The cleric was very young and looked tall even through the mist. After bowing, he turned with considerable grace-only to walk straight into a gas streetlamp pole.
Clang!
The sound of his forehead striking metal rang out crisply through the evening mist. Watching the cleric clutch his forehead and hurry away without looking back, Mulan couldn't help thinking to himself.
That lovely ring must mean a quality skull!
Mulan's mood instantly brightened a little. The original Mulan of this world had never been particularly devout, and the current Mulan was even less so. He felt no guilt whatsoever about privately making fun of the cleric.
"Sir, would you like me to carry your suitcase?"
The coachman had clearly heard the crisp clang as well. He watched for a while before looking away and coming forward to help Mulan with his suitcase. Only then did Mulan notice that the coachman was just a child-a boy of thirteen or fourteen, by his own estimate.
"No need. I'll carry it myself. Valentin Harbor really is quiet today."
"Yes, the weather's been bad lately. They say a big storm is coming soon, so some of the large ships have left Valentin Harbor ahead of time. And the war's over, too. Back when the fighting was still going on, the harbor was often bustling until midnight."
"A storm?"
Mulan turned to look back again, this time not at the Princess Niseriel, but at the sea in the distance.
But he soon realized something. Did they have weather forecasts in this relatively backward era?
"When did people find out a storm was coming?"
Mulan asked another question. The boy was talkative and had been wishing for someone to chat with, so he readily continued.
"The papers published a storm warning ages ago. Everyone knows."
"Then how did the papers know?"
The boy scratched his head.
"That I don't know."
That advanced? Mulan hadn't gotten an answer to his question, but he stopped asking. He was simply very curious about such advanced weather forecasting, though he had no idea whether it was accurate. As far as he remembered, newspapers weren't supposed to provide weather forecasts.
"Do newspapers all carry weather forecasts now?"
"Weather forecasts?"
The boy looked puzzled for a moment, but quickly understood the words' literal meaning.
"Only for this big storm. They don't normally."
"I see."
Mulan knew the boy probably had no more information, but that didn't stop him from talking.
"Sir, from what Officer Jonester just said, you've come back from the front. Was the battlefield exciting? How many enemies did you kill?"
Mulan frowned. He couldn't help remembering the battlefield, his fallen comrades, the souls lost to bullets and bayonets, and the bodies crushed beneath steam tanks...
But when he opened his mouth, he put on a smile instead.
"The battlefield isn't fun, or exciting. For a while, we couldn't get supplies and had to find our own food. We ate all kinds of strange things. Plenty of men were constipated for half a month and literally died because they couldn't shit! Then there were the poisonous bugs in the jungle. Quite a few could crawl right into your underwear and suck your blood..."
The coachman froze for a moment.
"Uh, is... is that so?"
"War isn't fun. I'm a little tired. I'd like to rest for a while."
With that, Mulan climbed into the carriage, sat down, and closed his eyes. That also stopped the boy from asking about his medals. He could tell Mulan didn't want to say any more.
On the road outside the docks, Evan walked briskly while rubbing his forehead. He had hit the pole rather hard, and it still ached faintly. It had probably left a red mark on his forehead. As he rubbed it, he glanced back at the mist-shrouded Valentin Harbor. Even the Princess Niseriel was nothing more than a hazy silhouette.
"The storm is drawing near!"
Muttering to himself, Evan couldn't help thinking of the young man beside the carriage. There had been a faint scent of blood about him as he stood there. When his gaze swept over Evan, even a Holy Temple cleric like him had felt a flicker of alarm. Those eyes had been so sharp!
That man had definitely spilled blood, and plenty of it!
"Holy Light above, may God forgive his sins!"
At that same moment, in an attic room at the top of a tower in Valentine, someone else was looking toward the harbor through a window. It was an old man wrapped in a heavy blanket. Naturally, he couldn't see the ships. The most conspicuous thing in his view was the lighthouse farther away. He couldn't make out its outline either, of course, only its beam.
The old man immediately turned back to his desk, picked up his fountain pen, and began writing without pause. His writing styles varied wildly, and the content was exceedingly strange. One long passage concerned the storm.
The carriage moved steadily onward. Only Mulan and Leo, who had finished his official business, remained inside, and they were heading toward the brothers' home. Amid the gentle jolting and the sound of the wheels, Mulan's account was nearing the explanation of why he had returned. Silence hung inside the carriage.
After a long while, Leo smiled.
"It's all right, Mulan. I believe you, and Old Buck will believe you too. Even if you really are guilty, we'll still be on your side."
A vein twitched on Mulan's forehead. You clearly don't believe me! I've been talking all this time-what have you even been listening to?
"Thank you, Leo, but let me repeat myself. I'm not guilty, and I didn't desert in battle. I came home early because I voluntarily left the service. If I were guilty, I'd definitely have been hanged."
"Right. You're a noble, after all. They'd have to preserve your dignity. By the way, don't tell Old Buck about your trial just yet."
Mulan was beginning to understand why his former self had gotten along so poorly with his older brother.
"Got. It!"
Not wanting to waste any more words, Mulan closed his eyes and forced the words out through gritted teeth. Then Leo suddenly reached over, pinched Mulan's cheeks, and pulled hard.
"Hahahaha! Now that's my little brother! You were so mature back at the harbor that I hardly recognized you. Hahahaha! Even your cheeks feel right!"
"I... let go! Let go of me! If you don't, I'm hitting back!"
"Go on, hit me back! Hahahaha!"
Mulan's cheeks hurt terribly, and he fought back with all his might. The two brothers began roughhousing inside the carriage...
"Officer Jonester, we're here!"
The young coachman, who had been very curious about the commotion inside along the way, brought the carriage to a steady stop. After calling out, he jumped down from the driver's seat to open the door.
The carriage door opened. Of the two men who climbed out, one carried a suitcase while holding one cheek, and the other kept rubbing his left eye.
"Uh, gentlemen, you..."
"We're fine. You can go, Little Bal. Head straight home, and be careful on the way."
Leo spoke to the boy, who acknowledged him and drove away, still looking curious. Mulan stood beside Leo without saying anything, rubbing his cheek with his hand and pressing his tongue against it from inside his mouth. Whoever had pinched him had definitely used all his strength.
"Remember, don't go telling Old Buck things you shouldn't."
"Just keep your own mouth shut!"
Outside one of the terraced houses along the street, the brothers stood at the door bickering. Although his cheeks hurt badly, Mulan felt a strange sense of closeness. That bout of roughhousing had quickly helped him embrace this family bond.
Knock, knock, knock...
They knocked on the door. A moment later, footsteps sounded from within. When the door opened, a white-haired but sprightly old man saw the two standing outside. His pupils widened slightly, and his expression swiftly changed from disbelief to delighted surprise. Tears welled in his eyes.
"Is... is that you, Young Master Mulan?"
His hazy memories rapidly grew clear. Distant images drew closer in his mind, scenes of his childhood passing by until they reached the moment before he had enlisted. A relaxed smile spread across Mulan's face. He set down his suitcase, stepped forward, and hugged the old man.
"Grandpa Buck, I'm back!"