Chapter 3
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Under the Pale Moonlight (3)
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"Eek!"
"Can't you stay quiet, Emilia? What if the pursuers hear your voice and track us down?"
"I'm sorry, young master."
Emilia clamped her mouth shut at Blanc's scolding, desperately trying to stifle her scream. But it only lasted a moment before she started letting out thin, drawn-out cries again.
"Sh-should we take a short break, young master?"
"Rakshar, if you're tired, we'll rest. Otherwise, it's better to keep moving. Don't worry about us hanging on your shoulders."
"Understood, young master."
Rakshar was dashing through the forest at breakneck speed, a backpack stuffed with luggage on his front, Emilia slung over one shoulder and Blanc over the other.
He was moving so fast that the wind whistled in their ears, so it was no wonder Emilia was screaming in terror.
'Thank goodness for the full moon.'
On nights when the full moon rose, a werewolf's feral instincts exploded, and their body grew immensely sturdy.
Though only a half-blood, Rakshar had inherited enough of that trait to carry the two of them and still move at such speed.
If it had been an ordinary night, even Rakshar couldn't have performed like this. They might have been captured by the Gartaria Kingdom soldiers by now.
"Um... young master."
"What?"
"The maid on my left shoulder seems to have passed out..."
Blanc had wondered why it got so quiet during his moment of reverie. Turns out she'd fainted in the meantime.
"Good. Let's move faster. I'd like to reach Free City Baywood by morning."
"I-it should be possible. If we keep up this pace."
Rakshar grinned as he replied.
"Thanks, Rakshar."
"This is nothing. Compared to the grace your father, the patriarch, showed me, it's not even worth mentioning."
Rakshar, born with the ominous blood of a werewolf.
Abandoned by his mother early on, he'd wandered the back alleys begging and scavenging. It was Blanc's father, Palad Cardmus, who had taken him in.
If not for Palad, Rakshar would have starved or been beaten to death. That's why his loyalty to the Cardmus family ran deeper than most.
Proof of that was his decision to descend from the burning Cardmus estate. Any ordinary gamekeeper would have fled straight into the forest.
'This time, I'll definitely save you.'
And that loyal gamekeeper, Rakshar, would die upon arriving in Free City Baywood tomorrow morning.
In his previous life, that is.
"Let's hurry."
"Yes, young master."
Of course, Blanc had no intention of letting that happen.
Free City Baywood.
True to its name—with "wood" right in the title—the city was surrounded by dense forests on all sides. It had started as a village of lumberjacks.
The river where they floated logs downstream had become a logistics hub, drawing money and people until the village grew into a city.
Geographically sandwiched between the Felix Kingdom, Gartaria Kingdom, and Anton Kingdom, it had earned the title of "free city" through their tangled diplomatic, political, and military agreements—belonging to none of them.
And standing before that city were three figures.
A massive man cloaked head to toe in sacking, a blonde woman in dirtied maid's clothes, and finally, a black-haired boy dressed in unmistakably noble attire.
Despite their highly suspicious trio, Baywood's guards didn't bother stopping or searching them.
"As expected of a 'free city.'"
"I was so worried we wouldn't get in, but there's no real checkpoint. Back in Norinton, we'd have gotten the lash for this."
"It's a free city."
As a logistics and trade hub unbound to any kingdom, such laxity was inevitable.
If the guards inspected every person and good entering or leaving like in a normal fiefdom, trade would grind to a halt.
Of course, with no proper checks, the city's security was a mess.
It wasn't an exaggeration to call it a den of merchants, wanderers, and the criminals preying on them.
"It's so noisy."
"Yeah."
"Chaotic. Filthy."
"That too."
No sooner had they entered Baywood than endless street stalls assaulted their senses. And...
"Young master, don't look to the left."
Emilia's face twisted as she saw prostitutes spilling onto the main street, bosoms bared, throwing flirtatious glances.
In any normal city, such open prostitution would be confined to hidden back alleys. Here, it happened right on the boulevards.
And the locals accepted it all as perfectly natural.
Baywood truly crammed every human desire into one place.
For Emilia, who'd spent nearly her whole life as a maid in the Cardmus estate, this libertine city grated on her nerves.
Rakshar, who'd lived avoiding people in quiet forests, wanted nothing more than to escape the clamor immediately.
Even Blanc, wary of Gartaria pursuers, had no desire to linger.
Especially since this was where Rakshar died.
'Still, to escape safely, this is our only option.'
Blanc had reached this city in his previous life too.
Cut off from Norinton by mountains, supplies didn't flow freely, but by straight distance, it was the closest city to the Cardmus lands. Only natural.
The Gartaria pursuers would be banking on that too.
Blanc figured they'd arrive in a day or two at latest.
No matter how chaotic Baywood, finding a boy dressed like nobility wouldn't be hard.
So how had Blanc escaped in his past life?
Now he looked like a boy, but inside he was a battle-hardened mercenary in his forties. Back then, he was just a helpless kid.
'What a twisted fate.'
Surveying Baywood—a place of short but vivid memories—Blanc let a wry smile cross his too-mature face.
The story was simple.
Before the Gartaria pursuers arrived, Blanc had been sold into a mercenary band as a slave.
Rakshar died trying to stop it, and the mercenaries fled the city without lingering a day.
Dragging along their new child laborer-slave.
Blanc mused to himself that it made for a pretty fitting prologue to the tumultuous life of a man who'd survived to the world's end and regressed.
"Young master, what now?"
They'd made it here somehow, but Emilia had no clue where to go next or how.
Rakshar was the same.
Though youngest and in need of protection, Blanc was now their sole employer—essentially their master. The decisions fell to him.
"First, we'll sell Mother's relics here."
"But young master..."
At the mention of selling relics, tears welled up in Emilia's big eyes.
"No choice. Without money, we'll die."
"But..."
Emilia had been Nedrian's—Blanc's mother—most cherished companion, by her side for years.
If anyone felt deeper attachment to those relics than Blanc, who carried 30 years across time, it was probably her.
"Even if Mother were here, she'd tell us to sell them. The relics aren't what's important. Our safety is."
Unable to argue, Emilia could only wipe her tears with her grimy sleeve.
Blanc had half a mind to yell at her if she sobbed loudly, but watching her shed silent tears stirred a forgotten pity from the depths of his hardened soul—30 years worn smooth, he'd thought.
'This is insane.'
"Emilia."
"Yes, young master."
Watching fat teardrops fall from those big eyes, pity turned to an almost absurd urge to chuckle.
"How old are you this year?"
"Twenty-two."
"When you joined our household?"
"Four."
Blanc's old memories held Emilia as the youngest maid, but he'd never realized she'd been there from such a tender age.
"Take it. You've served Mother faithfully for nearly twenty years—you've more than earned this."
Blanc placed a golden hairpin in her hand.
"Y-young master."
"Everything else might have to go. Want anything else? Pick from what's left—not much, but go ahead."
"No, no. I love this one. Madam wore it most often."
Emilia clutched the hairpin Blanc gave her like a treasure.
"Careful. Pickpockets are everywhere here. You could lose it in a blink."
"Eek!"
Paling at his words, Emilia hurriedly stuffed the hairpin into a pocket inside her skirt.
Her smooth bare thigh flashed briefly, but too flustered to notice, she paid it no mind.
"Rakshar, know any shops that buy jewelry around here?"
"Sorry, young master. First time in this city for me too..."
Not just this city—Rakshar was a stranger to most towns and villages. He'd lived a hermit's life buried in the woods.
'Sigh... no helping it.'
A seasoned mercenary in a forty-year-old body could haggle anywhere without getting fleeced. But now, he looked like a thirteen-year-old boy.
Haggling wasn't the issue in this lawless free city.
Rumors of a kid toting gold lumps? He'd be a corpse in under an hour.
"I-I have a little saved for emergencies."
Pitying Blanc's need to sell relics, Rakshar handed over a small leather pouch from his belt.
'13 silver...'
In a normal city, three people could scrape by a week on this. But Baywood's high prices meant maybe two days.
And with Gartaria pursuers hitting soon—tomorrow or the day after—they had to bolt fast.
'Somehow, we need to get out tonight.'
Leaving the city was no problem. Baywood's doors swung freely.
But exposing their route was.
If pursuers found their trail, capture was just a matter of time.
They needed to slip their sight until Felix Kingdom territory.
After much deliberation, Blanc looked up at the sky.
The sun hung directly overhead.
Noon.
"Young master?"
Rakshar panicked.
Blanc had suddenly looked up, grinning like a fool.
"Rakshar, you're still alive?"
Staring at the sky, Blanc turned to him with a beaming smile.
In his past life, at this very hour.
Rakshar had died to the mercenaries' blades.
True to his half-werewolf tenacity, it took dozens of stabs and slashes to finish him.
The thirteen-year-old Blanc could only watch helplessly as he died.
"Y-yes, young master. I'm alive, right?"
Caught off-guard by the odd question, Rakshar blurted a reply. Blanc beamed in satisfaction.
"Good. Perfect!"
Clapping in delight, Blanc earned worried looks from Rakshar and Emilia.
Parents dead overnight, house destroyed—who could blame him for cracking?
But contrary to their fears, Blanc's mind was sharp as ever—cold reason guiding him.
"Alright. Let's grab an inn first. Rakshar, got enough arrows?"
"Yes, young master."
"Think you could kill a man with them?"
A chilling glint flashed in Blanc's eyes.
Locking gazes unwittingly, Rakshar swallowed hard.
"If... if you command it, young master, I can do it as many times as needed."
The devoted gamekeeper Rakshar.
Norinton's finest hunter.
And crack shot.
"Then tonight. Come with me."
"Wh-where to?"
"You'll see when we get there."