28

By the time Banteon noticed, Delroz had already stepped out of the water and was quietly dressing, his eyes fixed on Banteon without making a sound.

“What are you looking at?” Banteon asked, feeling uneasy under Delroz’s intense gaze.

“Ever thought about growing your hair out?”

The unexpected question made Banteon tense up. For a moment, he had forgotten that he was hiding his true identity from Delroz. Perhaps he had let his guard down too much. His mind raced as he quickly backed up, leaning against a rock as if to hide, and put on his glasses.

“I’ve never considered it.”

“Hmm…”

“Why are you asking about that all of a sudden?”

“I just think it might suit you.”

The casual tone didn’t fool Banteon. He narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher any hidden meaning behind Delroz’s words.

“It would be too bothersome.”

“True, it might look odd for a man.”

Banteon couldn’t figure out why Delroz was asking such things. The more they talked, the harder it was to understand Delroz. The initial tension having dissipated, Banteon slowly made his way out of the water. He used a large leaf that Delroz had found to dry off and then began to dress himself with the clothes laid out on the rock. As he slipped his arms into the thoroughly dried clothes and buttoned his shirt, he couldn’t help but notice Delroz’s lingering, intense gaze.

If Banteon didn’t know that Delroz disliked men, he might have misunderstood the situation. The heaviness of that gaze made him swallow nervously.

“So, where do we go now?” Banteon asked, trying to shift the focus.

“I noticed signs of people on the opposite side of the water. We should head there.”

Finally, some good news.

Banteon instinctively looked toward the opposite bank, though he could only see thick foliage and gently rippling water. Delroz, with his enhanced senses as an Esper, had likely spotted something Banteon couldn’t.

The thought of following traces of human activity gave Banteon a sense of relief. If they found a village, they could send a distress signal to the Center. With both Banteon and Delroz missing, the Center must have been in chaos. As long as they made contact, rescue teams would likely arrive quickly.

Nodding at the positive outlook, Banteon agreed, “That’s a good plan.”

“It looks like an old campsite. It’s not too old, though.”

As he stepped out of the water, Banteon picked up a sturdy branch he had noticed earlier. It was long and flexible, suitable to use as a walking stick. He tested it by leaning on it, feeling some relief as the cool water had reduced the swelling in his ankle, making it easier to move.

Just as Banteon began to walk, Delroz’s large arm appeared in front of him, blocking his path.

“It’s too far to walk.”

“I can’t be carried all the way to the village,” Banteon protested.

“I’ll put you down once we reach the outskirts.”

“…”

Despite Banteon’s firm resistance, Delroz showed no sign of yielding. Rationally, Banteon knew that what seemed close to Delroz might still be far away for him, especially with his injury. Walking with a stick could take a long time.

“If we hurry, you might be sleeping in a real bed tonight,” Delroz added, making the proposition even harder to refuse. After two nights on the hard ground, Banteon’s body was sore and aching, even if he didn’t show it. The idea of a soft bed and warm food, even if not luxurious, was tempting.

As much as Banteon knew this made sense, the thought of being carried by Delroz while fully conscious was difficult to accept. He sighed deeply as he approached Delroz, who was waiting with his arms outstretched. Just as Banteon was about to submit, he hesitated.

“Couldn’t you just give me a piggyback ride instead?” he suggested.

“Why?”

“I think it would be more comfortable for both of us,” Banteon explained, trying to maintain his composure.

By mutual agreement, it was indeed more convenient for Delroz to carry Banteon on his back. Carrying him in his arms restricted Delroz’s use of both hands and required careful navigation to avoid obstacles, all while ensuring Banteon’s safety. It was hard to understand why Delroz insisted on carrying him in his arms before.

After a moment of consideration, Delroz finally nodded, as if granting a great favor. Banteon swallowed a sigh and wrapped his arms around Delroz’s neck, settling his weight onto Delroz’s back. By now, this mode of transportation had become almost familiar.

“Get rid of this,” Delroz said abruptly, snatching away the makeshift walking stick Banteon had painstakingly found among the twisted, dried branches. Before Banteon could protest, Delroz tossed it aside and hoisted him up without warning, striding forward with long, confident steps.

Leaning against Delroz’s broad, sturdy back, Banteon watched the dense forest blur past as their speed increased. After some time, they came upon a more defined path through the woods, showing clear signs of human activity. In the distance, a makeshift fence constructed from wood and bricks came into view—a small village inhabited by hunters.

To Banteon’s eyes, the place looked like an ancient relic where primitive people might have lived. The structures were crude and fragile, but it was undeniably a settlement.

“Good, we made it before sunset,” Delroz noted.

“Please put me down now,” Banteon requested.

Delroz carefully lowered Banteon to the ground, mindful of his injured foot. He then handed Banteon a sturdy branch to use as a walking stick. Banteon couldn’t help but think that if Delroz was going to provide a better stick, there was no need to discard the one he had found earlier. Suppressing another sigh, he accepted the new stick, admitting internally that it was indeed stronger and more flexible than his previous one.

Just as Banteon was about to take a step, Delroz blocked his path and unzipped the collar of Banteon’s jacket, pulling out a black hood. Without a word, he pulled the hood over Banteon’s silver hair, ensuring it was well concealed.

“Aren’t you going to wear one too?” Banteon asked.

“I’m fine,” Delroz replied curtly.

If standing out was a concern, Delroz was just as conspicuous with his large build and rugged appearance. Banteon felt a flicker of dissatisfaction at being the only one concealed but chose not to argue. Delroz was more familiar with rural villages like this, and there was no need to create unnecessary conflict. Compliantly, Banteon pulled the hood further down over his head.

---

The village’s perimeter offered virtually no defense—no guards or watchmen in sight. They easily passed through the simple fence likely meant more to deter animals than people, and entered the village without any hindrance.

The villagers glanced at the duo’s uniforms, their eyes lingering momentarily on the high-quality fabric uncommon in such a remote place. However, their interest was fleeting; many locals wore eccentric attire themselves, ranging from bear hides to mesh garments. Still, some villagers eyed Delroz warily, intimidated by his imposing stature.

They visited a small marketplace on one side of the village, purchasing basic necessities and a map. Being a small settlement, there weren’t many establishments offering lodging. After some searching, they found a relatively decent-looking building that served as both a restaurant and an inn.

• Jingle

A bell attached to the door chimed as they entered, drawing the attention of people preparing food in the distance. A middle-aged man, presumably the owner, approached them leisurely, wiping his wet hands on his apron before looking up at the two visitors.

“How many nights?” he asked curtly.

“One. And we’ll take our meals in the room,” Delroz replied.

“One room?”

“Yes.”

Banteon intended to request two rooms but missed the timing to interject. Before he knew it, the owner had tossed a key toward them with minimal enthusiasm, and Banteon instinctively caught it. The key was old and rusty, prompting doubts about its functionality.

“That’ll be ten,” the owner stated.

“Oh, let me pay…” Banteon began, reaching into the pouch attached to his belt to retrieve some coins. He hesitated, realizing he had no idea what currency or amount “ten” referred to in this village. Was it ten silons? Ten gold pieces? Confused, he poured a handful of assorted coins into his palm, unsure of what to offer.

The previously sluggish owner suddenly eyed Banteon with a sharp, greedy glint. Before the situation could escalate, Delroz’s large hand covered Banteon’s, firmly closing his fingers over the coins. With a dangerous glint in his eye, Delroz selected two of the thinnest bronze coins from between Banteon’s fingers and tossed them toward the owner.

“Twenty. Keep quiet,” Delroz growled.

“Alright, alright,” the owner muttered, raising his hands defensively as he retreated, his face pale. The atmosphere had turned tense, and Banteon glanced up at Delroz, noting his hardened expression and tightly set jaw.

“Let’s go.”

Delroz said, taking Banteon’s walking stick and effortlessly lifting him into his arms once more. Startled and embarrassed to be carried so openly in broad daylight, Banteon protested.

“Why do you keep picking me up without warning?”

“Quiet.”

“I can manage these stairs on my own.”

“Please… just keep quiet,” Delroz insisted, his tone strained.

Their exchange drew the attention of nearby patrons nursing their drinks, their gazes openly curious and intrusive. About to continue his protest, Banteon caught sight of a middle-aged man sitting at a table opposite the stairs. The man’s unkempt beard connected seamlessly to his mutton chops, and when Banteon frowned at the sight, the man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. Another man beside him let out a piercing whistle, inserting two fingers into his mouth.

At the sound, Delroz’s shoulders tensed visibly. He adjusted his hold, turning Banteon to face him and pulling the hood further down over Banteon’s head, so much so that it began to obstruct his vision, completely concealing his silver hair.