"Ohoho! Garlan, my boy, your healing potion is a straight-up miracle! I feel like I've been personally caressed by the Goddess herself."
"You're a casualty, so act like one and rest."
Reed, his chest wrapped in thick layers of bandages, leaned back against a stone chair he had conjured. He laughed heartily, slapping Garlan on the back between bouts of rambling.
When Denken and Garlan had finally turned their attention back to the unconscious Reed after defeating Zaras, they found his breathing faint—almost non-existent. He had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.
Fortunately, Garlan had been carrying his "last resort" healing potion from the previous batch. With a "nothing left to lose" mindset, he had poured it down Reed's throat. They were too far from Rohguri; even with flight magic, the man would have been cold and stiff long before they reached a cathedral with a priest.
Against all odds, Reed survived. To live through a direct hit from a Great Demon... the man had the luck of the devil.
So the potion really does save lives, Garlan thought gloomily. But I can't believe I had to use one of my treasures so soon.
While Reed shouted at the night sky, proclaiming "Heaven cannot kill me!", Garlan was in the depths of despair. He had lost half his inventory and one priceless potion in a single afternoon. Only he could understand the sheer physical pain of his wallet's sudden emptiness.
I just wanted to find a flower. How did I end up in the middle of a war zone?
"It's a good thing a priest didn't save you," Denken said flatly, sitting by the crackling fire. "If they heard you talk like that, they'd regret not sending you to hell themselves."
Denken's monocle glinted in the firelight. He held half a loaf of bread in his hand. Garlan noticed he had a habit of breaking bread into two pieces, but he only ever ate one. It made one wonder who the other half was meant for.
The firewood popped, sending sparks into the air. The warmth of the flames began to chase away the chill of the deep autumn night.
"Well, regardless," Reed said, "to kill a Great Demon and live to tell the tale—I can die happy now. It's just a shame there are no witnesses to spread the word of our glorious deeds. Isn't that right, Garlan?"
"Yeah, yeah..." Garlan didn't want to talk to this chatterbox anymore. If he'd known the man was this annoying, he might have hesitated to use that potion.
My precious medicine...
"I didn't expect to find a pharmacist of your caliber in a place like Rohguri," Denken said suddenly. He had been quiet since the battle, lost in thought.
"You flatter me. It was pure luck that I brewed that batch. I'm completely out of stock now," Garlan lied quickly, terrified that the future Imperial Grand Mage would try to place a bulk order. This stuff couldn't be mass-produced; Locke had practically scoured every corner of the North to find that one Purple Moon Dragon Grass.
"I've been thinking for a long time," Denken continued, turning his head to lock eyes with Garlan. "I don't recall ever meeting you. Yet, you seem... oddly familiar with me."
The sharp gaze behind the monocle seemed to pierce right through Garlan's skull.
His intuition is terrifying... as expected of Denken. Even in his thirties, the man possessed a ruthlessness in his observation that most people didn't acquire in a lifetime. No wonder he was able to survive the cutthroat politics of the Empire and eventually stand at the pinnacle of power.
Garlan's eyes dipped as his mind raced. Should I tell him? No. Better to keep the secret. Whether as a transmigrator or a Shadow Warrior, his true identity wasn't something to be shared.
"In my younger years, I traveled the North collecting herbs," Garlan said naturally, leaning on his training as a Shadow Warrior to fake a persona. "I visited many cities. Once, in Weise, I saw a young man with a monocle—just like yours—practicing magic by the lake with his teacher."
At the mention of "Weise," a rare look of confusion—or perhaps, painful nostalgia—flickered across Denken's face.
"Is that so? It seems we are tied by fate then. That boy was indeed me."
Denken turned his gaze away, falling silent. He didn't want anyone to see the tidal wave of emotion crashing behind his eyes.
Garlan knew. Mentioning his hometown was the one thing that could drown the ambitious mage in memories, forcing him to stop his interrogation. The early death of his wife, Lektüre, and the transformation of Weise into the "City of Gold" by Macht were wounds that Denken had buried deep. Outside that locked door in his heart, he was still just a boy with a medal on his chest, unable to face his own past.
"What brings you here, Denken? Just traveling?" Garlan asked, warming his hands.
"No... I'm passing through. My plan was to go to Weise to visit my wife's grave. But the remnants of the Demon King's army are causing chaos again. To enter the Northern Highlands, one needs a First-Class Mage certification, or the border guards won't let you through."
"The First-Class Mage Exam is coming up soon, isn't it? Aren't you going to take it? Otherwise, you'll have to wait three more years."
Denken didn't answer immediately. He stared into the fire, his cold profile illuminated by the orange glow.
"Perhaps I still need time to prepare... It might be better to return in a few years."
"I see." Garlan felt a pang of sympathy for him. What a tragic first half of a life—he had a brilliant future and a loving family, and the Goddess took it all away as a cruel joke.
At least, thirty years later, he would finally achieve his goal. After decades of waiting, a wish becomes an obsession, driving a gray-haired, hunched old man to march toward his home regardless of the abyss in his way.
"It's not easy, Denken," Reed said from his stone chair, his tone uncharacteristically somber. "You must have gone through a lot to get here."
He sighed. "I'm not much better. My wife just gave birth, and I'm out here instead of taking care of her. I can only write letters to her. It's a boy, so I named him Richter..."
Wait... what? Garlan's internal monologue screeched to a halt. Did you just say your son's name is Richter?
He looked past the bandages at Reed's face. There was a resemblance. Their personalities were polar opposites, but the features were there.
Is this another one of the Goddess's jokes?
Garlan bit back his shock, looking between Denken and Reed with a meaningful gaze.
If I told them that in thirty-some years, at the First-Class Mage Exam, Denken would be fighting side-by-side with Reed's son, Richter... I wonder what they'd think?
___
There's a few advance chapters on my P@treon
Usually upload 2 Chapters a day in there, except Saturday and Sunday
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