Two days before Edgar Valobry arrived, Bastian was already awake far earlier than usual.
The sun, or more precisely the sphere of light hanging in the sky, had not yet been lit. The world was still wrapped in the long darkness of night, illuminated only by pale stars and a few scattered lanterns.
He rarely slept more than five hours, six at most. But in a world where night lasted sixteen hours, that was early enough.
He could sense the watchers, though they were more discreet now. The two guards assigned to him the day before had been replaced with new faces: a muscular man with a scar on his chin, and a younger one with an alert, wary gaze.
They stood some distance away, pretending to chat while occasionally glancing in his direction. That itself was not important. What mattered was that this surveillance restricted his movements, preventing him from acting freely. With Kaelen's betrayal still under investigation, Bastian knew he could not act recklessly. Not for now.
With his sword resting across his lap, Bastian sat on a wooden bench in front of the barracks, sharpening the blade with a whetstone.
Shhhk…
Shhhk…
The scrape of metal against stone produced a calm, rhythmic sound.
One by one, other soldiers began to stir, emerging from the barracks with sleep-heavy eyes. They glanced at him, some with cautious admiration, others with pure fear, but not a single one dared to greet him or come closer.
Gradually, the darkness in the sky began to fade. The moon hanging overhead with its silver glow slowly dimmed, like a lamp finally being turned off. Then, without any natural rise or descent, the sun appeared, taking the moon's place.
Strangely, even though it appeared abruptly, the light was not immediately bright. The sky around it was painted like dawn, soft oranges, purples, and pinks, as if it were still in the process of rising.
The sunlight itself was dim and golden, not yet reaching its full midday brilliance. Later, when it "set," the sky would once again bloom with evening colors before the sun suddenly went dark and the moon replaced it.
At times like this, without orders to follow, Bastian felt hollow. His mind, usually consumed by tactics and survival, finally wandered to other things.
The afterlife.
Gods.
Angels.
The words spoken by the luminous figure on the plain of death continued to hammer at his thoughts.
If the afterlife truly existed, did that mean heaven and hell were real as well?
Damn it.
If that was true, he already knew where he was going.
Hell.
He felt no guilt. He was simply realistic. His hands were far too stained to pretend otherwise. Yet his thoughts always stopped at one other thing. His little sister.
Nelly.
His little sister was nothing like him.
He could picture the small girl clearly. Even when starving, she would still share her bread with beggars thinner than herself. Someone far too kind for this world. The complete opposite of him. When hungry, Bastian would not hesitate to snatch bread from that same beggar.
Nelly had been the only light in his dark life.
And even that had been taken from him.
So Bastian began to ask questions. He wandered around the market, approached locals, and asked who in the city was most knowledgeable about gods, religion, and spiritual matters.
Naturally, news that the Smiling Knight had suddenly taken an interest in gods spread like a plague. It became fresh gossip, even stranger than his killing.
"I heard the Mad Dog was asking a vegetable seller about gods."
"What? Is he trying to repent before being punished?"
"Or asking for divine protection before Commander Edgar arrives?"
"Or maybe he has finally gone completely insane."
"…"
Bastian knew nothing about it, and he did not care.
It took time, but he finally got one name after much effort.
Aland.
A native of Fairfield. Someone who had studied at the Temple of Hope many years ago.
Bastian stood before the modest house and knocked. When the door opened, a deeply hunched old man appeared, his white hair thin and unkempt. His body was frail, but his eyes were still sharp behind layers of wrinkles. His face was friendly at first, then briefly startled by the horrific scars on Bastian's face, before settling back into calm.
"Are you Aland?" Bastian asked bluntly. "The one who studied at the Temple of Hope."
The lack of courtesy didn't anger the old man. Instead, Aland slowly looked him over, from the scars on his face to the way he stood.
"Young man," he said at last, shaking his head, "your way of speaking is terrible. And that face of yours… with those scars and that attitude combined, I doubt any sane woman would willingly get close to you."
Bastian paused.
The old man wasn't afraid of him. Worse, he said everything straight to his face. Oddly enough, it made Bastian feel comfortable. It was… refreshing.
"So," Aland continued, folding his thin arms, "what do you want with me?"
"I want to know about gods," Bastian said.
Aland squinted, a trace of mockery creeping into his gaze. "You? You look like someone whose footsteps are already halfway to hell, not a temple."
"That's true," Bastian replied calmly. "I still don't believe."
That answer caught Aland's interest. "Then why bother learning about gods at all?"
"I'm curious," Bastian said. "More specifically, I want to understand the afterlife. What comes after death. From what I've heard, that's where gods come in."
Aland leaned closer, his voice dropping. "People who ask those questions are usually standing near death… or drowning in sin and regret. They're afraid of what awaits them. Which one are you?"
Bastian didn't take offense. "Old man, compared to me, you're the one who looks closer to dying."
Aland burst into dry laughter, like dead leaves scraping against stone. "No restraint at all, huh? I only ask because men who begin seeking gods and asking about the afterlife are usually people standing at death's door, or those whose lives are full of sin and regret. And you look like one of them."
Bastian ignored the remark.
"Let's skip the guessing games," he said. "Do gods actually exist?"
Aland's grin widened, exposing several missing teeth.
"A short question," he said, "with an answer that could last all day. Why don't you come inside? I've got some tea. It'll help against the cold."
Bastian agreed.
As he stepped into the small, warmly lit house, another thought surfaced.
"Why aren't you angry?" he asked. "I was rude. Yet you invited me in."
"So you know you were rude," Aland replied without turning back.
Bastian stayed silent.
Aland stopped and glanced over his shoulder. "Ever heard this saying? Fight evil with kindness. Hatred can only be worn down by kindness and love."
Bastian snorted. "Are you lecturing me with cheap wisdom?"
Aland laughed softly. "No. I just wanted to sound wise in front of my guest."
They sat across from each other on stiff wooden chairs.
"That was painfully stupid," Bastian said flatly.
And for the first time in a long while, Bastian watched someone laugh without restraint at his words.