On the Journey

Although Kraft repeatedly insisted that he was completely fine, Ryan still insisted on making do at the table in his room for the night, just in case. The next morning, he was awakened by glaring sunlight and the shrill creak of a wooden axle, only to see Kraft, already up, opening the window.

Kraft had slept poorly the night before, tossing and turning in the darkness for most of the night. He had wanted to get up and do something, but feared disturbing Ryan's rest. Yet when he rose that morning, he did not feel tired at all, and had even been spared the usual discomfort of getting up early.

He glanced at the snowy ground outside the window. The snow showed no obvious signs of melting yet, and a few scattered trails of footprints dotted its surface, adding a touch of human presence to the surroundings. He turned around and stretched in front of Ryan, his bones, stiff from a day without movement, popping pleasantly. "Couldn't be better. Surviving a disaster really does feel great."

"Ah, that's true." Ryan yawned. "And don't forget about that pit."

After finishing a breakfast of flatbread and jerky, packing their meager luggage, and throwing on their cloaks, they swung onto their horses and set off on an impromptu journey.

Of course, before leaving, Kraft followed Ryan to the Doctor's house from yesterday. Somewhat reluctantly, he took a Black Silver Coin from his wallet and handed it to the Doctor as payment for yesterday's treatment. He also explained that he had lost interest in that pillar, so everyone could fill the earth back in and plant crops there as usual next year.

Of that reluctance, perhaps thirty percent came from his lack of spending money, while seventy percent came from his lack of confidence in the Doctor's work.

Yet that minor displeasure quickly vanished once they officially set out. A clear day after snowfall was quite pleasant in winter. There were no longer snowflakes filling the sky and blocking their view, forcing them to focus on the narrow road so they would not take a wrong turn, nor was there the usual dust rising from dry dirt roads, making them cover themselves entirely with their cloaks.

The joy of riding through the snow excited the otherworldly part of Kraft's soul. He was now in a state where he was familiar with riding yet found riding in the snow novel—a superposition that let him enjoy the thrill of a fresh experience without becoming distracted atop his horse and getting thrown off.

After leaving the small basin where the village stood, the two traveled at an unhurried pace along the path through the stream valley.

The long-absent bright sunlight drove away the gloom from the spruce forests on either side. Heavy layers of snow covered the branches and leaves, while mottled sunlight glimmered upon them like sequins.

The forest's savage, shadowy side was hidden beneath layers of white and overlapping curtains of light, presenting itself as clean and enchanting.

Such sights were rare in winter for the locals, but to Kraft's eyes, they possessed a cinematic quality, no less awe-inspiring than his first time watching The Chronicles of Narnia. At that moment, he felt as if he had become a character in some game, riding toward a battlefield for a decisive clash with giants and mythical creatures.

He even hummed to accompany himself. Unfortunately, the two souls together could not produce a voice fit for singing. The beautiful, stirring melody existed only in his own mind, and even Ryan, who had no appreciation for music whatsoever, found that tune difficult to endure. He widened the distance between himself and Kraft, keeping far enough away not to hear the singing clearly, yet close enough to look back and keep an eye on him when needed.

"So, what should we buy when we get back to Wenden Port?" After entertaining himself for a while, Kraft sped up to catch his cousin ahead. "Where did you find those stone eyeballs last time? The runes carved on them were actually kind of interesting. Grandfather loved them."

"..." Ryan really wanted to say that he had simply gone for the cheap option, picked out a practice piece from a Stonemason he knew, then let him carve whatever he wanted onto it.

Who knew whether that Stonemason truly had such talent? In any case, Old Wood loved those eyeballs, and Teacher Anderson also thought Ryan had a good eye.

Now one side had to be mistaken. Either that Stonemason, who could not hold his liquor past three large cups with Ryan, was some extraordinary man hidden in Wenden Port—or whatever Anomalous Phenomenon research Old Wood and Anderson were conducting, namely Occultism, was completely meaningless.

Ryan's silence did not bother Kraft in the slightest. He felt unusually energetic, so energetic that he was willing to pay attention to every sound he heard and every branch he saw.

Even if Ryan did not hear him, or simply did not want to answer, he could always talk about something else.

"Then what did you think of that axe I brought back last time? They said it was brought from the Ice Plains across the sea, and that it was used by those among the Ice Plains People who served Heterodox gods."

From Kraft's current perspective, however, that axe, which had cost him a full five Kingdom Silver Coins, probably only matched the traits of an Ice Plains tribe in its rough shape. It also bore some black stains of unknown composition.

The Captain who had sold it to him explained that they were marks left by blood sacrifice that could never be wiped away. But the otherworldly part of his soul now had absolutely no faith in that claim; he was only using it to start a conversation. He desperately wanted to absorb information right now, no matter what kind, much like the urge to check one's phone now and then for new content.

"Uh, as long as they like it." Ryan came up with a more tactful response. "I don't think we need to set our standards that high. Teacher Anderson probably doesn't have any special expectations either."

If Kraft truly wanted to surprise his grandfather, Ryan could let him rest at the inn for a few days while he went to find that Stonemason. This time, he planned to find a stone statue's limb with an unusual shape, then let the Stonemason work freely again. By the same method, he would try to assemble a whole collection for the castle's display room before next winter.

Kraft did not let the matter drop. Once that topic ended, he quickly started another, asking about Wenden Port Academy. From how many scholars it had to what they studied and researched, all sorts of things he had not cared much about before poured from his mouth like questions from a curious child.

But Ryan was a rough sort himself. His goal after growing up had been to become a Knight, and he had begun learning to read much later than Kraft. Though they had studied under the same teacher, when Kraft was learning from Anderson how to turn words into elegant flourishes, Ryan was still figuring out how to read simple accounts.

Although he had visited Wenden Port far more often than Kraft and had always been the one delivering Anderson's letters to his colleagues at the Academy, these questions truly struck at his blind spot. At most, he knew that the majority at Wenden Port Academy were scholars of the humanities, law, and theology, along with the Medical School, which was constantly rumored to steal corpses for evil experiments.

What Ryan knew best were the horrifying rumors about the Medical School that circulated through taverns. Organs soaked in pungent liquid, terrifying books depicting flayed corpses, and madmen gathering around dead bodies split open at the abdomen in the dead of night to discuss dreadful knowledge. Ryan himself got goosebumps talking about such things, and he also hoped to frighten Kraft off.

Unexpectedly, the boy grew more excited the more he listened, even beginning to press for details. What did the liquid soaking those organs smell like? What organs were in it exactly? Did the Medical School allow outsiders to visit?

To shut Kraft up—and to preserve his image as a worldly and knowledgeable older cousin—Ryan switched topics after exhausting everything he knew about the Academy, and began talking about several Captains he knew in Wenden Port.

These people, who spent more time on the water than on land throughout the year, were the most eye-catching figures in taverns. Their stories encompassed everything from the Kingdom's southernmost reaches to northern Wenden Port, and then the even colder, vast Ice Plains. Their truthfulness was highly questionable, yet they possessed a breadth of vision unimaginable to those bound to the land. Together with the fangs, bones, and other objects in their hands as proof, they held a fatal allure for young people.

What Ryan was about to tell was a treasured story he had heard from a Captain he knew. He was entirely confident that it would finally shut Kraft up.