Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: Traces of the Orphanage
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“Orphanage? Oh, that place shut down ages ago. Must’ve been over twenty years now.”
Just as expected, the orphanage was gone. He’d sent someone on the day of his wife’s funeral to confirm it, so there was no surprise there. Lander changed his question.
“Have you lived here long?”
“This is the village where I was born and raised. Back in my maiden days, I dreamed of escaping this godforsaken place for a big city, but when I came to my senses, I was a wrinkled old lady. Time is a scary thing. But why do you ask?”
“Do you know a woman named Naria?”
“Naria?”
“Yes. She’d be thirty-three this year.”
“Why are you asking about her?”
“She’s my wife.”
The innkeeper tapped the counter with her fingers.
“First time I’ve heard that name. Is she from around here?”
“She said she grew up in the orphanage here.”
“If she was from the orphanage, it’s no wonder I don’t know her. The kids came and went so much that by the time you got familiar with them, they’d be gone.”
“They came and went?”
The innkeeper nodded.
“There were plenty coming in and plenty going out. I do remember the kids being really cheerful. And the person running the orphanage put a lot of care into it.”
“So the village was big enough back then to support an orphanage.”
“Not really. It was a quiet rural village twenty years ago, just like now. Some rich person ran it. A man, but I never saw him properly, so I don’t know much. There were rumors he was a kind-hearted noble.”
“I see.”
“But why’s an outsider like you coming to check on your wife’s hometown alone?”
“If there’s someone who remembers Naria, I wanted to pass on her belongings to them.”
“Oh no, she passed away? I shouldn’t have pried.”
“It’s fine.”
“Ask away if you’ve got more questions. I’ll tell you whatever I remember.”
He thanked the innkeeper, who looked at him with pity, and returned to the table where his companions waited.
“What’d she say?”
Guchi asked.
“She’d never heard my wife’s name before. Maybe no one here knows her.”
“Do you know how long she stayed at the orphanage?”
“I heard she left around age ten.”
“Assuming she started there as a young child, that’s at least a few years in the village. Someone local should remember her, and there must’ve been caretakers for the kids.”
Inebil said.
“Probably.”
“Just in case, let’s check around where the orphanage used to be. Even if it’s gone, maybe there’s something nearby. Should we go now?”
“Let’s rest today and move tomorrow.”
He said to Inebil, who was starting to stand.
“We’ve been traveling together, but let’s split up to ask around. We’ll cover more ground that way.”
Guchi added. Lander looked back and forth between them.
“You two rest here. You must be tired from all the moving around.”
“What’s to be tired about? And three of us asking is faster than one. Unless we’re in the way?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then it’s settled. I want to help you, aside from any gratitude.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m the one who owes you, Lander, so no need to thank me. Just teach me later instead.”
Inebil grinned. They had dinner and parted to their rooms.
He pushed open the wooden window. Dust billowed up thickly.
He waved it away from in front of his face and looked outside.
Houses clustered neatly under low hills. Only a few had lights on. Night fell early in the village.
He followed his gaze along the vigilantes carrying torches. Midway, one house caught his eye.
It was twice the size of the others. Could that have been the old orphanage?
He pulled out his wife’s diary. Even though the moonlight was faint, he read it again just in case.
There was no description of her hometown anywhere.
She hadn’t liked talking about the past. Knowing that, he never asked. Being together now mattered more than what had passed.
But occasionally, she’d bring up the past as if confessing a sin, very cautiously.
Even then, it was mostly stories from after age ten. She’d only mentioned the orphanage once.
‘I was led by hand—didn’t know if it was mom or dad—to a strange building, then rode a cart from there to the orphanage.
It was a quiet place. I stayed there with kids my age. We ate, did our assigned chores, prayed, and slept. Nothing special.
Oh, there was one teacher who took good care of us. But it was so long ago, I don’t remember much. It’s all fuzzy, like a dream.’
That was the last she ever spoke of the orphanage, murmured from the bed as if sleep-talking. It wasn’t discomfort or displeasure; she just seemed to have nothing more to say, no memories left.
Lander stared at the village until dawn. It held his wife’s childhood, but no special emotions stirred.
His heart remained calm, his mind clear to the point of boredom. He almost wished for disillusionment.
His reason tuned his emotions today too, keeping his body from needless sentiment.
Even here, he couldn’t break down crying.
“Lander? You up?”
Inebil knocked twice and flung the door open. He turned from the window.
“Just checking—did you sleep?”
“Couldn’t.”
“Figured as much. You okay?”
“What do you think, Inebil?”
“Honest opinion?”
“Yes.”
“You seem normal. Calm like Connell Lake we saw two days ago.”
“I see.”
“But why? Something wrong?”
“Nothing much.”
“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Whatever it is, say it if you want. Sometimes a listener like me—who lets it go in one ear and out the other—is more helpful than some serious guy.”
He thought for a moment, then spoke.
“It hurts, but no tears come. I want to act extreme, but I can’t.”
“So? Boil it down to one point. My head’s not that great; if you beat around the bush, I won’t get it.”
Her clear question made him smile.
“I want to cry like a child, but I don’t know how. What should I do?”
“Want me to slap you? There’s that saying about slapping a kid who wants to cry. Or was it slapping a crying kid? Anyway, a slap might make you cry.”
“Would you?”
He clasped his hands behind his back and turned his cheek. Inebil stepped forward and raised her hand high.
The hand flying straight at his cheek stopped short of his nose. She lowered it and said,
“On second thought, it only works on kids. You’re not a kid, Lander. That’s why you can’t cry even if you want to. Right? Crying when you feel like it—that’s a kid’s privilege, not an adult’s.”
Inebil pulled his hands from behind his back and gripped them tightly with both of hers.
“I don’t know much about you. Or the long story with your wife. All I know is you miss her terribly and came here because of it. Is crying helplessly mature? The best way to mourn? No way. I don’t think so.”
Her eyes sparkled with energy.
“If I died and Rilder or my master just moped and cried, I’d haunt them as a ghost. Tell them to quit the stupidity, throw a party for me. Gather people who remember me and talk about me. Then stop moping and get on with life—I’d yell that.
That’d be enough for me. Just think of me sometimes like, ‘Yeah, she was like that.’ The living should worry about the living, not the dead who have no problems.”
The dead who have no problems. Her words made him laugh.
“You’re more grown-up than me, Inebil.”
“Really? Gotta brag to the old man. He always says my mental age is low. Now that you’ve certified it, I’m an adult.”
Guchi’s voice called from outside. Time for breakfast.
“Come out. Let’s eat first.”
“Alright.”
Only then did Inebil let go. She’d gripped so hard his hands were white.
“Too tight. Circulation okay?”
“Tingly.”
“I’m strong by nature. Not as much as you, Lander. Pack up and come. I’ll wait without a spoon.”
Inebil stepped out, grabbed the doorframe, and turned.
“And if you really want to cry, tell me again. I’ll slap you till tears fly. No responsibility if you bawl from the pain.”
She tapped the doorframe and walked off.
He packed with a smile on his lips.
Guchi, Inebil, and Giliud. Without meeting them on this journey, he’d probably have slit his throat the moment he arrived.
Emptiness, futility, frustration at not crying—he’d have ended it all with a blade.
Survivor’s guilt? Failure to save her? Foolish longing?
After sending his wife away, he’d lost reason to live. Yet he wondered why he still breathed.
He still didn’t know why, still frustrated, but the thought of ending it here had faded.
Did meeting them change him? Or was he seeking reasons everywhere because he wanted change? Unclear, but he was surely different from when he’d left the emperor and the Holy City.
“Come grab a bite.”
“Hurry up.”
Leaving the room, he saw the two waiting in the hall. He greeted them and sat at the table.
“This girl says you didn’t sleep. You okay? You who loves sleep so much.”
“Thanks to Inebil, I’m fine.”
“Live long and prosper. This girl’s turning useful.”
At Guchi’s words, Inebil waved her fork excitedly.
“See? How helpful I am. So old man, support me now.”
“Shut that mouth, and you’d be perfect.”
“If I shut up too, what’ll you gloomy old men do? Be grateful I’m here. Got it?”
“Yeah, right.”
The owner brought a large platter. Guchi portioned it out. A big chunk of meat sat in Inebil’s bowl.
“Expressing your feelings like this embarrasses me. I’m not some girl who sleeps with anyone.”
“Ungrateful even when I give it. Don’t want it? Give it back.”
“No way. It’s from you, so I’ll enjoy it. Eat well, Lander. Fill up to roam around.”
“Like she says, eat up. Empty stomach brings bad thoughts.”
They stared openly. He scooped up some porridge.
“You two eat too.”
Only after he spoke did they start. He felt embarrassed for worrying them unnecessarily, but grateful.