I, Viretta, Am Going to Hunt a Dragon

Chapter 48
 
“An ex-boyfriend…”

The heroic vision of a life-or-death battlefield confrontation disintegrated in my mind.
“Wait, an ex-boyfriend? Seriously?”
Though momentarily flustered, the idea of an ex-boyfriend wasn’t entirely surprising. At her age, having one or two ex-boyfriends wasn’t unusual.

But how does one find themselves, not as a teenager or twenty-something, but over fifty, embroiled in a conflict with an ex-boyfriend and getting kicked out of an inn over it?
Wouldn’t such dramas usually end no later than one’s twenties, or at the latest, during adolescence?
As Ranken and Saffron’s gazes grew colder, Moslin snapped at them.

“What’s with those looks? By my age, it’s normal to have at least fifty ex-boyfriends.”
“Fifty?!”
“I didn’t get married, so of course. Even at just one a year, that’s fifty.”

It was a logical statement. Considering Moslin’s age, swapping boyfriends frequently didn’t seem excessive.
“Thinking about your age, I suppose it’s understandable. But doesn’t that make you have way too many enemies?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Not every ex turns into an enemy. That’s just my experience—not everyone’s.”

“All of them are enemies, though…”
Moslin, who had just revealed that nearly all fifty of her ex-boyfriends were enemies, furrowed her brow and looked to the sky.
“No matter how passionate it was, relationships always turn messy in the end. That bastard Roberto—twenty years have passed, and I still can’t forget his betrayal.”

“After twenty years, shouldn’t you have moved on?”
Twenty years is enough time for children barely able to walk to grow into adults. No matter how you slice it, holding onto grudges that long feels excessive.
Ranken, who was about to add, “That’s their problem,” swallowed his words.
It wasn’t out of respect for elders or fear of Moslin, but something closer to pity.

The desolate expression Moslin wore as she gazed up at the sky stirred a strange filial piety in Ranken.
Moslin had neither a husband nor children.
Unlike him, burdened with a useless father and siblings he had to support, she had no family at all—completely alone.

A life spent parting ways with fifty men and then living in solitude… Thinking about it from Moslin’s perspective, an overwhelming sense of loneliness swept over him.
“Couldn’t even pick good gifts, no sense of tact, and wouldn’t even bother walking me home when I said I was lonely.”
“If it’s been twenty years, let it go already!”

That empathy lasted all of one minute.
Her reasons were simply too petty.
“You’re over fifty and acting like a lovesick teenager. No wonder you keep breaking up!”

Saffron muttered darkly from behind Ranken, who was shouting angrily at Moslin.
“For most people, yelling at others isn’t exactly easy, even by thirty. Yet Moslin manages the impossible.”
“Quiet. There’s no such thing as a trivial matter in love. You’d understand if you ever experienced a heart-pounding romance. Especially men—they’re like that. Isn’t that right, Iola?”

Receiving a glance from Moslin, Iola placed a hand on his chest and answered smoothly.
“I can’t speak for other men. I’ve yet to experience love or a first romance myself.”
“Really? What about you, Ranken?”

“Ah, well… I’ve been too busy earning a living and chasing after Viretta to ever have time for romance.”
Embarrassed, Ranken—who hadn’t had a girlfriend in his 22 years of life due to supporting his family—blushed deeply as Viretta chuckled and patted him on the back. That, more than anything, embarrassed him further.
“And Saffron?”

“Ha, were you expecting some grand love story from a slave scraping by to survive?”
Moslin’s gaze shifted from Saffron to Viretta. By now, she wasn’t even looking at men.
“You understand, don’t you, Viretta?”

With unshakable confidence, Viretta looked to the sky and declared:
“Of course not! I’ve never dated anyone because I’ve yet to meet a man worthy of me!”
In the end, all four present were romance virgins.

The group had an average of ten relationships per person, skewed entirely by Moslin’s disproportionate contributions. A reminder of how meaningless averages can be.
“Ah, my apologies. Over twenty and never dated? I must’ve struck a nerve.”
Realizing the four lacked any romantic experience, Moslin looked at them with genuine pity, as if discovering a tragedy.

“I didn’t mean to bring up such a painful topic. Truly, I’m sorry.”
“No, really. It’s fine.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she muttered apologetically, glancing at them with sympathy.

“Don’t apologize!”
“You all look fine enough on the outside, but your personalities must have significant flaws… Still, don’t lose hope. In bigger cities, there’ll be someone for you. If even I, who used to roast people alive on the battlefield, managed to date fifty men, there’s hope.”
“Stop making us sound so pathetic! Just because we haven’t dated doesn’t mean we’re flawed!”

As Ranken foamed at the mouth watching Moslin nearly tear up, he yelled, “I choose not to date, not because I can’t!”
Behind him, Iola and Viretta exchanged awkward glances.
“Not having dated doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with a person. There are more important things in life than romance.”

“Exactly. While it’d be nice to find someone early, settling for mediocre relationships isn’t the answer. Carefully choosing partners and friends is what makes one a decent human.”
Viretta puffed out her chest confidently, despite being engaged to someone her father had chosen.
“Wise words, Viretta. But—wait. Does that mean—”

“Saffron! Let’s go find an inn!” Viretta quickly grabbed Saffron and turned away.
As Saffron stumbled, their movement caught the attention of a shabby man lingering in the alley.
“Miss, if you’ve no place to stay, how about my inn?”

The man, possibly in his forties, looked unkempt, a stark contrast to the typically well-dressed innkeepers.
A scruffy boy stood beside him as he rubbed his hands together with a smile.
“I’ve been watching. Seems you keep getting turned away. My place isn’t part of the innkeepers’ guild, so we can take guests.”

“Oh.”
It was a dubious offer.
Noticing Viretta and Saffron’s suspicious looks, the man bowed his head.

“You know, the city’s crowded lately. Lots of people convert old buildings into temporary inns.”
In cities overwhelmed by sudden surges in population, makeshift inns often sprang up.
“Really?”

“Well, they’re just old buildings with beds crammed in—not much of an inn. But they’re cheap. You’ll have a roof to keep the rain out and walls to block the wind.”
Non-guild inns were often ramshackle affairs.
Their safety, let alone quality, wasn’t guaranteed, so merchants rarely used them. But for day-to-day laborers, such places were an affordable option.

“Even the capital has similar places. They’re unlicensed inns for people living hand-to-mouth,” Iola commented, recalling the capital’s makeshift lodgings as he glanced around.
“We don’t have much choice. Even a stable with a roof is better than sleeping out in the rain.”
“True. Better than roughing it.”

Viretta decided on the latter—better a cramped, shabby bed than being squished in the carriage with five others.
“Great decision! Let me guide you.” The man grinned.
 

The man and the boy led Viretta’s party to the outskirts of the city. As they left the tidy streets behind, the area became increasingly cluttered with ramshackle buildings, and more scruffy-looking people appeared.
“There really are a lot of refugees,” Viretta observed.
“Well, you never know when the dragon might fly over again,” Iola replied.

They had known the mines were closed, but the dragon’s impact was even greater than Viretta and Iola had anticipated.
Even Ranken, who had initially been opposed to the idea of dragon hunting, found himself wishing the dragon would disappear for good.
“This is the place,” the guide announced, stopping near a barren tree.

The building before them was a two-story structure exuding an ominous atmosphere. It was far too shabby to be called an inn.
Isolated and detached from the surrounding buildings, it looked as if it had once been a warehouse or even a hospital ward. Though the creaking structure gave it the air of an abandoned ruin, it didn’t seem like it was on the verge of collapsing.
“Hmm…” Moslin groaned.

“As you can see, it’s nothing impressive. It used to be a hospital ward, so the rooms are quite small. Ideally, one person per room would be best. However, the lodging fees are exceptionally cheap.”
“Hmmmm. Stay here?” Moslin shuddered at the sight of the so-called inn’s pitiful appearance.
“Of all the places in the city, we have to stay in a dump like this.”

“Think of it positively,” Saffron suggested dryly. “How often do you get the chance to stay in a run-down house with tiny, claustrophobic rooms? Consider it an opportunity to experience the life of the poor.”
“I grew up an orphan, so I lived in places like this all the time.”
“Save such intimate personal stories for when we know each other better! People these days, honestly!” Viretta exclaimed, flustered by the unexpected glimpse into Saffron’s past.

Ignoring her mild rebuke, she handed over payment for lodging for the five of them.
The inn wasn’t safe or pleasant, but they were only planning to stay a day or two before moving on. It was still better than being forced to sleep in someone else’s stable.
“What is this? Am I the only one dissatisfied?” Moslin grumbled. “Fine, I suppose it’s about time I had some alone time anyway.”

She flashed a sly, mischievous grin.