"Hey, wake up. How long do you plan on dozing off?" Tirandel's muffled voice broke through the haze of sleep.
Noah creaked his eyes open and saw Tirandel standing in front of the bed, a plate in his hands and the faint smell of broth in the air.
'Bed…? Where am I?'
As his vision cleared, the outline of a small room came into focus. Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his neck, still groggy.
Tirandel placed the plate on the bed beside him. Noticing something astray, Noah's gaze went over the plate.
Only thick porridge, with a few vegetables floating on top. Looking up, he caught Tirandel chewing on the bread that was clearly his.
Ignoring that, he asked, "Where are we?"
"We are at our first checkpoint." Tirandel said after swallowing the last bite of bread. "It was getting dark, so we stopped here for the night."
The words took a minute to sink in. When they did, fragments of memory surfaced.
'Tch… I let my guard down.'
Leon's warning echoed clear as day in his mind. He'd thought the man would wait until Iriel was safe—but Leon clearly didn't share that sentiment.
The memories hit him alongside the phantom pain of shattered ribs and a crushed heart. Unlike the previous experience, the pain was much more surreal and lasting.
'Would it hurt him to go easy on me?'
Leaning against the wall, Tirandel sighed, "By the way, what happened back there? It looked like your soul left your body for a moment."
Grimacing quietly, Noah answered, "Ugh, that guy's got a bad temper, that's all."
Noah stood up and stretched his back, a groan accidentally slipping through.
'I must have slept for a long time.'
"Oh, since you're the youngest among us, you're on night duty tonight," Tirandel said with a smirk.
Still half-bent, Noah shot him a look. "Night duty?"
Tirandel sprawled across the empty bed. "Just keep watch for any suspicious types. We can't risk blowing our cover because some thief picked the wrong door."
For the first time, it felt like an actual mission.
Noah grinned. "Don't jinx it."
With that, he turned and reached for the door.
Still lying on the bed, Tirandel asked, "Aren't you eating this?"
Noah glanced at the bowl of stew—already cold. It looked decent enough, but the lingering phantom taste of blood turned his stomach.
"I'm not hungry."
Before he even finished speaking, Tirandel had already emptied the bowl, not leaving even a single drop behind.
At Noah's incredulous stare, he said, "Can't let it go to waste now, can I?"
Shaking his head, Noah stepped into the corridor. A dozen rooms lined the hall, and at the far end, two staircases split—one up, one down.
'An expensive inn… so much for lying low.'
The stairs weren't far. Just as he was about to head for them, the door beside his room creaked open.
Leon stepped out, calm and silent, the door clicking shut behind him. Before Noah could react, Leon's gaze was already on him.
But unlike before, his gaze was lighter—almost as if it had always been that way.
"Have you eaten yet?" Leon asked.
Noah blinked, not sure he'd heard right. "Um… No?"
Leon simply turned toward the stairs. "Follow me."
With that, Leon descended the stairs. Noah hesitated only a moment before following.
Downstairs, a few guests were still dining. The place looked expensive at first glance, but the mercenaries drinking at the counter made it clear it was more affordable than it seemed.
Behind the counter, an old man polished jugs and glasses with practiced rhythm. His brows were so thick they nearly hid his eyes.
Near the far end, a woman was wiping down the tables, her dress faded and threadbare. When Noah's gaze fell to her hands, he saw more scars than skin.
Pushing the thought aside, he took the seat across from Leon. A young man soon approached with a tray of water glasses.
He set the glasses down carefully. "Would you like to order something, sir?"
Noah glanced at him. 'Was he… worried about me?'
Ever since the day they'd met, Leon had never once felt like a teacher. But now—just for a moment—Noah thought maybe he wasn't as heartless as he seemed.
Leon set his sheathed sword on the table.
"I'll have your stew."
Then, glancing at Noah: "And he'll have another glass of water."
"Understood." With that, the waiter left them alone.
A vein twitched on Noah's forehead. 'Why do I even bother getting my hopes up?'
Still, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. At this point, he was almost used to Leon's way of doing things. Not only that, but he still didn't have any appetite yet, and he rarely craved drinks.
He grasped the glass and slowly downed the water. As he did, he realized just how thirsty he had been.
'Right, I've not had any water for hours now.'
After finishing his second glass, he looked up as the waiter returned with Leon's stew.
The waiter set a pleasant-looking drink before Noah, foam climbing the sides and tiny bubbles racing up to the surface.
"This is our special mocktail, prepared by our bartender—on the house." He bowed again. "Enjoy your meal."
Noah found himself oddly fond of the waiter. The fizz made his mouth water—his appetite creeping back.
'This is human kindness. It's been a long time I've felt this.'
Before he could touch it, the glass was gone.
'Huh?'
He looked up to see Leon draining the glass in one long swallow, then setting it down before digging into his stew.
Noah opened his mouth to protest, then remembered the last time he'd crossed Leon—and shut it.
'What—does he expect me to just watch him eat?'
Noah opened his mouth to protest, then remembered the last time he'd crossed Leon—and shut it.
"This is your second lesson."
Noah frowned. What is he talking about? It took a moment to remember—Leon was his teacher, not a mob boss. And he was the student, not an equal.
He scratched his head. "Shouldn't this be the first lesson?"
Leon gave him a condescending look. "Keep this in your head. Our relationship is one of a master and his disciple, not a teacher and his student. I won't be teaching you fancy martial arts or exquisite disciplines. Those you can learn yourself."
By the time he stopped, the waiter was standing beside them. Despite the serious atmosphere between Noah and Leon, his smile didn't fade even a little.
Leon fished a few silver coins from his pocket and tossed them on the table.
The waiter's smile flickered for the briefest second. He bent to pick up the coins—then Leon's hand closed on his head and smashed it down on the table.
The table exploded under the impact, splinters flying. The floor trembled, and silence returned.
Noah widened his eyes. "What—"
Leon heaved the waiter aside as if he weighed nothing. The man arced over the tables and slammed into the far wall.
The waiter rose as if unhurt, dusting his sleeves. From his waistcoat he drew a small, scarlet bell. The bell was engraved all around with mysterious runes and texts.
He held it up and rang—yet no sound came. It was as if the bell swallowed its own ring.
Noah saw, from the corner of his eye, customers edging toward the exits. The two mercenaries at the counter stood. The bartender set down his jug and flexed toward the knives.
Near the staircase, more people appeared. Surprisingly, none of them held a single weapon in their hands.
Noah's face hardened. He lunged for his sword—then remembered it was back in his room. He glared at Leon. The man sat perfectly still, as if the dozen closing in were not even there.
'Isn't he going to do anything?'
As more and more people started to get into formation, blocking the possible exits and escape routes, Noah felt the pressure getting heavier. The hostility aimed at them got sharper.
In such a situation, Leon simply crossed his legs.
"Survival," he said. "That is your second lesson—and the one that will be with you for the rest of your life."
He studied the room. "They're here to kill us. I don't care how you do it—kill them or throw them down. Your job is to make them stop so I don't have to get involved."
Noah lowered his stance. Before he could speak, the first attacker was on him.