Bryent, who had been watching him with quiet interest, raised an eyebrow. His gaze flickered over Sylene, scanning him from head to toe before glancing at the old man still holding his cards.
The old man exhaled a puff of smoke, speaking lazily. "2 gold without guards. Four-day trip."
"You're going to Luen, too, kid? Alone?"
Sylene met Bryent's gaze for a brief second before ignoring him. Instead, he reached into his leather pouch, pulling out two gold coins, hoping his supply wouldn't dwindle too quickly. He didn't want to owe too much to Sir Draven.
"Deal," he said. "I can go without guards."
The old man looked at the gold coins and let out a loud, amused laugh, shaking his head as if he had just heard something ridiculous. "No guards, no deal. You don't know what's out there, do you? It's not just wild animals and bandits. There are ghouls in those forests."
Sylene knew ghouls could be a pain to deal with… but they weren't impossible to handle.
"Then… how much is it with guards?" he asked.
A metallic clink broke the air as Bryent shifted, the sound of his weapons rattling against his back. He leaned in slightly, smirking as if he had just come up with an idea.
"Hey, kid, how about this?" he offered. "My mercenary group can act as your guards, and some of us will ride with your carriage. I only need to fit three of my men inside."
Sylene studied him, unimpressed. "I appreciate my alone time."
"It's too dangerous for a kid to be traveling alone this time of year," Bryent added.
This kid had already crossed into human lands from vampire territory just fine. He knew he could make the journey alone—he just didn't know the terrain well enough, and he needed an ID, which he didn't have, to ride trains or other forms of transportation. That was the only reason he was even bothering with a carriage.
"How much?" Sylene asked.
Bryent chuckled. "Two gold should be fine." teasing, expecting the kid to balk at the price.
But then Sylene really reached for his pouch.
Bryent's grin faltered. "H-Hey, I was kidding! It's free!" he said quickly. "Adding one kid to a group of eleven mercenaries is no big deal."
Sylene tilted his head slightly. So he's the loudmouth but softhearted type? Considering how rough he had acted at Miranda's shop, Sylene hadn't expected this.
After taking a proper look at the mercenary this time, he actually seemed decent: brown-haired, bulky, easygoing, and... a bit too talkative.
"You already paid for the carriage," Bryent added, flashing a lopsided grin. "I'll throw in the service."
The old man's expression soured. "I still need guards for my carriage to make the return trip."
Bryent smirked, unfazed. "Not my problem, old man."
The carriage master's face turned red with irritation. "You were just begging me to lower the price a minute ago, and now, by some stroke of luck, you're using this kid to your advantage? You shameless mercenary—"
They launched into another argument, their voices rising once again. Cards lay forgotten on the table, scattered across the wooden surface.
Sylene stood there, unsure of what to do.
A young man behind the counter approached him and handed over a slip of paper, unfazed by the noise around them. "Your trip is scheduled for three days from now," he said in a dull tone, as if he had repeated the same sentence far too many times. "Prepare whatever you need for travel, but don't pack too much."
Sylene took the receipt, nodding as the young man continued, "Bring this with you. We'll meet again in three days at dawn." With that, the clerk turned and disappeared into the back office, leaving Bryent still bickering with the old man.
Deciding not to linger any longer, Sylene quietly stepped away from the commotion. He had no interest in getting involved. Miranda said he is a seasoned mercenary; maybe he'll handle the problem well.
But I can't trust anyone yet, he reminded himself. He still had to learn how humans lived, how their world functioned, and how to avoid suspicion.
And yet… he glanced back briefly at Bryent and his group.
They seem… trustworthy? Kinda?
Sylene wandered through the bustling market alone, his eyes filled with quiet curiosity as he took in the sights around him. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meats, fresh bread, and exotic spices, while the chatter of merchants and customers created a lively hum. Some people eyed him with vague suspicion, their gazes lingering a little too long, but he ignored them.
The marketplace was vast, offering an overwhelming variety of goods—fragrant foods, peculiar-looking hybrids, and an assortment of trinkets that ranged from the practical to the outright bizarre. It was nearly sunset when he finally made his way back to the inn, the sky painted in deep hues of orange and violet.
He hadn't bought much, only the bare essentials for travel. Tonight, however, he intended to treat his frostbitten thumb—and take care of something else, too. Like his hair.
That night the dinner was excellent. He enjoyed a pork sandwich and a bowl of rich, creamy soup, savoring the warmth that spread through his body with each bite. He even indulged in two lizard skewers, their smoky, slightly spicy flavor lingering on his tongue. It had only been a day, yet he was already wondering what breakfast would be like tomorrow.
After dinner, he returned to his room and stood before the mirror, staring absentmindedly at his reflection. His hand reached for the small glass bottle of hair-changing potion. The boy hesitated only for a moment before pouring it over his head. The color that appeared—randomly chosen by the potion—was black. A plain, ordinary shade that would let him disappear into a crowd with ease.
Slowly, the transformation began. Silky silver strands darkened, the shimmering hue fading as if swallowed by shadows. He watched, transfixed, as the last remnants of his natural color vanished.
Miranda had told him the potion would last for three months if he used the entire bottle. She had warned about side effects, but he felt none. In moments like this, he was grateful for his resilient body—most side effects rarely affected him anyway. Well, maybe a slight ticklish feeling on his head.
Sylene studied himself closely, tilting his head this way and that. He looked different—like a stranger.
A new identity. A new face. And yet, somehow, that was comforting. He could blend in now. He would be safe.
A fleeting thought crossed his mind. What would Q96 say if she saw me like this?
The image of her wide-eyed, dramatic reaction made him chuckle. She would probably be hysterical. No one likes to handle his hair every night like Q96. His hair has always been more silky and nicer to play as what his twin said.
Setting the bottle aside, he headed for the bath. Afterward, he carefully unwrapped his frostbitten thumb, examining the damage. The skin was cracked and discolored, swollen ugly with red and purple bruise, on the verge of falling off. With a steady hand, he poured the frostbite potion over it.
Immediately, his firebird blood responded, thickening around the wound. The liquid shimmered like molten gold, flowing into the cracks, holding the damaged flesh together. He bandaged the thumb carefully, making sure it was secure.
Sinking into bed, he let out a slow breath.
If I could live like this—free, at peace—until the end of my days… that would be nice.
With that thought lingering in his mind, he closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
His dreams carried him to a sunlit riverbank. The air was warm, filled with the gentle rustling of leaves and the scent of blooming flowers. He lay there, smiling, watching the river flow.
Across the water, Sir Draven stood with a soft expression and the usual quiet smile on his face.
Sylene wanted to ask him so many things. Are you alright after I left? Did Rosencraft find out you helped me escape? Are you safe?
But no matter how much he called out, how much he asked, the vampire only smiled.
And for some reason, that silence made Sylene sad.