A Journey Unwanted-Chapter 414 - 403: Gratitude of the people

[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: China Country]

"Once again... I must give you my thanks."

Grimm stood in the open street, staring down at Princess Anastacia as she bowed her porcelain head. The gesture was so careful it almost looked rehearsed—like she feared even gratitude could crack if she did it too quickly.

On either side of her, two porcelain guards lowered themselves in perfect mimicry, their painted eyes bright with awe.

They were still outside, right in the middle of the delicate streets, where the other porcelain people could gather and stare in wonder at Grimm’s presence and what he had done. Of course, that was primarily because Grimm was far too large to fit into any of their structures without risking destruction by accident.

But that was neither here nor there.

Grimm felt the familiar irritation creep up in his chest, he wanted to tell the princess that her thanks was worthless. That her gratitude wouldn’t change what he was. That her praise didn’t mean anything.

But Puck, floating at his side, must have sensed the shift in him—must have felt whatever he was about to say—because she drifted forward first, wearing a small, polished smile.

"It was no problem at all, Princess," Puck said sweetly, and then she flicked her eyes back at Grimm in a pointed gaze.

The look was clear as day.

It seemed the fairy needed to have enough tact for the both of them.

The princess lifted her head slightly, her porcelain face catching the light.

"Even so," Anastacia said gently, "this is a debt we shall struggle to repay ever more. And even so... we shall try. Because what you have done is not small. Not to us."

"There is no need for that," Grimm said, his voice stale. "Slaughtering those Deseruit Beasts was a dull endeavor, worth nothing. They were simply in the way."

Puck’s smile held, but her eyes narrowed faintly.

("Honestly, I can’t tell if he’s being nice or still a jerk,") Puck internally mused. ("Maybe even he can’t tell.")

"You say that," Anastacia replied, still refusing to be shaken, "but you have done us a great favor. Whether it was dull to you or not... it was terrifying to us. And now it is over. If there is anything you might need—anything at all—please tell us."

Puck’s expression softened, her tone turning thoughtful.

"Actually..." she said, hovering slightly higher. "Do you maybe have any information on the dragon Albion? Even a rumor would help."

The princess tilted her head, her porcelain hair shifting ever so slightly.

"I cannot say I do," Anastacia admitted. "We here in the Munchkin section do not hear much from outside. The world beyond our borders reaches us slowly, if it reaches us at all. I do apologize that I cannot be of much more assistance."

"You’re fine," Puck said quickly, waving it away with a gentle motion. "Really, don’t worry about it. It was worth asking."

"If that is all," Grimm cut in, "our business is finished here."

There was no hostility in his tone but the princess hesitated—just a fraction—before she straightened a little more, gathering herself.

"You are welcome to stay in our humble city for as long as you wish," Anastacia offered carefully. "It is the least we can offer. You would have shelter. Safety. And people who would be honored to host you."

"There’s no need," Grimm replied at once.

Puck immediately leaned closer to him, her voice dropping into a low murmur that was sharp with annoyance.

"C’mon," she whispered. "Have some common decency. Just for once. You don’t have to be so cold."

Then she turned back to Anastacia, brightening.

"Anyway," Puck said, "our journey has to continue. We still have a lot to do. But thank you for the offer. It really is kind."

"Ah... I see." A small smile graced the princess’s porcelain lips, it was delicate and sincere. "Then I shall pray for a fruitful and easy journey for you both," Anastacia said. "Wherever you go next, may it be gentler than what brought you here."

Grimm made a sound of acknowledgement that might have been a grunt. He turned carefully and began to walk away, the wonder-filled gazes of the porcelain people following him as he moved.

Puck drifted behind him, quiet for several steps.

Then she spoke up softly.

"You sure wanted to get out of here fast," she murmured. "Like you were afraid staying any longer might make you uncomfortable."

"There is no need to stay any longer than needed," Grimm said simply. "Or do you not wish to fulfill the objective of finding your Queen?"

Puck huffed lightly, offended—but not truly angry.

"Of course I do," she said. "I’m not forgetting why we’re here. But I still want to take in these different places. I’ve been stuck in Elfame for the longest time, Grimm. For so long that I almost forgot what it feels like to see something new that isn’t just the same familiar paths."

"I see," Grimm said.

The words were plain.

But the fact he responded at all might have meant something.

They eventually passed through the gate, and many of the porcelain people gathered near the entrance, waving them off. Their small hands moved in careful motions, as if even waving too hard might shatter their wrists.

To them, Grimm was a savior.

Grimm ignored it as they stepped out into the open plains once more.

The wind immediately felt colder and the sky stretched wide. Empty and indifferent as alway.

Then Grimm spoke again, unexpectedly.

"Since you are acting as a guide," he said, "determine our next location."

Puck blinked, momentarily taken aback.

"You’re seriously asking me?" she questioned, slowing midair. "You? Asking me? I thought you still wanted to call for your lieutenant or something."

"In due time," Grimm said, as if that explained everything.

Puck stared at him, then let out a slow sigh.

"Do you have to be so vague?" she muttered. "And sure, I’m acting as a guide, but I’m not exactly an expert in the layout of this world. Just some general knowledge, like Cobweb said."

Grimm’s tone didn’t change.

"So you are now useless," he deduced calmly.

Puck’s eyes widened.

"Am not!" she shrieked, offended so sharply she almost lost altitude.

Grimm didn’t react.

"We’ll merely consult the harpy if need be," he decided, already moving westward.

There was no pause or even a shred of consideration. Merely a direction chosen like a coin flip.

Puck drifted after him, disbelief in her voice.

"Are you seriously going to just walk around randomly?" she questioned.

"Yes," Grimm replied, he didn’t bother to spin his intent or to try and justify it. He simply continued forward, as though the world was obligated to arrange itself in front of him.

Puck stared at his back for a moment.

Then, surprisingly, she gave a small hum.

"Hm," she murmured. "Fair enough." But her gaze slid sideways, and her expression shifted. "Though something tells me this journey," Puck said slowly, "is going to be particularly annoying."

Her eyes landed on the familiar cowardly shape lingering at the edge of the plains. The lion, following again. Too afraid to approach closely, but too stubborn to disappear.

Puck’s mouth tightened.

"...Yep," she muttered. "There he is."

"Ignore it," Grimm merely stated, continuing his stride.

Puck drifted a little lower in the air, turning her head sharply as if she could will the beast away just by refusing to look at it.

"Kinda hard to do that," she muttered, voice edged with annoyance, "when such a large beast is following us like a shadow." She narrowed her eyes. "Maybe he’s waiting for the perfect moment to bite or do something pathetic in the name of revenge."

Grimm did not answer immediately.

For a moment, there was only the sound of his sabatons pressing into the earth, the shift of alloy and the wind cutting across the plains.

Then—without turning his helmeted head or even giving Puck the courtesy of eye contact—he spoke.

"When a person is broken," Grimm suddenly began, his tone neutral, "they become desperate."

Puck’s brows furrowed at once.

"What...?" she questioned quietly.

Grimm continued, unbothered by her interruption.

"Their actions become odd and unpredictable," he said, tone flattening as if he were reciting something he had learned long ago. "And depending on how they are broken, those actions vary."

His pace did not change, nor did his posture change.

"For that lion," Grimm went on, "it has no will left to fight. No pride left to defend and hardly rage sharp enough to be useful." His head turned slightly, just enough that Puck could tell he was aware of the lion’s presence behind them. "And more importantly—he has nothing left to fight for."

Puck’s lips parted as if she wanted to argue.

But Grimm didn’t let her.

"I’ve met the desperate kind that still fought," he said. "The kind that crawls through blood and broken bone just to spit in your face one last time. The kind that screams even when their throat is torn. The kind that begs for death but refuses to stop moving."

His tone never rose.

"That lion," Grimm concluded, "is not it."

Puck stared at him for a long moment, hovering just behind his shoulder.

"So..." she said slowly, carefully, "you’ll just let it live? You’ll just let it keep following us like a stray dog that doesn’t know where else to go?" Her voice sharpened. "You’re not worried he’ll snap? That he’ll suddenly decide he wants to make us pay for humiliating him? That he’ll try to hurt you in your sleep—or try to hurt me because I seem easier?"

Grimm’s response was immediate, and flat.

"There is nothing interesting to be found by killing a stray animal," Grimm merely stated.

Puck’s expression tightened.

"Nothing interesting," she repeated. "That’s what you’re going with?"

Grimm continued, as if her tone meant nothing.

"Nor any purpose," he added.

Puck let out a slow breath through her nose.

"You really are weird," she murmured, her tone suggesting she was finally accepting something she’d been denying. "Because you say it like that... and I can tell you mean it." She glanced back over her shoulder again, spotting that familiar cowardly shape still trailing them. "But I can also gather it’s not out of compassion."

Grimm did not deny it.

"Compassion is a useless gesture," Grimm said.

"Useless," Puck echoed, voice dry. "Useless because it’s morally wrong? Useless because it’s inconvenient? Or useless because you personally don’t feel it?" She tilted her head, drifting slightly forward to keep pace with him, her gaze locked onto the side of his helmet. "Or..." she added, sharper now, "useless because it’s not interesting to you?"

Grimm’s answer came immediately.

"Correct."