The Calm Before the Storm (Part 2)
Whoosh…
A chilling wind rattled the shutters of the cabin as it swept past. Through the gaps in the trees, the sky was shrouded in dark clouds.
Beyond the soundproof barrier, Dalen chuckled softly at the sight of Volkma’s pale face.
Understandably, it was a bewildering situation for someone unaware of the circumstances.
But Dalen, accustomed to dealing with transcendents, recognized this as a kind of test.
‘Shania Philopon, the orchard’s owner. Though she usually keeps to herself, she’s the first to defend the labyrinth city when danger looms. It’s harder to win her favor than to pluck a star from the sky, but once she’s on your side, she’ll never betray you.’
He quickly sifted through the information stored in his mind, selecting the right words for his next sentence.
Shania Philopon possessed the rare ability to partially overlay her domain’s entrance onto the real world.
In terms of understanding domains, she surpassed even Everon, one of the transcendents of the Golden Palace.
Given that such a being had offered a test of goodwill, it was more of an opportunity than an inconvenience.
Moreover, Philopon was someone difficult to approach, even with a connection like Sienna.
On the flip side, having stopped the witch’s schemes and dealt with the drug dealers, now was the perfect time to earn her favor.
“I understand. Knowing secrets can be a double-edged sword.”
Dalen met the intense green glow in Philopon’s eyes head-on, lifting his teacup and downing its contents before continuing.
“But the grand dream of creating an elixir of resurrection can’t be achieved by keeping it locked away in your own world, can it? That’s why you left the Golden Palace in your youth.”
“I’ve heard from Sienna that you’re extraordinary. But you’ve gathered too many secrets. Have you glimpsed the fragments of omniscience beyond the ordinary?”
Philopon smiled, and Dalen shrugged.
“Well, I do know quite a bit.”
“Not bad. In a world where the ending is predetermined, perhaps someone like you is exactly what’s needed.”
The wind outside gradually calmed, and sunlight peeked through the clouds as if it had never hidden.
Returning to his usual kindly old man demeanor, Philopon sipped his tea and continued.
“Creating an elixir of resurrection is impossible. It took me a hundred years to realize that achieving immortality and reversing death are entirely different.”
His voice was gentle, like a grandfather sharing old tales with his grandchildren.
Transcendents who grasped unreachable secrets and unattainable power reacted in two ways.
Some couldn’t accept possibilities they themselves didn’t possess and sought to erase such beings.
Others, like Everon and Red Spear, saw hope in the unknown and extended rare goodwill.
Shania Philopon was clearly the latter, and Dalen, having experienced it indirectly, knew he could leverage her sensitive secrets.
“The help I agreed to provide the Golden Palace is along the same lines. As you know, my bloodline resides there. My great-granddaughter, Elina Philopon.”
“Your sister, right?”
“Yes, you know well. My sister asked for my help due to a problem with the Philopon family’s magic circle, which is expected to reduce harvests. She requested to use my domain’s power to compensate.”
Philopon’s domain, partially manifested in the real world, surrounded the vast orchard and fertile land.
Though the exact essence of the domain was unclear, the landscape hinted at a utopian dream.
‘Dreaming of an elixir of resurrection… surely there’s a longing tied to that.’
The legendary elixir of resurrection, with its mysterious herbs as ingredients.
The old man, intoxicated by the dream, envisioned a land so fertile that even such herbs could thrive.
Cultivating and sowing seeds there could alleviate the food shortages caused by the western district’s decline.
The heir of the Golden Palace’s transcendent, Philopon, had asked her sister to open the domain for this purpose.
“Though I sought to regain what was lost, I’ve grown weary in my old age. I’ve learned that never losing something is the true answer. A wisdom of life, perhaps.”
Philopon chuckled, sprinkling white powder from a salt shaker into his teacup.
Despite his laughter, the weight of his concerns was as heavy as the potent concentration of the substance he added.
After over a century of chasing ideals, the transcendent finally decided to compromise with reality.
Perhaps a crossroads awaited Dalen as well. What choice would he make?
‘A pointless worry.’
Dalen chuckled and shook his head.
His aspirations weren’t grand like an elixir of resurrection or world peace.
He simply wanted to survive.
To set foot on his homeland once more.
His dreams weren’t lofty enough to warrant the word ‘surrender.’
It was only the impending doom that forced him into such struggles.
Clink.
Philopon emptied his teacup, dispelled the soundproof barrier, and smiled lightly.
“Sorry for making you listen to an old man’s ramblings. You didn’t come all this way for that. My apologies to the guild master as well.”
“No need. But I am curious—who was the person you sought so desperately?”
Dalen tapped the table, asking suddenly.
He had gained goodwill and chosen his path, but human curiosity lingered.
“Is that what you were curious about?”
Philopon laughed pleasantly, drawing a long arc with his eyelashes before speaking.
“Sienna resembles her father a lot. That’s why I cherish her.”
“Thank you for visiting the orchard. See you again.”
Leaving behind the polite farewell of the staff, Dalen stepped out of the building with two books in hand.
The thick tome was a foundational text on the magic of plant cultivation, “Introduction to Plant Magic.”
The thinner notebook was titled, “Finding and Using Herbs, by Shania Philopon.”
“Haha! Impressive, Dalen! Even if it was promised as additional compensation, to receive a book directly from a pioneer in herbalism! I’ll have to brace myself to hire you in the future. Your value has skyrocketed!”
Volkma, who had followed him out, shouted, his voice echoing through the alley. Dalen chuckled and tucked the books into his coat.
“So, are you planning to sell them secondhand after reading?”
“You’re quite greedy, guild master. Haven’t you made enough from both herbal and glass trades?”
Dalen looked at Volkma with a hint of exasperation.
The leader of the Gallios Guild had arrived in the city exactly two weeks ago.
Upon discovering that all the glass windows in the vicinity had shattered due to the Blue Thunder, he quickly acquired glass workshops and amassed a fortune, a story that had become legendary.
“The moment you’re satisfied, you fall behind. This world is harsh. To avoid becoming a slave to money, you must master it.”
Volkma replied with a sly grin, his expression suggesting that if there were a skill for merchant spirit, he’d have an S-rank.
“Nice meeting you today, Dalen! I’ll visit your home soon!”
Parting ways with the guild master on the main street, Dalen headed towards the Crow’s Nest through familiar alleys.
Originally, he planned to return home directly, but Philopon’s parting words had altered his plans.
‘By the way, Sienna was looking for you. You should visit the Crow’s Nest. The little one was asking for you.’
“The little one, huh.”
The overly cute term made him chuckle as he rolled up his left sleeve.
Contrary to Philopon’s amusement at the young folks’ code, the term “little one” was meant literally.
Until a few weeks ago, his left arm had been covered in tattoos, but now only the curse mark and holy tattoo remained.
After the battle with the witch, the young blue-scaled dragon had been reluctant to return to its tattoo form.
‘Bourbon is going through a growth spurt, they said.’
Even though he was imprinted as a parent, the ecology and growth of dragons were best understood by other dragons.
Dalen accepted Bourbon’s suggestion to leave things to him without hesitation, and for good reason.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving the city for a few weeks anyway, and thanks to the dragon heart, I can hide my dragon energy without Cheongrin’s help. No problem there.”
Lost in thought, he soon found himself standing before a familiar sign.
[Raven’s Nest]
[Open: 6 PM - 4 AM]
Without a second thought, Dalen pushed open the door to the tavern.
A wave of heat hit him in the face.
The sharp scent mingled with the lively chatter.
Once a place of silence, the Raven’s Nest had become more bustling than ever since Sienna’s return.
“Hahaha! So I told that rookie…”
“Believe it or not, I saved over twenty people during the recent West District addiction crisis!”
“Yeah, right. You were probably too busy running away.”
“To our next adventure! Cheers!”
Navigating through the cacophony, Dalen made his way down the stairs to the bar.
His keen senses picked up the whispers hidden among the exaggerated noise.
“Isn’t that him? Dalen the Dragonslayer?”
“I heard he killed a demon in the labyrinth recently. They say he was at the forefront of the addiction crisis too.”
“Hard to believe he’s still a gold-ranked mercenary. Should we try to recruit him under the table?”
“Forget it. Even if you put in a request through the Raven’s Nest, most get rejected. He’s no fool who doesn’t know his worth.”
Curiosity, admiration, greed, and disappointment.
Amidst the mixed whispers and glances, there was surprisingly no overt hostility.
Perhaps it was because the Raven’s Nest was practically his backyard, or maybe his reputation had grown beyond mere envy and jealousy.
No one saw any practical gain in picking a fight with him anymore.
On the flip side, it meant that those who were truly hostile would be more direct in targeting his life.
“I heard somewhere that he might already be on par with the transcendents of the Golden Palace.”
“That’s ridiculous. A divinity like him at the fifth rank? Sure, he’s strong, but he doesn’t have that overwhelming presence of a transcendent.”
“Rank? What’s that?”
“I don’t know, you idiot.”
It also meant that skilled individuals who understood the concept of rank had entered Sienna’s territory.
Letting the endless whispers wash over him, Dalen took a seat at the end of the bar.
“A Melond Highlander, please.”
He ordered as usual, and as usual, the drink was poured over ice in a familiar glass.
As he lifted the glass, a small feather hidden beneath it came into view.
“To the office. It’s urgent.”
The moment his fingers touched it, a clear message echoed in his mind.
“There’s breaking news of a demon army appearing in the Frost Highlands.”
Just a few words, but the message was clear.
“Thanks for the drink.”
Dalen downed the brown liquid in one go, casually placing the glass back over the feather, and stretched his neck.
It seemed his well-spent week of vacation had finally come to an end.