Bare Escape and the Weight of Choices
The potion's effect held on precariously until they finally vanished. If they'd lingered here just ten minutes longer, we would've been exposed. A hair's breadth from disaster. If a monster had popped out midway, or if we'd gotten caught up in idle chatter, conflict with them would've been inevitable.
'That was close to death.'
Leaving my pounding heart behind in the relief of survival, I gazed at the Young Lady, who wore a dazed expression.
"Young Lady?"
"Hm?"
The Young Lady was nonchalantly tearing into some jerky. Chewing away with a puzzled look at my flustered state, as if wondering why I was so spooked. Was she just that oblivious? Or maybe because her body couldn't sense mana? Whatever the reason, I was glad she hadn't been frightened. An Apostle was dangerous simply by existing. I figured just seeing one would've scared her.
Apostles were the pillars of the heretics, veritable calamities. Overwhelmingly powerful. Capriciously willful. If it were something I could handle, there'd be no issue—but as I was now, biting off an Apostle's arm was the best I could hope for. And winning while protecting the Young Lady? That was damn near impossible. No wonder I'd been more tense than usual.
I let out a sigh of relief and checked on her condition.
"Hmnyah."
"..."
"Ugh... tough."
The Young Lady gnawed at a huge chunk of jerky with her jaw, then spoke to me in a muffled voice.
"Ricardo."
"Yes."
"Those guys earlier... bad people?"
"Pardon?"
Was this the wicked woman's intuition? At her question, which seemed like one villain recognizing another, I nodded slightly.
"Yeah, but... how did you know?"
"They were ugly."
"Pardon?"
"Ugly means bad."
The Young Lady nodded, spouting what sounded like blatant racism. I couldn't help but chuckle at the remark that would have Green Moss clenching his fists and charging if he heard it. Judging people by looks is wrong, of course, but sometimes her quirky prejudices hit the mark surprisingly well. Shaking off the heavy air, I stroked her head.
"You're sharp."
"Yeah. I'm pretty smart."
Modesty was still a foreign concept to her. I stared blankly at the spot where they'd departed, thinking back to that man's retreating figure—someone whose power I couldn't even gauge. My head felt heavy as I lifted it.
'An Apostle... this is a headache.'
Honestly, I couldn't handle it. Apostles were scary, sure, but the real problem lurking beneath was even bigger. A plot-derailing issue, straight out of the novel.
The Apostle named Olaf was the villain who killed Yuria's father. That death awakened Yuria's saintly powers, granting her immense strength. Like a tire on a car, her father's demise was the essential gear for her awakening. There was no substitute for the shock of losing a loved one.
Twisting such a major axis on a whim would cause everything ahead to crumble—and I didn't have the confidence to deal with that. If only we hadn't spotted the Apostle today, I might've forgotten about it...
In the novel, Yuria relied heavily on her father. Same in reality. She'd constantly talk about him during gaps in our travels north, clutching letters from him whenever things got tough. That's why his death hit her so hard in the story. She learned of it via a single letter from the north, and her grief was indescribable—stricken with mutism, abandoning her respect for life, tainted by murderous intent.
That's why my mind was racing. Should I meddle? Or let the original flow continue and live peacefully?
I kept agonizing. Then, amid my reverie, the Young Lady's voice reached my ear.
"Ricardo."
She tugged cautiously at my sleeve, staring out at the snowy field with pleading eyes that asked if we could go now. Shaking off my thoughts, I gave her a small smile.
"I wanna go to the bathroom..."
"The bathroom?"
"Yeah."
Truly, what a laid-back soul.
After our brief outing, I escorted the Young Lady back to her room at the inn and headed downstairs. I wanted a drink.
With my thoughts so tangled, I'd nearly forgotten the point of this trip. A drink might help me set it aside and enjoy the journey. What was meant to be a relaxing getaway now felt filled with unease.
"Haa..."
James greeted me on the first floor with a bright face, as if he'd been waiting. He jiggled his shoulders, showing off a frosty mug of beer.
"Aigoo~ Glad you're still in one piece."
Complete with a silly joke. Brushing off my heavy mood with a smile at his teasing, I replied.
"Don't jinx it like that."
"Kehkeh...! At this time of year? Climbing the snow mountains to watch mating rituals? No one's doing that!"
"It was fun."
I gave a small smile as James sat across from me, letting out a sigh. Right now, I wanted to shake off the worries.
Why they were here. Whether to intervene or ignore it. I pushed those complications aside for the moment.
James raised his mug with a beaming smile, toasting our safe return. "Cheers!"
The amber beer sloshed as our glasses clinked. It looked especially tasty today. I smiled faintly, clinking back with a soft "Cheers."
"Thanks."
"No problem. It'll go on the bill."
"..."
"Kuhaha! Just kidding!"
James bellowed with laughter, then eyed me excitedly.
"So, how was it?"
"What?"
"The north. Isn't it beautiful?"
His eyes sparkled with simple curiosity: the northern mountains, the stunning views, monsters weaker than in the capital? I met his enthusiastic gaze with a playful jab, an oddly honest answer.
"More fun than I expected."
"How low were your expectations...?"
James tsked with mock offense. I smiled and lifted my glass.
"Haha! Kidding. Thanks to you, boss, it was a blast."
"Good to hear. I was surprised you called it fun—I figured you'd hate it."
"Haha..."
Behind my wry smile lingered a small worry. Maybe I could save one innkeeper.
The novel didn't detail the heretics' raid. Just a mention of deaths in the north from an Apostle's attack—no motive explained.
"Sir...?"
Snapped from my thoughts by James's voice. His warm face now held concern.
"Something happen? You look down."
"No, nothing."
"Really...? Hmm."
James kept eyeing my shadowed expression, wondering what could trouble a young guy like me. Clearing his throat, he spoke.
"Sir, after running this inn over ten years, I've got a knack. Know what it is?"
"Intuition?"
"Spot on. I can tell at a glance from the front door: troublemaker or big tipper."
"...Doubt it."
"..."
James shut his mouth, studying my face.
"Of course, I mess up sometimes! Anyway, I've seen lots of guests. Folks who bottle up worries? They always cause trouble. Start fights drunk, smash windows, ugh..."
He chuckled heartily, then added softly.
"Sometimes you gotta vent to someone. Trash-talk, whatever. Eases the stress."
His folksy wisdom drew a small laugh from me as I drained my glass.
'If only it were that simple.'
Would he understand? That my worries involved weighing lives...?
I bowed my head and asked James.
"You mentioned a daughter."
"Yep. Wanna see a pic? She's gorgeous."
"No thanks. Our Young Lady's prettier."
"Heh heh..."
James clenched a fist, glaring with rare daughterly protectiveness. I chuckled and shook my head.
"How much do you miss her, boss?"
"Every day."
"And if... you could never see her again?"
"Huh? Why ask that?"
"Just curious."
"Wait... you and the lady upstairs eloping?"
"...No."
"For real?"
"I said no."
I lowered my voice. "Not that. Just weighing a duty. Might have to betray heaven's mandate."
"..."
James's mind raced with romantic drama: forbidden love between butler and noble, defying family and fleeing together. He rubbed his nose, grinning.
"A daughter... she's the apple of your eye. I'd give her my organs gladly."
"And if you lost her forever...?"
"Well."
"It'd be devastating, right?"
I darkened at his words. Oblivious, James rambled on with a smile: a father's boundless love, what he'd do for her.
"...But if she's happy somewhere, I'd be content. Even if I never see her again, knowing she's thriving? That's enough."
"...Is it?"
"Yeah. Any parent with a kid thinks that."
Thoughts tangled further. Yuria's father probably felt the same. Awakening or family harmony—which? Either way, guilt would haunt me, a heavy burden of emotion and responsibility.
Honestly, the answer was set. I couldn't face an Apostle even a Sword Master would struggle with—alone. With so much to protect and shoulder, I wouldn't trade my life for one small sacrifice.
But seeing this excited middle-aged man gush about his daughter melted my selfishness. Though honestly, I wanted to run.
I nodded at James's face.
"Got it. That helped a lot."
He smiled and patted my shoulder.
"Sir."
"Yes?"
"Haaa... I don't usually spill advice like this, but you looked wrecked. Special service."
"Pardon?"
James pulled a small paper from his pocket and dangled it before me.
└ Mixed Bathing Allowed
With a lecherous middle-aged grin, he whispered in my ear.
"A bit pricey, but it's the north's pride."
I shook my head at his sleazy expression but took the ticket.
"You're one shady innkeeper."
"Marketing!"
"Haa... seriously."
Who knows, really.
Three days later, late at night after Ricardo left for the hot springs.
—Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
A knocking sound echoed at James's inn.