Chapter 18
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 18
Chapter Title: Village of Terror (2)
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"Thank you! Truly, thank you. You're my savior!"
The old man grabbed Bran's hand and shook it up and down vigorously.
Tears welled up in the corners of his wrinkled eyes. His emotions were overflowing—he looked ready to burst into sobs.
Behind him stood the wagon, now pulled free from the muck like it had been dipped in chocolate fondue and fished out.
"My name is Leodorn. Leodorn Belmayer. Forgive my earlier rudeness."
"I'm Bran. No worries—anyone would get worked up in a situation like that."
The old man who introduced himself as Leodorn gladly accepted Bran's offer.
As expected, he was a merchant headed to Valkeros with connections there.
Leodorn let out a hearty laugh upon hearing Bran's words.
"Hahaha! What generosity, rivaling even superhuman strength! Far better than those two!"
Leodorn shot a glare at his escorts.
They were milling about near the swamp, scratching their heads awkwardly.
"If you're paid, earn your keep. Give up after a few tries and just quit... tch!"
"Damn, that kid's got some guts."
The escorts grumbled and shot Bran dirty looks.
It must have bruised their pride.
A total stranger had swooped in and fixed what they couldn't despite straining every muscle.
"How'd the wagon get stuck in the first place?"
"Well, the mules suddenly veered off like they were spooked. First time I've seen anything like it."
Leodorn shrugged.
It felt like some external force was at play, but they hadn't pinpointed the cause.
Kael let out an awkward laugh.
"Glad it worked out. Bran's got some serious strength."
"Indeed! And you, looking like a beautiful doll—what's your name?"
"D-Doll...? I'm Kael."
He had quietly slipped behind Bran.
His mouth smiled, but his delicate fingers clutched Bran's collar tight.
Always such a scaredy-cat. When would he toughen up into a real guy?
"So, what brings you two here? Your clothes don't scream locals."
"Just wandering mercenaries."
"Ah, that explains the sturdy builds."
Leodorn nodded readily.
In this world, it wasn't rare for boys and girls to live by the sword.
Anyone with skill could make it, regardless of age or gender.
The girl from the 7th Rapid Deployment Unit was a prime example.
"So, sir, you'll give us a ride to Valkeros?"
"Of course! Be my travel companions. I'll cover food and lodging all the way."
"Whoa, really?!"
Kael's face lit up.
He hadn't shown it, but the journey so far had been rough.
It had been—marching a thousand miles with that tiny frame.
Leodorn spoke up.
"Let's get ready to head out, then. Handle that cargo with care—it's valuable."
They reloaded the cargo onto the wagon.
Hitched the mules back up and roughly wiped off the caked mud.
As they finished preparations to depart, the escort with the facial scar spoke.
"Old man. Which way we going?"
"Huh?"
"Time's wasted already—why not take the mountain path? Narrow, but definitely faster."
"Damn it, why keep harping on the mountain path? Stick to the main road."
Leodorn furrowed his brow.
With the wagon fixed, Bran saw no real reason to detour through the mountains.
This time, the bearded escort chimed in.
"Sigh... I held back 'cause I didn't want to worry you, but bandits have been hitting the main road lately."
"B-Bandits?!"
Leodorn flinched.
The bearded escort lowered his voice.
"Not just any riffraff—rumors say it's the Crow Bandits. Heard of Black Feather in Valkeros?"
"Mercy me. The Crow Bandits?!"
"They're growing stronger lately. Hate to say it, but if it's true, two of us can't handle them."
Leodorn's face hardened.
Spera really was a big name.
To shrink a grizzled veteran like that in an instant.
The scarred escort chuckled at Bran.
"Even country bumpkins like you know that much? They're terrifying."
"Oh yeah. Better than anyone."
Bran smiled.
The Crow Bandits had been wiped out over half a month ago—by him, no less—but he didn't bother correcting them.
Maybe some remnants were still robbing merchants.
'These guys... up to something.'
Of course, it was probably a fabricated excuse.
Honey on the mountain path or what? What were they after?
Intrigued, Bran racked his brain.
Southern region. Mountain path en route to Valkeros.
"Ah."
Soon, a certain place flashed in his mind.
One of the candidates they'd pass heading to Valkeros.
Seeing the terrain in real life—not the game—had thrown him off a bit.
Bran replied with a subtle smile.
"I think the mountain path is better too."
"Eh? You think so?"
"Yeah. Bandits are scary."
With Bran's agreement, Leodorn's expression grew graver.
In the end, the group took the mountain path instead of the main road.
Bandits were scary, sure.
Compared to what awaited on the mountain path, though—not so much.
The sun had set.
The wagon rattled along the mountain path.
Leodorn sat at the driver's seat.
The two escorts rode their own horses, guarding the rear and flanks.
Owning personal mounts meant they weren't total amateurs.
Bran rode in the cargo area with Kael.
"Hehe, thanks to you, Bran, we're traveling in style. This is the life..."
Kael rolled side to side, grinning ear to ear.
The space wasn't huge, but with walls and a roof, it beat camping by miles.
Bran said,
"Rest while you can. Keeping up those prayers?"
"Yeah. Haven't missed a day since you told me."
Kael nodded.
He meant prayers to Raweina.
Suddenly, his triumphant expression darkened.
"But still no answer. Am I really from the Astreia Family?"
"Hm... think again. Anything you might've done to anger the goddess?"
"Anger? Hmm..."
Kael trailed off.
Seemed like nothing came to mind.
Really weird. What was the issue?
"Anyway, don't stress. We'll sort it out this time."
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"You'll see soon. Lucky we met Leodorn. Sometimes I think I got all the luck."
"Eh?"
Kael's eyes narrowed.
He was about to ask again.
KRAAACK!
Suddenly, a thunderous roar echoed outside the wagon.
"Eek!"
Kael hunched his shoulders.
Unexpected thunder.
WHOOOOSH!
Before they could react, rain poured down.
"Damn it. Rain out of nowhere like this."
Leodorn cursed.
It was a massive downpour. Rain hammered the roof like gunfire.
A typical southern squall—Bran and Kael had weathered a few.
"Can't go on like this. Need shelter."
Leodorn clicked his tongue.
The precariously advancing wagon halted.
Visibility was zero in the torrent.
The question was where to find cover in these wild mountains.
As they fretted over potential landslides,
"Look there—lights!"
One escort shouted.
All eyes turned to where he pointed.
Sure enough, lights clustered down the slope.
A small village, maybe a hundred souls.
"Oh, the gods are with us!"
Leodorn sighed in relief.
A side path led toward the village—just wide enough for the wagon.
Slippery, but the mules navigated it like pros.
Tall wooden fences encircled the village—decent security.
Leodorn stopped at the gate and called out.
"Anyone there?! Just passing travelers!"
"...The gate... is opening...!"
A muffled reply came through the rain.
Clank. The sound of a bolt being lifted.
The gate cracked open, and a man in a raincoat peeked out.
"Guests at this hour? What brings you?"
"Sorry, but any inn for the night? Can't cross the mountains in this storm."
"Heavens, the mountains in this weather?! Of course!"
The gate swung wide.
"Come in! Warm fire and hot meals ready."
The man welcomed them warmly.
His honest smile had most of the group smiling back.
The only holdout: Bran.
He asked the man,
"This happen often?"
"Pardon?"
"You opened without checking who we are. What if we're bandits?"
The man's face stiffened briefly.
But he brushed it off with good humor.
"Haha, sharp one. Happens more than once or twice. Village exists for mountain travelers."
"Ah, gotcha. Makes sense."
Bran was impressed.
Quick on his feet. Had to be, to survive here.
"Wahaha!"
"More drinks!"
Then, laughter pierced the rain.
Turning toward it revealed a large building.
Village hall, by the looks.
"Hm? Quite the racket."
"Haha, festival's on."
"Festival? At night?"
"Special one. Join if interested—I'll guide you."
"Hmm... festival."
Leodorn blinked.
After a moment, he turned to Bran.
"You kids rest free, meet up at dawn? Prime age for festivities."
"Fine by us. You sure, sir?"
"I'll crash right away. Age catches up."
Leodorn shook his head.
His face screamed exhaustion, as he said.
As Bran and Kael exchanged glances, the escorts approached, thumping their chests.
"Don't worry—we'll be around."
"Kids play like kids."
Uncharacteristically mature.
Bran accepted the offer.
Splitting from Leodorn's group, the two headed to the hall.
Creeeak.
Light flooded out as the door opened.
"I told you—not there!"
"Hans saw a White Sword Unit airship recently. What a lie."
"More beer here!"
Festival chaos poured out too.
A real party, as the man said.
Villagers in simple clothes reveled around booze.
A delicious aroma drew eyes to the center hearth: a whole roasting wild boar.
"Whoa...!"
"Not bad."
Kael gawked.
Bran whistled softly.
Luxury unseen during his slave days.
Then, a portly elder approached.
"Welcome. I'm the village elder."
The elder smiled warmly, like the gatekeeper.
"Thanks for visiting Delheim. Eat, drink—enjoy the festival."
"What kind?"
"Good question."
The elder beamed at Kael.
"We worship the God of Silence. Once a month, from midnight to dawn, we offer utter silence."
"Wow, silence as tribute? Cool festival."
"Heh, the act our god loves most. Can't speak after midnight, so we party hard before—that became the festival."
Intriguing custom.
A grandfather clock on the wall likely signaled midnight.
Guided to seats of honor.
Village women swarmed eagerly.
"So cute!"
"Real sword? Can I touch?"
"Uh? S-Sure?"
They'd eyed the pair since entry.
Southern builds—curvy and confident.
Low-cut tops all around.
Traditional? Fine tradition.
Kael glanced at Bran amid the women.
"B-Bran... maybe we should head back?"
"Nah? This is great."
"Eh."
"Haha, outsiders always welcome. Have fun."
The elder laughed.
Bran dove in earnestly.
Downed mugs of beer, devoured meat nonstop.
Unfamiliar foods absorbed instantly.
Thud!
Slamming a mug, Bran gestured wildly with tales of valor.
"So I slammed my fist into that bastard's gut. One hit, and he squealed like a girl."
"Whoa, really? More!"
"Haha, great storyteller."
Women swooned at every word.
Kael pouted, watching.
"...Too close."
Crunch. Wood from the mug rim.
First time seeing Bran laugh so freely.
Why the tightness in his chest?
Friend's joy should feel good—why the irritation?
"Phew!"
Kael chugged his beer.
Strong stuff. Buzz creeping in.
Not his favorite, but tonight? He wanted drunk.
As he set down the mug, women approached.
"Why alone? Join us."
"...Nah, tired."
Kael waved them off, averting eyes.
Give my friend space—he's tired too.
Besides, I'm not into...
The buzz nearly dragged out forbidden words.
DONG!
DONG!
DONG!
The clock wailed.
Midnight signal.
The low echoes faded.
"Whoa, louder than—"
Kael gasped mid-sentence.
Silence blanketed the hall.
Unbelievable after the din.
The roaster, the arm-linked woman coquettishly clinging to Bran, even the elder.
Nearly a hundred souls, all stone-faced and mute.
"...expected."
Chills crawled his neck.
Not a peep.
Only pattering rain beyond walls.
Villagers' vacant stares hung like shark eyes.
"..."
Kael swallowed.
Less prayerful devotion, more morgue stillness.
Knew it was ritual, but unease lingered.
Hold this till dawn?
Paralyzed by eerie dread, then—
"Tch, ruined the vibe."
Bran grumbled sourly.
Snap!
All villagers turned to him in unison.
"Eek."
Kael froze.
Eerily synchronized—like puppets.
Bran ignored it.
"God of Silence my ass. Know when to quit clowning."
"B-Bran?"
"Hey, if we're done partying, move."
"Kyaa!"
Shove! Bran pushed the woman aside, downed the last of his beer.
"Help me out, Kael. Whew, first drinks in ages—too wasted."
"What the... okay, hold on!"
Stumbling, Bran leaned on Kael to steady.
Half-lidded eyes confirmed his state.
At the door, Bran grinned back at the villagers.
"Man, tonight... ugh, I'll sleep so deep even kidnapping won't wake me."