Actually, Roa cared more for the small pouch rather than the money inside it. Mir could be earned, one way or another, but a small bag that could carry items many times larger than what its size implied—its worth was far more than just the month’s living expenses.

 “Boy, are you sure you wanna keep that?” Morrow cautioned. “Nothing good comes from getting tangled up with a noble’s belonging. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. —Though if you’re willing to sell it…” 

“No thanks, I’m keeping it.” Roa replied, glancing at Morrow’s back leaving for the kitchen. 

It was heartwarming to see the greedy shopkeeper back at work, Roa even turned around to wipe off a stray tear. He looked up to the burly man as a mentor, if not a father figure, as he and Morrow always did share a vague familial bond.

Back then, Roa used to visit Gold Eye Tavern regularly to sell off his loot or seek advice. And on more than a few occasions, the things he’d learned from Morrow proved invaluable, especially during his time within the Spirit Domain.

However, at some point during his stay at the academy, Morrow left the city of Lyria and ever since, his whereabouts were unknown. Roa returned to the tavern only to see it reduced to rubbles, and the taverner nowhere in sight. With what happened to his arm, and his not so pleasant life in the academy, not knowing what happened to Morrow left him spiraling deeper into depression.

Roa would have to find out about the reason for the taverner’s disappearance sometime before these events ever recur. 

For now, he wore half a smile, tossed his burlap pouch upwards, caught it with the same hand, and played the sound of mir to set his good mood. 

He turned his gaze to the two potato sacks nibbling on cheap bread laid out on the counter. “Fellow students!” He announced, “Eat your fill! Know this young master will foot your bill!” It was the same statement made by a certain young noble’s follower.

“Order up!” As if on cue, Morrow returned with two steaming bowls accompanied by the pungent waft of cheese and spices. Ariene, who was laying on the counter, perked her nose and immediately sprung to life. The other potato sack, initially wary—her eyes shone a curious glint at Ariene diving heartily into the meal, then she also began to eat.

“Hey Morrow…” Roa wiped his saliva. Even though he’d already eaten, it seemed Morrow pulled out all the stops for the two girls’ meals. Attempting to stave off gluttony’s call, Roa redirected his attention to a request he had put in a few days earlier. He said, “About the thing I asked…” 

“It’s only been two days, lad. You think I’d find out that quickly?” Morrow replied.

“Bull! It’s been two days! I know how wide your connections are, don’t try to screw me over with the price!”

Morrow clicked his tongue, his only able eye raised with skepticism, “Normally, I would, but this time’s request is quite odd. No one has heard nor seen a fart from this guy. Are you sure he’s famous?”

“H-He should be well known,” Roa scratched his head, bewildered.

Morrow’s tavern was structured right in the middle of Lyria, and although customers don’t frequent it as much, business was still thriving. Information and requests still passed through here every day. Recently, a few of which appeared were Roa’s inquiries into friends from the past life.

There were those that Roa knew were unreachable in his current circumstances, and those he would eventually meet. One person he specifically tried to find, was someone he met and considered a close friend during his time inside the Spirit Domain. 

A friend who had never stopped looking for a missing loved one even after the Spirit Domain’s encroachment, hoping for a glimpse of them, even until the last moments of his life. —The 10th, seat of Hadar, the one who would pioneer a new way in which marksmanship was perceived in a fight. Roa wondered if he went by a different name outside of the Spirit Domain.

“Lucas Hargan, are you sure he doesn’t ring a bell?” Roa asked once more.

Morrow shook his head, “Nope, I’m gonna need some more time but… it looks like someone you picked up already has an idea.” The burly man caught a glimpse of a surprised reaction from Roa’s second potato sack and asked, “What did you say your name was, little lass?” 

The young lady beside Ariene flinched at Morrow’s question. “Yuria Illyas—many thanks for the meal,” she replied politely, afterwards meekly turning her head away to wipe her lips with a napkin.

Roa took a sip from a cup of coffee that Morrow bought. When he heard the young lady introduce herself, he almost spat the coffee out. Unintentionally he let out a curse, “Son of a—” as the lady’s name scratched a memory.

—Many a night by the campfire, Lucas Hargan with a bottle, yammering incessantly about the love of his life. Roa only had a vague recollection of her name, but heard enough of the woman’s features that he could probably draw an accurate portrait.

—“A fair beauty with a mesmerizing pair of lilac eyes. Long locks of captivating dark raven hair. Lovely jawline! A nose that flushed red whenever she was embarrassed. Oh, Roa! If I could only see her once more!”

Unconsciously, Roa had leaned in closer to Yuria, almost a hair’s breadth from her face while examining her features. The young lady was obviously flustered, with the tip of her nose sporting a bright cherry flush.

A dumb smile and eyes that sparkled with intrigue—features of Roa that Ariene recalled before she was suddenly embraced a few days back. Seeing his action, the woodland princess immediately stood from her seat.

She roared whilst Roa was deep in thought, “Keep your hands to yourself, beast!” Her fingers squeezed his cheeks and pushed him back. Then, she cautioned the young lady beside her, ”Beware, Yuria. This is a type of beast that lunges at any pretty girl he sees!”

“Ah, yes, I’ll take caution.” Yuria bowed her head slightly and chuckled. She asked, “May I have your name?”

“Ariene Diadora,” Ariene answered dutifully, then snapped her head back towards Roa.

Roa didn’t react at all to her accusing glare and kept his eyes on the blushing potato sack. He mumbled, “Illyas, hmm… Fair beauty, check. Purple eyes, check. Nose, check. Jawline… A smaller face than I’d pictured, but no wonder she seemed quite familiar.” And it was at this point that Ariene’s hold on his face tightened, causing immense pain that brought him back to his senses.

“Ah! No! Ariene, please!” At the risk of his jaw being completely dislocated, he quickly said, “—Yuria! D-do you know of someone named Lucas Hargan?”

The young lady straightened her back in surprise. She replied promptly with a subtle denial, but her eyes suddenly darted away from Roa’s and betrayed her answer. 

‘Tsk. Lucas. You mentioned everything except for the fact that the girl was this young.’ There was most certainly a relationship between the two, Roa thought.

The 10th, seat of Hadar, Lucas Hargan, was at an age between Roa and the fifty-ish taverner, Morrow. The young lady in front of him wore a gray tie. She would have to be around the same age as him and Ariene. 

While Roa believed everyone had circumstances, and he was obviously not one to pry, but—relative to his dear friend—this seemingly young lover was one topic he eagerly itched to bring up.

“Hahah, ease up, Yuria.” Roa raised both his palms. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. In your own time. Know that I mean that idio—Lucas no harm. And Ariene…? Would you pleaff leh me gho?” 

He would have continued to poke questions about his friend, but the inner walls of his cheeks being made to push against his teeth hurt quite a lot; Ariene’s grip was stronger than what her slender fingers let on.

Ariene released him at his pleading and returned to her chair. Propping her chin up on the counter, she asked, “Hey? Roa, is it? What is this? What do you plan on getting from this?”

‘Straight to the point as always,’ Roa thought. With the cold tone of voice used in the inquiry, he would have been intimidated, if it wasn’t for that one string of cheese hanging on the woodland princess’ chin.

“My plan, hm?” Roa held back a smirk. He tossed his burlap pouch into the air and sat back down. Chink! The few mir inside sounded, and each time they did, the time it took before he threw it back up took longer.

He began to ponder, ‘What would anyone do if they knew about the future? About the coming end of days? Would you tell everybody? Would they believe you? Of course they wouldn’t. People would think of you as a madman. —Maybe… I wonder if I should start a cult?’