The tent was wide enough for four people and modest at best. The Bavasr’s Sentry was able to petition to his superior, and got Arlene and Wattyson their own private one.

  Inside were basic necessities such as bed rolls, a small lamp positioned on a small stool front of the bedrolls. It was the first thing Wattyson noticed and frowned.

  He immediately flopped onto the soft rolls, head turned to that lamp. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  Arlene sat on hers, already unbuckling part of her armours. “What is?”

  “That lamp.” He gestured with a tilt of his lip lazily, uncaring if Arlene was looking at him or not. “What if someone with terrible sleep posture knocks the lamp down? I don’t particularly enjoy being smoked.”

  “Being what?” She finally turned to him, her eyebrows raised clueless to what he was trying to imply.

  “Arlene. I don’t want to be set on fire because you might have a bad sleeping posture.”

  Her eyes shot to the lamp before back to him. “Oh!” She laughed it off. “Don’t worry. This is mana-fuelled lamp. They don’t have oil or candles or whatever flammable in them.”

  “How do they work?”

  “Uhh,” It stretched out as her mind raced to find necessary words—not for him to understand, but because she was never one to explain something basic like a mana lamp. “It runs on manasteel! You push your own mana onto this… small blue box that has bunch of wires to it then the wires shot out to the runes inside, activating the light magic embedded into that runes.”

  He didn’t reply, kept his view on her through the corners of his eyes. Moments passed before he turned his head fully onto the bedroll. “I see,” he said muffled by the buried face.

  She in the meanwhile, slowly undoing her armour. The clanking sounds and the few thuds as she dropped her armour pieces contrast the lively cheers outside their tent. The celebration to Xylia, Rinea and Naciv for braving with the Chosen One and stopped the evil menace in Floor 40.

  Her eyes occasionally darted to the numerous silhouette outside her tent. Softened at the sight with a small tug of smile, she let them have that recognition. She’d had enough celebratory cheer to herself for a lifetime.

  Glancing over to her companion, she wondered if he felt relieved to not be part of that. The man himself was anti-social after all. Yet even she had a hard time to tell, after all, the man in question was lying very still on the bed roll with his face into the floor.

  She crawled over to poke him, playfully before forcibly jabbing at him. “Watty,” she whispered, “Are you still alive?”

  A muffled groan. “Of course, I’m alive. Cease your poking.”

  “Just checking.” She sat with her leg crossed, facing him. “Do you want me to check on your wounds? Maybe dress them further?”

  “No. I’m fine.”

  “Really? Then… why aren’t you changing clothes?”

  “…” For a time, he didn’t reply. “Come again?”

  “Why aren’t you stripping?” She said with earnest. Rather unbecoming of the Chosen One, she started yanking on his robe’s hood as if pulling that out would undo all of his attire. She pulled with all her strength, Wattyson’s entire upper body began to arch up. Even more so his head was fully raised with the collar pushing against his neck.

  “S-Stop! What are you doing!?” He said with jagged breath.

  “Helping you strip!”

  It wasn’t long until he realized Arlene was sitting beside him, not on top of him. He began rustling his body, spinning and rolling around with such precision and speed it started leaving afterimage.

  “W-Wha?” Her grip tightened. “What are you—“

  “What are you doing?! Why are you asking me to strip?!”

  “You’re wearing your robes over your wound dressing over your other attire! You kept complaining you’re sweating! Don’t you want out of that?!”

  He stopped rolling around and brushed her hand off. Afterward, he sat lounging forward. His voice low and monotone. “Why didn’t you start with that?”

  She for her part had her arms crossed. “Well why didn’t you do so too? You’re the one complaining,” she retorted while mumbling.

  “I forgot.”

  “WHAT?!” Her eyes squinted real hard to the man currently massaging his collar induced trauma neck. “How?”

  “…The Human body is capable of many things.” His voice started low before gradually increase in theatrics. “I was sweating and feeling stuffy like oh jolly gosh—“

  “Why are you talking like that?” She added in quickly.

  He ignored it. “—because I was moving about the whole time since we exited from the dungeon. When you dragged me along to follow that sentry and into this tent. I simply stopped moving my muscles.” He flourished to himself, tapping his chest twice. “Essentially I stop burning energy and the body relaxed. Hence I no longer feel stuffy and accept it to be my natural state localized in that moment in time.”

  Her eyes remained wide and done with him. A small sigh escaped her. “Are you going to strip or no?”

  “I will now because you reminded me of a state I wasn’t in earlier.” He began undoing his robe, revealing that purple shirt with the bandages over it. Suddenly he paused.

  “Why are you stopping?”

  He turned his back to her. “Pervert.”

  A loud groan was let out as she dragged a hand across her face, yet despite that she was still smiling. She shifted a bit before lying down on her bedroll, eyes remained on him.

  “Hey, Watty. Mind if I ask something?” Voice softened to a whisper, betraying all the earlier tone.

  He looked over his shoulder before returning back. “That does seem to be a theme since Tamare.” A small pause. “Ask away.”

  “Yeah… it does, huh?” Arlene lay on her back, arm rested on her eyes. “What did Xylia reminded you of?” She promised herself to ask that when the quiet arrived. It arrived.

  She continued, “You said it yourself, even allowing her to call you sage and wave your staff around.” She didn’t need to look at him. Her entire senses diverted to her hearing—the small shift in his bandages and the rustling of him folding his robe. Small disturbance in the rhythm occurred every time she asked.

  Her lip part once more though barely opened. “You don’t have to if it’s still—“ She didn’t get to finish.

  “I used to have someone like that. A homunculus.”

  “Homunculus?” she repeated. An alchemy construct wasn’t unheard of, but she wouldn’t think someone like him to have one as a companion—at least it sounded like he had one like that. “What was it like?”

  An empty chuckle let out. “Small. Loud. I found her back then and she grew and raised up all theatrical. She was always fond of those fantasy stories and books. Declared herself the Arlequina of Time and Space.”

  The way he was saying it, Arlene could feel like he was mourning it still. That wasn’t even to say this ‘homunculus’ grew up? Homunculus was construct with limited sentience and wouldn’t grow up. She brushed it off.

  “Arlequina of Time and Space? Quite the title.” She tried breaking the ice. “Must’ve been quite a handful for you.”

  “Yeah, sure is.” He lay down now seemingly staring to the green ceiling swaying from the winds and the noises outside. “Every time at dinner, she would declare ‘The Scrumptious Feast has begun’, and somehow managed to fling all the vegetables over to my plate.”

  His voice grew softened, filling with nostalgia. “I still don’t know how she was only ninety centimetres in height, yet had more energy than a child.”

  Arlene quickly perked up to sitting, arms holding her steady from behind. “Huh?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I was with her for a long while and she always insist her age passed adult hood but her height,” another chuckle wearily this time, “Still the shortie.”

  “You can’t be serious? She’s… ninety centimetres?”

  “Oh yes. There were days she would bring a crate over just to stand on it then read out her fictions to a bunch of people. All those fictions were all about praising herself for something she did that day—be it chores or just watering the plants.”

  “You’re really fond of her, huh?” She drew her knees up. “What was her name?”

  “…Nini.”

  “Nini,” she repeated in a wishful whisper. “…What happened to her?”

  His eye shut, followed by rhythmic breathing. A sign of coping? “I don’t know for sure. Last I got in a scroll stated she was KIA in… some adventures.”

  His shoulder felt rigid and hardened every time she squeezed. She didn’t even realize her hand was gripping on his unconsciously. Nevertheless, she didn’t relent her hold away. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” he sighed. “I’m over it.”

  Rarely did he open himself up, Arlene knew of this. In Tamare and now, he was never used to saying goodbye. Perhaps with Nini, he never got the proper closure—still mourning. She wanted to push further with care. If she was KIA, then did he truly believe it, or what if deep down, he still harboured hope she still lived?

  Hope, what a precocious word when it involved him. Everything he did from what she knew never spoke of hope. There was always this feeling of ‘Finality’ with him. All of his actions were that of control no matter how small. That stung her a bit—spiralling into thinking if her relation with him the way it was because he controlled it to be that way.

  She shook her head, perishing the thought. Point remained, she didn’t know how to go about it nor did she know where to continue the conversation after that. Wattyson wasn’t exactly a topic initiator person.

  “Hey,” She nudged his forearm with a foot. “Can you tell me about Naciv?”

  His eyes opened just a tiny bit and turned to her, his eyebrows raised. “Why?” He asked in his now return monotonous voice.

  “Well…” she trailed it off as once again drawing her knees up. “I thought I should know since apparently you got a vampire to work for you. You’re not exactly shown to be well off with vampire usually. What gives? Why him? You even trust him with that fake story.”

  Her gaze lingered onto him, earnestly sending a message; Please tell me!

  Wattyson picked on it as he sat straight. He leaned onto the small stool, wobbling the lamp a bit. “I guess letting you know wouldn’t hurt.” A small groan as he lowered down to rest an elbow on his knee.

  “You’re going to be hunchback you know?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt for a time.” His knuckle dug deep into his cheek. “Where do I even start?”

  “Maybe you can start with how you met him?”

  “Ah,” His knuckle opened into a palm. “To be honest, I just met him recently too in Toulasi. Do you remember that adventurer? The one came talking to me after my registration?”

  She remembered. There was one talking to him after he got that C rank. The one she teased if that was his new friends. That was Naciv?

  “That was Naciv?” She said it aloud. “I never knew…”

  “I doubt you did. You only saw his back.”

  She crossed her arms, leaning in. “So?” She said with a faint smile, “What was the great conversation about? Did he come to you because he recognized you as Anathema and beg for his life?”

  Wattyson eyes sharpened and looked at her, brows raised. “Beg? What am I, some kind of executioner?”

  “Mayhaps?”

  “Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No. Well, half right. He recognized and came to thank me.” He raised a lazy finger pointing at the accessory Arlene was wearing—the headband. “He’s her sister.”

  She brushed on the headband. “Neciel?” That came out too fast.

  A small nod. “Yeah. Thanked me for granting her a swift death.”

  “That’s…” This whole time, she was in a group with Neciel’s brother. Did Naciv know? No, he had to know. That was probably why he came to thank Wattyson in the first place. Wait, if he knew…

  “Watty! Doesn’t that mean the secret in Tamare leak out?!” She said with full abrupt urgency. Vampire society as he had explained didn’t take kindly to being expose. Wouldn’t Tamare be in trouble to getting wipe out?

  Her worry was waved off. “It’s fine. He swore to secrecy. He told me her sister escaped their vampire society and lived in hiding. Only the brother knew and came to visit Tamare—amidst the time the villagers were cleaning the Mound up. I heard he participated in helping clean up the place too after noticing the claw and bite marks.”

  “R-really?” She whispered out, eyes lingering yet alert. “He really swore to keep it a secret.”

  “Yeah. Swore to clean off any traces of it outside of Tamare too. It’s either that or I chop him in half, so.”

  “Why are you saying that so nonchalantly!”

  “What? He’s a vampire! It’s inevitable he’ll get the blade one day.”

  Arlene could only kick him in the shin. “Ughh… you and your hunter’s day… so, why did he help clean up the place? He isn’t Tamare.”

  He didn’t answer right away, instead reaching into his blackhole for a glass of orange squash first. “Well,” he said as he gulped it down, “It’s because Naciv still believe he can be human, and he cherish his sister and himself.”

  “I don’t get it. Cherish his sister and ‘himself’?”

  “Yeah,” he pulled out another glass for her, “You remember what I said about vampire society right? How they’re very secretive about their existence just like all of the supernatural.”

  She accepted the glass and took small sip. “Yeah, if they are exposed, they will utilize military responses just to keep themselves hidden from the mundane world.”

  “Quite right. They are also hard on their own people. Neciel defected, then live with the Tamare’s Elder. Ordinary if she was caught, only her would be punished. In a vampire society however…” His eyes darted briefly, “Defector will ensure the entire death of anyone considered close. Neciel close of kin that wasn’t a sire, was Naciv.”

  “You’re saying—“ she didn’t finish.

  “If by some miracles, Naciv’s clan discover traces of their kindred in Tamare. It meant there’s a defector in the clan and to ensure there’ll be no more insubordinate, they will wipe out anyone connected to Neciel, even if the person in question was gone. He helped more for the sister’s memory and a little to protect his own existence.”

  Her gaze dropped to the soft tent floor. “Isn’t that too cruel?”

  “Nothing is too cruel for the supernatural.” He said it as a matter of fact. “Defector meant other could do the same. If other did the same, more control is lost and eventually exposure. Vampires aren’t numerous like us human, elves or any other sentient beings. They are powerful but limited. Their grip on their own kinds is something they wish to never let go of.”

  She curled her arms around her knee, putting down that glass of sweet citrus. “Is that why you recruited him way before the dungeon? Because you needed someone to make sure the fake story in Tamare stay that way?”

  “Nah.”

  “NAH?!” Her head jerked up almost instantly. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN NAH?!”

  “Hey! Keep your voice down! We’re surrounded by celebratory chatter. Let’s not waste that before we all have to speak in a hush whisper.” He shifted closer. “Quite frankly I hate speaking in whisper.”

  “I-Ugh. You’re the worst.” Another kick to his shin, somehow forced him sideway. “If not that, then what? What did you recruit him for?”

  “Because of what you all were saying. You and Anire.”

  “Us? About what?” He did it because of us? She only knew of supernatural from him and Anire probably didn’t know any of it. What could possibly drive him to… Wait…

  She kicked his shin again, but didn’t retract her foot. “Is it about the corrupted blood?”

  “Ye.”

  “When?” She didn’t let him answer. Her head was already retracing everything. “Was it after the Gavituth’s quest? You left us to go back to the inn, or so you claimed?”

  He raised both palms up. “Hey, to my credit, I was before I got lost. Didn’t have anything better to do so—“

  “—so you tracked down Naciv and recruit him?” Her eyes narrowed onto him. “Was it… a peaceful recruitment at least?”

  “Ye.” He answered straight on. Arlene studied him intensively. Her gut feeling was telling her that was a lie.

  “Ok,” She decided not to push it. “Why? It’s not supernatural related.”

  “It could be.” He retorted, shrugging it away. “The Chosen One, you, has defeated the Dark Lord. It has been two years since as you have told me. I do not doubt for a second the supernatural factions are moving in to fill that power vacuum.”

  A deep breath he took, “You and Anire have explained that ‘corrupted blood’ can only be found on high ranking Demon, yet now we found evidence that it existed in that Gavituth, probably manufactured even.”

  Arlene gulped. If the supernatural were behind them, she was lucky to meet Wattyson in the Red Grove. Did her mentor know of this? No, we were moving too fast. “Watty,” she said with a steady gaze, “Are the supernatural behind it?”

  “Nah—at least not here. When we started the dive, Naciv told me no factions are doing so near Toulasi. However, we don’t know of the Far Tundra.”

  “Far Tundra? Wait… factions? Plural?” Her eyes widened. “There are others in Toulasi?!”

  He looked to her confused. “Of course there are. I told you. Supernatural are everywhere, why wouldn’t they be? So far I guess exposed to you are vampire like Naciv and werewolf like that one we fought.”

  He faked a cough. “Anyway, yeah Naciv could only scoop around enough to not get eaten by his kindred. Alas, I only recruited him a day or two before we met again so probably in a month time, he’ll be able to get me info from that far.”

  She sighed. “I doubt you’ll be staying in Toulasi for a month.”

  “Of course not, I hate civilization. I’m already homesick for my grove’s cabin.” She could see his eyes still darted. Making sure there was no one nearby to listen in.

  “Also,” he added, “I doubt even if I stay here a month, he’ll get me probable results. He now has to maintain that fake dungeon’s story with Xylia and Rinea after all.”

  “Right,” she nodded before softening her tone. “Hey, Watty. Should-Should we tell Anire?”

  “What for?” He returned with the same tone.

  “About the Supernatural. I… I promised her we’ll travel together, you know, when you ‘were going back to the inn’. I talked to her face-to-face. She agreed to come with us and explore ruins and dungeons together.” She giggled to herself at the thought. “I wanted to find out if the prophecy was all there is to it; just slaying the Dark Lord. Anire want to find ways to increase her mana threshold.”

  “Ughh…,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “That neko is such a loose cannon. You saw her hell-bent on making me drink her concoction. What do you think is going to happen if you tell her supernatural exist? She probably takes it in well—so well she’ll be hoping to drug and dissect one.”

  Arlene’s lip parted once then closed before reopening again. “I guess that’s true,” a soft chuckle followed, “but I promised her though. I think it’s better to tell her now than letting her see one.” She turned to him. “Y-you’re not angry I didn’t consult you about her joining, are you?”

  He shrugged lethargically. “Why would I be? It’s your party, I kinda figured with your goodness nature, you’ll take her in anyway.”

  “Hey! Goodness nature? What does that mean?” Her cheeks puffed. “If you’re gonna compliment me, do it properly without veiled mocking too!”

  “Yes yes, of course. You are truly befitting the title of the Chosen One. Happy?”

  “Whatever, O’ Grand Chaos.”

  His tongue clicked. “Well, if you want to tell her,” he tilted his head to her, smiling faintly, “You can do so, I trust you.” He immediately flopped down onto the bedroll, turning away from her.

  “Oui!” She slammed a fist and palm into the ground repeatedly, “You can’t do that! That’s cheating!”

  “I don’t care. Though preferably, I want to see you tell her when I’m in the vicinity. Just to be safe.”

  “Tch, what a problematic companion I picked up.”

  “Forced along.”

  “PICKED UP! You came with me willingly after I met you in the Red Grove.”

  “Ehh, details don’t matter.” He then groaned in pain after a kick landed firmly into his back.

  Arlene lay afterward, staring up to the swaying ceiling. “Problems for the tomorrow me then. Goodnight, Watty.”

  “Night, the Chosen One.” Another kick landed.

  The tent fell silent while a celebration was happening outside.