As Noah passed the warmly glowing window of the Old Oak Tavern, the boisterous laughter and clinking of cups spilled out without restraint.
For a moment, the liveliness left him dazed.
He had not intended to stop, but a group of adventurers gathered around a table, loudly bragging over huge mugs of ale, caught his attention.
A brawny man with a face full of flesh and a missing front tooth took a huge gulp, wiped his mouth, and shouted.
"I'm telling you, those Gray-skinned mongrels' claws are sharper than refined steel daggers! One swipe, and Old Barton's iron-rimmed Iron Oak shield was like paper!"
"Exactly! And those Gray-scaled hides are harder than dwarven plate armor! An axe striking them can even throw sparks!"
"Hey, did you hear? That noble lord who insisted on trying his luck at Reed Riverbank a while back, what was his name... Belmont?"
"Ha! That idiot who didn't know his own weight? He must have fed the water lizards in the Swamp by now, or become a chew toy for those Gray-scaled beasts!"
The missing-toothed brute burst into laughter.
"Instead of taking those steady coppers for guarding the city gates, he just had to chase the big money from Demihumans."
"A place like that—was it somewhere a soft-skinned pretty boy like him could go? Noble lord? Pah! If he died, there wouldn't even be anyone to collect his corpse!"
In the past, hearing such filthy words desecrate his Lineage name and the dignity of a Knight would have filled Arno with enough rage to draw his sword.
But at this moment, a strange calm enveloped him.
He stopped outside the tavern window and listened quietly, his face utterly expressionless. He did not even clench his fists.
All that remained in his heart was a profound weariness, along with complete relief at letting go of that meaningless hollow fame.
He shook his head and was about to return to the inn when the adventurers' next words pierced his calm like ice awls.
"Poor little widow of his. I heard she's holding his funeral in the little chapel today! Tsk, tsk, with two little burdens in tow, life won't be easy for her from now on!"
A funeral?! Laura?! The children?!
Arno's heart seemed to be seized in a ruthless grip by an icy giant hand. It stopped beating for an instant, then began hammering wildly, nearly bursting through his chest!
All exhaustion and soreness, all confusion about the future and fear of demons, vanished at that moment.
He had to see them immediately!
No longer caring whether he drew attention, he spun around and sprinted with all his strength toward the small white-stone chapel on the western side of town.
It was nearly dusk. The afterglow of the setting sun cast a dim gold-red sheen over the neat rows of white gravestones in the churchyard, bringing no warmth at all and only adding to the desolation.
The air was filled with the damp scent of freshly turned earth, the faint fragrance of withered white flowers, and a sorrow so heavy it could not dissolve.
The low tolling of the bell rang out one final time. An old priest in a plain black robe stood before a newly erected, crude wooden cross, his shadow drawn long and thin by the setting sun.
His hands overlapped around a bronze holy emblem symbolizing "the Sun and Strength." His aged, low voice carried a power that soothed the heart.
"In the name of Ignis the Sun, we gather here..."
"We remember Arno Belmont. He once walked beneath the sunlight, wielded sword and shield, and fulfilled his duties."
"May the radiance of the Holy Flame of Ignis light his way back to the tranquil long night, soothing every unfinished regret and wound."
"..."
After a long while, the memorial service ended. The old priest gave a slight nod, turned to Laura, and spoke with gentleness and compassion.
"Lady Laura, restrain your grief."
"Ignis will burn away his sins of greed, and He will also grant the living the strength to move forward. May you find solace in remembrance rather than sink into eternal night."
"Restrain your grief..."
Those two words were like a cold iron hammer, smashing once again into Laura's heart, already riddled with a thousand wounds.
She wore a rough black linen dress, her golden hair carelessly pinned behind her head. Several strands were stuck by tears to cheeks so pale they held not a trace of color.
Her blue eyes, once brimming with tender love, now held only hollow despair and endless tears.
She looked at the freshly dug pit before her, at the grave marked only symbolically by a cross, and felt as if her own heart had been buried along with him.
Her Arno...
That once high-spirited Knight Squire, that husband who had clumsily yet stubbornly wanted to hold up a patch of sky for his family... had become nothing but a heap of cold earth.
She did not even dare imagine what he had endured at the end.
"Mom..."
A small hand gently tugged at her skirt.
Her four-year-old daughter Emily looked up at her with a little face full of innocent confusion in her clear blue eyes.
"Is Daddy... sleeping in the dirt? When will he wake up? Emily wants to show him my new drawing..."
Beside her, seven-year-old Little Arno pressed his lips tightly together, trying hard to act like a man, but his trembling shoulders and reddened eyes betrayed the sorrow in his heart.
Laura's body shuddered violently. She crouched down and used all her strength to force out a smile uglier than crying.
"Daddy... Daddy has gone somewhere very, very far away... to find... find tasty candies and toys for Emily and Little Arno... It will take a very, very long time..."
The more Laura spoke, the thicker the grief in her eyes became. Immense sorrow completely drowned her, and in the end, she could not help but collapse to her knees and break into sobs.
"Arno... my dearest Arno... sob..."
Just as she cried until her vision darkened and she was nearly fainting, a joyous shout suddenly pierced the twilight and echoed behind her.
"Laura!!!"
Laura's body froze at once.
A hallucination? It had to be an illusion brought on by overwhelming grief... she thought desperately.
But that voice was so real.
With the struggle of someone at death's door, she turned around.
Under the setting sun, a tall yet utterly bedraggled figure was stumbling over the low stone wall of the cemetery, racing wildly toward her!
A tattered coat, a face smeared with mud, dark chestnut hair in complete disarray—that familiar outline...
It was Arno!
A living, breathing Arno!
Not an illusion! Not a dream!
A wild joy, enough to burst through every dam, instantly drowned all sorrow and despair.
Laura let out a short, broken sob and threw herself into the man's arms, weeping bitterly.
Arno looked at the trembling figure in his arms, felt the strength with which she gripped his waist and back, and heard the wailing sobs she suppressed deep in her throat.
A whirlpool of emotions overturned his heart like rivers and seas.
It was a bitter feeling.
Intense guilt surged into his heart.
He raised his head and saw the light that burst into his son Little Arno's eyes, along with the tears the boy was holding back. He saw the bewildered yet delighted little face of his daughter Emily, and the grave erected for him.
His heart was filled with immense relief.
Kardos above...
No, perhaps he ought to pray to that Mud Demon instead.
No matter what, he was back!
He had not allowed this funeral of despair to become an irreversible ending!
"I'm sorry... Laura... I'm sorry..."
He whispered those words over and over into his wife's ear, his voice choked and hoarse.
Then he tightened his arms, pulling her and the children closer into his embrace, as if he wanted to knead them into his own body and use their tangible warmth to drive away the chill of the gravestone.
The last rays of sunset fell, stretching the silhouettes of the family of four locked in embrace long, long into the distance.