Everything was silent. Not a single sound was made once Harlock said those words in that tone.
But then, a small sound came out of a particular person's mouth, and the entire bar erupted into a great cacophony of laughter. Even Harlock's glass trembled a bit.
"…Hmph."
Harlock took a sip of the alcohol and sighed. Of course, this was merely a "story" of his, that he used to entertain the bar in uncertain times. However, that particular story was quite true. And, amidst the rows of laughter, he just didn't want to admit it.
"Ha—Locky! When did you learn to tell such enticing stories?"
"Yeah, you're better than my wife, ya funny bastard!"
The forty-something-year-old man sniffed the air.
"…I felt the mood in here was off, so I put some more effort into it than usual."
"Speaking of which, what happened to that Royal Commission Undertaking you all said that you were all signing up for today? The Recruitment Process is still ongoing, ya know?"
"Bah! It's useless! The Royal Officers said it was a Purple-Grade Royal Commission! That's a step above Green, which is a step above Yellow, the lowest grade! Are they planning on fighting, clearing out an area or something?" A bearded man with a prosthetic arm replied.
"Yeah, we'll have another go after the next 5 years!"
Harlock chuckled and faced the crowd.
"You're all men, aren't ya? Fight for the rest of us. Fight for your ladies and children at home! The monsters won't stand a chance against all of you!"
"Ha, that's rich, then why don't you go, huh?!"
Harlock looked away.
"…I'm old. And, I've already done enough fighting for a lifetime. The only thing that would take me back to the battlefield in the [Corrupted Lands] would be gaining a [Specialty]."
"In your dreams!"
The crowd burst into a cacophony once again, and Harlock sighed.
"Bloody idiots." He muttered.
He heard a few footsteps approach him from behind, and then a person sat on the stool next to his. A grim individual wearing a trenchcoat and a fedora, also equipped with a small gun.
"…"
"A drink, please."
Harlock glanced at him and sipped his drink. He was intrigued and wanted to know the story of the man next to him. He had always been like that.
The grim man got his drink, and drank slowly, savouring the bitterness of the Duckberry Fruit, an abnormal feature of the Corrupted Lands.
"…You know, I wouldn't take a young guy like you, someone who'd pass as a pretty boy, to be savouring a drink that even I think is poisonous."
The grim man finished his drink and put it down. He didn't turn to face Harlock and instead sighed.
"Get used to it. Even children savour this drink because life in these lands is too depressing otherwise."
"…Hm. Agreed."
Harlock paused.
"…Name?"
"Redrich. Yours?"
"Harlock."
Redrich chuckled.
"Sounds familiar."
After that, Harlock stared at him for a while.
"Are you… possibly here to kill someone?"
"…No."
"Then, why do you carry a gun?"
"…You never know," Redrich replied.
"But, what I want to know from you, is the source of that story you told. Tell me more about it. You see, that story can lead me to places you can never even imagine."
"…"
Harlock stared at him some more. He had instantly caught on.
"…That boy… you're looking for him? Why?"
"Because of a Visionary, I met. You know about Visionaries, don't you?"
Harlock nodded.
"Those who rely on mysticism studies and archaic knowledge from the Ancient World for power. Like Mages, Hermits, Sages, all of them, correct?"
"Yes. A Visionary told me of the "most important destinies". She told me of a boy who could slay the strongest obstacle in humanity's path."
Harlock's eyes widened.
"You mean…"
"Yes. [The Godslayer's Demonic Hand]. One of the strongest weapons bred by the Titans to destroy us. And, she gave me a set of clues that eventually led me here."
Harlock's breath grew faster, all the while, Redrich grinned.
"…It's quite strange, however… the reason why you're still around here, around the same place where your village once was."
"…Yes… I never expected someone to give me this chance. I knew he was the child of destiny, but I didn't expect him to be so important. That child, who I named in my mind, the [Red Son of Thunder], may even be the one to slay the Titans…"
"…Don't get too ahead of yourself, before anything, and let's go and find him first."
Harlock's eyes glimmered, and he nodded in agreement.
The two of them rose from their stools, and after paying a combined total of 14 silver pounds, the 40-something-year-old man with a forming beard, a muscular body, and an outfit fit for travel joined Redrich, on a journey to find the Red Son of Thunder.
"…When he ran from the village, he went north, north of the village, therefore he must've headed towards the Sauti Mountains…"
Harlock imagined the boy's journey, and drew a brilliant picture of it in his mind…
The Red Son of Thunder ran and ran, away from everything, so fast that he bumped into anything and everything in his way. His clothes were tattered and torn, and he was bleeding from various places on his body.
At this point, it would have been midnight, pitch-black, and raining. Consumed by fear, he would have looked for a place to hide. And, assuming he had run far enough, he would have made it to a specific cavern near the base of the mountains.
"…Mom… mom…!" He screamed.
Monsters lurked, and more and more sprouted from whichever hellish depths they crawled out of. The small cavern he placed himself in was good enough for protection, but he needed food and warmth. And, most of all, the reassuring hands of his mother.
"…Of course, he wouldn't still be in the cave, as many years have passed since that day, but it could serve as a clue…"
The two of them approached the small cavern and peered inside.
There was nothing. Nothing but a small book.
Redrich immediately went inside the cavern and grabbed the book, interested to see what that little boy would have put inside. But, even his eyes widened, as he took a small peek.
"What is it?"
Redrich, with a look of amazement on his face, passed the book to Harlock, who joined him, and he too was shocked, and even more so.
The book contained no words and instead contained something of the Ancient World. It looked eerily similar to one of the mystic arts tomes that those Mages and Witches carried.
"…How… how did he…"
Redrich paused.
"No… before any of that, how did he even obtain this book? Could it be possible that…"
He stopped, and Harlock continued his words.
"…I see. I was all wrong about the Red Son of Thunder. He should be more deserving of the name, Thunder Mystic, hah!"
"What…?"
"…This boy… after seeing the massacre of everyone in that village, it seems he wanted to write something so badly, he took my book and pen, which I was planning to use as a diary all those years ago."
"…He understood everything about the scene that befell his village. And he wanted revenge at that very second. I have no clue how he learned about the mystic arts, but they can corrupt youth so easily, and with that thought of revenge infesting his mind, by now…"
"He must've turned into some sort of nightmare by now."
Redrich gritted his teeth.
"Shit. Then, where could he be…?"
He caught sight of one of the cavern's walls that seemed to be misplaced. He grazed it, and then struck it at full force, almost completely shattering it. Behind that wall was a passage to a giant stone chamber, where that demon had been training for all these years.
Without a hint of sunlight, with only the thought of revenge, although his tears streamed constantly, he remained normal for the most part.
However, he was still stuck in a trance, that he had to be broken out of, one way or another.