In Search of the Lost Heirloom (2)
“Stealing a family heirloom? What are you talking about?”
“Well, you see, everyone’s saying I stole the heirloom, but I don’t remember a thing. Not just the theft—all my memories from that day are gone, so I couldn’t even defend myself.”
Kriel felt a sharp headache coming on. These types pop up every now and then. Unpredictable sorts who might do anything. Best to steer clear. The last thing he needed was some weird misunderstanding piling on, like accusations that he’d lured out the family black sheep to steal the heirloom on behalf of some abyss spawn.
“Look, honestly. Even if I’ve racked up a mountain of gambling debt, would I sell a family heirloom? Sure, I black out from booze sometimes, but I’m not that brain-dead.”
So the guy’s got some common sense after all, Kriel thought. He mentally upgraded Alberik’s rating from “heirloom-selling lunatic” to “a bit crazy, but at least speaks human” (he’d almost said “human tongue” but caught himself, remembering the elf was direct lineage from a noble house).
“Heirlooms are too easy to trace even on the black market. I could sell Mom’s jewels and cover a year’s worth of booze. Why bother with something like that?”
“What?”
“Oh ho! You’re clueless about the real world!”
Tuon whispered.
[Master. This elf seems a little crazy.]
“Why’s it an heirloom? Because it’s precious! I don’t like bragging about my family, but the Lir house is doing pretty well, right? How many black market fences could even handle something treated like an heirloom from a place like that?!”
Only a handful of fences had the capital to pull off a deal on the scale of an elven noble house’s heirloom. Even then, the empire’s underworld bosses would have to step in personally to offer a fair price—and that was iffy at best. And even if sold as stolen goods, the problem persisted. The buyer would have to resell it, but an item stamped “heirloom” had such a clear original owner that finding a buyer was no easy task.
“No matter how wasted I get, I wouldn’t forget basic common sense like that. Better to hawk Mom’s jewels than sell an heirloom and get blacklisted by the elders—locked up in prison. The elders ignore me, but Mom would bail me out!”
[Crazy filial firebrand...]
A urge to wash his ears clean surged within Kriel, the man from a land steeped in Confucian propriety. He pressed his temple for a moment before speaking.
“Hmm. So you’re claiming you didn’t steal the heirloom. Why not tell that to the family elders?”
“I did, but they hit me with ‘What were you doing at the time, then?’ I wanted to argue, but with no memory, I just shut up—and ended up stuck here.”
Clap.
A sudden round of applause echoed.
“Well, that’s my story done. Now spill yours. Hardly anyone comes down here; boredom broke my tolerance limit hours ago!”
My story, huh. Kriel stroked his chin. It wouldn’t be very entertaining.
“I came wondering if a spirit corrupted by the abyss could be purified.”
“A spirit? Figures the footsteps were too quiet for three people. Was it the haughty one or the cheeky one?”
[Me, you idiot. How does an elf live like that?!]
“The cheeky one. Spirits can’t be trusted anymore. A voice so pure and clear, tainted by the abyss? What kind of life leads to that?”
Orishin unleashed an age-old spirit’s lecture on how a supposedly refined elf lived like that. Alberik countered with, “Then what were you doing to get abyss-tainted, spirit sir?” Orishin let out a dying screech and retreated into his horn blade. A single retort had masterfully shut down the blabbermouth. Kriel revised his assessment: “glib-tongued madman.”
“Purification, though? Isn’t that priestly work?”
“I already checked with the Holy Kingdom on the way here. Miracles and magic failed, so I had no choice but to ask experts who truly know spirits.”
“Ah, I see. And why’d you end up locked in here?”
“Picked up an abyss-tainted ring on the road. As the local manager, I figured you’d handle it properly, but some misunderstanding happened.”
“What? Our family’s stuffy, sure, but we don’t just toss people in jail willy-nilly...”
Alberik looked baffled by his family’s overreach. Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
“Here! People here! Meal time?”
“Young master... How many times do I have to say rice is hard to get from the Lir house?”
“Rice! Rice! Rice! Rice!”
The approaching figure, sighing heavily, wore something like a robe flipped inside out. The artifact gave off an oddly discordant aura. Glimpses of copper-to-brown skin peeked through. It reminded Kriel of “dark elf” from his Earth days’ fantasy novels. Of course, dark skin didn’t mean abyss ties—Kriel himself, a Dark Knight, was unnaturally pale.
Elves, kin to spirits in origin, reflected innate natural elements in skin, hair, and such—that was the theory.
Born with earth-element affinity, maybe.
“Oipe. Are the elders finally letting me out?”
“No word from the family about you. They’re busy dealing with some crazy abyss spawn who barged in.”
“Huh? Abyss spawn? The guy in the next cell?”
“Friend? What the...”
“Hello there.”
Kriel waved from the corner. Oipe, the elf about to hand bread to the “young master,” stared at him in shock. Abyss spawn looks as vicious as expected.
“To clarify, I’m not that close to Mr. Alberik here.”
“No way! We bared our souls from the depths—minus the booze, we’re practically brothers!”
“Don’t count booze as a prerequisite for friendship.”
The abyss spawn’s grumblings sounded surprisingly sensible. Oipe just mumbled, at a loss.
“When you go up, pass a message. Ask the advisor mage Rwevain Lir in the gateway city if he knows the name Kriel.”
Oipe finally straightened her expression.
“Too bad. Colin Lir’s scheme failed. The position he tried to steal from Rwevain is safe.”
“I know.”
“Huh?”
“I’m the one who sent that Colin fellow to his eternal rest.”
As Oipe froze at the sudden truth, Alberik piled on.
“That ring he brought? Says he found it in a nearby village. Might wanna check around!”
Oipe headed to her lord—or rather, Alberik Lir’s father.
“The prisoner... Kriel claims he defeated Colin Lir.”
Nawiden Lir stroked his beard. Among elves who could stay youthful forever, he was rare in embracing aged looks. Not entirely by choice. Scars from the Demon King War lingered on soul and body alike. But his weren’t irreparable. With timely treatment, he could’ve retained youth.
Except his wife had taken deeper wounds shielding him. Watching her wither daily under the abyss’s erosion, Nawiden forsook youth. They’d enter eternal rest together.
If there was one regret before departing this world, it was his son’s wayward ways. How long will that fool keep this up?
“...Elder Nawiden?”
Oipe’s voice snapped him from regret. Now wasn’t the time to fret over his son.
“If he felled Colin Lir and resolved our family lands’ woes, our treatment is a grave insult. Send word to Rwevain at once and inquire in nearby villages. If his tale’s true, the villagers will remember his good deeds.”
Creak.
The door opened. Two elves stood before it.
“Oh. Things worked out, I see.”
“We’re sorry!”
One was Oipe, bowing deeply; the other, the elf who’d greeted him yesterday. Kriel shrugged it off indifferently. Drawing suspicion or hostility was routine in his wandering days. The second elf bowed too.
“I don’t even know what reward to offer... My hasty judgment insulted your honor, knight. I apologize again.”
“Don’t sweat it. Happens often enough. Rwevain’s reply already?”
“No. But we asked villagers about Sir Kriel’s deeds. Everyone in the villages you passed praises your virtue.”
Kriel tilted his head.
“Never gave my name around here.”
“The knight with the eerily scary look? They knew right away.”
Ah.