KOWR 11🐰

Chapter 11

“Fortunately, the rooms are empty, but it’s far too small to house all our soldiers. We’ll have to secure additional lodgings elsewhere.”

Milleon greeted Dante as he returned to the inn.

“Is there anywhere else to stay?”

In such a remote village, it was likely this was the only inn around. Asking the villagers to open their homes for a night would be far too much of an imposition.

“Don’t worry. With proper payment, the village chief will certainly arrange a suitable place for us.”

What counted as proper payment Dante didn’t know—but he doubted it would be cheap.

“And who is this behind you?”

Milleon’s eyes shifted to the man trailing behind Dante. He didn’t appear suspicious—after all, Dante had brought him in person, and the man didn’t look well.

He was sweating profusely, glancing about nervously as though even he didn’t understand why he was there.

“He’s an herbalist. I wanted to ask him about the Kalrotes mountain.”

“I see. If he’s a herbalist, then he’ll know the terrain well. That’s a wise thought, my lord.” Milleon nodded.

So, he’s taking this more seriously than I thought.

Dante’s expression carried none of the idle curiosity Milleon had expected—it was far too intent.

If he finds nothing on the mountain… he’ll be disappointed. Hm, perhaps I should have the soldiers plant something tonight. Even if not a relic, at least some trinket, so he doesn’t leave empty-handed.

The thought was interrupted by Dante’s voice.

“Don’t just stand there—sit.”

“I–I am quite all right, my lord!” The herbalist, Fran, flailed his arms, pale as death. To sit across from a noble was beyond imagination.

“Sit.”

“Y–yes, sir!”

The moment Dante’s brow furrowed, Fran practically leapt into the chair.

“Eina. We’ll need food and drink.”

“I’ll prepare it right away.”

Though small, the inn seemed capable of serving both meals and drink. Eina hurried off to rouse the innkeeper from his corner.

“Then I’ll go with Sir Patrick to look for other lodging,” Milleon reported briskly. With that, he and Patrick departed.

The door shut with a thunk. Elaine stepped behind Dante, her expression cold as frost. Fran felt like he might faint under her gaze.

“There are a few things I wish to ask,” Dante said at last.

“I’ll answer anything I know, my lord!”

“Nothing serious. How often do you climb Mount Kalrotes?”

It was a strange question—but Fran didn’t hesitate.

“About three times a week. Sometimes more, depending on how poor the harvest is.”

“And your routes? Do they change?”

“N–not really. It’s a small mountain, so the herbs only grow in certain places. I rotate between a handful of paths.”

“Several paths, then…”

Dante nodded.

The mountain can’t be searched in full within a day. But if I focus on the paths he uses most, that should be enough.

Milleon had given him only tomorrow to search. The Kalrotes may be small, but not small enough to scour entirely in a single day.

If they found nothing, he would wait for another chance. The Sacred Flame would appear in ten years. And Dante knew of several treasures greater than even the Flame. There was no need to cling too tightly to this.

“Tomorrow, you will guide us.” Dante’s voice was steady, but his gaze sharp.

“G–guide you, my lord?!” Fran’s fear was palpable.

“You needn’t worry—it’s not the Sacred Herb we seek.” Dante softened his expression, trying to put him at ease. “You’ll be paid well for your trouble. A single gold coin. Is that enough?”

“G–gold?!”

Fran’s shout rang through the inn.

For a day’s help, it was far too much. A gold coin could keep a peasant comfortable for a year. It was a fortune beyond his dreams.

Instantly, his fear melted away.

“Of course, my lord! Leave it to me!”

“Good. I’ll count on you.”

Dante smiled inwardly.

Indeed, there is no persuasion quite like gold.

The herbalist’s eyes now gleamed as if Dante were a savior.

“Oh, I haven’t asked your name.”

“Fran, my lord. Just Fran.”

Of course—no surname.

Dante nodded and extended his hand.

“My name is Dante Aquites. I’ll be in your care.”

***

Dawn broke faintly over the village. Dante left his room fully prepared.

“Did you rest well, my lord?” Milleon was waiting outside, three knights still keeping vigil over the night.

“It wasn’t unpleasant.”

“Good. I feared the accommodations might trouble you.”

The inn’s facilities were pitiful. Certainly no noble would call it comfortable. But Dante had spent his life in far worse—sleeping in mud on battlefields. This was nothing.

“The preparations?”

“Nearly complete. We only await Fran.”

“Good. Let us go down.”

They descended to find the common room bustling.

“Jerky over here, bread packed there—ah, leave out the stew! Too heavy for climbing.”

Eina’s bright voice cut through the morning. She commanded the innkeeper and soldiers alike as if leading a campaign.

“Eina.”

“Oh, young master! Did you wash? Shall I fetch water?”

“No need. The provisions—keep them light. The soldiers mustn’t be overburdened.”

Dante had wanted to climb only with knights, but everyone had resisted fiercely—especially Eina, who had clung to his legs until he relented.

So all of them would go.

“Yes, yes, I’ve already chosen the lightest supplies.” Eina smiled brightly, reading his mind.

Just then, the inn’s door opened. Elaine entered with Fran at her side.

“You’re here.”

Fran looked different from the nervous wreck of last night. Excitement shone in his eyes.

“M–may the night have passed peacefully, my lord?” He bowed clumsily, words tangling on his tongue.

Dante chuckled at the sight—it was like a child in borrowed clothes.

“There’s no need for formality. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Y–yes, my lord.”

“Then let us leave. Ready?”

“Of course! This is the perfect hour to climb.”

Dante turned; Eina nodded in agreement.

“All prepared, my lord.”

“Then we go.”

At his command, they filed out.

The village lay bright in the morning sun.

“Follow me this way,” Fran said, clearing the path ahead. Villagers paused in their chores to watch.

“Isn’t that Fran?”

“Why’s he going off with the nobles? Is something wrong?”

“He doesn’t look troubled…”

Fran hadn’t told them anything. Whether out of caution or to hide the gold, it didn’t matter. Dante was glad—the fewer who knew, the better.

Soon, they reached the base of Mount Kalrotes.

“It isn’t steep, but still, you should be careful,” Fran warned nervously.

Dante only smiled. For him, even mountains many times higher were nothing. But he didn’t correct the man.

“How many paths are there?”

“Counting the winter routes—seven.”

“Hmm.” That was manageable, though a day might not suffice.

“We’ll see.”

At his glance, Milleon barked to the soldiers:

“Torches! Light them!”

Fwoosh!

Twenty torches flared at once, heat rolling out.

“W–why torches? It’s barely dawn…”

Fran looked baffled.

“There’s a reason. Don’t concern yourself.” Milleon’s easy smile reassured him.

Fran quickly dropped the matter. Best not to pry into a noble’s affairs.

“Then let’s climb.”

“This way.” Fran began clearing brush, leading them up the slope.

“Let’s hope we find something,” Dante murmured.

“You will, my lord. I’m sure of it,” Milleon answered with a quiet smile.

“Mm?”

That certainty caught Dante off guard. His steward wasn’t simply offering comfort.

Dante cast him a curious look, but Milleon only smiled with quiet confidence.