Ch.34The Road to Ortus (2)

*Clop-clop… clop-clop…*

“So… tell me more about this cousin of yours.”

“He runs a small inn. Their circumstances aren’t particularly abundant, but they should be able to look after my wife and children until I can find work again.”

“I see. An inn, huh.”

A well-established inn holds considerable value.

I’m not sure exactly how small this “small inn” is, but since it’s called an inn, it must be at least the size of a local tavern.

If they’re going to look after a young woman and three small children there, his wife will likely be assigned tasks like dishwashing or cooking, while the children will handle menial chores like laundry or fetching water.

It will be difficult, certainly, but isn’t it better to live a hard life than to be raped or killed?

*Pat… pat…*

I discreetly glanced at his wife, who was patting the backs of their three sleeping children cradled in her arms.

“How old is the oldest child?”

“My firstborn son is five. My second daughter is three. The youngest is one.”

“The age when they need the most attention.”

“Indeed.”

An older caretaker at the orphanage once said that for children who haven’t reached a certain age, having a guardian nearby is better than scolding them.

The reason is simple: at three to five years old, children become mobile enough to touch everything, but they don’t understand the dangers of their actions.

For example, a child who grabs and shakes a table leg while playing, not realizing the flowerpot might fall over.

The orphanage was filled with the sounds of such crying children, and those who threw tantrums one day would become the injured, crying children the next.

I don’t know what happened to the orphanage where I worked, but since it was directly operated by the city government, it probably hasn’t shut down.

Parchifal was, at the very least, a financially stable city.

“I heard Ortus has three magic towers.”

“Ah, yes. There are towers for the Illusion School, the Spell School, and the Healing School.”

“Illusion… Spell… Healing…”

Everyone would know about Illusion and Healing, but the Spell School might be somewhat unfamiliar. Simply put, it refers to the school that researches magic like fireballs or electric shocks.

It’s famous for having the most spell casters, mainly because the term “spell” encompasses such a wide range of magic.

“Have you been there?”

“I’ve been there a few times before, before I had a family. Since I worked in the black market… and magic towers tend to like that sort of thing.”

“Magic towers like that…?”

I found this strange as I looked at the road we were traveling on.

A dirty, bumpy country road without even the gravel properly laid—how could such a business relationship be maintained long-term…?

“We’re not going directly to Ortus?”

“Pardon?”

“It doesn’t seem like we’re going directly from Rascal to Ortus.”

“Ah… that’s right. The black market usually deals in monster carcasses. After we salvage the important parts, we take them to a city called Riplen between Rascal and Ortus for processing.”

“I see…”

That explains why there are no villages or settlements here.

There’s no need to go directly from Rascal to Ortus, and since there are already villages around Riplen, there’s no reason to take a loss by establishing a village here.

“We actually intended to go through Riplen too… but with the abundance of bandits there and the expensive fare…”

“Tsk, tsk…”

Due to lack of funds, they couldn’t make rational spending choices.

They’re exactly the type who would rent a horse long-term instead of buying one when they need it.

They need a horse immediately but don’t have the money to buy one, so they rent it, but eventually the accumulated rental fees exceed the cost of buying a horse outright.

But at least these people were genuinely desperate and truly poor, so I couldn’t entirely blame them for their choices.

*

And so the sun rose on another day, with just two days remaining until we reached Ortus.

“Look over there.”

“Hmm?”

“The trees have been cut down. It’s a sign that we’re almost at inhabited territory.”

“Ah… indeed.”

The trees had been cut down, leaving only stumps—a formation that could only be explained by human axework.

Judging by the new shoots sprouting abundantly from the stumps, they weren’t cut recently. They were probably cut last winter for firewood.

In large cities like Parchifal, heating was done with charcoal or briquettes, so heating with firewood wasn’t common. But I’ve heard that in rural villages where wood is scarce, people even burn animal excrement for fuel. Ortus didn’t seem to be that destitute.

“By the way, where are you from, Sir Adventurer?”

“Parchifal.”

“Ah… Parchifal.”

“Have you been there?”

“No. I’ve only heard rumors. A very large, bustling place… with poor public safety, isn’t it?”

“That’s accurate.”

Generally, one should be selective about rumors, but just as gems can be found among stones, there are rare instances where rumors convey facts without distortion.

Parchifal is, by no means, a good place for the weak to live.

It’s a place where over 10,000 people are murdered each year, and when you add those who die from old age, disease, industrial accidents, and so on, the number exceeds 50,000.

Yet people are drawn to Parchifal like moths to a flame, and they don’t try to leave until they die.

The reason is simple.

Parchifal has jobs.

From miserable day labor worse than serfdom to professional positions that even nobles wouldn’t dare attempt.

If I hadn’t had a passion for adventure, I probably would have started a small business in Parchifal.

One gold coin would be enough to set up a small business without any problems.

“Were you born in Parchifal? Or did you migrate there?”

“I’m a Parchifal native. You could say I drank seawater before mother’s milk.”

“Haha! You’re exaggerating! Surely your mother wouldn’t have done that!”

“I don’t have a mother.”

“…”

At my words, the family was suddenly enveloped in silence.

“…”

What’s with them?

*

There was a small commotion, but it didn’t last long.

We finally spotted three faint towers in the distance and lights glowing in the darkness.

“At this distance, we should be able to arrive by tomorrow morning.”

“Haah… I finally feel like we’re going to survive.”

“Well, don’t let your guard down yet. There are plenty of bold thieves who ambush travelers near the city walls.”

“Eeeek…”

We made a campfire on top of a cliff, safe from surprise attacks, and began to boil soup for what would be our last meal together.

“At least we managed not to go hungry.”

“Yes, thankfully.”

I nodded in agreement.

On the road, food supplies were precious, and without a spatial storage, they often spoiled or became infested with insects.

I had originally bought enough food to last myself a week, so it was almost miraculous that we could provide three meals a day for six people.

“When we reach Ortus, I’ll deliver the letter to the magic tower… and you’ll go to the inn, right?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the name of the inn?”

“The Boiled Lamb Inn.”

“The Boiled Lamb Inn…”

Inn names tend to be quite intuitive.

It’s much easier to remember than something like St. Tiago Inn or Blessed Goddess Inn, isn’t it?

Inns named after people follow a similar logic.

“Good. Now let’s eat dinner and get a good night’s sleep. Then we should arrive around the time the city gates open.”

“Yes. Here, have a bowl.”

“Mm.”

I accepted the soup from the father and savored the taste.

It had exactly the flavor of a home-cooked meal.

The taste of a meal scraped together in difficult circumstances, made as plentiful as possible in quantity because they couldn’t let anyone go hungry.

Sigh… eating this kind of meal reminds me of that mysterious stew Eileen used to make.

The meat had such a strong odor that I had to hold my nose while eating, but I still remember gulping it down hurriedly, afraid someone might steal the meat.

“Tsk.”

“What… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just remembering the past.”

“I see…”

Compared to that pungent stew, this bland but clean soup was relatively decent.

“It’s fortunate the children haven’t fallen ill. Sick children don’t live long.”

“Haha. It must be thanks to the love goddess Medina watching over the children.”

“Perhaps.”

The love goddess Medina presides over all happiness and pleasure.

From the snoring of a child sleeping in its mother’s arms to the sawing sound of a pleasure-killing maniac driven by madness—all happiness and pleasure in this world flows to her.

Just as the blood god Karil presides over murder and revenge.

“Let’s get some sleep now. You can’t meet your cousin with tired eyes, can you?”

“Ah, right. Sleep well, then.”

And so, we fell asleep, and shortly before dawn, we rose from our beds and completed preparations to enter Ortus.