Laval hovered near the kitchen doorway, saliva pooling as scents of caramelized onions and roasted garlic punched through his starvation haze. His fingers twitched toward the steaming dishes until—

Whack!

Glen's chopsticks struck his knuckles. "Wait. Properly."

Flushing, Laval withdrew. Only when Glen lifted his own utensils did the boy dive in, shoveling braised vegetables and spiced lentils onto his plate.

Tia watched primly, her perfect posture a silent rebuke. Serves him right, she thought, then immediately chastised herself. What a terrible servant I am! Yet her lips curled smugly as she nibbled her own portion—infinitely superior to Lord Channis's pompous banquets.

———

The meal concluded just as familiar shuffling footsteps echoed outside. Glen intercepted the old man near his doorstep, noting the oversized pack strapped to his back. A wet black nose poked through a gap in the fabric, followed by two shining canine eyes.

"Been babysitting puppies instead of answering questions?" Glen jabbed. "That mage woman—Dolph. What's her deal?"

Bor adjusted his burden, the young Rottweiler pup inside squirming. "You met her. Didn't ask her yourself?"

"Rude." Glen leaned against the fence. "Chief Mage of Batthyany Citadel, no? Bet even my old family groveled at her feet."

Bor's brows shot up. "Sharp as ever. Why not beg her for magic lessons? She'd have tested your affinity."

"She wanted a lab rat. Pass."

"Observing isn't harming. Dolph's ethics are… rigid."

"Still a no." Glen's grin turned sly. "But you know other mages. Make introductions. Old friends, maybe?"

Bor stiffened. "My connections aren't yours to exploit." He quickened his pace, the pup's whines rising in protest.

"Bor! Come on—!"

"Find your own mages!" The old man broke into a jog, disappearing around a bend.

Glen kicked a pebble. "Stingy fossil."

———

Batthyany Citadel's shadow loomed over Dudd Town, but tonight, the smaller settlement outshone its overlord. News of the rescued children had spread like wildfire through taverns and market stalls.

The police station overflowed—mothers clutching recovered toddlers, fathers weeping into teenagers' hair. Even bystanders wiped their eyes, moved by the raw symphony of relief.

Reila stood among them, tears streaking her face. "Those officers… they're heroes."

A passing constable paused, his smile bittersweet. "Not us, miss. The real hero… Well." He nodded toward the northern road—the path to Bayek. "Some prefer shadows to statues."

———

Back in Glen's cottage, Laval scrubbed dishes under Tia's supervision. His stomach, though full, still ached—a phantom reminder of the trough's temptations.

Glen lounged by the hearth, studying a crude map. Batthyany Citadel's sigil—a tower encircled by lightning—glowed under firelight. His finger traced westward routes.

Chief Mage… Magic Academies…

The pup's muffled yips carried through Bor's walls. Glen's lips curved.

"Shadows, huh?"

Somewhere, Dolph's carriage rolled toward distant spires, her stockings-clad horse snorting disdain at the night.