Chapter 43
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 43
No, that wasn't it.
"I'm not sure what's going on here…"
As Swallow’s discomfort showed plainly on his face, the innkeeper replied with a sly grin.
"Hmm? As you can see, an innkeeper is treating a guest to a meal."
The man, Noban, gave a sheepish laugh, though it held no joy. It was more like his face had frozen into a forced smile because he didn't know what other expression to make.
The whole situation had started ten minutes ago when the innkeeper had called for him. The source of the secretive footsteps heading to the second floor had been the innkeeper himself.
He had burst in asking, "Where is the knight?" and when Swallow had explained Patrick’s absence, the man had summoned Swallow instead.
By the time Swallow snapped out of his confusion, he was already in this predicament.
That was how it happened.
Swallow lowered his gaze back to the food.
The spread looked decent at a glance, but the items placed before him were clearly below the standard of any typical inn, and not in a good way. Having eaten at an inn in Riaze just three weeks ago, the difference was jarring.
First, there was the rye bread, which looked rock-hard even from a distance. He touched it just to be sure, and his suspicions were confirmed. Its density was comparable to a stone. He honestly felt it could be used as a weapon in a real fight. A single blow would likely knock a man out cold.
"..."
He silently shifted his gaze to the other items.
The wine was a pitifully small serving for one person. The only thing that looked remotely edible was the pickled turnip, but even that was a tiny portion.
"That's all the food I can give you."
Perhaps noticing the troubled look in Swallow’s eyes, Noban spoke up cautiously.
"I don't know how you'll take this, but I brought this out as a special treat because I felt so bad for you and the knight. No matter how I thought about it, starving my guests felt like something an innkeeper should never do. Besides, the knight paid much more than the original price. I had to repay that kindness somehow."
With another smile, Noban nudged the plate toward Swallow, urging him to eat.
"So, I hope you don't take it the wrong way that I said no meals were available at first."
The man wasn't lying. Swallow had several reasons to believe him. In the ten minutes since he’d followed the man down to the first floor, he had observed him closely. Noban had been desperate, frantically searching for even one more scrap of food. He probably hadn't brought out his entire personal stash, but he had clearly scraped together whatever he could.
Responding to the man's sincerity, Swallow reached for the food. He didn't dare touch the hard bread, picking up a piece of turnip instead.
As Swallow began to eat, Noban continued as if he had been waiting for the chance.
"Come to think of it, we haven't introduced ourselves. I'm Noban Hetecker. I'm not a cold-hearted man, so please, feel free to call me Noban."
"I'm… Swald."
After the brief greeting, Swallow bit into the turnip. It was incredibly salty, far worse than he had expected.
A brief silence followed.
This time, Swallow asked the question naturally.
"…Is the situation in Hastin that bad?"
"It's a living hell."
The answer was instantaneous, as if it required no thought at all.
Catching a glimpse of Noban’s expression, Swallow silently took a sip of wine. It tasted terrible, too. He wasn't an expert on food or drink, but by any standard, this wasn't something that should be sold for money.
Yet, even this must have been a precious ration to Noban.
"It's embarrassing to tell an outsider about the village's misfortunes… but since you and the knight are here in Hastin, it might help to know a bit. To put it simply, the 'Black Disaster' descended a few weeks ago…"
"I heard the area around the Magic Tower was completely destroyed."
"…It seems everyone, including the knight, knows to some extent. Then again, with the village in this state, it would be stranger not to know. It was a disaster in every sense of the word. Most of the residents who saw it with their own eyes lost consciousness on the spot."
I know that better than anyone. Because it was me.
The Black Disaster nodded silently.
"Right after that incident, the Lord… committed suicide."
Suddenly, a log in the fireplace crackled, sending a spark flying. Noban jumped, startled, and looked around. Only after confirming multiple times that no one was eavesdropping did he continue cautiously.
"…Had you heard that news?"
"I haven't heard anything about that."
Swallow shook his head nonchalantly.
It was a lie.
He had heard about the Lord of Hastin’s suicide so many times from Patrick that his ears were practically bleeding. He simply judged that pretending not to know would be more beneficial.
"The official word is that he passed away from a chronic illness, but the rumor spreading among the residents is that the Lord hanged himself. A maid who works at the castle said it herself, so it's not just some baseless rumor, is it?"
"..."
"It's not something easily spoken aloud, but this is what the villagers are saying: 'Perhaps the Lord knew something.'"
Noban swallowed hard. Caught up in the secretive atmosphere, he kept glancing around, looking quite nervous despite his large frame.
Swallow handed the remaining wine to Noban.
After lightly wetting his throat, Noban continued.
"After that, the carriages coming in and out of the village suddenly stopped."
"The reason for that is…"
"I'm not sure about that part. Haha."
Noban forced a laugh, trying to lighten the heavy mood.
Swallow gave a small nod. In a way, it was natural that he didn't know. Commoners were often kept in the dark—a frequent occurrence not just in human society, but in any place where a hierarchy existed. Those in the middle of the social ladder only received fragments of information, often deluding themselves into thinking they knew everything based on those vague pieces.
The truth remained submerged beneath the surface.
Only those who ‘truly mattered’ would know the important parts. It was certain that only a select few among the human higher-ups knew the real reason.
"Anyway, what's certain is that this village has no hope. I, and all the residents who remain, cherish and love this place. It's only been a few weeks, but we've tried desperately to hold on."
As he spoke, a gloomy shadow fell over Noban’s face.
"But looking at the state of things now, you can see how it will end. There's a pit outside the castle walls where they pile the corpses, and it's already filled to the brim. Things just don't go the way you want them to. The village's food supply is completely exhausted. People have already started starving to death, and I think even those who have food stored won't last more than two weeks, at most."
I'm planning to leave the village soon, too, Noban added.
Since it was a conversation over a meal, it didn't drag on much longer. Swallow, who had stubbornly chewed through even the rock-hard rye bread, expressed his quiet thanks and stood up.
"I'll make sure to deliver the rest to Pat—my master."
"I'm sorry to say this, but that was the last meal I could offer you and the knight. I don't know why you came to this village or how much longer you'll stay, but it's best to leave as soon as possible. You won't be able to find food anywhere else in this town."
Noban gave one last piece of advice as Swallow headed up the stairs.
Swallow’s weary eyes simply stared straight ahead.
"Swald, you must know. What happens to people when they're driven into a corner."
*
Less than a minute after Swallow had returned to his room and flopped onto the bed, Patrick returned through the wide-open window.
Entering without a sound, Patrick glanced at Swallow and recoiled in horror.
"Boss… why are you still awake? Why? How?"
"Do you really have to use such a serious tone for something so trivial…?"
"Trivial? It's theoretically impossible for you to have been lying on that bed for this long without falling asleep."
Do you really have to bring theory into this?
"The innkeeper called me downstairs. He gave me some bread and turnips. I put your share on the drawer."
"That's good. You can have that for your food tomorrow, Boss. Since it'll be your breakfast, lunch, and dinner, you'll have to ration it carefully."
"No, that's…"
Swallow rolled around on the bed, unable to bring himself to say, That's too much.
For some reason, he had a strong feeling that Patrick was right—he would have to survive the next day on that stone-like bread and a few pieces of turnip. He had become aware of his fate.
Damn it, Swallow clicked his tongue quietly.
"…I went to the Lord's castle for a bit. I was going to take a look at the new Lord's face, but security was so tight I just came back. No results."
Only after finishing his brief report did Patrick deactivate his magic. The silence-walking spell must have drained a fair amount of mana, as he let out a groan of "Oof," accompanied by the rattling of his jaw.
"Did you find out anything, Boss?" he asked, his voice holding not a shred of expectation.
Swallow, who had quickly grown tired of rolling around and was now lying still as a corpse, answered simply.
"Uh… it seems Hastin has been cut off from the outside world. Other than that, the innkeeper didn't seem to know much."
"How unexpected. For you to actually find something out, Boss," Patrick marveled with genuine sincerity. "Cut off, you say… I figured as much, since people are starving after only three weeks, but I guess it's true. Let's look into that tomorrow as well, Boss."
"Good luck doing that alone."
"You mean the two of us."
Pretending not to hear, Swallow buried his face in the bed.
Watching him, Patrick sighed and, as usual, added a bit more nagging.
"Oh, and Boss. I'd appreciate it if you'd keep the window closed. I only left one side open when I went out, but now both are wide open. You shouldn't trust humans too much. You'll get robbed at this rate."
"…What are you talking about? I never touched the window."
"Haha, oh Boss. You're making such a poor excuse for a joke. This window doesn't just blow open in the wind. Did a ghost open it, then?"
"I don't know. Maybe a ghost or a thief opened it," Swallow shot back as a joke. He meant it as a joke.
A silence colder than ice settled over the room.
Realizing something was wrong, Swallow whipped his head around. Come to think of it, something was missing. He couldn't see it.
Swallow scrambled out of bed and looked around. It was gone. The item he had definitely tossed carelessly onto the bed— "My coat is gone…?"
"…Are you serious?"
"It's… it's gone. It's really gone. Patrick, we have to find it. Forget the money in the pockets, that coat…"
It was a coat Rene had made for him personally. He couldn't even imagine what would happen if he lost it.
Patrick’s face also hardened. "Ah?! No way!"
He let out a cry that was almost a scream, rushing toward the dresser with a loud clatter. The moment he opened the drawer, his white skull turned even paler.
"It's… it's gone. Boss. Mine is gone too. Boss. Did you see it? Did you see what I put in the drawer?"
"…What did you get stolen?" the Ancient Monster's voice trembled violently as he asked.
The Death Knight's voice trembled twice as much as he answered.
"My rib."
"…Huh?"
What?
Phase. 2
A thin crescent moon illuminated the dark streets. Relying on that single sliver of moonlight, a girl hurried across the slope.
Low roofs lined one side of the path, their shallow shadows painting the dark street in an even deeper gloom.
The back alleys.
Rosalina, a petty thief of Hastin, only stopped running once she reached their entrance. This was her sanctuary. Filth lay scattered haphazardly on the ground, and an artificial waterway flowed with sewage. After crossing several structures and walking into the deepest part of the alley, she began to see the figures of people lying defenselessly on the ground.
Rosalina, whose breath had been hitching in her chest, finally caught her breath and cautiously looked back.
It was silent. No one was following her. Only then did the girl relax and let out a sigh of relief.
"Rosalina."
Just then, a voice calling her name drifted out from the darkness. A man with a gravelly voice called to her from the shadows. He had a gaunt frame, as if accustomed to hunger; he, too, was a resident of the back alleys.
Unlike Rosalina, this man had spent most of his life here. Having lived that way for over a decade, the look in his eyes was fierce.