Chương 45: A Little Younger

When Greer quietly slipped back through the portal, the Guild employee on watch was already slumped back in his chair, fast asleep. Greer cautiously poked his head around and surveyed the area. No one. It seemed the young man had not run off to tattle on him after all. Perhaps Greer could add a few extra silver coins to his pay next time.

"Excellent." The cheer escaped him as little more than a breath. Then, keeping his footsteps light, he ambled toward the temporary cabin. Just as Greer reached out to push open the wooden door, an unnaturally calm voice came from behind him.

"Guildmaster." His half-extended hand froze in midair. Greer drew a quiet breath, smoothed away the guilty look threatening to surface, and put on a bleary-eyed expression before slowly turning around. Camilla stood behind him in her Guild uniform, her hair slightly disheveled. She stared at Greer in silence, her expression perfectly flat.

"Hmm? What is it? I just stepped out to use the privy." Greer rubbed his eyes and deliberately lowered his voice until it sounded rough with sleep.

"Why are you still awake this late?" Camilla pressed her lips together and regarded him coldly for a long moment before speaking one word at a time.

"If I hadn't woken up and gone to look for you in your office, I never would have known you had gone out." Greer's face reddened slightly beneath the glow of the firelight. He cleared his throat and casually shifted his gaze to one side.

"Well, I'm back now, aren't I?" Camilla did not lose her temper. She merely let out a helpless sigh.

"Guildmaster, you are not exactly young anymore. Please stop wandering off without telling anyone. I would rather not spend the middle of the night searching everywhere for you again." Greer could not help laughing. Then he remembered that it was still the middle of the night and hurriedly covered his mouth with one hand.

"Don't worry. I'm in excellent health." Camilla had been about to say something else, but the moment her gaze settled on Greer's face, she suddenly paused. She stepped a little closer and studied him carefully. Nothing about Greer's appearance had changed. The wrinkles around his eyes remained clearly visible, and his hair was still streaked with gray. Yet somehow, he looked different from the day before. The eyes that normally carried a faint heaviness were unusually bright.

Even his aged, weary face seemed to possess a vitality that had been absent for years.

"You look…" Camilla hesitated, her expression gradually turning to surprise.

"It's as though you've suddenly grown several years younger." Greer rubbed his chin.

"Do I?" The skin beneath his fingers still felt just as wrinkled as ever. Nothing seemed to have changed. Just then, a wave of drowsiness washed over him. Greer yawned, pushed open the wooden door, and turned back to speak quietly to Camilla.

"It's late. I need to sleep. Good night." With that, he began closing the door. However, just before it shut, Greer suddenly stopped and poked half his face out from behind it.

"You too. Don't stay up too late." After leaving those words behind, he closed the door without hesitation, leaving Camilla standing outside alone. Camilla instinctively raised her right hand and stared at the closed wooden door before letting out a deep sigh.

"And whose fault is it that I couldn't sleep properly?" She paused, then reached out and pushed the door open again.

"Also… I live in there too."

"What exactly did you mean by shutting the door in my face?" ◆ ◆ ◆ The next morning, when Greer summoned Rayne's party to the temporary cabin, Camilla was nowhere to be seen. Her usual seat beside his desk, where she normally sorted through documents, stood empty. Greer glanced toward the empty chair with mild confusion. Still, considering how late she had stayed up the night before, she was probably catching up on sleep in her room. He did not give the matter much thought.

"Young people these days. They can't even keep up with an old man like me." Rayne, standing before him, gave him a puzzled look. Only then did Greer realize he had accidentally spoken aloud. He hurriedly cleared his throat twice and casually shifted his attention to the documents on the desk.

"Never mind. In any case, you still intend to continue exploring today, correct?" Rayne nodded without speaking.

"Then I would like you to do something for me." Greer raised his head and looked at him.

"Could you make a detailed record of exactly what that traveling merchant you mentioned has for sale?" Rayne had been about to agree immediately, but after hearing the request clearly, he scratched his cheek with an awkward expression.

"Guildmaster, my handwriting is rather ugly, so…" Greer rolled up the parchment in his hand and lightly tapped Rayne on the forehead with it. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

"Then have someone else write it! Serin's handwriting looked perfectly good to me." Serin blinked at being singled out, but quickly nodded.

"Of course. I'll record everything, Guildmaster." Only then did Greer look satisfied, as though the youngsters before him had finally shown some sense. He glared at Rayne once more, then waved impatiently and practically chased the five of them out of his office. The moment they stepped outside the cabin, Rayne and the others exchanged looks.

"What's wrong with the Guildmaster? He seems a little…"

"Weird!" Tyren finished Rayne's sentence before him, without lowering his voice in the slightest. Serin's expression changed. The oak staff in her hand immediately came down toward his head. But it was already too late. Thump! The staff connected with Tyren's head at almost the exact same moment that an angry roar erupted from inside the cabin.

"You little brat! You're still standing outside my office! I'm not so old that I can't hear you from there!" Rayne's party did not dare linger. After briefly confirming that all their supplies were ready, they prepared to head toward the portal. However, while everyone was checking their equipment, Tyren noticed that Asar was carrying a different sword at his waist.

"Asar, when did you get a new sword?" Asar paused, then raised a hand and patted the ornately decorated scabbard. A faint smile appeared on his face.

"Someone said it was a gift from my father."

"Lord Darian," Barton supplied in his deep, muffled voice. The smile on Asar's face immediately stiffened.

"Barton, I didn't ask you to tell them who it was."

"You brothers really are awkward with each other." Asar drew a deep breath and decided not to continue arguing with the stubborn ox. He turned and walked toward the portal instead. Not long after Rayne and the others entered the dungeon, a Guild employee who had come hurrying over brought Greer's unusually peaceful morning to an end. The man knocked twice on the door, then pushed it open before Greer could answer.

He leaned forward with one hand braced against his knee, breathing heavily, while holding a rolled parchment high in the other.

"Guildmaster! A message from headquarters!" Greer immediately rose, accepted the parchment, and unrolled it for a careful look. A moment later, his gaze stopped on one particular line.

"They'll arrive in half a day…" Greer slowly rolled the parchment back up and placed it casually on the desk.

"Let's hope whoever is coming can be reasoned with." He walked over to the window and looked outside. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue. Only a few thin clouds drifted slowly overhead, and the entire camp appeared as peaceful as ever.

"If only things could stay this peaceful." ◆ ◆ ◆ When the white light before them gradually faded, Rayne and the others were surprised to discover that they had appeared directly inside the guest room assigned to them in the ruined church. It was the exact place from which they had left the dungeon the previous day. Several simple wooden beds stood against the walls. Everything looked almost unchanged since their departure. Tyren looked around, his eyes widening.

"So whenever we come back, we'll return to wherever we left from last time?" Rayne did not answer immediately. He pushed open the door and looked out into the familiar church corridor.

"That appears to be the case for now."

"That's incredibly convenient." A hint of delight entered Tyren's voice. It meant they would no longer need to retrace their way through every earlier area whenever they entered the dungeon. They could simply continue from where their last exploration had ended. Rayne briefly inspected the room first. After confirming that everything remained exactly as it had been when they left the day before, he led the party out.

However, the moment they stepped into the corridor, everyone sensed that something was wrong with the church. It was too quiet. The steady murmur of conversation they had heard the day before was gone. So was the familiar clinking of the bottles and jars that normally stood behind Owen. The group followed the corridor into the church hall. The guards who had previously sat near the stone steps were nowhere to be seen. Bishop Lorian and Owen were absent as well.

Only a young priest remained in the vast hall, crouching beside the wall as he changed the bandages of several refugees. Rayne swept his gaze around the hall. After confirming that there was no immediate danger, he approached the priest.

"Excuse me. Where is Mr. Ashford?" Hearing his voice, the young priest looked up at them. Once he recognized Rayne's party, the wariness in his expression quickly faded.

"Oh, it's you." He placed the used bandages into a wooden basin, then pointed toward the rear of the church.

"Mr. Ashford, Bishop Lorian, and the others have all gone to the graveyard behind the church. Everyone else who can still move is there as well."

"The graveyard?" Tyren could not help looking in the direction the priest indicated.

"There's a graveyard behind the church?" The young priest nodded.

"Follow the side corridor all the way to the end. You'll see it once you pass through the iron door."

"The graveyard is hidden behind the church and the outer wall, so you can barely see it from the front. You arrived in a hurry last time, so it is only natural that you did not notice." Rayne thought back. After reaching the church the previous day, they had either been occupied speaking with Owen and the others or resting in the guest room. They truly had not examined every corner of the church.

"You came to see Mr. Ashford, didn't you?" The young priest glanced at the packs they were carrying.

"You can find him in the graveyard. He'll be pleased to know you've returned." Rayne thanked him, then led the party toward the rear of the church. The side corridor was narrower than they had expected. Vines covered the stone walls on both sides, while rubble from the crumbling roof lay scattered across the floor. At the very end, they found a rust-covered iron door. Rayne reached out and pushed it open. With a harsh scraping sound, the chill morning mist slowly drifted in from outside.

Beyond the iron door lay a graveyard enclosed by a low stone wall. Old gravestones stood scattered among the gray-white weeds. Some leaned at odd angles or had collapsed entirely, while others bore names that had faded beyond recognition. Several familiar figures were gathered quietly near the far end of the graveyard. Rayne and the others followed the central path forward. As they drew closer, they finally saw what everyone was doing. Several fresh graves had been dug there.

A few guards worked together to set newly carved headstones at the head of each mound of loose earth, while the other refugees stood silently around them. Some bowed their heads. Some placed freshly gathered wildflowers beside the graves. Several young children clutched tightly at the clothing of the adults beside them, silently watching everything before them. Bishop Lorian stood at the front of the gathering, holding a silver-white holy emblem as though preparing for the coming rites.

Owen stood among the crowd as well. He soon noticed Rayne and the others approaching along the path. Owen paused, then gave them a slight nod. He did not immediately call out to them. Instead, he quietly separated himself from the gathering and walked over.

"You're here." His voice was low and unusually subdued, without a trace of his usual overenthusiasm.

"Come back inside with me for now." Rayne glanced at the people raising the headstones. He asked no questions and simply nodded. Owen led them back along the way they had come. Only after the rusted iron door closed behind them did he let out a soft sigh.

"Sorry. You only just returned, and this is the first thing you had to see." The smile on Owen's face faded slightly.

"Another group of refugees fled here yesterday." He paused for a moment.

"Some of them were already too badly injured by the time they arrived." The corridor fell quiet. Owen adjusted the brim of his hat, then quickly gathered himself again.

"In any case, Bishop Lorian will be leading the prayers and burial rites for them today, so he won't be available for a while." He turned around and showed them his familiar smile.

"So it looks like I'll be your host today." Walking beside him, Tyren hesitated for a moment before cautiously asking,"Sir, with danger everywhere right now…" He glanced back in the direction of the graveyard.

"Why are all of you still spending time doing… something like this?" The moment Serin heard him begin, she almost instinctively reached out and quietly caught a fistful of his tunic at the waist. However, Owen's answer made her forget to tighten her grip.

"Partly because the dead deserve to leave this world with at least some dignity."

"And partly because the living need something to do." He sighed softly.

"If they spend all day hiding inside the church, unable to do anything but wait for the next disaster to arrive, they'll only grow more hopeless with each passing day." Owen stopped and turned toward Tyren.

"When people are in the greatest danger, that is precisely when they need to preserve some part of ordinary life." He smiled.

"The human spirit is our last line of defense."

"No matter what happens, that remains true." Serin glanced back toward the graveyard, and her expression softened slightly. Rayne lowered his gaze in thought. For once, Tyren did not respond immediately. He merely frowned faintly, seriously considering what Owen had said. Only then did Serin remember that her hand was still clutching the fabric at his waist. She turned her head and quietly observed him for a moment.

There was none of his usual frivolous grin on his face, nor did he appear to be preparing some ill-timed piece of nonsense. A faint trace of surprise flickered through Serin's eyes. After a moment, she quietly released him and withdrew her hand as though nothing had happened. Tyren had no idea that he had just narrowly escaped disaster. ◆ ◆ ◆ Half a day's journey from Blackstone Dungeon, a convoy bearing the emblem of the Adventurers' Guild hurried along the road.

Inside one of the carriages, Elias Voss sat quietly beside the window, watching the scenery recede outside. Had it really been ten years since he had last seen Master? He wondered how Master was doing now. The familiar image of the old man rose in Elias's mind. He was probably much the same as ever, sitting alone behind his desk and silently working through one document after another. He was never much of a talker and rarely smiled in earnest.

Even when others showed concern for him, he would likely only frown and pretend that there was nothing anyone needed to worry about. Elias let out a soft sigh. Greer had been like that ever since the Demonic Tide War ended.

"After all these years, Master probably hasn't changed at all." The carriage continued down the road. What Elias did not know was that, after Blackstone Dungeon appeared, the old man who had stood still for so many years had already begun to move forward again, little by little.