The clamor of Dudde Town struck him full force. Glen narrowed his eyes, watching the various carriages grind over the cobblestone streets. Gothic spires pierced the overcast sky, and people in clothing that clearly marked their social rank hurried past one another. Even the air here carried different scents—a mixture of coal smoke, perfume, and baking bread.
Compared to the lifeless village of Bayeck, this felt like another world entirely.
Though inherited memories held these images, experiencing them firsthand brought a different sensation altogether. Glen clutched the food supplies he'd just purchased, the last two copper coins in his purse jingling with each step. He needed to find a way to earn some money, he mused.
The crowds were far denser than usual. Glen sidestepped a merchant pushing a cart, his keen senses already detecting an unusual restlessness in the air. From his memory fragments, this atmosphere typically meant a traveling circus had arrived or some festival was underway—neither of which interested him.
Just as he turned, a young man stumbled toward him. Glen's arm shot out, steadying him firmly.
"Thank you, sir," the youth gasped, his face flushed red.
Glen merely nodded slightly.
"Myra, you don't need to rush like that," another voice called from nearby. "Berlin's right there—he's not going to vanish suddenly."
Glen glanced over to see five young people approaching—three boys and two girls. The speaker was a tall youth with dark, curly hair.
"But he's the Grand Knight who personally slew a third-tier vampire!" the boy called Myra protested, though his gaze unconsciously drifted toward the blonde girl in their group. "I've only heard about his deeds from our teacher's stories..."
The six young people quickly merged into the crowd, their laughter fading into the distance. Glen—or rather, Dylan's memories—recognized them, though they had never once noticed the fallen boy from Bayeck. The original had only remembered them because of the stunning beauty of two of the girls, the kind his formerly wealthy self might have pursued.
Grand Knight Berlin? Glen pressed his lips together. So that explained today's commotion. His memories held no information about this man, though it was none of his concern. He adjusted the bundle in his arms and continued forward.
Silver armor blazed with blinding light under the sun, a crimson cloak embroidered with intricate golden patterns. Berlin sat astride a white horse clad in silver mail, his features carved with stone-like severity, each hoofbeat as steady as a tolling bell.
Myra held his breath. Though slightly different from his imagination, the Grand Knight's majesty far exceeded expectations. Two columns of knights rode in perfect formation on either side, the standard bearer at the front holding the kingdom's banner high as it snapped in the wind.
The townspeople's cheers nearly lifted the rooftops, young women casting flowers onto the procession's path. Berlin's company marched in unified rhythm toward the lodgings the mayor had prepared.
"Deyamela, look!" Myra gripped the tall youth's arm beside him, his voice trembling with excitement. "That's the Reyls Greatsword—teacher said it once severed a night demon's head! And the twin pistols at his waist—those must be the White Lion Guns, supposedly crafted from sacred lion tusks..."
The tall youth Deyamela's eyes gleamed equally bright: "Teacher didn't tell just you Berlin's stories. But seeing him in person... he's even more magnificent than the legends."
"I'm going to become a knight like Berlin someday!" murmured the red-haired, stocky youth named Pock, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists.
The blonde girl in the wide-brimmed hat, Pernass, laughed lightly: "You should think about passing teacher's exam next week first, Pock."
Laughter rippled through the group of youths. Pock's face immediately flushed crimson as he scratched his head sheepishly: "Pernass, couldn't you not mention that?"
"All right, stop teasing Pock," the brown-haired girl Leyla gently interrupted, her eyes as green as a summer forest. "He's been working very hard."
Pock shot her a grateful glance, and Leyla simply smiled with pursed lips: "Study well—you'll pass."
Outside Dudde Town's knight tavern, security personnel formed a human wall to hold back the enthusiastic townspeople. Berlin dismounted with fluid grace, his silver armor ringing with crisp impacts as he moved.
The white-haired, white-bearded mayor, dressed in respectable formal attire, stepped forward and bowed: "Honored Lord Berlin, your rooms are prepared. Please, follow me."
Berlin nodded in acknowledgment, his voice deep and steady: "No need for excessive trouble. We're only staying a few days while searching for traces of two wanted werewolves. The kingdom has more pressing matters awaiting us."
The mayor's face went instantly pale: "Werewolves? My lord, might they come to Dudde Town? Please ensure our citizens' safety."
"No cause for concern." Berlin's hand rested on his sword hilt—the gesture itself served as assurance. "They're merely two low-grade werewolves with diluted bloodlines. A few armed constables would suffice to handle them. We patrol here only as a precaution."
The mayor visibly relaxed, leading the knight toward the tavern interior.
The path back to Bayeck grew increasingly remote, Glen's footsteps echoing with particular clarity in the silence. He calculated the evening meal arrangements while alertly monitoring his surroundings. In the distance beneath the tree shadows, a vague figure gradually materialized.
Glen slowed his pace, muscles tensing slightly. Not another monster encounter, surely? He maintained steady forward movement, fingers unconsciously brushing his waist—where a short blade lay concealed.
As the distance closed, the figure's outline sharpened. A man in gray-black hemp clothing, dark-skinned, with black circles under his eyes heavy as bruises, his head wrapped in an odd turban. He stood sideways, left hand carrying a bundle—clearly returning from market purchases.
But Glen's attention was quickly drawn to something else—in the weedy undergrowth at the man's feet lay a motionless human form.
"Sir, are you also a Bayeck resident?" Glen ventured, his voice maintaining perfect steadiness.
The man slowly turned his head, nodding confirmation with an expressionless face.
Glen's gaze returned to the body on the ground, lowering his voice to ask: "Did you kill him?"
The man shook his head, his eyes beneath the turban bottomless as two dried wells.