Chapter 52 - When I Find You All (3)

Inside the carriage leaving the convent.

In the swaying carriage, there was a red-haired girl sitting quietly, tears hanging in her large eyes as though they might fall at any moment.

The sight of her clutching a bundle of belongings to her chest, not even large enough to fill one pack, was enough to stir anyone’s pity.

"Was it really hard for you there?"

"... It was just okay."

"Did they not feed you properly? You were already tiny, so why are you this skinny?"

"... They fed me well enough."

Zemina kept avoiding Vlad’s gaze even as she answered the questions that kept flying at her in short replies.

"What’s wrong with you?"

"What do you mean..."

"Why do you keep sneaking looks at me?"

"..."

Even with Vlad scolding her, Zemina could not easily meet his eyes.

It was a scene the girl had dreamed of so dearly, but now that she had actually reached it, only an awkward air hung between them.

"You’re getting awkward just because we didn’t see each other for barely half a year?"

Vlad felt somewhat hurt by Zemina’s subtle reaction, but it could not be helped.

'... You’ve changed too much.'

The subtle emotions of a girl in puberty were something not even the parents who gave birth to her would understand.

And that subtle difference in feeling was partly Vlad’s fault, for having gone and changed so far beyond the image the girl had known.

'He really looks like a noble.'

Zemina thought as she stole glances at Vlad, who was looking at her with indifferent eyes.

The dark blond hair that had been popular among the prostitutes of the back alleys now even had a sheen to it, enough to look dazzling, and from his clothes to his armor, everything about him looked expensive, making him seem like a proud knight no matter who looked at him.

"..."

Her own shabby figure sitting before that shining appearance.

Afraid that Vlad’s gaze might fall on it, Zemina quickly clenched the torn end of her sleeve in her palm.

Though even doing that would not hide all of her shabby appearance.

When they had rolled around together in the back alleys, they had leaned on each other with a single blanket like a rag, but now the boy before her seemed to be somewhere far away, and Zemina grew gloomy.

Feeling as though she might no longer even be allowed to stand at the boy’s side, she merely lowered her head into the bundle she was holding.

"Hey!"

"Huh?"

At Vlad’s sudden call, Zemina lifted her head.

Feeling something unknown suddenly fly into her absentmindedly open mouth, Zemina’s eyes went round.

"Eat that and get a grip. You’ve been spacing out since earlier."

"..."

Feeling the sweetness spreading through her mouth, Zemina quietly lowered her tongue.

"What is this?"

"Caramel. I got it from a knight I know."

"How did you get something this expensive? You didn’t steal it, did you?"

"... Think whatever you want."

With those words, Vlad turned his gaze out the carriage window as though he could not be bothered to say anything more.

Looking at Vlad’s indifferent profile, Zemina found the image the boy from the past had carried.

He had been like this back then too.

Even in the days when they endured one day after another while starving, Vlad would somehow bring back a piece of bread for the girl.

And then he would toss it over as if it were nothing.

Just like now.

"Sniff..."

The salty taste of tears flowing down, the sweet taste of caramel she had tasted for the first time.

Feeling the taste of reunion spreading faintly across the tip of her tongue, the girl ended up dropping the tears she had been holding back.

"Why are you crying again? Seriously."

"You came too late!"

Looking at the girl finally letting go of the tears she had been holding back, Vlad merely frowned as if he found it troublesome.

Having found the boy she had known within the changed Vlad, Zemina was only then able to feel relieved and shed tears.

Even as time passed and surroundings changed, there were some things that did not change.

Zemina was so very glad of that.

※※※※

At a dock somewhere in the back alleys.

Before the slowly flowing river, Haven and Vlad were talking with bottles of liquor beside them.

"How is there not a single one of mine among all those boats?"

"..."

Boats gathering at the dock to escape the gradually setting sun.

From tiny fishing skiffs to sailing ships responsible for Soara’s distribution of goods.

Watching the boats dock according to size and order, Haven was lamenting in a way that was not quite lamenting.

"You know, right? That my original dream was to be a lookout."

"I know well."

Haven was originally a tidy man who only said what needed to be said, but whenever liquor entered his mouth or a boat was in front of his eyes, he would show a side different from usual.

And the blond boy was the person who had seen that side of him the most.

"Being a lookout is out of the question now. How would I climb a mast with this foot?"

"..."

At Haven’s words, Vlad picked up an innocent pebble and threw it toward the river.

Because he knew well that one of the reasons Haven’s dream had been crushed was himself.

"So these days, I’m learning how to read maps and the constellations. Now that I think about it, being a lookout is too hard."

"... You really haven’t changed."

Vlad tilted his head to the side and began to laugh as he looked at Haven.

Voice, Jager, Joseph, and even Jorge.

There were many people who had taught the boy knowledge, skills, and the direction of life, but perhaps the brown-haired man sitting beside him now had been something like his first teacher.

Haven’s attitude of constantly trying to find a way through life had certainly influenced the boy a great deal.

"So Marcella and Zemina are going to keep staying there? At that inn near the busy district?"

"I can’t just leave the two of them at Rose’s Smiles when it’s covered in blood."

"True, you’ll have to look after both of them for a while."

"Right."

Vordan, who had been sorting out One-Armed Jack’s assets, had handed Vlad the promissory note related to Rose’s Smiles.

It was the boy’s right as the rightful avenger, but it was also what Joseph wanted.

And that promissory note was now in Marcella’s hands.

Because the boy had not forgotten the grace she had shown him that day.

"Is Marcella going to keep running a brothel?"

"Who knows."

"I used to get some pretty decent drinks now and then by borrowing your name."

Listening to the old memories flowing from Haven’s mouth, Vlad drank from the whiskey bottle in his hand.

Watching Vlad’s throat bob as the liquor went down smoothly, Haven smacked his lips for no real reason.

"... Is that good? Want to trade with me?"

"... You’re joking, right?"

There was no reason at all to trade expensive whiskey for cheap rum, but Vlad deliberately swapped bottles with him.

Because he also owed Haven a debt.

"Ahh! You can tell good liquor just by smelling it!"

"... Same goes for bad liquor."

Smelling the fishy stench coming from the cheap rum, Vlad lightly tightened his grip on the bottle stopper.

"..."

Haven still covered his forearms with long sleeves despite summer drawing near.

Seeing the scars that showed when Haven raised the whiskey bottle, Vlad needlessly rolled his tongue around in his mouth.

The scars newly settled on Haven’s arms were the price he had paid for secretly launching the boat when the boy tried to escape Soara.

"... I’m surprised you didn’t die."

"They only half-killed me."

For some reason, the smile Haven showed along with the twilight looked sad to Vlad.

In the back alleys, where neither of them had anything to offer but their lives, Haven had done his best for Vlad.

Haven, who was nothing more than a mere gang member, had seized his boss’s boat and launched it onto the river.

If One-Armed Jack’s men who saw that had not rushed to the docks, it might have been some other gang member, not Otar, who blocked the boy’s way.

The boy that day had been no different from a debtor who had borrowed favors here and there to buy his own life.

"They said it was amazing that a cripple launched a boat all by himself. Our boss likes that kind of thing. That’s why I only half-died."

"He likes the strangest things."

"And that’s how I lived. Thanks to that, I’m drinking good liquor like this too."

Watching Haven gulp down the whiskey as if it were some good medicine, Vlad smiled quietly.

"What are you planning to do from now on? Going back to Sturma?"

"I’ll be here for a while. I’m on standby, in a way."

"Ah, what a fine sight. A man taking orders from a noble house. You’ve really made it in life."

The boy dismissed Haven’s drunken words about how Zemina would be sad if he left so quickly, and how he had to take her with him when he went up, as nothing more than the words of a drunk.

"While I’m here, I’m going to look for some people."

"Who?"

Watching the sun sink little by little to the west of the river, Vlad smacked his lips.

To some, that sight would signal the end of the day, but to the people of the back alleys, it was a sign that today was beginning.

"I need to look for One-Armed Jack’s hidden assets and things that haven’t been recovered yet. Money Bugs dig holes all over the place."

"If it’s that kind of thing, I might be able to help."

"Heh heh. That whiskey wasn’t free."

Seeing Vlad give him a sly smile, Haven stroked his cane.

For some reason, the cane the boy had carved for him looked especially reliable today.

"And Marcella seems to want to find the other prostitutes."

"They must have all been sold off, right?"

"They’ll be somewhere around here."

"Hmm."

Joseph wanted to shake out even the hidden dust of One-Armed Jack concealed in the back alleys.

And Madam Marcella wanted to find the prostitutes who had been scattered because of her.

Gold coins and prostitutes.

Within the traces of the prostitutes sold off by a loan shark, there would certainly be glittering gold coins stamped from their tears.

Between duty and request, Vlad, the representative of Bayezid and the last remaining knight of the prostitutes, grasped exactly what he had to do.

"There may be an overlap between the two."

"Still, I think it’ll be a headache. I took a rough look, but for a few of them, there aren’t any traces at all."

"Who?"

"There’s someone named Anna. And a few others besides her."

Vlad remembered the prostitute who had been beaten by the man who called himself a mercenary.

Because she had a lot of debt to begin with, he had thought she might have been sold somewhere harsher, but he had not expected her to disappear so completely without a trace.

"True. Having no traces at all is a bit unusual."

Haven frowned, sensing that Vlad’s words were not just empty talk.

In the days when One-Armed Jack ruled the back alleys, many things that should not have happened had often appeared.

"Call me if you need help. The organization’s gotten smaller these days, so I won’t be able to do much."

"Got it."

Haven put strength into his cane, somehow found his balance, and stood up.

Though his body was uncomfortable, the sight of Haven somehow doing what he had to do made the young Vlad think about many things.

"I’m going."

"Yeah."

Vlad waved one hand as he watched Haven’s back returning to his workplace.

The red-burning twilight stretched Haven’s shadow long.

His shadow, swaying more than before, surely was not simply because he was drunk.

"I have to pay him back."

Joseph had said it.

Whether it was a favor or a grudge, when paying it back, one had to return at least twice as much.

A single bottle of whiskey would not be enough to repay all of Haven’s grace.

"I guess I’ll have to stop by."

Vlad turned and began walking in the opposite direction from the one Haven had taken.

The boy heading toward the back alleys filled with love and hate remembered Joseph’s words well.

Life was a succession of paying back and being paid back.

And the boy knew well that it was now his turn to pay back what he owed.

Together with the faint lights of the back alleys, the boy’s hair was fluttering.

It was a color clearer than anything else.

※※※※

In front of a shabby smithy full of mud.

An old blacksmith, as unimpressive as the shabby shop itself, sat there without any drive.

The only customers who occasionally came were mercenaries chasing rumors and worthless back-alley ruffians.

"..."

The old man, with little life left to him, felt hollow at the fact that his life would end so emptily after all.

No matter where in this world one was born, everyone had the right to carry at least one star in their heart.

However, setting the star one carried into the night sky was another matter entirely.

"... Should I close up for today?"

The old man, who had lately lost more and more of his drive, rose from his seat with a groan that showed the weight of his years.

As he spent a while putting his tools away, the old man stopped moving when he saw a nail driven into the highest spot in the smithy.

A sword that had hung there.

And the boy who had stared at that sword.

The old blacksmith remembered them.

What was the unadorned sword, which held his unfinished dream, doing now and where?

Was it doing well together with the boy?

"I’m sure it is."

The old man, who knew well the cruelty of the world, had already realized that his star might not shine brilliantly.

He only hoped it was floating in a better night sky than this muddy place.

"Are you closing already today?"

"Yeah. Come back later."

"But that won’t do. You’re going to get busy starting now."

At the voice coming from behind him, the old man let out a wry laugh.

As if you lot being busy amounts to anything.

To stab someone with the iron skewers you carry, you hardly need any sharp edge I make for you, do you?

"This sword does need looking after. It’s gone too long without repairs."

"... What?"

The old man reacted to the words coming from behind him.

There had certainly been the word sword in what he had just heard.

"The other blacksmiths say they can’t fix this. You’re the only one who can, old man."

"..."

The old blacksmith set down the odds and ends he was holding and slowly turned around.

"Oh..."

Into his aching eyes came a head of shining blond hair, so bright it hurt even while he stood still.

It was the color he had thrown out into the world together with the girl that day.

"You can’t?"

"No, no, I can. Of course I can."

Looking at the welcome customer who had come after so very long, the old man worked the bellows at the furnace.

Inside the furnace that had been breathing raggedly as if it might go out at any moment, the old man’s passion burned for the first time in a long while.

"Sit here."

After offering the boy a place to sit, the old blacksmith accepted the unadorned sword he had made with careful hands.

SHING!

"That’s right."

Looking at the sword wounded here and there, the old blacksmith smiled.

As a blacksmith, he could not help but feel proud whenever he saw things faithfully fulfilling their purpose.

Especially if it was something he had made himself.

"Where did this scar come from?"

"That one happened when I was fighting a hobgoblin, but back then, I wasn’t used to the sword yet, so..."

"Then what about this one?"

"That one was... when we were hunting that Death Worm. I was something like bait, and, well, I scraped it against the ground. To lure it out."

Vlad kept adding more words like excuses as he watched the old blacksmith ask this and that about the scars on the sword, but there was no need for that at all.

"Hobgoblin... Death Worm..."

Because the old man was not scolding the boy, but growing overwhelmed with emotion as he listened to the achievements of the sword he had made.

So you were faithfully doing your part.

Unlike me, rotting away here.

The blacksmith of that day remembered the boy who had endlessly stared at the sword he had made.

But the blacksmith of today was smiling as he looked at the scars on the sword that boy had created.

"Wait. I’ll repair it for you."

The old man quickly closed the shop door and began the work meant solely for the boy.

In the middle of the back alley, the sound of the old man’s hammering and the low murmur of the boy’s voice mingled and rang out together.

"So then he struck down my shield there. Telling me to say my name."

"Is that so? And then?"

Together with those sounds, the old blacksmith dreamed.

Of himself standing in the scenes the boy’s eyes had seen and the unadorned sword had accomplished.

Looking at the scenes visible within the flying sparks, the old blacksmith smiled.