'Lantern Grass of Chablis' inn is located at the highest point of this town, facing east on a cliff, resembling the grand arched wooden halls where ancient heroes and divine beings in myths resided, standing atop the rocks, weathered by wind and rain, water seeping into the solid wood now turning it faintly black. From the hall downward, the gray-white cliffside is dotted with a row of densely packed windows, which from a distance, give the unique impression of a giant beehive or dragon's lair on the cliff.
But in fact, those are the inn's guest rooms.
In the room where 'Mane Wolf' Macaro was temporarily staying, the door had been pushed open a quarter hour ago. The experienced mercenary group leader looked up from a map of the Chablis region, the term he heard from his subordinate causing his thick black eyebrows to raise—his right hand, still wearing deer leather gloves, holding a magnifying glass with a bronze handle, but he had already started speaking: "Section 314?"
