I, Viretta, Am Going to Hunt a Dragon

Chapter 47
 
“How many are you?”

“Three men, two women. A total of five. Oh, there they are. That’s my group.”
Iola, Saffron, and Moslin entered one after another. Judging by their peeking around with looks of disappointment, they seemed to have checked other inns before arriving here.
Having left the wagon behind, the group appeared lightly equipped.

Fortunately, Iola’s expression was still bright. It seemed unlikely he would demand accountability by chopping off Viretta’s head or hand right here.
In contrast, Saffron wore an exceedingly gloomy and hostile expression. Moving with surprising swiftness for someone who usually looked so lethargic, he reached Viretta and Ranken, placing his hands firmly on their shoulders.
“Throwing a bomb and leaving me behind—quite the trick you’ve pulled… Ha, of course, you wouldn’t fear the grudge of a slave.”

His tone, dripping with menace, was akin to a ghost seeking revenge. The moment his hands touched her shoulders, goosebumps ran down Viretta’s spine.
“I-I was scared, you know? Left alone with Iola…”
But with him glancing up with tears welling in his eyes, there was no way to push him away or get angry.

“Oh, you’re overreacting. As if Iola would ever cut down an innocent—”
Just then, Iola’s sword plunged beside Viretta’s head.
His longsword sliced through a small bird that had been flying toward Viretta.

“What the…?”
The bird, having hit something and rebounded, fell to the floor bleeding.
Iola, who had instantly heightened everyone’s sense of danger, gracefully withdrew his sword. The tip of the longsword lightly tapped the ground as he moved.

The sight of the blood-stained blade sent Saffron and Ranken recoiling in shock. Even the other patrons in the inn murmured nervously at the sudden appearance of the sword.
“Wow, did you see that? He split the bird in one swing.”
Iola, after demonstrating his extraordinary swordsmanship, nonchalantly flicked the blood off the tip of his blade.
“I noticed on the way here that the local security seems to have fallen into complete disarray. There are far too many outsiders in the city.”

His ever-present charming smile shone brightly once more.
“It’s no wonder the Medleidge Company would need mercenaries. It must take a lot of people to settle things down at this scale.”
Saffron muttered darkly with a shadowed face, “He drew his sword even outside….”

“I took a moment to gather some information while going around the village, and it seems that as soon as you step into a slightly secluded area, thieves and bandits are rampant. But, of course, they can’t exactly prevent people from entering, which makes it all the more complicated.”
Iola’s actions, including drawing his sword in the city and the inn, caused no problems.
It was one of the most justified and sensible things he had done so far.

Of course, cutting the bird was unnecessary, but for a mercenary drawing a sword to ensure safety was only natural.
Compared to actions that would provoke a gang of thieves, this was nothing.
“…”

“…”
Yet the actions befitting a seasoned swordsman nudged the group further into an uneasy hill of fear.
Each of them had their own unresolved guilt concerning Iola, and the weight of it fanned the flames of their anxiety.

Viretta, for instance, had yet to explain anything about her supposed “beloved (vacant position).” That lingering issue tumbled uncomfortably in her thoughts.
“Excuse me, innkeeper,” Iola said politely. “Would it be permissible to keep my sword drawn inside the inn? Not that I distrust your establishment, but I am concerned for the safety of the young lady I am escorting.”
“Oh, uh, yes. As long as there’s no fighting inside, that’s fine. But, uh… we don’t have any vacant rooms right now. I was about to recommend another inn….”

“I see. Well, it would be ideal if the people here could vacate.”
“Excuse me?”
The group flinched at the classic mercenary-like suggestion to evict the current patrons.

Saffron’s gloomy face darkened even further, and he let out a low groan while leaning against the wall.
“This inn looks sturdy,” Moslin chimed in. “It seems well-suited to deflect a stray lightning spell or two.”
“Uh, yes, our inn is quite solid. But there are already guests here….”

“What would it take to convince them to give up their rooms?”
Iola slid his sharp sword back into its scabbard with a crisp click.
The blade safely returned to its sheath, yet the tension only deepened. His brief display of skill had subdued the entire room.

Viretta, quick to react, pulled out her coin pouch. The jingling of coins filled the air as she fished out her wallet.
“How much will it take?”
If Iola had no qualms about showcasing his mercenary side, Viretta had none about solving issues with money.

Yet this time, the Medleidge signature tactic of solving problems with cash didn’t work.
“Hmm… This inn does seem sturdy and well-placed for crossing to the next building—Roberto?”
“Moslin?”

An older man, walking leisurely toward them, stopped dead in his tracks upon meeting Moslin’s gaze. Sparks of a peculiar sort flew between them.
The atmosphere suddenly shifted as if past grievances had come to the forefront.
The elderly innkeeper and Moslin stared at each other with matching expressions of shock.

Their faces betrayed two emotions: surprise at the unexpected meeting and a brewing hostility that followed immediately after.
“It’s been a while, Roberto. I never imagined running into you in a place like this,” Moslin said with a voice brimming with restrained bitterness.
“I could say the same to you. The ‘Lightning of the Rose War’ herself, in a humble little city inn like mine… What a surprise.”

Their voices dropped in tone, losing the pleasant, accommodating cadence typically reserved for guests. Instead, their words gained a sharp edge.
Moslin, who often got fiery when ranting about Medleidge’s so-called peacemaking, was now staring Roberto down with the same intensity.
“So, you’ve planted roots here? Running an inn of this size—seems like you’ve done well for yourself.”

“I was never destined to stay the same Roberto you once looked down on.”
“Impressive. I thought you’d amount to nothing, but it seems you’ve finally blossomed late. Is it too late to offer congratulations?”
“Still so arrogant, aren’t you? How much longer do you plan to lean on the faded glory of your battlefield nickname? You’re not young anymore—you should act your age.”

Their exchange was barbed, yet the weight of past emotions made it far more than just idle sniping.
The inn’s first floor quickly took on the atmosphere of a melodramatic confrontation.
Viretta, deciding to embrace the situation, opened her snack pouch and began crunching on nuts while watching the unfolding drama.

“Well, this is entertaining,” she remarked, offering some of the snacks to Ranken, who gladly helped himself.
Moslin gripped her long staff tightly, her lips curling in a mocking smirk despite the frown on her brow. Her pride was on full display.
“To think you’d stoop to escorting such childish companions,” Roberto sneered. “It seems even the ‘Lightning of the Rose War’ has grown dull with age.”

“And you—running an inn in the middle of nowhere? This is the best you could manage? How disappointing!”
The two hurled biting remarks at each other without taking a single step back.
Caught between the fiery exchange, Viretta dropped some nuts into Iola and Saffron’s hands. Watching a fight like this was far too amusing to pass up.

“This is great. Who needs theater?” Viretta quipped.
“It’s like a live drama,” Ranken muttered, chewing thoughtfully.
As the verbal sparring escalated, Roberto leaned forward, his voice dropping further.

“For your information, I’m the guildmaster of the innkeepers’ association in this city.”
“Big deal. That shabby title is nothing compared to the young master on our side. An inn like this is beneath the son of the Duskfall Mercenary Corps.”
“Oh, is that so? Well, don’t worry—you won’t be staying here anyway. I’ll make sure of that. I’m sorry, but I must ask you and your group to leave.”

“What?!”
Water might as well have been dumped on Viretta and Ranken’s heads. Both stood up abruptly, stomping their feet in disbelief. Even Iola’s eyebrow twitched slightly at the sudden declaration.
“I refuse to let Moslin stay in my inn,” Roberto declared.

“Why?”
Viretta’s shock turned into outrage as she jumped up, her voice rising. This was utterly absurd.
“I’m sorry, but no inn in this city will offer you a room. As I said, I’m the guildmaster of the innkeepers’ association,” Roberto explained.

“You petty bastard!” Moslin snapped, swinging her staff angrily.
“Call it abuse of power if you like. You’re not setting foot in my inn—or any other, for that matter. Now, kindly leave!”
“Isn’t there some way to settle this with money?” Viretta tried, still clinging to her Medleidge tactic.

“Leave.”
Roberto’s hand stroked his beard as he delivered his verdict, the word final and unyielding.
Large, burly men who had been sitting in the corners of the inn rose and began herding the group toward the door.

As they were being ushered out, Ranken’s face twisted into a pained expression.
“This is so unfair….”
 

Break
Roberto’s authority as the guildmaster of the innkeepers’ association proved absolute.
In no time at all, Moslin and her companions found themselves blacklisted from every inn in the city.

It was a stunning turn of events, but thankfully, both Iola and Viretta remained unusually composed.
It was almost as if they had silently agreed that if one of them caused a problem, the others would behave. For now, they followed the rules without argument.
The real issue, however, was that they had no place to stay for the night.

“That scrawny bastard! I’m glad I don’t have to see his face anymore,” Moslin fumed, grinding her teeth as she swung her staff in frustration.
To her credit, this wasn’t entirely Moslin’s fault. Even Ranken sighed softly before speaking.
“You must’ve made some serious enemies over the years.”

“At my age, who doesn’t have a few people they don’t get along with?” Moslin retorted.
“What exactly was your relationship with him?”
Moslin, a battle mage who had roamed countless battlefields, was bound to have enemies anywhere she went. With a fearsome nickname like “The Lightning of the Rose War,” her past was undoubtedly stained with blood and grudges.

Ranken, a mercenary himself, felt his pulse quicken, anticipating a tale of war and strife.
“He’s my ex-boyfriend,” Moslin replied bluntly.
“…”

The stark truth left Ranken utterly speechless.
A storm of indescribable emotions welled up inside him, impossible to put into words.