Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 45: Inn

The large, hand-painted sign hung over the entrance, read as ‘The Silver Vein,’ clanked against the wooden walls as Valens and the others made for the inn. Dangling from either side of it were lamps burning with mana, casting warm pools of light onto the rough-hewn porch.

Valens scowled slightly when they entered through the heavy doors. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of pipe smoke, spilled ale, and the faint metallic tang of the mines that never quite left the miners’ clothes. The wooden floor was worn from countless boots, patched here and there with different colored planks that were yet to be beaten down. A long bar made of dark-stained oak dominated the side of the hall, behind which hummed a happy-looking lady with rather plump cheeks. She worked the patch of cloth around the glasses while keeping an eye over the few men crowding the tables.

A great stone hearth crackled with warmth by the other side, set inside the wall and fixed into a chimney, topped with metal parts for handling the wood burning inside. Most of the walls around it were paneled in dark wood, adorned occasionally with yellowing newspaper clippings or a faded landscape painting. Small windows acted as little filters to stave off the lingering smoke, though they did a rather bad job as it was still thick through the hall.

Armored in golden plates, the moment Garran took a thumping step toward the bar all eyes turned to them. Valens felt through the Resonance their wary tunes, mixed with fear and respect in a way that made him surprised. They were looking at Garran as though he was a hero, a man of tales who decided to pay a visit to their pitiful inn and demanded, not-so-gently, their muted obedience.

“Templar,” the woman behind the bar said with a strained smile on her lips. She looked perhaps forty, or forty-five at most, with shoulder-length hair kept under a headscarf, and brown eyes gentle and yet had a sharp quality to them. A woman who was used to dealing with unruly men and keeping the inn somewhat clean at the same time.

She’s a [Innkeeper]. What are the odds?

Valens and his sorry-looking group didn’t attract much attention when there was a plated man before them, which gave Valens the chance to pry over the hushed whispers of the crowd through his sound vision.

“Reckon we're gonna be saved 'fore shadows take us all,” one of them was saying, a gruff man with a rough stubble, face riddled with scratch marks over the soot-painted skin. “Ain’t that good news?”

“Don’t go starin’, you fools!" another hushed a young pair gaping at Garran’s gleaming figure. "Ain’t no good comes from eyeballin’ a Templar like that. You oughta know men like that deal in trouble, and you sure as hell don’t wanna be the poor soul givin’ ‘em a reason to look your way."

"Lost my Pa to that bastard of a tunnel, Chief. Ain't no Templar gonna scare me," one of the young ones said, lifting his chin defiantly. "And what’s a man to do, sittin’ round the mines alone, eh? Reckon we’ll be headin’ for the capital at this rate. Best find another gig ‘fore it’s too late."

"You sit that half-fed arse of yours down and wait for God's men to do their work. We'll be hearin’ from ‘em soon enough. They’ll cleanse that thing like light through shadow."

“Shit on the shadows,” said the young one. “Shit on this cursed town.”

Garran thumped his way back to their group, twirling a set of keys on his forefinger that clinked against the gauntlet. He had a sour face and a sour look, and a sour way of walking if that was ever a thing. Annoyance washed off of him in waves.

“Take these and get to your rooms. There on the second floor is a common bath. I’ll fetch you some clothes if I can find anything not reeking of dirt and soot in this place,” he said, palming the keys into Celme’s hands.

The Berserker scowled at him as he shouldered his way to the entrance, stopped, and gave a look over his shoulder. “Take a step outside the inn, then it’d be my sword that you'll be facing.”

“Off with you already,” Valens said. If it took being sour to get your way around here, he could do that as well. "And don’t go chasing shadows all alone. Might mistake your own scowl for one and try to cut it down."

“Bah!” Garran said and brisked off the hall.

Celme glanced at the keys and inched closer to Valens, keeping to a quiet tone as she spoke, “What are we going to do with Selin? It’s not a wise idea—”

“I’ll stay with her,” Valens said. “It just so happens that I’ve been meaning to start the treatment of her amnesia. Might as well take the chance, don’t you think?”

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“Fine,” Celme said, glancing over to Marcus. “I’ll come and get her to the bath when I’m done with that one.”

“Again?” Valens scowled. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with him. He was a bloody warrior inside the Rift, ripping into the tides even after losing both of his legs. What happened?”

“It’s the capital,” Celme said gravely, then shook her head. “We’ll talk later. Let us move on.”

“Ladies first,” Valens bowed slightly, one hand stretched out toward the staircase. Celme glared at him but obliged, dragging Marcus by the hand with Valens joining the line from the back.

…..

The room was a simple affair, twin beds placed parallel to each other, the left one by the dusted windows that looked down at the porch. Valens might have called the thing that stood on the opposite wall a table if not for the cracks riddling its legs. It rattled like a broken ribcage at every step of his feet across the wooden planks, but somehow, and for some reason, it never crumbled.

It speaks to the soul of this town, perhaps?

Valens smiled as he lay Selin down on the bed by the windows. She was a heavy sleeper, but true to her small and young face, never did once Valens hear her snoring. That was a thing to appreciate when you had sacred warriors shaking the whole carriage in their sleep.

The room had a cozy air to it, a certain warmth that seeped through his bones, coming from the network of pipes fixed into the walls. When Valens felt through the Resonance he arched an eyebrow at the mana coursing inside each of them.

Neutral mana with a hint of fire in the mix? Why not use floor heating, though?

It was a primitive way of keeping a room warm, other than using another fireplace for the occasion. Valens would’ve gone for a pair of heat glyphs and a flow glyph to keep them fed with ambient mana, though he wasn’t sure how viable it would be in a place where ambient mana acted as though a lifeless shroud.

They’re using manastones for this, aren’t they? Makes sense when you have mountains of those things waiting to be unearthed.

He stretched his arms out, gave a tired sigh at the sight of his robe. Who would’ve thought a Resonant Healer would spend a week in clothes sullied with his own blood and the rot of some twisted monsters? Who would have indeed thought the next-in-line Chief of Healing would be dressed in rags where he should’ve been lauded and welcomed like an old friend in this new world?

So much for the assumptions.

Yet it did have a comforting side to it, not having to keep a certain code for everything in his life. Some strange company and stranger times, Valens thought, and a world that beckoned him for more.

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There was a knock on the door.

Just in time.

It creaked open and Celme peeked inside, crossed eyes with Valens who gave her a welcoming nod. She moved over to Selin, tapping gently on her arm to wake the young woman. She came to herself with a weary blink and smiled slightly before flinching when she saw Valens.

“Relax,” he offered, trying to manage a beaming smile. That was an odd thing to manage when you don’t have an idea of what a ‘good smile’ means. “She’ll take you to the bath. I won’t be there.”

“T-Thanks, Mr. Kosthal,” Selin said as Celme helped her to her feet. She bowed her head slightly to Valens, then looked sheepishly to the room. “Are we…” she gulped. “Going to stay together?”

“Is there a problem?” Valens asked.

“No!” Selin pulled her hands up in haste. “Of course not!” she said, then lowered her chin and looked pleadingly to Celme. “Not a problem…”

Celme chuckled at her. “Trust me, I know how he’s rough with his patients, but inside, he’s not a bad man. He won’t bite you, and if he tries, you can always call me. I’ll deal with him in that case.”

“As if you can possibly stop me,” Valens smiled at her, which earned him a glare and a pointy look from Celme. He waved her off with a hand. “We need to work on your memories, Selin, and for that, I need to keep an eye on you. The brain is a delicate matter that demands a seamless focus, the most intricate precision, and a process that takes time and care. Things you wouldn’t have if you were to stay with this Berserker.”

“I wish I was strong like Miss Celme,” Selin muttered silently. “Then I wouldn’t have—”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Celme held her. “Don’t trouble yourself with such thoughts. Come on, let us get you a good bath. Lord knows I need one as well.”

“Okay,” Selin nodded meekly, then exited the room, leaving Valens alone and filthy as ever.

“Ahh.” Valens sighed a tired sigh as he poured himself over the bed, held his hands behind his neck, and stared out into the ceiling marred with damp marks. “This brings back memories.”

Five years old, alone in the streets, a pretty little bugger trying to poke his head into this house and that to find a place to pass through the night. More often than not he had to settle on an abandoned lot to put a roof over his head, coughing with the stench of damp and mildew through the night, one eye always open in case the police would come to chase him off the place.

Food was something of a luxury back then, mostly the leftovers of the little shop by the orphanage, which Gran Betsy often saved for him in a platter sealed off to keep it warm with a tray over it. She would reprimand him for bolting out of the orphanage every other day, waving that hand of hers full of burn marks from working the stoves all night long.

Valens had promised himself one day he would heal that hand, but couldn’t find the time after Master Eldras had taken him to the Institute. He heard way later that she’d passed on in that same shop, by the same stoves and with her regulars crowding the tables. Lived a good enough life, they told him, and died with a smile on her face.

He did heal hundreds of grannies and grandpas in her name after that, but never did manage to fill that hole in his heart. That was a painful memory ever-engraved in his mind, and Valens was glad to have it as a reminder.

That’s the job. It’s always been the job, whether the oaths say it or not. Mistakes happen so we can learn from them, not so we carry their weight forever.

Valens rested his head to the bed, and there came a smile upon his lips. All things considered, he was doing a good job at this whole living thing, and he was due some rest.

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