A Familiar Beggar
A man stood there.
He seemed familiar somehow, but his appearance was utterly wretched. His eyes were lifeless, his jaw sprouting patchy, unkempt whiskers. His face was pallid, cheeks hollowed out as if he'd gone days without food.
"...Who?"
Loki asked in genuine confusion. The man left no impression whatsoever in his memory. To Loki, only truly remarkable figures were worth remembering.
The man gazed at Loki, tears suddenly bursting forth as he cried out.
"It's me! Me! Yuan! The peddler Yuan! Didn't I just guide you to the monastery where Father Alex resides not long ago?"
Only then did it click for Loki. The peddler who'd led him to the monastery. But why was he here...?
"You're safe! Thank the gods! Thank goodness!"
Yuan clutched Loki's hand, weeping piteously.
Yuan, Loki, Ash, and Salat headed to the sole inn in Harma Territory.
The inn mirrored the territory's decay—shabby and forlorn. Stepping inside revealed a counter opposite a scattering of round tables. A single candle lamp barely illuminated the room; everywhere else lay shrouded in gloom. Unlike the surrounding one-story hovels, the inn rose two stories, but it likely had no more than four rooms. No other guests in sight—just one or two locals nursing drinks and muttering laments.
As Loki entered, the rotting floorboards creaked ominously underfoot. A sturdy adult man stomping hard might splinter them. The innkeeper, startled by the sudden patrons, fussed over seating them with exaggerated care. Business must be dire for him too.
They ordered a simple meal, but it arrived as limp vegetable soup unworthy of the price and bread so discolored it seemed suspect. Loki picked up a crust, shook his head, and offered it to Yuan.
"Eat up."
"Th-thank you!"
Loki had once harbored a romantic notion of inns—crowded with adventurers swapping tales, roaring with laughter over ale, like in games. But reality dashed that dream. No adventurers here; just a handful of locals gossiping drearily. The vibe was oppressive, not lively.
"...Pathetic," he muttered.
Yuan offered a bitter smile. "Everyone's struggling these days."
Yuan, Loki, and Salat took seats at a round table; Ash had already retreated to his assigned room upstairs. Yuan wiped his reddened eyes with the back of his hand, then shoveled the food Loki had bought into his mouth, chewing voraciously. Clearly, he hadn't eaten in days.
The sight stirred Loki's curiosity. The Yuan he'd met before was thin, sure, but not this broken. Even after bandits had stripped him down to his undergarments, he'd laughed it off. Now he stared at Loki with the haunted eyes of a depressive.
"Um... sorry, but... could I take the leftovers...?"
He begged like a street urchin, pride utterly shattered. His eyes brimmed with terror and despair at the thought of hunger.
Loki nodded. Yuan bowed repeatedly.
"Thank you! I'll never forget this kindness!"
...What happened to him?
What could have reduced such a buoyant soul to this shell? Loki hesitated, then asked outright.
"What happened?"
Yuan froze mid-packaging the scraps, then slammed the table with trembling hands.
"...Hic."
He broke into wrenching sobs. Salat fidgeted beside Loki, flustered. In a choked voice, Yuan began.
"The village... it burned."
The village burned?
"How...?"
Smeared with grime and fatigue, Yuan exhaled deeply.
"I don't know exactly. I left with some merchants, but forgot something and went back with my wife... Everything was ashes. The villagers... all gone."
He clutched his head. "...Dead. Bandits, I think. Anything of value was stripped clean."
"...Bandits?"
Bandits? Loki figured the monk he'd met could fend off dozens effortlessly. Not the Worm Pest, but mere bandits? It didn't add up.
...Not my concern, really.
Still, it nagged at him.
"What of the monk?"
"......"
Yuan shuddered with rage, his eyes flashing murderously—out of character for his mild features.
"Father Alex raised me from orphanhood. Lately, with Ronia Kingdom's civil war raging, he'd shelter the lost and homeless, giving them homes in the village. A kind, revered man... truly admirable. And those filth..."
He gnashed his teeth.
"They beheaded him and hung his head on a stake. Wrote 'I am a heretic' in his blood. Damn them! May heaven strike them down!"
"......"
"Filthy scum! Bastards!"
Salat glanced at Loki amid Yuan's curses.
"That old human... dead?"
"......"
Loki ignored her, pressing Yuan. "So you came here?"
"Yes. With my wife. Harma's the only place we had ties. But the future's pitch black."
"Your wife?"
"With an acquaintance now."
"I see."
"Traveler, know anything? About why the village burned?"
Loki shook his head. It happened after he'd left; no way to know. Even if he did, spilling to this man wouldn't help.
"I see. And the letter Father Alex asked me to send... who knew it'd be his last words."
Yuan pulled out a letter. Loki eyed it.
"Send it?"
"To the Holy Church. He said it wrapped everything up."
"......"
Yuan stood. "Sorry for the chatter. I'll repay this debt someday! Take care, traveler."
"...Good luck to you."
Yuan shuffled out. Salat stared at Loki.
"......?"
"That old man... what hap—"
"Go to the room first. Thanks for the help."
She bowed, sensing Loki's reluctance to say more.
Did that old human die? He seemed... decent.
Salat trudged upstairs, sulking, when Ash approached from the opposite hall. Freshly washed, face and hair damp. But her eyes fixed on his hand—pristine before the inn, now bruised purple.
"That hand...?"
Ash glanced dismissively. "No concern of yours, elf."
His tone grated—irritable. He caught it, clamping his mouth shut.
"...What?"
I asked out of worry, and...!
She stormed past in a huff. Ash called after her.
"S-sorry, elf."
Salat halted without turning. "...I'm not 'elf.' My name's Salat."
"Right, Salat... Um... Ever thought of converting? That Nord seemed to. Convert, and your standing on the continent changes."
He meant well, cluelessly. Conversion or not, elves weren't seen as human. Salat turned.
"No."
She stuck out her tongue and marched to her room. Ash sighed regretfully.
"Pity. Fine talent; I'd have taken her in. Elves will be elves...?"
Her healing skills could aid him greatly. Maybe even cure his father the king's dementia.
"As concubine or slave later, perhaps."
Keeping an elf openly risked the Holy Church's ire. But nominally as such, they'd overlook it.
If I can clear things with the Church first.
Ash smiled down at Loki by the counter.
"He's just a Nord. Status gap with me means the elf will follow suit."
The continent was perilous for elves. He'd protect her better than any Nord.
Ash approached Loki slowly, ordering drinks from the innkeeper and plopping down uninvited. Time to recruit—not just the elf, but this Nord too. Both would bolster his position immensely.
"Nord, a word. Let's talk—mmph?!"
Loki's hand clamped his mouth mid-sentence, grip crushing. Killing intent blazed in his eyes.
"Listen up, pup."
"......?!"
Ash quailed at the glare. Heart squeezing, chills racing down his spine, cold sweat beading. Loki's vise tightened.
The innkeeper dropped a glass in shock; locals gawked.
Loki tilted his head, ignoring them.
"Trash your mouth all you want. Judge others freely. But speak of my companions like that, and I'll void any deal we had. Remember that."
Ash's eyes bulged. As if he'd overheard his mutterings.
"If you like her, treat her as an equal."
How?! From upstairs...!
Humiliation burned—he'd been caught lusting after an elf, unbecoming of royalty. Rage surged. He'd only wanted to protect her!
"Mocking my ally to my face is mocking me. Got it?"
Ash nodded frantically, face quivering. Loki released him.
Ash rubbed his jaw, glaring. "Overkill. Even if I erred, I'm nobility. Show some respect—"
"...Want me to shatter it so you can't talk?"
"......"
Ash shut up, pride stung by his own fear. He rose.
"...Tired. Bedtime."
Gritting his teeth, he stormed upstairs.
"Pitiful."
The guard by the frozen lake had it right. Not all nobles, but some viewed inferiors as vermin. Loki shook his head at Ash's retreating back.
Crack...
Chomp...
Bones splintering, raw flesh ripping. A youth stared in horror—despair, defeat, terror, pleas all etched on his severed head impaled on the ground.
His lifeless gaze fixed on slain refugees, prey to the hunt. Luggage and carts littered the earth, corpses strewn everywhere. Crows and... wights feasted upon them.