LeMoSc

V1 C9 - tCoH

A pub. A place that was usually filled with hearty laughter and clamorous noises had been silent for the last few days all because of a single man, Volk.

He had a scarily massive body, but what was scarier was his face.

Considering that someone whose countenance could make an Orc’s heart skip a beat had been drinking gloomily all day long, it was hardly surprising that the pub was drowned in silence.

Volk made a face while drinking.
‘I want to propose to her. I need something special for her, if there is anything.’

Volk wanted to propose to a lady. His heart-breaking anguish wasn’t visible to others.

‘A gift for her. Right, I heard of a sculptor in the Citadel of Serabourg. I will ask him to make one for me. If he makes something that pleases my heart, I will give him the most precious thing I have in return.’

Volk left the pub, stumbling.

* * *

“Whew, this is still full of users here.”

Back in the capital of Rosenheim kingdom after seven weeks, Weed felt a headache coming on at the sight of an incalculable number of avatars.

It was a dizzy scene in which buyers and sellers were actively trading with one another, and new adventurers were looking for partners to join their adventure.

“Quick, Arse! Let’s go to your home.”
Weed led the colt to the Royal Stable. It followed him obediently.
The beast had just survived the poison gas from the queen worm, as luck would have it.

As if it knew by instinct that it had missed imminent death more times than it deserved, the colt was willing to stay out of Weed’s way; the sooner it got home, the better.

There was a shabby stable outside the Royal Palace. As soon as the chief horse trainer laid eyes on the colt, he grimaced.

“The good times are gone, now that this mouth-firing Arse is back. Heard of you from Lord Midvale. Are you returning this beast that shames his father, Weed-nim?” Lighthearted now, Weed left the colt in an empty lot.

“You’ve had a good journey. I know this beast spells nothing but trouble.”

“I am fine. It’s over now.”

“Lord Midvale left a message. He wants you to visit him if you are still interested in the centurion job. He says it’s yours anytime.”

“Tell him I appreciate it.”

The chief horse trainer was polite to Weed who was virtually a stranger to him.

Assured once again that a man’s status depended on who his contacts were, and what he had done in his name, Weed left the Royal Stable and went to the Training Hall.

There, he met the instructor.

“Hmm. So that’s what happened to you…”

The instructor was very sorry that Weed was forced to convert to the Legendary Moonlight Sculptor class.

“It is my fault.”