The nearest town to Bayek was called Duder, a relatively bustling place where nearly every facility could be found—schools, a governing hall, a police station, factories, and more.

  Carriages rattled past, and men and women in garments that revealed their station at a glance moved along the streets. The rows of ornate, almost doll-like buildings on either side lent the town a dreamlike quality that left Glen momentarily dazed.

  Compared to the quiet Bayek, this felt like an entirely different world.

  Although the original owner’s memories carried such images, experiencing them in person stirred something altogether different within him.

  Why does it seem busier than usual today? Has something happened?

  Glen quickly adjusted, noting the difference without much surprise, for those same memories told him such crowds sometimes gathered when a circus arrived or a festival was being held.

  Such things, however, had little appeal to him.

  He bought a few vegetables from several stalls, and when all was done, only two copper coins remained in his pocket.

  I’ll need to think of a way to earn more…

  Arms full of parcels, Glen walked with a light step back the way he came.

  Suddenly, he reached out instinctively, steadying a young boy who had nearly stumbled to the ground.

  “Thank you, sir,” the boy said earnestly.

  Glen inclined his head slightly.

  At that moment, another voice called out from nearby.

  “Meyer, you needn’t be in such a rush. Berin is right there—you’ll see him soon enough.”

  Glen turned his head and saw five youths approaching with smiles—three boys and two girls. The speaker was a tall boy among them.

  “But that’s the great knight who once defeated a third-rank vampire! I’ve only ever heard our teacher speak of him. Don’t you want to see him as quickly as possible?”

  Meyer glanced shyly toward one of the girls in the group—a golden-haired beauty—and tried to explain himself.

  “Even so, you should be careful. It won’t do to get yourself hurt…”

  The six of them soon passed out of sight, their voices fading into the crowd.

  Glen recognized them—or rather, Dylan had known them. They, however, had never truly known Dylan, though they occasionally crossed paths in this town.

  The reason Dylan had paid them any heed was simple: the two girls among them were strikingly beautiful, leaving a deep impression on him.

  If his father had still been alive, if the family wealth had not vanished, he might once have boldly pursued them.

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  But the boy Dylan had been was long gone; only a heavy, gnawing sense of inferiority remained.

  A great knight, Berin? Is that why the town is so lively today?

  He searched the remnants of memory but found no trace of the man. Well… none of this concerns me. Hugging his bundles tighter, Glen continued on his way.

  Clad in silver-bright armor, a crimson cloak embroidered with golden patterns flowing from his shoulders, his visage stern and steady, exuding a weight like stone—

  This was Meyer’s first impression of Berin. Though not precisely as he had imagined, it was close enough.

  Berin rode alone upon a white steed armored in silver, flanked on both sides by two perfect rows of knights.

  At the front, two soldiers bore tall standards aloft, the symbols of the kingdom’s will streaming proudly in the wind.

  Amidst the townspeople’s fervent cheers and the adoring cries of young women, Berin’s company marched in unison toward the lodgings arranged by the town’s mayor.

  “Deamela, look! That must be the Riel Greatsword our teacher spoke of—it’s magnificent! And there, at his side, surely the White Lion Lances, blessed with exorcising power!”

  Excited beyond measure, Meyer tugged at the sleeve of the taller youth beside him, pointing eagerly to Berin’s sword and twin guns.

  “You needn’t tell us. Of course we know,” Deamela replied, his own voice tinged with excitement. “Our teacher didn’t speak of Berin only to you. We grew up on these tales. And now, at last, we see him with our own eyes. He looks so incredibly strong!”

  For youths their age, such heroic figures held irresistible allure.

  “One day, I’ll become a man like Berin too!” declared a red-haired, somewhat plump boy.

  “You’d best think about how to pass the teacher’s exam in a few days, Bork,” teased the golden-haired, blue-eyed girl in the wide-brimmed hat, her beauty dazzling.

  The others burst into laughter.

  “Pernaas, don’t mention that now! You’ve ruined my good mood,” Bork muttered, scratching his head in mock complaint.

  The laughter grew louder.

  “Enough, stop teasing Bork. He’s been working very hard.”

  The gentle rebuke came from another girl—this one with soft brown hair and a charming face. Seeing Bork’s flushed cheeks, she quickly intervened.

  The boys relented, and Bork looked at her with gratitude.

  “Thank you, Laila.”

  She pressed her lips into a smile. “Prepare well, and you’ll surely pass the exam.”

  At Duder’s knightly inn, Berin’s retinue took their rest, while police officers kept the enthusiastic townsfolk at bay to preserve the knights’ peace.

  The mayor, an elderly man with white hair and beard, dressed in dignified attire, approached with a smile as Berin dismounted.

  “Honored Sir Berin, we have prepared your chambers. Please, this way.”

  Berin inclined his head.

  “No need for overmuch formality. We shall stay only a few days. Our greater task is to look for signs of the two werewolves still at large. Beyond that, there are weightier matters awaiting us.”

  The mayor’s expression faltered, fear flickering across his features.

  “My lord… those werewolves—might they appear here? I beg you, ensure the townsfolk’s safety.”

  “You need not be overly concerned,” Berin replied, his voice firm and reassuring. “Those creatures are but lowborn werewolves, their blood thin and their power slight. Even without our hand, a few officers with firearms would suffice should they appear.”

  The mayor’s face eased at those words.

  On the lonely road back toward Bayek, Glen walked slowly, mind drifting to the evening meal, eyes scanning the surroundings.

  The farther he went, the more desolate the path became, until at last a solitary figure appeared in the distance.

  His steps slowed, gaze fixed.

  Not another monster, surely?

  Keeping calm, he advanced cautiously.

  As the figure drew nearer, Glen caught a faintly familiar scent.

  It was a man in coarse gray-black robes, head wrapped in a strange turban. His complexion was dark, heavy shadows beneath his eyes, his face expressionless—a man who seemed born without mirth.

  The familiarity, Glen realized, came from the scent of Bayek itself. This man must be a townsman, though one the former Dylan had never met.

  The stranger stood half-turned, a bundle hanging from his left hand. At his feet lay another shape sprawled in the grass.

  Only when Glen drew closer did he see it clearly.

  “Sir, are you also from Bayek?” he asked, testing the waters.

  The man turned his head, gave Glen a brief look, and nodded wordlessly.

  A taciturn sort… Glen thought, falling into silence. His eyes shifted to the motionless figure on the ground. He lowered his voice.

  “Did you kill him?”

  The man shook his head.

  Then what in the world is going on? Glen wondered.