Glen immediately looked around and spotted a small town not far off. It wasn't as big as Doud or Bayek—more like a village than a proper town.
The old man folded up his map, stuffed it into his coat's inner pocket, and said to Glen, "Let's go. We'll stay the night here, then keep going tomorrow. I'll get us a more comfortable carriage, though."
"That's great to hear."
As they spoke, both jumped down from the carriage and headed toward the small town.
It was a pretty backward place, the road uneven, the air thick with the smell of livestock dung.
Do they even have an inn here? Glen wondered.
Reality answered quickly—not only was there an inn, but it was a big one.
Set in the center of town and surrounded by tightly packed buildings, it had the skull of some horned animal hanging above the entrance, giving it a wild, rugged look.
Odd shouting echoed from inside, sparking Glen's curiosity.
"Try not to cause trouble in there," the old man said, turning back as they approached.
"What if someone picks a fight with me?" Glen asked.
"Heh…" The old man gave a cold chuckle. "Then handle it yourself."
"No problem."
With a thick arm, the old man pushed open the inn's door. A strong wave of alcohol fumes hit Glen's nose—pungent, but he just waved his hand a little to clear the air.
The inn was packed with all kinds of people. Their clothes were varied, but it was obvious they were the sort you didn't want to mess with. Sharp-eyed, most only glanced at Glen and the old man out of the corner of their eye.
Besides humans, there were a few dwarves and beastkin—those were the ones making the strange noises.
"The witch sitting in the far corner knows all sorts of terrifying, creepy black magic. Best not to get involved with her."
"The big guy chugging ale is a powerful wandering swordsman—also not someone to trifle with. And those over there…"
The moment they entered, the old man started whispering. If Glen hadn't had sharp hearing, he'd have thought the old man was mumbling to himself.
Glen glanced at the people the old man had pointed out, his eyes filled more with curiosity than caution.
The old man fell silent, and the two walked straight to the bar.
Three beastkin, about as big and brawny as the old man, stepped into their path. The leader was a bear-headed man who boomed, "Old Bol, long time no see! How've you been?"
"Doing fine, no need to ask," the old man replied coolly, the same frosty tone he gave everyone except his dog.
"Still the same old you." The bear-headed man didn't care about the chilliness. Noticing Glen behind the old man, he suddenly laughed loudly. "Hey! Look at this! The old geezer brought a kid who hasn't been weaned yet! Isn't that your son? Hahaha…"
The other beastkin joined in the laughter. The other patrons didn't even turn their heads.
Boom—!
A loud crash forced everyone to look.
The bear-headed man was now slammed into a broken corner of the wall, teeth bared in pain.
"Loud mouth, but soft as a cotton ball. No idea what you've got to be cocky about," Glen said, pulling his foot back, clearly unimpressed.
The remaining beastkin looked at their leader, now several meters away, then at Glen, eyes flashing with menace and low growls rising.
Glen rolled his shoulders, clearly ready to throw down.
"Take your time," the old man said, seemingly unsurprised by Glen's display, then went to the bar to arrange rooms.
Seeing Glen really about to charge, the beastkin quickly turned, helped their leader up, and bolted out of the inn—never uttering another threat.
Glen let it drop.
The patrons' reactions varied—some thoughtful, some entertained, and so on.
The old man tossed Glen a key. "That's your room. I'm gonna rest a bit. Do as you like."
Glen noted the number, pocketed the key, and watched the old man head upstairs. Then he walked over to the witch's table and sat down. "You really know magic?"
The witch had been staring into space since they entered. At Glen's question, she didn't move, just parted her lips and said flatly, "If you don't want to die, stay away from me."
"I just want to learn. If possible, I'd even study it. Don't worry, I can pay. Or if you need something, I might be able to get it." Glen wasn't fazed by her threat; he stated his purpose.
The witch turned her head. Her face and features were strikingly regular, but her eyes were completely white, which made her deeply unsettling.
"Kid, ignorance will drag you straight to ruin."
"Have you been ruined?" Glen shot back.
"Heh…" The witch seemed interested. Leaning on one hand, she regarded Glen with a seductive tilt of her head. "Witches are all ruined."
"Let me try. Maybe I'm different." Glen refused to give up.
"Enough, ignorant kid. Black magic and sorcery aren't for you. Drop the idea." The witch's tone suddenly turned icy, catching Glen off guard.
He was about to say more when she suddenly dissolved into black mist and vanished.
And just like that, she's gone… Glen stared at the empty seat and sighed.
He ended up ordering one of every drink on the menu and put it all on the old man's tab.
Tasting them one by one, Glen felt like he'd paid to suffer—aside from the juice, which was okay, everything else was nearly undrinkable. He couldn't understand how anyone enjoyed them so much.
Seeing nothing else entertaining, Glen went upstairs to rest.
…
Morning.
Glen was woken by a server bringing breakfast.
Chewing a rock-hard piece of bread, he went downstairs and saw the old man already up, calmly sipping wine.
"Let's go," the old man said, setting down his glass and standing.
"Uh… sure." Glen had no idea why the old man was in such a rush, but since he was just the hired muscle, getting it over with suited him.
This time, they had a covered carriage with much more comfortable seats.
Along the way, Glen asked, "Old man, can we make it today?"
"Should be able to, barring surprises," the old man said, eyes closed, conserving energy.
Hope Night Roar's been fed properly… Glen closed his eyes too, letting his thoughts wander.
…
In a private house, three figures in dark robes and pointed soft hats each clutched a corpse. Thick streams of energy flowed from their hands.
In the corner of the room, two boys, about six or seven years old, huddled together, eyes wide with terror as they stared at the three.