"This is the Wayfarer's Rest," Lira continued proudly. "We don't have fancy rooms, but they're clean. And the food's warm."
"That's all I need," Aiden replied.
Lira's gaze briefly flicked to the silent figure standing behind him, hooded and unmoving. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled again as if nothing were strange.
"Would you like a room?" she asked. "Or food first?"
"A room," Aiden said. "And a meal if you have one."
"Of course!" Lira said quickly. "I'll get everything ready."
As she reached for a key hanging on the wall, Aiden glanced around once more. The inn was quiet, unassuming, and, for now, exactly the kind of place he wanted to stay.
The price made Aiden relax at once.
"Ten silver coin per night," Lira said as she handed him the key. "Food is five silver coin per meal."
"That works," Aiden replied without hesitation. For Breim City, the price was more than reasonable, perfect for someone who didn't want to draw attention or burn through his savings too quickly.
He paid, and Lira soon brought him a bowl of stew and a small loaf of bread. The stew was thin, with more broth than meat, and the vegetables were cut unevenly. When Aiden took a spoonful, he immediately knew it wasn't anything special.
It wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either.
The taste was plain, lacking seasoning, the kind of food meant to fill the stomach rather than please it. Still, for five silver coin, he had no right to complain. He ate quietly, finishing every last drop. Across the room, a few travelers spoke in low voices, while the fire cracked softly in the hearth.
Once he was done, Aiden stood and nodded toward Lira. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said with a smile. "Your room's upstairs, second door on the left."
Aiden and his undead climbed the narrow wooden stairs, each step creaking under his weight. The hallway was dim, lit by a single oil lamp. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The room was small but clean. A simple bed rested against the wall, a thin blanket folded neatly on top. There was a wooden table, a chair, and nothing else. No luxury, no decoration, just a place to rest.
Aiden closed the door behind him and let out a quiet breath.
Aiden sat down on the bed and pressed his hand against the mattress. It dipped slightly under his weight, firm but not stiff. He lay back and bounced once, then nodded to himself.
"The bed's pretty good," he muttered. "Not bad at all."
His gaze shifted to the corner of the room, where the bronze-grade undead stood silently. The hood and mask hid its face completely now, making it look like a quiet, disciplined guard rather than something pulled from a grave. If someone saw it like this, they would never guess what it truly was.
Aiden rubbed his temple and exhaled slowly.
"Damn… I need to unsummon this guy."
The moment the thought crossed his mind, the fatigue became impossible to ignore. It wasn't the kind of tiredness that sleep could fix. It was deeper, like something inside him was being steadily drained. His chest felt hollow, his limbs heavy.
He had been keeping the undead summoned for nearly three hours now.
The first time he felt this was while escorting a merchant caravan. He used whatever excuse he could to secure a carriage to himself. Since he was essentially the reason they were safe, no one argued, and the merchants readily gave Aiden his own carriage.
Little by little, his mana slipped away, bleeding out as long as the summon remained in the world. It wasn't sudden, but it was relentless. A quiet reminder that he wasn't strong enough yet to maintain something like this for long periods.
Aiden had just raised his hand, ready to unsummon the undead, when voices drifted up from below.
Shouting. Rough laughter. Fear.
He paused.
"…What's going on down there?"
The undead remained standing as Aiden moved toward the door. He slipped into the hallway and took the stairs down, his steps quiet. The noise grew clearer with every step, until he reached the ground floor.
At the front desk, three grown men stood in a loose half-circle, blocking the way out. Their clothes were worn but well-kept enough to suggest they weren't simple drunks. One of them leaned forward, hands braced on the counter.
Behind the desk, Lira stood frozen.
Her face was pale, her hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
"So?" the man snarled. "Still no payment this time?"
Lira swallowed hard. "I—I told you, sir. Please give me a little more time. I promise I'll have the money next week."
The thug laughed, a low, ugly sound. "Next week? You said that last time."
He straightened and tilted his head, eyes crawling over her in a way that made Aiden's stomach turn.
"Little girl," he said slowly, "how about this instead? Come with us. Our boss is very… understanding. You can pay your grandpa's debt with your body."
Lira's body started to shake.