The Burning Village (1)
It took a full week from the day Dalen first heard about the mission until the official request came through from the Tsar’s special forces.
This was a testament to how swiftly Sienna’s newly established intelligence network was operating through the special forces.
“I’m afraid I can’t join you this time. I’ll be staying here to expand the Crow’s Nest.”
On the day they officially received the mission at the Crow’s Nest, Sienna spoke amidst the fluttering feathers in the office.
“This mission has proven that a witch’s powers can be revolutionary for information dissemination. By the time you return, the Crow’s Nest will be a completely different organization.”
It seemed she intended to use her witch’s powers to grow the organization—a fitting plan for the mistress of the Crow’s Nest.
Originally, it would have taken Sienna several years to regain her witch’s powers. But now, she was recovering her abilities faster than ever, and it wouldn’t be long before she had an intelligence network spanning the entire continent.
“Good luck. Come back safely.”
Sienna gave him a playful wink as she saw him off at the door.
Three days later, Dalen left the city.
After receiving his reward for dealing with the addict crisis from Everon and acquiring a new spear and armor from the Mithril Forge, he boarded a carriage bound for the southeastern city of Baltinograd in the Tsar’s domain.
The caravan, one of the largest on the continent, welcomed the platinum-ranked mercenary with a luxurious carriage.
The rain poured steadily as the caravan of over a hundred people set off.
Dalen gazed out the window at the receding view of the Lycanth River. The clamor of the caravan, the raindrops tapping on the carriage roof, and the silence inside the spacious carriage created a strange symphony.
“This year, it seems to rain more than usual.”
The silence was broken by Bjorn Kaladrakum, the one-eyed master craftsman sitting across from him.
“If the weather stays damp, the gunpowder will get wet… I’ll have to invent gunpowder that can ignite even underwater.”
“The Tsar’s domain would appreciate that. Most regions are plagued by blizzards in winter and constant drizzle in spring and summer.”
“Indeed. I owe you a lot. The chance to legally procure and research gunpowder materials from the Tsar’s royal family is invaluable.”
Bjorn grinned, his beard twitching with delight.
As payment for guiding the special forces through the labyrinth, Dalen had secured a legal supply of gunpowder for the one-eyed master craftsman from the Tsar’s domain.
It might have seemed an excessive demand for an individual, but to the Tsar’s royal family, who had suffered a blow from the Night of the Restless Spirits, Dalen was nothing short of a hero for vanquishing the culprit, Kalkas.
Thanks to this, Bjorn not only gained access to previously classified materials and technology but also the opportunity to collaborate with the Tsar’s royal family on research.
The results that a craftsman, who had achieved remarkable feats under poor conditions, would produce with national support were beyond imagination.
At the same time, Bjorn, who owed Dalen a great debt, would become his most steadfast ally in the future war against the evil god.
“It’s a shame Galleos, the caravan leader, isn’t here. He was an interesting fellow.”
“I heard he’s busy.”
“Yes, he’s expanding into the art business, starting with a glass workshop. He mentioned that if I traveled north with you, I might run into Elgaia’s Tower Master.”
Elgaia’s Tower Master, Felber Valentino.
Dalen had recently heard that the former elder wizard of the tower had ascended to the position of Tower Master.
Despite receiving a new body as Dalen’s vassal, the elderly earth mage was still seeking additional means to handle the power of the grand domain he had created.
It had been quite some time since he left the tower to wander.
The tower must have felt a sense of crisis at the thought of losing a wizard who had achieved a grand domain.
So, they had nominally appointed the elder wizard, who hadn’t shown his face for half a year, as the Tower Master.
Of course, that wouldn’t stop his quest to elevate his physical form.
“Did the old man head north?”
“It seems Galleos recommended a good healer. After gaining vitality from Revivach’s herbal medicine, he’s planning to travel the clear northern mountains for recuperation.”
The dwarf stroked his beard and continued.
“The caravan leader joked that heading north is becoming a trend. Even the paladin order, which recently contracted for supplies, is expanding its activities northward.”
“I see.”
The mention of the paladin order naturally brought a certain name to mind.
Dalen rested his chin on the window sill, watching the rain-soaked landscape.
Then, the boy who had been quietly listening to the conversation spoke up.
“Will I be able to meet my mother again?”
”…Mother? What are you talking about?”
His delayed response was due to the shocking statement he had heard recently.
Dalen glanced at the boy. The boy, Akasha, a young Azure Dragon with hair and eyes dyed black by magic, spoke with pure anticipation.
“Oh, I meant my relational mother, not my biological one. The paladin with golden hair and sapphire eyes, blessed by the gods and brimming with potential—she’s my mother, isn’t she?”
”…Just get some sleep.”
“Unless I’m extremely fatigued from battle or intense experiments, unnecessary sleep is a waste for a true dragon. I can complete a new magical system just by observing and contemplating the world.”
The boy’s words, spoken with an innocent expression, were relentless.
Where did he learn to speak so confidently to an adult?
Instead of voicing his thoughts, Dalen waved his hand dismissively.
“Fine. Then enjoy the view outside.”
“That’s sound advice. You’re a good father.”
The boy replied with a bright smile. Dalen shook his head, feeling a rare headache.
He didn’t consider himself an ideal father figure, but he mused that even the best father would struggle with a son like this.
In the languid silence that returned, the carriage rattled on, leaving the Lycanth River behind and heading into the cold north.
As the end approached, the continent teemed with monsters.
The caravan they traveled with was not free from attacks.
The mercenaries guarding the caravan had to fight off bandits, orcs, goblins, and various necromancers daily.
Of course, the caravan wasn’t defenseless. Being part of one of the continent’s largest trading companies, they had invested heavily in training private soldiers for such occasions.
However, there were inevitably two or three dangerous moments, and each time, Dalen and his companions swiftly ended the battles.
By the time the caravan reached its destination…
“Thank you, mercenary sir!”
“You saved my life! Thank you!”
“We’ll never forget your heroics!”
The platinum-ranked mercenary and his dwarf companion had become heroes within the caravan.
“We plan to stay for about a month to survey the market. If you’re willing, we’ll cover your living expenses during your stay and double your fee…”
“Thank you for the offer, but as I mentioned when we set out, I have a schedule to keep. Perhaps we’ll meet again someday.”
After politely declining the caravan leader’s request, the group rented horses in the city and headed east.
The Teeth of the World Mountains stretched from the barren tundra beyond the Frost Plateau at the northeastern edge of the continent.
About two weeks after heading east, the constant drizzle turned to sleet.
After several more days of pushing through the wet snowstorm, they finally glimpsed the distant lights of a village through the mist, prompting a sigh of relief from the dwarf.
“Phew. We finally see a village. Let’s rest there for the night before moving on.”
“Aren’t dwarves supposed to be resistant to the cold?”
“My friend, I’m a craftsman accustomed to the warmth of fire and gunpowder. It’s not that I’m weak to the cold; I’m just a bit more sensitive.”
”…”
Isn’t that the same thing?
Not wanting to argue with the dwarf, whose beard was frosted white, Dalen shrugged and urged his horse to go a little faster.
Though he had long been immune to the cold, he too preferred a cozy inn bed over a damp campsite.
After about thirty minutes of riding through the fog, they were greeted by an old wooden palisade and gate. Dalen handed a silver coin to the gatekeeper.
“Don’t cause any trouble.”
Creak…
The gate opened with a groan from its rusty hinges. The group passed the stern watchman and entered the village.
As they made their way to the inn, which was typically located in the village center, Dalen suddenly stopped, frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s not right.”
The air was decidedly chilly.
Despite the presence of human warmth, there was an odd, pervasive coldness. A faint, unsettling sense of danger tickled at the edges of his intuition.
The gazes of the passersby held a burning intensity beyond mere wariness, and even the children playing in the streets seemed strangely out of place.
Yet what bothered him most was the fact that, despite everything, he couldn’t quite grasp anything concrete within his senses.
“There’s a lot of anger here.”
Whether it was fortunate or not, Dalen wasn’t the only one who felt this strange atmosphere.
“It’s strange. I know humans are often wary of strangers, but this is much more intense than any village we’ve passed through before.”
The black-haired boy tilted his head in puzzlement. Unlike Dalen, his reaction was more of pure curiosity than discomfort.
Being an immortal, his perceptions were bound to be different.
Regardless, the important thing was that something was seriously wrong with this village.
“Hmm… What do you plan to do?”
Byorn, sensing something amiss, instinctively reached into his coat and asked. Dalen stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Should they avoid trouble, or confront it head-on?
The decision didn’t take long.
“Let’s find an inn first.”
Dalen’s plan to secure a room and investigate the situation quickly unraveled.
“We’re not taking guests.”
The innkeeper, with a beard as wild as a bandit’s, flatly refused them, holding out his hand.
“What? Why not? At least give us a reason!”
“We don’t take outsiders. Even gold won’t change that, so you’d best look elsewhere.”
“What kind of logic is that? In this goblin-sized village, where else are we supposed to go?”
Byorn protested, his frosty beard quivering, but the innkeeper’s expression remained unchanged.
Once again, it was decision time.
Should they test the innkeeper’s resolve with a pile of gold, or avoid further conflict and quietly leave the village?
‘Or perhaps…’
Letting his hand drift naturally to his waist was another way to uncover the truth behind this village’s oddities.
“Hey! Over here!”
Just then, someone stood up from a table and shouted. The voice was filled with warmth, though the face was unfamiliar.
A man with a friendly demeanor, presumably a local, strode over and enveloped Dalen in a hearty embrace, laughing.
“Hey, you should’ve said hello if you were looking for me! It’s been so long, I almost didn’t recognize you! Haha! I’ve grown a beard and changed a lot, haven’t I? Honestly, I almost didn’t recognize you either! Hahaha!”
”…”
The man’s hand patted Dalen’s back with ease, hiding the trained muscles beneath his thick frame.
”…”
At the same time, Dalen’s keen senses detected a hint of awkwardness that hadn’t been fully masked.
Understanding the situation wasn’t difficult.
Dalen playfully pushed the man away and tapped his chest with a fist.
“Of course I didn’t recognize you! Why’d you grow a beard on that already ugly face? And how’d you put on so much weight?”
“Ha! You haven’t changed a bit! Innkeeper, remember the childhood friend I told you about? This is him!”
The innkeeper’s expression shifted from surprise to mild curiosity at the man’s introduction.
Dalen chuckled softly, playing along with the man’s exuberance.
Things were starting to get interesting.