Chapter 59
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 59
Chapter Title: Guest
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Ariete awoke from sleep and discovered bloodstains on the floor. When she rushed to Richer's tent without properly dressing, all that remained was a short note.
No tall tower of happiness can be built atop parched, dried sand.
If the gears fail to mesh, they cannot turn even if they touch.
Ariete was tormented but could not die. Because somewhere in the world, Richer was still alive. Just one more moment with him would be enough.
But she could not leave the battlefield.
The only places where she could relive memories with Richer were the barracks and the front lines.
Amid the massive flames devouring the enemy, Ariete could reminisce about the days spent with him.
That was why Ariete loved the battlefield.
Her life was winter. And she knew better than anyone that spring would never come.
Richer could easily confirm that Ariete had tampered with Mila's medicine. He simply paid off a detective, and the results arrived in less than three days.
The reason for the swift delivery was simple. The investigation was already complete. All Richer received from the detective were the Empire's investigation files.
The imperial investigators were no fools; they had anticipated an assassin's involvement from the corpse.
Their files were thorough enough, but the conclusion was sloppy.
[Suspect: Unknown]
It was blatant. They had compiled all the evidence but drawn no conclusions or issued any reports.
Probably a warning to the war mages: don't fight among yourselves and break.
The circumstances were so glaringly obvious that Richer let out a sigh.
He rose from his seat right then and wandered beyond the Empire's borders. His once deep, vivid brown hair had grown slightly ashen.
When the seasons changed, Richer realized something.
The best way to erase layered, crusted bloodstains was laughter.
It didn't matter if it was genuine joy. Laughter could slowly melt away the stains. The process was agonizingly slow, but Richer knew no other method.
And so, he laughed wherever he went and smiled at everyone he met.
He laughed at happy moments, let out hollow chuckles at frustrations, and laughed in disbelief at the absurd.
By the time the next spring arrived, deep wrinkles had etched around his eyes. Every time he saw them, Richer felt they resembled knife scars—not the natural marks of time, but gashes carved by a dagger.
Still, they were better than nothing.
When spring returned once more, Richer's smiles became natural. The skin around the wrinkles softened with his laughter. Finally, he escaped the regrets of the past. The days of self-torment drowned in guilt faded away.
Time is like waves, but they cannot sweep away every grain of sand on the beach.
Yet they can slowly fill a depression. Rushing seawater first, then dragging in nearby sand bit by bit. The waves were gentle. The hollow in Richer's heart gradually filled.
In his mind, Mila became a beautiful memory like a morning star—beautiful thoughts rising before the sad ones. Now, thinking of her brought a warm smile before tears.
Ariete became a sore finger once more. But he still lacked the confidence to face her with a smile. Memories of her stirred too many tangled emotions.
He didn't know what expression he'd wear if they met again. Would he embrace and comfort her? Lash out in anger? Or share awkward smiles heavy with guilt?
The tales of elders were right. No pain remains unchanged before the piling springs.
Some time later, Richer heard tales of otherworlders with astonishing skills.
On a hunch, he visited the area around the Gate and crossed paths with Tae-jin, forging a bond. Amid mild intoxication, warm camaraderie, light banter, and curiosity, Richer unwittingly uprooted Tae-jin's life from his past.
He was afraid. Why did everyone he touched end up unhappy?
But Richer wasn't heartless enough to ignore the seeds of misfortune he'd sown and abandon Tae-jin.
In his hand, he held only blood-soaked, crimson bandages.
Yet he couldn't turn away from the wounded, offering even those stained rags. Everyone has such foolish sides. People call it their nature.
When the seasons turned once more, Tae-jin had become Richer's proper second disciple. A second child born from the heart.
As the sun dipped toward evening, Tae-jin returned to Richer's house from the library, borrowing a slim book on regional social cultures across the continent.
He hadn't borrowed any magic books for a simple reason. Even thick tomes on comprehensive magic devoted barely half a page to spatial magic—if that—and the content was nearly identical across volumes.
Run them through a plagiarism checker, and they'd hit at least 90%. He'd skimmed over ten books without exception.
No one cared about spatial magic, so authors copied scraps to claim "this book also covers spatial magic" for completeness.
After reading similar passages ten times, he had them memorized anyway.
The sudden interest in regional cultures and customs stemmed from nothing special. No research on Gate origins or properties existed in the accessible library sections. Higher floors might have them, but those were beyond his reach.
So, he thought to look for info on Gates operating within the continent. There was only one linking the continent to Korea, but several connected internal regions.
Precisely eight intra-continental Gates, in four pairs. The nearest was near the imperial capital, leading to the western desert.
The book offered little: just snippets on customs and cultures. Gate usage fees were irrelevant trivia.
'In the end, Gate and spatial magic info depends on whatever Elder Richer brings.'
But the elder, who was supposed to fetch materials, wasn't home. He'd left that morning saying, "I'll visit my master and chat," and hadn't returned by evening. Probably drinking somewhere, given his tastes.
Garam had vanished around lunch, leaving word he'd visit an informant. Like Richer, he hadn't returned. Did that troll even have money for dealings?
Thus, only Tae-jin, Pavilion, and Renata remained at home.
Nothing to do for now. Tae-jin tossed the book aside and wandered to the living room, blankly watching Renata and Pavilion eat.
'Rabbits are carnivorous as juveniles but turn herbivorous as adults.'
Renata expertly picked meats from salads and side dishes with uncanny skill, leaving the vegetables for Pavilion to finish. Yet he never nagged, as if willing to indulge her whims from years of solitude.
Then, the front door burst open, and Garam entered.
He looked pleased, suggesting gains, though his grin was oddly sly for no clear reason.
"Hey, Tae-jin."
"What?"
"I have to leave tomorrow. Give me some money."
The blunt request left Tae-jin doubly dumbfounded. The first half was absurd, the second even more so.
"Leave tomorrow? Suddenly why?"
"Got some intel."
"You know the shaman's location?"
"Nah, not that. But I bought a list of powerful troll tribes' names and locations."
"Bought it? You don't have money."
"Money? Bartered something else."
Garam's left hand had three shriveled fingers. What the hell had he done?
"F-Fine. Anyway, why ask me for money out of nowhere?"
"After all our time traveling together, can't you spare that much?"
Reflecting, it was barely twenty nights. A leisurely trip from Volterio Kingdom's edge to the imperial capital, with some twists.
"'That much'? You mountain hermit, you don't know the value of money."
"Hear me out. Giving me money now benefits you too."
Tae-jin figured he'd hear the nonsense first.
"How so? Convince me."
Garam leaned in to whisper, his massive tusks poking Tae-jin's head. Trolls weren't built for whispers.
"My route's gonna be long, right? Roaming the continent, stirring things up. Might find dreamweed along the way, but no cash means passing it by."
Dreamweed. Just that could reunite him with the bunny-eared beauty. A dream, but valuable enough for Tae-jin.
"How much?"
"About 2 gold, I think."
Tae-jin smacked Garam's back hard.
"You con artist! What weed costs 2 gold? Talk sense!"
Garam bellowed undeterred, unfazed by the slap.
"Know how hard dreamweed is to get? If it were common, I'd carry bundles."
Tae-jin couldn't win this. He didn't know dreamweed's rarity or price. But handing it over blindly was amateurish.
"Take 1 gold. That should suffice."
"No way. Can't even buy much with that. Want half-dreams again?"
The terrifying prospect made Tae-jin shudder.
But he had to ask.
"How do I trust you?"
Garam raised his right hand—thick troll fingers, only three.
He spread them, folded the middle one, then twisted his wrist so thumb pointed down, pinky up.
'What? Some troll oath?'
No such thing.
Garam stuck out his tongue and pressed his thumb to it.
"Stamp it."
What the hell did he learn in Busan?
But those fingers were thrice as thick as human ones, with nine times the conviction.
Overwhelmed, Tae-jin pulled out two gold coins as someone knocked on the door.