“On the house!”

“Here, have some of this too!”

Extra dishes started making the rounds to every table.

Nobody could tell what it actually was. Some kind of deep-fried dish, anyway, and it looked good. Every time someone asked, Innkeeper, what is this? What kind of meat is it? the answer was always, Then don’t eat it if you don’t want to! So Luman decided not to bother wondering.

He tore off a small piece to taste it and, finding it unexpectedly good, popped the rest into his mouth.

“Ren. Want to try it? It’s good.”

Luman held out the piece he’d taken one bite from, adding a lazy smile that said it was safe to eat.

Ren, who’d been watching Temar, jolted at the sudden smell of fried food hitting him right under the nose, then looked at it suspiciously.

“It’s true. Mm. It’s good. I just feel bad everyone’s too drunk to eat it.”

“...Really?”

Still half doubtful, Ren accepted the fried piece Luman had already bitten twice.

His small mouth worked busily as he chewed. The crisp little crunch sounded delicious. After firmly chewing through the springy meat and swallowing, Ren lifted his head.

Through the gap where the hood had slipped back, Luman could see Ren’s eyes in the shadow of it.

Bright green eyes, shining beautifully.

Staring at him, Luman finally broke into a broad grin.

All the way broad—showing every white tooth.

Caught off guard by the sudden bright smile, Ren looked puzzled.

“Are you really that drunk too, Luman? I thought Heroes didn’t even get drunk!”

There was honest curiosity in his voice. Seeing his guard down more than usual, Luman thought pretending to be drunk had been an excellent idea.

He carefully stored away the face Ren had just made.

Did Ren even know?

How cute he looked when he ate something good—those round, widening eyes and those little chewing lips.

Luman remembered all of it.

The face Ren had made eating macarons. Eating marshmallows. That soft, loosened expression, full of wonder, like a tame cat. A face that looked like it ought to purr.

When Luman reached out, Ren didn’t avoid him, apparently writing it off as drunken nonsense. Luman carefully touched his soft cheek, and Ren casually took his hand and removed it from his face.

It felt almost like that first shock he’d felt when Hero power passed through light.

A heavy blow crashing straight through his entire body.

As if a long spear had split him clean in two from crown to heel.

Luman froze, forgetting even to breathe.

His pale lashes fanned out and trembled.

“Hey, Luman. Um. Do I need to get a blanket or something? Do you feel like you’re gonna throw up??”

Ren’s delicate fingertips were worn from hardship, but they were still soft, damp somehow... fragile hands that seemed to hold too much moisture. His long, white fingers set Luman’s hand back down on the table. Luman nearly closed his grip on them without meaning to, but stopped himself by clenching his fist hard. He shut his eyes deep for a moment, then opened them again.

This is dangerous.

Isn’t it dangerous?

He felt like if he exhaled, he’d give something away. No, not just that—like if he did anything at all, something would spill out. He couldn’t let out a breath.

Jesus Christ.

Should I get out of here?

But he didn’t want to lose this moment.

Temar was muttering in a tiny voice now, too low for anyone else to hear—but Luman heard every word.

Even now, still.

He was repeating, “Ren, my little brother,” over and over like a broken machine.

The man had no middle ground.

Then again, Luman understood the feeling.

No—he understood it too well, and that was the problem.

He wasn’t exactly a man of moderation himself.

“Luman?”

Only after Ren called him again did Luman finally manage to let out a quiet breath. Embarrassed by how hot it felt, he covered his mouth with his hand. His heart ached with a sharp, tingling pain. Ren lifted the hood a little and studied Luman’s face. That careful, searching gaze tickled.

Even when a blade had come close to his heart, it hadn’t felt like this.

Luman just blinked silently.

He forced his stiff body to move with awkward little creaks, then tried to act normal by folding his arms on the table and dropping his head onto them.

His burned-gold hair had fallen loose across his forehead, poking at his eyes.

“Wow, everybody’s drunk. Everybody. Grown men, seriously.”

Ren sounded pretty entertained saying it. He even looked like he was coveting the beer a little, though all he did was swallow and stare at it without touching it.

It was maddeningly cute.

God, I’d rather be drunk.

It was hard enough staying sane as it was.

No—was he already drunk?

Not at all.

Going in circles answering himself, Luman briefly wondered if he’d just gone insane.

His heart was pounding from excitement, his blood felt tighter and hotter than ever, and his head was working faster, cleaner.

Still, he stuck to acting drunk, lowering his head at an angle and gazing at Ren.

Thump.

A heavy vibration ran through the table.

Jepeto had passed out.

He’d slammed his head down onto the table with real commitment and was mumbling through a stupid grin, “Mother, the herbs...” and who knew what else. He was completely gone. Temar too was still sitting upright, but his head kept dipping. His eyes had gone hazy.

Ren realized he was the only person at the table still properly holding his head up, and his face turned awkward. Maybe he hated everyone looking at him, because after glancing around, he quietly copied Luman’s posture. He leaned over across from him and studied Temar, Jepeto, and Luman in turn, grinning to himself over whatever thoughts were running through his head. Luman loved even that, staring at him with eyes practically dripping honey.

“Well now, this ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) whole table’s gone under!”

A thickset older man said it after polishing off the roast pork and the fried dish too. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

“...and then that’s how the fight started.”

Jenox, who had just finished talking with him and had half-risen to go have another drink with Temar and Luman, looked over at Ren’s table and sat back down again.

“Jenox, with a face like yours, I get it! Kahaha!”

“Well now. That’s a bit harsh.”

“Look at that! Once you scrunch your face up, you look exactly like a mountain bandit!”

Jenox’s face twitched.

“Still... I swear those men look familiar somehow.”

“Who do you mean? Them?”

“Mm.”

“They don’t look ordinary, that much is clear. They can’t be common folk.”

The looks alone were one thing, but their bodies gave them away.

At first their faces had distracted him, but the longer he watched them, the more obvious it became what they were.

Jenox narrowed his eyes to get a better look.

“Well! That’s not what matters right now anyway.”

“What does matter?”

Jenox blinked blankly, and the man smacked the table.

“Beer!”

“Yessir! Coming!”

“Good grief. At this rate you’ll drink yourself to death.”

“That’s a nasty thing to say!”

Ren must have gotten sleepy from leaning over like that, because he started nodding off.

Matching the slow pace of Ren’s blinking—like giving kiss-blinks to a cat—Luman kept half-lidded eyes on him while focusing on a voice that came through the surrounding clamor especially clearly.

It was Jenox, the man he’d misunderstood earlier.

Even lazily blinking, Luman kept listening.

Did he figure out they were Heroes?

Well, he could’ve heard the news.

Ren’s village might be buried deep in the middle of nowhere, but the war had gone on a long time, and Temar had been the hero of a small village once. It wasn’t strange that stories about him had spread this far.

From any angle, they clearly weren’t ordinary men. Those broad shoulders and hard muscle screamed warrior. And they weren’t even hiding the cloak with the medals and insignia on it. At this point it was basically asking to be recognized.

This is report-worthy, isn’t it?

...No, wait. They were on the road back under orders, so technically one Hero’s insignia was supposed to be visible.

While Luman was still turning over what he himself ought to be wearing on the return journey, the conversation shifted into something interesting.

“They say a terrifying oracle’s been spreading around!”

“An oracle? What oracle?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down.”

“If you know about it, old man, it’s going to spread anyway.”

At the dry response, the man puffed himself up and demanded whether he wanted to hear it or not. Only after Jenox apologized did the man open his mouth again.

“They say, ‘The one who possesses the treasure will become the true master!’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Jenox, must you be that thick? It means the master of the world, doesn’t it?”

“What treasure?”

Jenox sounded unimpressed.

“What would I even do being master of the world?”

“You’ve got no ambition, no ambition at all. Tsk, tsk.”

“I’m perfectly happy just chopping wood in this village.”

“With a face that scary and a spirit smaller than some alley brat!”

“Haven’t you always complained I’m too loud?”

“That’s because your voice is too damn big! Look at my ears. My eardrums are practically rotted out!”

“Anyway, I’m not interested. Stop trying to bait me.”

Jenox didn’t even pretend to look at the man’s ears. His lack of interest seemed genuine; his rough face only hardened more.

“Hmph. A caterpillar lives on pine needles and nothing else. What can you do?”

The man clicked his tongue.

“But I wonder about them.”

His gaze shifted toward the pale blond man sleeping face-down at the table.

Luman, very much aware of all that attention hitting the back of his head, listened on in perfect ease despite the noise in his own mind.

Treasure, huh.

An oracle?

The treasure, he could guess.

But an oracle?

Luman clicked his tongue inwardly.

Was this about the anti-Hero weapon?

The one who possessed the treasure would become the true master?

If an oracle like that had only appeared recently, then that meant nobody possessed the treasure yet.

Luman turned the phrase over in his head, replacing treasure with anti-Hero weapon.

It more or less fit.

The one who possesses the anti-Hero weapon will become the true master.

If that was right, then...

the weapon Luman and Temar had faced, the one that had been no different from stealing a life—

was still unfinished.