Chapter 590: Six Guests

“There are four inns in Cross Guard. This one’s the cleanest,” said Lua Gharne.

She nodded to herself. As a Frokk, her sense of smell was dull, so it likely didn’t matter to her.

Enkrid, though far more sensitive, still found the place tolerable. He’d once wandered the mountains for days drenched in the blood of beasts—compared to that, this was practically a noble’s estate. Not that it was pleasant, of course.

Still, he had no desire to go all the way to the manor the administrator had mentioned.

“The best room, if you please,” said the snake-eyed man, handing a few copper coins to the innkeeper.

The first floor of the inn doubled as a pub and was already noisy.

As the group entered, a few of the patrons seated at grease-stained tables glanced over. None of the eyes were clear. They were bloodshot, ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ or glazed over like they were under some influence. After one glance, they turned away and returned to their business.

It wasn’t even dusk yet, and already people were playing cards.

There were six tables total. Three were hosting card games, and two had dice rolling across them.

Enkrid became aware of a single lingering gaze.

The last remaining table.

A narrow dagger, like a sharpened awl, was stabbed at an angle into the wooden surface. Sitting there, staring silently at Enkrid, was a one-eyed man.

Normally, someone with one eye would wear an eyepatch, but this man left his wound bare. His face was a mess of slashes and cuts—not pleasant to look at.

The man beside him leaned in to whisper something into his ear, but the words were too soft to catch. Enkrid only made out fragments: sleep, night, guest.

“The Demonlight Sanctuary cultists tend to appear at night and kidnap people,” the snake-eyed man explained while a boy—perhaps ten—headed upstairs to clean the room.

“That’s why everyone’s a bit on edge.”

Enkrid gave a small nod and ordered a rum. He liked milk or tea just fine, but ordering something like that here would probably earn him a cup of unidentifiable sludge. He watched the barkeep fill a tin cup with amber liquid.

That cup doesn’t look clean either.

Still, he took it and gave it a sip.

He wasn’t a fan of alcohol to begin with, but this was particularly bad. Not just cheap—watered-down and bitter.

“What a delightful little town,” Lua Gharne muttered, eyes sweeping the pub. She probably didn’t mean it.

The whole place reeked of violence and hopelessness. Gloom wrapped around the city like fog.

“Are you sure you don’t want to head to the manor after all?” the snake-eyed man asked with practiced politeness.

“I’m fine,” Enkrid replied, shaking his head.

He had to gather information about the missing guild members. Staying here and coming and going freely made more sense than being stuck behind manor walls.

If you want to catch a ghoul, you walk around at night carrying meat that’s still dripping blood. To hunt a predator, you go into its den.

Besides, was there really anyone here who could pose a threat to him?

No. His instincts said otherwise.

“Then I wish you good luck in defeating the cultists of Demonlight Sanctuary,” the snake-eyed man whispered as he departed.

Enkrid mused on why the man’s eyes had seemed so snake-like despite being otherwise ordinary.

It was the unreadability. Like a puppet’s gaze—just like the Ferryman’s last night.

Though, compared to the Ferryman, the man’s eyes were practically bursting with humanity.

Once he was gone, the young worker brought their food.

There was a mealy apple, some pork grilled in a pan at the back of the inn, and the “eternal stew” simmering in the corner.

Enkrid didn’t touch the stew. He stuck to the apples and the pork.

Even the meat was unpleasantly gamey.

Still, he wasn’t picky like Ragna. He ate enough to be satisfied and headed upstairs.

The room was cleaner than expected. No bed, but the sleeping area was layered with several blankets.

The inn was three stories tall. Their room was at the far end of the top floor.

It smelled a bit, but unless it was crawling with fleas, it beat sleeping in the dirt with just a cloak.

“Can we get water to wash with? A tub, if possible.”

“There is a tub.”

As Enkrid looked around, the boy answered quickly.

At that, Enkrid flicked a silver coin his way. Ting.

The boy caught the gleaming piece in both hands.

“Oh.”

He seemed genuinely surprised. It was a hefty bit of krona. He glanced toward the stairwell, then slipped the coin into his trousers and said,

“You must be rich.”

Moved by the gesture, he began his service with newfound zeal.

After eating and bathing, Enkrid concluded his first day in the city.

Cross Guard hadn’t seen travelers or merchants in some time.

Life here was already hard, and now with the cult deliberately seeping in, things were worse.

That might explain why there was no sign of life in the rooms to either side. The inn had more than ten rooms, but it seemed their group was the only one on the third floor.

“I don’t like that guy’s eyes,” Lua Gharne said.

Enkrid nodded in agreement.

She drank a few sips of the inn’s water and grimaced.

Frokks didn’t mind going unwashed, even living in swamps—but there was one thing they were particular about: drinking water. They liked it clean.

Give them murky water, and they’d show their displeasure.

“There’s nothing decent in this place,” she grumbled.

Really, she was just venting because of the water. Sleeping arrangements and food were tolerable.

Border Guard had the Pen-Hanil River nearby, offering clean water sources. Higher up in the mountains, there were still pools and springs.

Cross Guard had similar conditions, so for things to be this bad meant someone wasn’t managing it properly.

The contrast with the neighboring Border Guard was stark.

Is it because they lost the war? Or is it the lord’s incompetence?

Both, probably.

Enkrid nodded to himself.

“Exactly.”

After exchanging a few trivial words, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

And there was the Ferryman.

Enkrid felt like he’d been pulled here urgently—and he was right.

The Ferryman, already waiting, began to speak—without opening his mouth.

“You dare compare that thing’s eyes to mine?”

Today’s Ferryman was more familiar. His tone light, almost jaunty.

So fickle, this one.

And he was angry right out of the gate. The reason wasn’t hard to guess—Enkrid had internally compared the Ferryman’s eyes to those of the snake-eyed man.

Apparently, the Ferryman had eavesdropped on his thoughts.

But was that really something worth getting so worked up about?

“Just saying it seemed that way,” Enkrid said, shrugging.

“How dare you.”

Was it really that insulting just to make a comparison?

The Ferryman snorted and continued—same message as yesterday, just different tone.

“You can still turn back. It’s not too late.”

Enkrid asked a familiar question.

“Is something ominous coming?”

The Ferryman looked like he was about to reply—but closed his mouth.

It wasn’t that Enkrid could read his feelings, but he got the impression the Ferryman didn’t want to talk to him anymore.

“I’m not mocking you.”

Enkrid tried to defend himself.

“Ha. Mock me? You? What a joke.”

The Ferryman let out a laugh, but his expression didn’t change. It was the kind of laugh transmitted through will alone, not performed with face or voice.

Enkrid thought to himself—wasn’t this way of “delivering meaning” similar to the way Will was used?

It was an unexpected realization. Nothing about him changed immediately, but it was like finding a silver coin in the street—good fortune that came unbidden.

He let the insight sit for a moment, then spoke:

“Conveying meaning... it’s not so different from wielding Will, is it?”

The Ferryman responded with a short snort. This time, he moved his lips and transmitted the message clearly.

“Did I not tell you in the beginning? That you wouldn’t truly grasp these conversations? Why do you think that is? It’s because everything we speak of here is shared through pure will.”

And yet, Enkrid remembered.

Why, exactly, he could recall what should have been forgotten, he didn’t know. And it didn’t seem that important anyway.

“Conversations through will. Infused with intention. Smooth, natural.”

What lingered most was what he’d realized through the exchange.

The Ferryman had smiled, had shown anger. That wasn’t performance—it was a skill, shaped by his will.

As Enkrid quietly repeated this to himself, the Ferryman didn’t scoff. He simply stared, long and steady.

After a moment of silence, the Ferryman sent one last message:

“...I told you. It’s not too late. Don’t forget that.”

With that, he began to dissolve like mist.

What now? This hadn’t happened before.

Enkrid caught a sharp, stinging scent in his nose.

Had he ever smelled anything while with the Ferryman? No—never.

Which meant this wasn’t his mind reacting.

It was his body.

This wasn’t a dream—something was happening.

“Go.”

The Ferryman’s words and Enkrid’s realization came at the same time. Enkrid’s eyes snapped open.

A sharp odor hung in the room.

It didn’t take much effort to find the source: a brazier, packed with heated stones and charcoal, meant to keep the room warm.

Someone had added something to it—something that, if inhaled, would knock a normal person out for two days.

Sleep incense.

Enkrid got up and calmly opened the window. Lua Gharne was already awake. When Enkrid pointed at the brazier, she immediately understood and muttered:

“A little ‘help’ so we can sleep soundly, huh?”

Ever since they’d linked the cultists to Cross Guard, she’d puffed her cheeks in frustration—a habit of hers when preparing herself mentally. This was no different.

To pull something like this on the very night of their arrival? It had to be the cult.

Lua Gharne held her breath and moved to the window.

Enkrid didn’t leap to conclusions. He wasn’t certain it was cultists yet.

First, he checked his physical condition.

Was poison mixed in?

He leaned out into the night air and drew in a deep breath. No—it didn’t seem like it. He hadn’t inhaled deeply enough for it to affect him.

Even so, anyone—even Enkrid—would’ve grown drowsy if they’d breathed too much of that.

Fortunately, his heightened senses had kicked in the moment he caught the scent.

Wasn’t it Jaxon who said: “When you’re in a strange city, trust your nose first”?

He’d been right.

“Your senses are your best warning system,” he’d said.

Enkrid inhaled deeply through his nose, expanding his lungs.

No issues. Good grip in my fingers. No sluggishness.

He left the window open to let the air circulate, and that’s when he sensed it—presence.

It wasn’t just hearing. It was a blend of all five senses, opening the door to his sixth.

Using sound as his anchor, he sharpened his perception—he could now roughly detect their positions and numbers.

Two on the roof. Two in each of the rooms to the sides.

Six in total.

Were any of them a real threat? Judging by how sloppily they masked their presence—probably not.

Enkrid raised one hand, palm down, then tapped his chest with his thumb and pointed upward with his index finger, before finally gesturing at Lua Gharne.

He would take the room. She should handle the ones above.

Lua Gharne didn’t even nod. She simply placed her hands on the window frame.

There was no need for coordination or timing. The gap in power between them and their would-be attackers was vast.

She hooked one foot onto the window ledge and pushed upward, vaulting soundlessly onto the roof. Enkrid, meanwhile, moved slowly and opened the door.

Creeeak.

The rusted hinge groaned.

No sooner had he taken a breath than the doors to either side opened as well.

From the left room, a man stepped forward, emerging from deep shadows into the flickering lamplight.

“You should’ve just gone to sleep quietly. Now you’ve made it difficult,” he said.

The scars on his face—and his appearance—were familiar. He was one of the men from the first floor of the inn.

The uncovered eye, the one-eyed face. The others who had been gambling nearby were the same men from earlier that evening.