Chapter 590 - Six Guests
"There are four inns in Cross Guard, and this one is the cleanest," said the innkeeper.
Luagarne nodded in agreement.
Frogs, with their dull sense of smell, wouldn't care much about the cleanliness.
Enkrid, despite his keen senses, found the place tolerable. After all, there had been times when he wandered the mountains for days, drenched in the blood of beasts.
Compared to that, this was not a palace but closer to a modest manor.
Not ideal, but sufficient.
He had no desire to travel to the manor that the administrator mentioned.
"Give us the best room," Enkrid said, slipping a few coins to the innkeeper.
The ground floor of the inn doubled as a pub and was bustling with activity.
As the group entered, a few patrons glanced their way.
None had clear, sober eyes; they were either bloodshot or intoxicated.
After a fleeting look, they quickly returned to their own business.
It wasn't even twilight yet, but gambling was already in full swing.
Six tables occupied the floor: three were hosting card games, and two had dice games underway.
Enkrid noticed a lingering gaze from one of the tables—the last unoccupied one.
At this table sat a one-eyed man, a dagger lodged diagonally into the wood in front of him.
He stared unblinkingly at Enkrid.
Normally, someone missing an eye would cover it with a patch, but this man left his scarred face bare, the marks of past injuries crisscrossing his skin.
It wasn't a pleasant sight.
The man's companion leaned close and whispered something into his ear, too softly for Enkrid to catch. Only fragments reached him—words like "sleep," "night," and "guest."
"The Sacred Ground sect often abducts people during the night," Snake Eyes whispered while the boy innkeeper went to prepare their room.
"So everyone's a little on edge."
Enkrid nodded and ordered a rum.
While he enjoyed tea and milk, he doubted those would be drinkable here.
The bartender filled a tarnished tin cup with amber liquid.
The cup itself didn't inspire confidence.
Still, Enkrid took a sip.
He didn't care much for alcohol, but this was beyond bad—a cheap, watered-down rum.
"What a fascinating city," Luagarne commented, her eyes scanning their surroundings.
Her words weren't sincere.
The atmosphere was rough and hopeless, a gloom that blanketed the entire city.
"Perhaps you should reconsider and stay at the manor," Snake Eyes suggested deferentially.
Enkrid shook his head.
"No need," he said.
He needed to gather information about the missing guild members.
Staying here allowed him to remain in the thick of things.
If one wanted to hunt a ghoul, they needed to carry fresh, dripping meat.
Similarly, if one wished to catch a beast, one had to venture into its den.
Besides, he doubted anyone here posed a significant threat to him.
His instincts told him as much.
"Then I wish you success in dealing with the Sacred Ground sect," Snake Eyes said, his tone quiet as he took his leave.
Enkrid pondered why the man's eyes seemed so serpentine.
The answer was clear
They were as unreadable as the ferryman's eyes from the previous night.
Compared to the ferryman, though, Snake Eyes seemed far more human.
After Snake Eyes departed, the boy innkeeper brought their meal: mealy apples, eternal stew simmering in the corner of the inn, and roasted pork.
Enkrid avoided the stew entirely, opting instead for the apples and pork.
The meat, though gamey, was edible.
He wasn't picky about food, not like Ragna.
After eating, he headed to the room, which was cleaner than expected.
There was no bed, only a pile of blankets for sleeping.
The inn was a three-story building, and their room was on the top floor at the far end of the hall.
While it had a faint odor, it was better than sleeping under the stars with only a cloak for warmth.
"Can you prepare some water for washing? A tub or bath would be even better," Enkrid asked as he surveyed the room.
"We have a tub," the boy replied eagerly.
Enkrid flipped a coin through the air. The silver glinted as it landed in the boy's hands, drawing a gasp.
It was a sizable tip, and the boy quickly tucked it into his pants, glancing toward the stairs.
"You must be wealthy," he murmured, awestruck.
Grateful for the tip, the boy diligently prepared everything.
After eating and washing, Enkrid ended his first day in the city.
Recently, Cross Guard had seen few travelers or merchants.
Life was already hard, and the presence of the sect had made things worse.
This explained why there was no sound of activity from the neighboring rooms.
Though the inn had over ten rooms on the third floor, it seemed only their party was staying there.
"I didn't like that man's eyes," Luagarne said.
Enkrid nodded in agreement.
She took a sip of the water provided by the inn and grimaced.
Even Frogs, who could go without washing, were particular about the water they drank.
They preferred it clean and clear, and murky water brought them considerable discomfort.
"There's nothing decent about this place," Luagarne grumbled.
Her complaint stemmed from the water quality rather than the accommodations or food.
The nearby Pen-Hanil River ensured that Border Guard had an ample water supply, and the mountains provided many natural reservoirs.
Yet here, the water was poorly managed.
Perhaps it was due to losing the war or the incompetence of the lord.
Enkrid nodded at the thought.
After a brief, inconsequential exchange, he closed his eyes and drifted off.
In his dreams, the ferryman appeared again.
Enkrid felt an abrupt pull as if being yanked somewhere against his will.
The ferryman spoke, his words arriving without the movement of his lips:
"How dare you compare me to the likes of that?"
This time, the ferryman seemed familiar, his tone lighter and more playful.
Such a fickle personality.
The oarsman's initial anger wasn't hard to decipher; it stemmed from Enkrid comparing his eyes to Snake Eyes' earlier in the day.
Somehow, the ferryman had overheard his thoughts.
But was this really worth getting upset over?
"Just an observation," Enkrid said, shrugging.
Apparently, the comparison itself was offensive.
The ferryman snorted and continued, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement:
"It's not too late to turn back."
Enkrid started the conversation with a question similar to yesterday's.
"Do you sense any foreboding?"
The ferryman hesitated, as though about to say something, but then closed his mouth.
Though it was just a speculative guess rather than reading emotions, the ferryman's demeanor suggested a clear unwillingness to engage in conversation.
"I'm not mocking you," Enkrid defended himself.
"Hah. Mocking me? Bold claim. What nonsense," the ferryman replied, his voice carrying a trace of laughter without the actual expression to match.
He conveyed his intent purely through his will.
Enkrid suddenly realized that the way the ferryman communicated bore similarities to the methods of handling
It was an unexpected insight, akin to stumbling upon a silver coin on a dirt path—nothing immediately transformative but still a fortunate find.
Reflecting on this newfound understanding, he spoke again.
"Conveying intent resembles manipulating Will, doesn't it?"
The ferryman scoffed, but this time his response was more deliberate, both in gesture and intention.
"Didn't I tell you from the start? You won't fully grasp our conversation. Do you know why? It's because this entire exchange is conducted purely through Will."
However, Enkrid could recall their conversation.
The reason for this recollection was beyond his understanding at the moment, though he deemed it insignificant for now.
"Communicating through Will... infusing it naturally and smoothly."
Enkrid mulled over the lesson he gleaned from their interaction.
The ferryman had laughed and expressed anger earlier, and these seemed to be feats performed entirely through his Will.
As Enkrid murmured to himself, the ferryman silently observed him for a moment without even a scoff.
After a brief pause, the ferryman conveyed his intent again.
"...I told you it's not too late yet. Don't forget that."
And with those words, the ferryman began to fade like mist.
Had this happened before?
It felt different this time.
Then, Enkrid caught a pungent, acrid smell.
Had he ever smelled anything during his interactions with the ferryman?
This wasn't part of the vision; it was his body reacting physically. This wasn't a dream—something was happening.
"Go," came the ferryman's final words, along with Enkrid's realization.
He jolted awake, his eyes snapping open.
The room was filled with an acrid odor.
Identifying its source wasn't difficult.
It came from the brazier used to heat stones and charcoal for warmth.
Something had been burned in it—a substance emitting a sleeping scent potent enough to knock out an average person for two days with just a whiff.
Enkrid rose and opened the window slowly.
Luagarne was already awake, and when Enkrid pointed at the brazier with a finger, she immediately understood and muttered, "Such thoughtful care to help us sleep?"
Since learning about the cultists, her cheeks puffed out a few times in what seemed like steeled determination.
The current situation was no different.
Pulling such a stunt as soon as they arrived in the city?
It was obvious to her—cultists.
Luagarne approached the window while holding her breath.
Enkrid, however, wasn't ready to jump to conclusions.
It was premature to assume the cultists were behind this.
For now, he focused on assessing his own condition.
"Was poison mixed in?"
He leaned out into the cold air and took a deep breath.
No, it didn't seem like it.
He hadn't inhaled enough of the scent for it to affect him, though even Enkrid would've succumbed to sleep had he fully taken it in.
It was his heightened senses that reacted immediately upon detecting the smell.
"Jaxen said it, didn't he? Always rely on your nose first when staying in an unfamiliar city," he thought.
That advice rang true now.
Senses, Jaxen had claimed, were the best warning system.
Breathing in the cool night air, Enkrid felt his lungs expand.
"No abnormalities."
His grip strength felt normal, and there was no sense of drowsiness.
Leaving the window open for ventilation, he became aware of a presence.
His sharpened senses, a blend of hearing and intuition, pinpointed it.
By attuning his awareness to the faint sounds, he deduced the approximate locations and numbers of those present.
"Two on the roof, two in the adjacent rooms on either side."
Were any of them a significant threat?
Judging by the sloppy way they left traces, it didn't seem so.
That much was evident from what he could feel.
Raising his hand, palm downward, Enkrid tapped his chest with his thumb and pointed upward with his index finger before gesturing to Luagarne.
The signal was clear: he'd handle the rooms, and she'd take the roof.
Without even a nod, Luagarne placed her hands on the windowsill.
There was no need to coordinate further or worry about timing—the power disparity between them and their assailants was too great.
The Frog leapt to the roof in a single bound, while Enkrid calmly moved to the door and opened it.
The rusted hinges groaned.
No sooner had the sound subsided than the doors to the adjacent rooms opened.
From the left room, a figure stepped out of the deep shadows and into the dim lamplight, speaking.
"You should've just stayed asleep. Why make things difficult?"
The scar on his face and his overall appearance identified him immediately.
He was one of the men Enkrid had seen on the inn's first floor earlier.
A one-eyed man, not bothering to cover his blind eye, accompanied by the gamblers he had noticed in the evening.

Comments

Loading...