‹That smile makes you look too much like a good person, human! I mean, you are a good person, but…!›
Treating Raon’s chaotic ramblings as mere background noise, Cale grinned at the lake basin below. A whispering breeze picked up, gentle yet frigid as it coursed through the area.
Sensing someone nearby, Clope Seca pushed back his windswept hair and turned toward the source of the gust. Is he one of Faern’s citizens? Clope wondered. He assumed the man standing there must have come here for the festival.
Clope had been staying out of the public eye for some time. He’d only intended to reveal himself again when it was time for the wyvern knight brigade to make itself known. That was when Faern would set out for warmer ports and fertile lands untouched by ice.
And yet, because Clope hadn’t concealed the white hair he was so proud of, people approached him every so often. That hair marked him as a descendant of the Seca bloodline of Guardian Knights—Faern’s indomitable shield and spear.
According to the legend, as the god gathered the water from the lake, a single drop slipped free. That droplet landed on someone, turning their hair the color of freshly fallen snow. It was said that this individual went on to become a knight who protected the northern land from darkness, renowned from then on as inheritor of the god’s will.
Clope believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the descendant of the inheritor. Thus, when he got a better look at the stranger nearby, his eyes went wide.
A shock of white hair filled his vision, accompanied by a snow-white priest’s robe. The vestments bore no insignia indicating which god the priest served, but he gave off an aura that set him apart.
Hwoosh.
The wind brushed past the white-haired priest. As if he hadn’t noticed Clope’s gaze, the priest muttered to himself, “Will we cross paths if I head south?”
Clope froze, that soft murmur sharp enough to pierce his heart. The writings at the temple and the words on the information plaque spun through his mind.
“One day, when water fills this lake anew, we will know that the god has returned from the south.”
Is this priest referring to the god who went south?
Guardian Knight Clope would soon travel south himself to conquer lands, seas, and lakes free of frost on his quest to transform the modern Faern into a kingdom of legend.
This man feels so formidable. Who is he?
Taking one deliberate step after another, Clope moved toward the white-haired priest.
A moment later, Cale heard a rustling sound, followed by someone’s voice. “Indeed you will.”
Got you. Erasing the smirk from his lips, Cale slowly turned his head.
A strange feeling washed over Clope at Cale’s expression of utter nonchalance, even though he must have noticed the Guardian Knight’s white hair and sword. Clope sensed that while Cale was by no means strong, an inexplicable air of dominance emanated from him.
“Human greed,” Cale began, “prompted their esteemed god to take back that gift to humanity and leave this land behind. Rather than lashing out in anger, the god shed tears of sorrow. I wonder how it felt…” He fell silent for a spell, taking in the lake with melancholy. “How much sadness filled the god’s heart in that moment? What emotions stirred within?”
“Are you a god’s servant?” Clope asked.
His solemn gaze trained on Cale, Clope looked exactly as a knight from a fantasy novel should—complete with white hair, handsome features, and eyes swimming with a woeful backstory. Even so, that was none of Cale’s business whatsoever.
Hwoosh.
The wind picked up again, creating a mysterious atmosphere between the two men. That wasn’t the reason for Cale’s silence, though; he was unnerved by the Sound of the Wind’s erratic behavior.
Yikes. Why is it acting up in front of this bastard?
The Sound of the Wind—or rather, the thief who’d stolen a divine artifact—was running wild at the sight of the Guardian Knight.
Does this guy have the God’s Tears? Perhaps it was stashed in Clope’s house. Would Cale need to loot the place?
While Cale debated what to do, Clope spoke up again. “Can’t you tell me whom you serve?”
As if the Sound of the Wind’s flailing wasn’t enough, the Scary Stone’s owner disturbed Cale as well. “Are you trying to sacrifice yourself?”
Seeing the priest’s face stiffen all of a sudden, Clope went stock-still. Then he got his answer:
“All will become clear in due time.”
Cale’s lips had produced the words automatically. Focused on calming the two-pronged chaos between his Ancient Powers, he’d blurted out whatever came to mind. The gusts grew strong enough to send the priest’s sleeves flapping in the breeze. Clope watched the swaying trees, awestruck by the mounting tempest.
“I pray that the lake fills again soon.”
Clope gazed into the priest’s eyes. Although Cale had only promised his prayers, he seemed certain it would happen. Clope’s heart thudded in his ears. Boom! Boom! The lake would fill again. That was a sign—a sign that the legend would begin anew.
Cale was planning to fill the lake, of course. Except it would be with a pillar of fire rather than water.
A burning question leapt from Clope’s tongue. “Who are you?” He simply had to know this man’s identity.
The priest motioned toward the dry lake. Could it be? Clope wondered as another uncanny sensation took hold of him. This priest’s palpable charisma surpassed even the king’s.
With a mysterious smile, the priest walked past Clope. “I’m merely a wanderer passing through.”
Although he didn’t fit that description in the slightest, Cale gave no further answer as he strode away. Clope vacantly watched him go.
‹He’s staring at you, human.›
As Cale listened to Raon’s report, he thought to himself, I’ve set the bait.
“Raon,” he whispered, so that only the black dragon could hear, “tell the others not to come near me.”
‹All right. But I’m sticking with you.›
“Also, ask Faseton where Duke Seca’s residence is.”
Raon’s innocent voice rang in his mind. ‹Are we looting that place next, human?›
He definitely catches on faster now.
Cale nodded in satisfaction. “We’ll scope it out first.”