I said a quick grace before digging in. As I ate, a gentle warmth spread throughout my body. It felt as though the taut threads of tension inside me were gently loosening, just a little.
“Trust me, he ain’t the kinda guy who’d try and turn against the kingdom. Ever since he lost his folks, he’s spent his whole life just helpin’ people out.”
“Indeed. That’s precisely why we would like to canonize him as a saint.”
“Already said no to that, didn’t he?”
“Even so, with the demons still at large, we must remain vigilant; we cannot simply leave him be.”
As I enjoyed the soup, I listened carefully to the innkeeper’s words. This was a familiar game for me—we were feeling each other out. While he occasionally let his real thoughts slip, I maintained my facade of small talk.
“If I might ask, why did he choose to hunt demons? I’ve heard that he came from an orphanage; were their finances truly that dire?”
Those who hunted demons received glory and riches proportionate to the number they killed. Normally, it was a job for knights or down-on-their-luck mercenaries. And despite the large bounties the kingdom offered, people weren’t exactly lining up to try it. The reason was simple: Fighting a demon one-on-one was pretty much impossible. The more people joined a party, the smaller everyone’s shares of the reward got.
Still, there were mercenaries who marched out to the battlefields, spurred on by the shining figures of those rare champions who could fight demons single-handedly. If you hunted demons solo, naturally, you got to keep the bounties all to yourself. And if you managed to take down one of the more powerful ones, the reward was all the greater.
Maybe one fighter in a thousand—no, one in ten thousand—had the skills and the training to hold their own against demons, walking the line between life and death. To the reverent civilians, they were “champions”; to the envious mercenaries, they were “winners.” And the Hero Elcyon was the very greatest of them all.
“And yet, it didn’t seem as though he had any money to spare...” I mused.
All of his equipment was just standard stuff you could get anywhere. The short sword he carried wasn’t some holy relic or enchanted blade—just an old, well-worn weapon, easily replaced. He should’ve earned an immense bounty for defeating the Demon Lord, but he hadn’t upgraded his equipment, and he hadn’t retired either. He’d just continued to fight with the exact same gear as any random merc. Why?
All I could say was that it wasn’t for status or fame—the kingdom and the Church had tried to give him those, and he’d refused.
I briefly paused eating, deciding to cut straight to the point. “Could I ask you to explain more regarding his circumstances? Even within the Church, there are occasional voices of distrust toward him. I wish to serve as his advocate and convince others of his good intentions.”
The innkeeper took out a bottle, chuckling as he poured himself a glass.
“Weren’t you s’posed to be here servin’ the Gods?”
“To serve the Hero, sent to our aid by the Gods themselves, is to the same end.”
“You callin’ that kid an angel? Now there’s a laugh!” He gave a grim smile.
Watching his expression as he enjoyed the aroma of his drink, I couldn’t figure out what he was really thinking. As the heady scent of grapes drifted across the bar, I sharpened my tone ever so slightly.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I must ask—you do know his goal, do you not?”
Normally this was where I’d start getting rough, but against an old acquaintance of the Hero, my options were more limited.
“Are his wishes truly so unspeakable?”
“Hmm... If I say it’s a secret even to the Gods, what’ll you do then?”
I inhaled sharply. Before even forming the thought, I’d instinctively jumped down from my stool, bible in hand.
“Hey, c’mon, what’s wrong?”
The innkeeper’s attitude hadn’t changed at all. In that moment, though, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.
I froze. “Who on earth...?”
“Mm?”
Taking a deep breath to calm my trembling core, I glared at my opponent behind the bar. My body felt slow and heavy, though, overwhelmed by the intense pressure emanating from an obviously superior foe. I felt like a frog being stared at by a snake—or maybe like a cat backed into a corner.
He gave me a smile, his demeanor still completely unchanged in contrast to my undisguised alarm. “Listen, I’m just the guy who tends the bar here and looks after the inn where you’re spendin’ the night. Sure, I used to run a li’l wild back in the day, but I still say my prayers at church every week, same as anyone. So that means we’re basically buddies, don’t it? Multi-Prayer?”
He paused pointedly. “Or was it ‘Multi-Player’?”
He knows I’m an inquisitor.
The moment that became clear, I tore a page out of my bible and steeled myself for battle.
I steeled myself, but—
“I don’t wanna fight you, missy.”
—without so much as a sound, the bible and the page were gone before I’d noticed. I hadn’t even felt his presence. Now empty-handed, I stared at him perplexed.
“Did you mean ‘You don’t wanna fight me, missy,’ perhaps?”
“I meant what I said, swear to the Gods.”
He smiled again as he slipped the page back into the stolen bible. He was the very image of a friendly innkeeper, exactly the same as before.
Who the hell is this guy?
When he’d reached across the bar, I hadn’t been able to see him at all. The message was clear: If he’d wanted to kill me, the knife he’d just been using to chop meat would already have sliced my throat open.
“Where did you learn my name?” I asked.
“Just on the job. You get all sorts of stories workin’ in a place like this. I hear you’re some kinda elite who mastered all your prayers to the Seven Gods, and then picked up magic and skills on top of that. Playin’ all the angles, huh? Damn impressive stuff.”
Impossible. Information about inquisitors never left the Church. And he hadn’t just said my alias; he’d known what it meant. This guy had to be involved with the Church or the royal court somehow. I hadn’t been briefed on any allies here, though. He was an unknown variable. My best option would be to eliminate him here and now—if I could. The situation wasn’t in my favor.
“Lemme say it again: I don’t wanna fight you.”
I stared at him silently, willing myself to calm down. I really didn’t want to fight him. I wasn’t an idiot; I knew how to size up my opponents. If I attacked him head-on, I’d just get pinned down immediately. The only way I’d be able to kill him was a sneak attack. And so...
“Very well. Understood. You’re quite right—I don’t want to fight you, and it seems you don’t want to fight me either.” I raised my hands slowly, carefully watching his every movement. “Let us declare a truce. The fault is entirely mine. My apologies.”
I’d take him out if he gave me an opening, but for now, it was time to raise the white flag.
As he watched me make my plea with my hands in the air, he suddenly broke out laughing. “So that’s how it is, huh? Guess anyone they’d send after him would have to be a real funny one!”
“What do you mean by that, exactly?”
“Means you’re cute, missy.”
What the hell is he talking about?
Now that I didn’t need to keep up my act, I wanted to kick him in the shins. He’d probably just dodge me if I tried, though. I wasn’t going to embarrass myself any further. I calmly returned my bible to its holder and sat back down, resting my elbows on the bar.