A wizard passed out drunk by the roadside—this was strange enough to begin with. Whether it was the fact that ordinary liquor could get a wizard drunk, or that a wizard would let himself pass out asleep beside a filthy street where children ran about, either way it was utterly, spectacularly unbelievable.
Ruger's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sight before him.
He had to admit that he had mocked Mahama's exaggerated reaction a little too soon.
Wizard Zorn's behavior strayed rather too far from what ordinary people imagined a formal wizard to be.
Mahama looked at Ruger.
"Since he collapsed here, he was probably trying to get back to that courtyard..."
Mahama spoke softly, as though afraid of waking him.
"I think so too."
Ruger understood what Mahama meant.
The melodious snoring still drifted through the air, as though a single breath could wind through eighteen twists and turns, laboring to find the rhythm for the dancers around the distant bonfire.
Ruger and Mahama both sighed instinctively, then stepped forward together.
Suddenly, the hands they had extended one before and one behind, both bent at the waist, froze halfway.
An aura far beyond their level descended over them.
The snoring continued.
Ruger did not dare move a muscle, but he knew the hairs on the back of his neck had definitely stood on end.
Though Wizard Zorn was not wearing that special wizard's robe with the open collar, his everyday clothes still hung half-open at the chest.
Amid the winding snores, several strange little heads sat at Wizard Zorn's chest, utterly unmoved as they stared fixedly at Ruger and Mahama beside him.
When those little heads poked out from the messy chest hair, Ruger felt as if his heart had skipped a beat. It was not only the aura