***
As Mordain lifted the rubble, they saw the body of an old man, tightly embracing a long metallic box, as if protecting it from the rubble that made him meet his unfortunate end. Velka walked towards him, lifting off the rest of the rubble with Mordain's help.
She bent over, examining the box closely.
The box was long and metallic, resting in the man's cold embrace like it had been waiting. Cold to the touch, but not lifeless. Its surface was scratched and faded, not from carelessness, but time. Like it had been carried through eons, from one generation to the other. Across the lid was a carving—bronze, tarnished, but still clear. A swordsman stood tall, his figure rigid, cloak flowing behind him like he was walking through a storm. His face was hidden behind a helm, sharp and grim, and both hands gripped a sword that was buried in something—or someone;An angel.
Around the edge of the lid, strange symbols circled the bronze. Faint. Almost burned into the metal.
"This seems like something very precious.." Velka said as she gently removed the box from the man's embrace, placing it aside.
"Yeah. If it is something he was willing to protect this much, we shall bury it with him."
As they kept on speaking, a piece of seemed like paper fell from the Old man's hand. Picking it up, Velka unfolded it, looking at the message the man had left behind.
To my Little One, Prince Renard of Belfast,
I don't know if you'll read this today or many years from now, but I wanted to leave you these words while the memory is still warm in my old hands.
Do you remember the first time you came to the forge? You were barely tall enough to see over the workbench, but you looked around like the place was magic. And maybe, for you, it was. You never just watched. You always helped. You held tongs too big for your hands, wiped sweat from your brow like a true smith, and asked the kind of questions no book could ever teach. You listened, you learned and you never once gave up, even when your arms were tired.
Truth be told, I thought you'd stop coming. Most do.
So we made a sword.
Not just any sword, no. This one—our sword—was shaped by your hands as much as mine. You helped stoke the fire, you steadied the blade while I struck, and you watched the light dance across the steel like it was something sacred. Maybe it was.
This longsword is special. There's something in it that isn't just metal. It carries a bit of me, a bit of you… and something else. Something older. Brighter. I won't pretend to understand all of it, but I know this: it will grow as you grow. Change as you change. You may not need it now, but one day, when you do, it'll be ready.
And when that day comes, I hope you remember the warmth of the forge. The sound of steel meeting steel. The quiet moments when you stood beside me and asked, "Is this right?" And I would smile, because it always was.
You are more than just a prince to me, little one. You are a joy I never expected this late in life. And I believe, with all that I am, that you'll become the kind of King stories will remember.
I shall give this to Lucia, with the wish that you shall be given this letter and sword once I am laid to rest. Forgive this old man for being selfish, but I know you will understand.
May the Belfast kingdom prosper.
***
As the two read the letter, they could tell how gentle of a man he was, how preciously he thought of this child- the prince.
"I believe it will be for the best to hold this weapon for now. We shall hand it over to Neil, to fulfil this man's wishes once that boy grows." Mordain said.
With that, they met up with Neil, handing him the weapon and the message. Then after that, the three buried those who could be buried and set on fire those whose bodies had been torn through.
The snow had gradually changed from white to red, not just in Belfast, but every other place that was snowing. The three observed the flames silently, each one of them casting a silent prayer.
"So, what will we do now, Neil?" Velka asked.
"We will need to figure out what to do with the boy- Renard." Mordain said.
"He is a dark elf. Logically speaking, he might be the only one left in the world. No one knows what will happen if we take him to an orphanage. He might as well be sold off, or also just killed by these people, especially if he is actually the prince." Velka stated.
"I will take him in." Neil said as he felt the heavy box strapped on his back.
"I'm sure Nellie and Arthur will be happy to also have a sibling." Mordain said as he smiled at Neil.
"They definitely will," Neil replied as he remembered about his family. "Velka, use your spatial spell to store everything we have found, Neil's bag also has the spatial ring just in case you cannot store all of them. We will head back to town, then we leave Orith and head to Elarion."
As the two started collecting all the other items Neil had also found, he headed back to Jin, informing him of their plans.
"I see, I'm glad you will take him in. Poor boy, I can't even imagine what he has experienced." Jin said in a sympathetic voice.
"How is he?"
"He is recovering smoothly. I have done my best to heal him up a bit while helping his cognis absorb mana slowly. I cannot fully use my mana to heal, I still need to make a path in the snow as we are going back. But he is no longer in critical condition. By tomorrow he will have woken up." Jin said.
"That's a relief. Cover his face with a hood, if he opens his eyes earlier than expected the Orinthians will definitely know what he is. We will pass by May's store tomorrow, she can help us hide his identity at the borders."
With that, after doing all they could, the four adventurers left the fallen kingdom with Renard resting on Mordain's back.
Thus, Renard's Journey with the adventurers began.