Land of Ice and Snow, Arendelle.
Ward descended from the deck with a blank expression, ignoring the boatswain's cursing, and headed straight for a tavern with some coin in hand.
Alcohol could numb oneself.
It made him forget the pain of losing Caitlyn, forget those fallen comrades, forget the gloomy undead, forget the ferocious demons, and ever since the Time of Troubles ended, Ward had begun a self-imposed exile, utterly alone. He had lost his homeland to a demon attack, lost his family in a gnoll raid, lost his lover in the undead calamity, and lost his friends in the campaign to repel devils. A single disaster had stripped Ward of everything, rapidly forging a hunter into a terrifying warrior; his body bore scars from lizardfolk, ogres, gnolls, demons, the undead, devils, and even other humans. Destiny seemed to have abandoned him, yet it also favored him, for Ward had lost so very much, yet ultimately survived the catastrophe.
He was a veteran of a hundred battles.
After thoroughly beating back the devilish hordes, the nobles invited him to take up a post in the south, but Ward merely took up his sword and set out on a wandering journey.
He was tired.
Not just his body, but his heart felt exceptionally fatigued as well.
He had wandered the entire continent for over a year, visiting Eagle Mountain in the east and Serpent Island in the South Sea, before finally blending into an anonymous caravan as an inconspicuous sailor.
"Ward!"
The caravan's boatswain was exceedingly dissatisfied with Ward's seemingly rebellious demeanor, but before he could speak, the captain patted him on the shoulder and gently shook his head.
Only the captain of the entire caravan knew who Ward was, because he had seen Ward's figure fighting on the front lines