The Month of Trekking was the first month of Rose Month.
No matter the plant, the edges of its leaves and flowers had turned black. After these twenty-eight days ended, they would have finished turning black and entered complete darkness. Although the plants' transformation had only just begun, the sun would not rise again after setting on the final day of the Month of Destiny.
That would be five months of complete darkness.
Helurando was the town in the Wittier Territory closest to the Eisole Forest. It was also a gathering place for half the adventurers around. The town had plenty of taverns and equipment suppliers, and the clanging of blacksmiths' hammers rang without end. Two out of every three people on the streets were adventurers, most of them wearing hemp cloaks and carrying all kinds of swords at their waists.
This was where noble territory and adventuring country met. The two different ways of life blended here, lending the town a peaceful air while concealing the adventurers' grit and fervor.
It was still raining. Rose Month was the only month when it rained, and most of the time the rain came down in torrents. There were few people on the streets now. The residents had either moved to the neighboring villages, to relatives' homes closer to the heart of the territory, or had begun sheltering in their cellars for the month.
Although every hour of Rose Month was dark, this was still the equivalent of the dead of night. The roads, which were usually full of adventurers, were nearly empty; only one adventurer had come this way.
Raindrops pattered against the smooth, worn stones of the road, the wooden signposts split along their grain, and the adventurer's black cloak. Rainwater trickled through gaps in the rooftops, joined the flow on the road, and ran downhill. All together, it formed a simple folk song in Helurando, like the kind of common instrument popular in the Wittier Territory: dozens of people striking wooden sticks against the ends of specially made hardwood boards etched with patterns.
Unfortunately, the rain grew heavier and its rhythm faster, until the sound filled the air and a layer of white mist rose from the ground.
The adventurer walked through Helurando without hurry, clearly familiar with the way, until he pushed open the weathered wooden door of a tavern tucked away in a side alley. Hanging above the door was a picture painted in white mineral pigment: a simple wolf's head.
As the door swung open, a wave of warmth and firelight drew the adventurer into another world, one filled with comfort and noise.
Helurando was a waystation and supply depot, so there were always plenty of adventurers around. Even the secluded Wolf's Head Tavern was packed with people seeking shelter from the rain and a cup of hot tea. Under the dim yellow lamplight, adventurers chatted and played cards in their cloaks, while some had hung their dripping cloaks on the wooden rack by the door.
The counter on one side was no different from those in other taverns. An old man smoking watched the adventurer come in, shook his scarred metal pipe, and slowly blew out a smoke ring.
The tavern maid carried a wooden tray, handing out bread and ale as she greeted the adventurers.
Seeing there was nowhere to hang his cloak, the adventurer walked farther inside with it still dripping on his shoulders, looking for an empty seat.
Then he spotted the only empty place, in a corner.
Four people sat there: a woman, two men, and a... child.
The woman had delicate features and looked fairly normal. The other two were more unusual. One had a cloth covering his eyes, while the other had long, lake-blue hair and wore a white cloak, not the sort of thing an ordinary adventurer would wear. Most striking of all was the child, small in stature and bundled so tightly in a cloak that only a few golden strands of hair showed.
"May I sit here?" When two of the four looked up as he approached, he couldn't help feeling a little awkward. His mouth, visible beneath his cloak, was stretched into a grin.
"Of course." The woman spoke first. She seemed quite friendly, and struck up a conversation as soon as the adventurer sat down. "Are you taking part in the Month of Trekking too? Traveling so late at night."
"Hey, it's Rose Month. What difference does the time make?" The adventurer took off his thick gloves. Even in the dim light, his large hands looked covered in calluses. His voice made him sound like a friendly sort, too.
The woman sighed. "That's true. I've never been in this area during Rose Month before. I didn't expect it to be so interesting. What do you think, Hubert?"
Hubert had no interest in the subject. "I don't feel anything."
"I think it's very interesting." The man with lake-blue hair spoke softly, his tone mild. Adventurers like him were rare: his skin was fair, and he was handsome enough to be called beautiful, yet no one would mistake him for a woman. Adventurers often mocked that sort of "noble appearance," but he clearly didn't care. "How can the kingdom remain at peace through the dark days? It's an interesting question."
"Mana shouldn't be used to support a king or anything like that," Hubert retorted.
"Haha, perhaps he enjoys taking on difficult challenges?" The woman—Helise—cut in with a smile, stopping Hubert before his displeasure could boil over.
Only then did the adventurer realize they might be mages. Adventurers stood somewhere between ordinary people and "rebels." The nobles disliked them not only because they wouldn't stay on the land and farm, but also because they remained neutral in matters of faith. Most adventurers knew about these commoner mages, though sometimes they sided with them when there was something to gain.
Once he realized they were commoner mages who disliked the nobility, the adventurer didn't react much. He simply thanked the maid who brought over bread and tea, and stayed out of their conversation.
"I mean that I'd support the king," the lake-blue-haired man said with a smile.
"Then you don't deserve to be a mage!" Hubert slammed his hand on the table in anger, got up, and strode away so quickly that he nearly knocked the maid's tray from her hands.
"Hey, watch out..." the maid muttered. Someone hurried past her. Helise had gone after Hubert and nearly bumped into the maid herself, but she still remembered to wave and apologize.
The adventurer watched, baffled, and picked up a piece of bread, taking a big bite. "You young people are something else. You fall out just like that."
"Maybe." The cloaked child spoke. Surprisingly, the voice was calm and belonged to a little girl.
"Arthur is very composed by comparison. No wonder he'll become King of England," the lake-blue-haired man said with a smile.
She wasn't Arthur or the King of England. She was just Fatenai.
"Sorry, he has delusions. A monkey in the forest hit him on the head last time." Fatenai glanced at the adventurer and answered with perfect composure.
It was as if fortune had suddenly smiled on her: she had summoned the legendary mentor to the king, Arthur's guide, the powerful mage Merlin. But whether she herself lacked mana or the mana in this world was too thin to sustain a legendary being like him, his memories and understanding had become distorted.
To be precise, Merlin thought Fatenai was Arthur.
"That's a shame." The adventurer thought it over and agreed. "Are you heading to the... Eisole Forest too?"
An irritable, blind adventurer, a little girl, and a mage who had delusions after being struck on the head by a monkey. Even the adventurer thought it sounded like a group marching to their deaths. Fatenai did too.
"Technically, I live there." Fatenai thought for a moment before replying. "Thank you for your concern..."
Fatenai didn't like dealing with strangers. Just as she was about to politely end the conversation, the sound of a fight suddenly rang out in the distance. It sounded like a table had been overturned, and the adventurers fell silent for a moment.
"Hey, blind man! Pay me back for my stuff! You smashed it!" Fatenai frowned and got up to head over. She had been keeping an eye on Hubert and Helise, and they were indeed at the center of the commotion. When she reached them, she saw a scar-faced man glaring viciously at Hubert.
"I didn't know adventurers had to resort to such petty tricks to make money. Don't make me humiliate you," Hubert said, standing right in front of the fierce-looking adventurer. His voice was almost cold.
Fatenai walked toward the crowd, watching the people whisper among themselves. A wave of discomfort washed over her.
"Hey, what's going on here?" Just as Fatenai finally decided to ask, the cloaked adventurer who had sat beside them spoke up first.
"Uh... the blind man wasn't watching where he was going and smashed an adventurer's gold pocket watch," the adventurer he'd asked replied.
It sounded like a blatant lie. Gold wasn't an ordinary metal; it was especially precious in this world. She couldn't believe an adventurer would own a pocket watch made of gold.
But she soon realized it was a full-blown scam. From the other adventurers' expressions, they seemed used to this sort of thing.
What a headache. Looking at Hubert, Fatenai couldn't help feeling helpless. Ever since Merlin had defeated Morton yesterday, they had come to Helurando, a supply depot. From then on, Hubert, who was injured, had become very strange-tempered—irritable and... Fatenai thought he was acting rather childish, too.
"You..." Helise wasn't stupid. She could tell what the troublemaking adventurer was up to, and frowned.
"Hey, cut it out!" But someone else spoke before she could. The cloaked adventurer's voice rang out. "It's wrong to scam people, especially a young adventurer."
"I'm not scamming anyone! And who are you? Mind your own business!" the adventurer snapped, suddenly stepping forward. The cloaked adventurer backed away to dodge his attack, but one of the man's accomplices grabbed his hood.
His cloak was yanked off, but he didn't stop moving. Instead, he kicked backward into the attacker's knee, pulled his cloak back into place, then unceremoniously flung the man away!
The adventurers watched in amazement. Fatenai was the most surprised, because...
"Wickel?!" The adventurer who had been wearing the hood looked exactly like Wickel.
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