"Cross Guard has four inns, and this one is the cleanest."
The snake-eyed man said.
Luagarne nodded. Frogs, being less sensitive to smells, probably didn’t care.
Encrid, though sensitive, found this tolerable enough. He’d spent days wandering mountains drenched in the blood of beasts.
Compared to that, this was no palace, but at least it was comparable to a manor. Not that it meant much.
Still, he had no interest in going to the manor that the administrator had mentioned.
"Give us the best room."
The snake-eyed man instructed, slipping a few coins to the innkeeper.
The ground floor of the inn doubled as a pub and was noisy with activity.
As the group entered, a few patrons seated at greasy tables glanced at them. None of their gazes were clear.
Bloodshot or clouded, they all seemed drunk or otherwise intoxicated. Those who looked briefly soon turned back to their own business.
It wasn’t even evening yet, but there were already several groups playing cards and dice.
Of the six tables on the ground floor, three hosted card games, and two were for dice.
Encrid noticed a lingering gaze. It came from the last table. On it lay a dagger, thrust into the surface at an angle, and a one-eyed man stared at him intently.
Unlike most, the one-eyed man didn’t cover his missing eye with a patch, instead leaving the scars exposed.
Numerous cuts and scratches marred his face, making it unpleasant to look at.
Someone beside the one-eyed man leaned in and whispered into his ear. The words were too soft to make out clearly, though Encrid caught fragments: "sleep", "night", "guests."
"The Cult of the Demon Realm Sanctuary tends to kidnap people at night, which has everyone on edge."
The snake-eyed man said quietly while a boy, barely ten years old, went upstairs to prepare their room.
Encrid nodded and ordered a glass of rum. He liked milk and tea, but he suspected ordering those here would result in something undrinkable.
He watched the bartender pour an amber liquid into a tin cup. The cup itself didn’t look very clean.
Not exactly sanitary, Encrid thought but took the cup anyway. He wasn’t a fan of alcohol, and this was worse than he’d expected. A cheap rum diluted with water.
"What an interesting city."
Luagarne said, scanning the room. She probably wasn’t speaking out of genuine amusement.
The city’s atmosphere was rough, bleak, and devoid of hope, wrapping everything in a heavy gloom.
"Wouldn’t it be better to head to the manor after all?"
The snake-eyed man suggested with deference, but Encrid shook his head.
"I’m fine here."
He intended to inquire about the missing guild members, and staying in the inn seemed more practical than going back and forth from the manor.
To hunt ghouls, they said, you must carry fresh, dripping meat. To hunt beasts, you must enter their den.
And besides, was there anything in this inn that could genuinely threaten him? He doubted it. His instincts told him as much.
"Then I wish you success in defeating the cultists of the Demon Realm Sanctuary."
The snake-eyed man murmured before leaving.
Encrid thought about why the man’s eyes resembled those of a snake. It wasn’t hard to guess. Like the ferryman’s eyes from the night before, they were hard to read, like those of a puppet.
Compared to the ferryman, though, the snake-eyed man still seemed more human.
After he left, the young boy returned with food: mealy apples, a pot of stew simmering in the corner, and roasted pork.
Encrid avoided the stew entirely, eating mostly apples and the pork.
The pork smelled gamey, making it unpleasant to eat. Still, he wasn’t picky like Ragna and ate what he could.
After the meal, he went upstairs to find the room cleaner than expected. There was no bed, only layered blankets for sleeping.
The inn was a three-story building, and their room was at the far end of the third floor. It smelled a bit musty, but as long as there were no fleas, it was better than sleeping outdoors with just a cloak for cover.
"Can you prepare water for washing? A bath or tub would be even better."
Encrid said as he looked around the room.
"We do have a tub."
The boy replied promptly.
Encrid flicked a silver coin, which the boy caught in his hands.
"Ah."
The boy was surprised. It was a decent sum.
Glancing quickly at the stairs, he slipped the coin into his pants and said,
"You must be rich."
Grateful, the boy served him diligently. After eating and washing, Encrid ended his first day in the city.
Cross Guard, he’d heard, had seen very few travelers or merchants lately. Survival was already difficult, and now cultists had infiltrated with malicious intent.
As a result, there was no sound from the rooms on either side of him.
Though the inn had over ten rooms, it seemed the third floor housed only their group.
"I don’t like that man’s eyes."
Luagarne said, and Encrid nodded in agreement. She sipped a few gulps of water from the inn before grimacing.
Despite being an amphibious Frog who could endure harsh swamps, she was picky about water.
Frogs liked clean water, and drinking cloudy water caused visible discomfort.
"There’s nothing proper about this place."
Luagarne grumbled. Though the food and sleeping arrangements were tolerable, the water upset her.
The Border Guard, blessed with the nearby Pen-Hanil River, had an abundant water supply. Pools of fresh water could also be found in the mountains nearby, providing clear, clean water.
Here, conditions should have been similar, but the poor state of affairs suggested mismanagement.
The stark difference from the Border Guard was apparent.
Was it because they lost a war? Or was it due to the lord’s incompetence?
Probably both.
Encrid nodded in agreement with his own thoughts.
“Exactly.”
After exchanging a few trivial remarks, Encrid closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
Then, the ferryman appeared. Encrid felt himself being urgently pulled somewhere, and he was right.
The ferryman spoke as if he’d been waiting, transmitting his meaning without moving his lips.
"How dare you compare me to that thing's eyes?"
This ferryman felt more familiar. His tone was light and playful.
Such a fickle personality, Encrid thought as the ferryman began with anger. The meaning behind his words was clear—it was about comparing the ferryman’s eyes to the snake-eyed man’s.
Apparently, the ferryman had caught on to Encrid’s thoughts from earlier.
Was that really worth rushing to address?
"It was just a passing thought."
Encrid shrugged.
"How dare you."
Perhaps the comparison itself was offensive. The ferryman snorted, then continued transmitting his thoughts, much the same as the night before.
"You can still turn back. It’s not too late."
Encrid began with a question similar to yesterday’s.
"Is misfortune coming?"
The ferryman hesitated as if about to reply but then closed his mouth.
Though Encrid couldn’t read his emotions, the ferryman’s demeanor suggested he didn’t want to engage.
"I’m not mocking you."
Encrid said in his defense.
"Hah. Mocking? You wish. What nonsense."
The ferryman laughed without smiling. His will alone conveyed the sound.
Encrid suddenly realized that the ferryman’s method of transmitting meaning was similar to manipulating Will—a revelation, though not an immediately actionable one. Like finding a coin on the street, it felt like a stroke of luck.
Encrid mulled over his discovery and remarked,
"Communicating through meaning is similar to handling Will."
The ferryman scoffed before responding.
"Didn’t I tell you from the start? You wouldn’t fully comprehend our conversations. Why do you think that is? All of this is purely a dialogue of Will."
Yet Encrid remembered those conversations. Why that was, he couldn’t say, and it didn’t seem important.
"Speaking with Will. Imbuing meaning with Will. It’s natural, fluid."
Encrid reflected on what he’d gleaned from the conversation. The ferryman had laughed, shown anger—it was all an intentional display of his Will.
As Encrid muttered to himself, the ferryman stopped snorting and watched silently for a moment.
After some time, the ferryman transmitted his message again.
"I told you, it’s not too late. Don’t forget."
With that, the ferryman began to fade like mist.
‘What’s this?’
Encrid thought. This hasn’t happened before.
Then, a sharp smell hit his nose.
Had the ferryman ever brought scent into these encounters? No.
This wasn’t the world of the mind—it was his physical body reacting. Something was happening, not in a dream but in reality.
"Go now."
The ferryman said as Encrid awoke abruptly. The room smelled smoky. It didn’t take long to locate the source.
A brazier meant to keep the room warm was filled with burning coals and herbs. These herbs were commonly used to induce deep sleep—so potent that inhaling even a little could knock out a person for two days.
Encrid rose and slowly opened the window. Luagarne had also woken. When Encrid gestured to the brazier, she immediately understood.
"How considerate of them to help us sleep."
She muttered.
Assuming it was the work of cultists, she puffed her cheeks in a display of resolve.
She had done so earlier when bracing for their involvement, and now was no different.
"They’re pulling tricks the moment we arrive? Cultists, obviously."
Luagarne muttered, holding her breath as she moved toward the window.
Encrid, however, didn’t jump to conclusions. It wasn’t yet confirmed to be the cultists. For now, he reflexively checked his condition.
Is there poison mixed in?
He stuck his head out the window to breathe the cold air and determined there was no sign of poison. He hadn’t inhaled much of the scent.
Even Encrid wouldn’t escape drowsiness after inhaling such fumes, but his sharp senses had alerted him immediately.
Jaxon’s advice came to mind: "In unfamiliar cities, always rely on your nose first."
He’d been right. Your senses were the best warning system.
Encrid took a deep breath of night air, expanding his lungs.
‘No issues.’
His fingers felt strong, and there was no sign of grogginess.
As he aired out the room, he sensed movement.
Thanks to his heightened senses and the opening of the Gate of Sixth Sense, he pinpointed their positions.
‘Two on the roof, two in the rooms to the left and right.’
A total of six.
Were any of them dangerous?
Judging by how carelessly they revealed themselves, likely not. That much was clear from their presence.
Encrid gestured—flattening his palm downward, tapping his chest with his thumb, then pointing upward with his index finger, finally gesturing to Luagarne.
The signals meant he would handle the room while she took care of the roof.
Without nodding, Luagarne placed her hand on the window frame. There was no need to synchronize timing or plan further. The difference in power between them and their attackers was overwhelming.
Luagarne stepped onto the window ledge and leapt upward. Meanwhile, Encrid calmly approached the door and opened it.
Creek.
The rusty hinge groaned. As the door swung open, the doors to the left and right rooms followed suit.
A figure stepped into the lamplight from the shadowed left room and spoke.
"You should’ve slept peacefully. Now you’re making things difficult."
From his scars and face, Encrid recognized him as the one-eyed man from the inn’s ground floor earlier.
Behind him, the gamblers from that afternoon emerged, each one now brandishing weapons.
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