Chapter 220: The Refugee Camp (3)
“Puhaa! Huh? Aren’t you drinking, Mister?”
“I’m embarrassed to say that I’m not good with alcohol. Besides, under this mask lies a face marred by an old injury. I could take it off if you don’t mind losing your appetite…”
“No need to push yourself! But it seems like a waste of good drink…”
After saying this, Nord briefly glanced at the goblet and I silently offered it to him. Apologizing with a “sorry about this” Nord eagerly gulped down the goblet. Drinking is fine, but I hope he doesn’t get so drunk that he can’t talk.
Fortunately, Nord seemed to handle his liquor quite well. The tavern’s alcohol was weak, so even after downing two drinks quickly, he wasn’t drunk. Now in a good mood, he ordered another round. He really seemed to enjoy his drink.
“Well then, shall we talk about Yaro?”
For Nord, it seemed alcohol was a kind of lubricant for conversation. He began to share story after story about Yaro. They were mostly trivial tales, nothing particularly surprising or impressive. In fact, the conversations overheard in the tavern were more interesting than his stories.
The tavern’s customers were, of course, mostly refugees. Listening to them, I began to get a vague understanding of their circumstances. They weren’t fleeing from any specific country but seemed to be from nearly all the northern countries destroyed by the Republic army.
Apparently, they had scattered and fled to various countries as refugees. As a result, the refugees formed groups based on their countries of origin, turning into factions. This led to territorial disputes in the refugee camps and competition for jobs in the city.
Refugees were concentrated in a single camp, yet they were far from being united. Interestingly enough, this tavern seemed to be a gathering spot for the few refugees from different countries. Was alcohol really that alluring? As someone who didn’t drink, such a sentiment was foreign to me.
The places where one could drink alcohol were limited, and causing trouble meant being banned by the owner and forced to leave. This seemed to be the reason why we were not provoked or attacked, even though there were many who looked at us in a hostile way.
Moreover, the refugees’ opinions about the residents of the royal capital were divided. While some were grateful to be allowed to stay despite the locals’ displeasure, others were frustrated at being relegated to only the most undesirable jobs. There also seemed to be a small faction intent on inciting riots.
However, those spreading these rumors appeared to have no concrete information about who the leaders of this faction were or when they might act. I haven’t heard any such rumors inside the royal capital, so this might mean that this faction, if it did exist, was likely a force with almost no power.
“That’s about all I know regarding Yaro. By the way, how did you come to know him, Mister?”
“Well, about that…”
I narrated a story to Nord; this one was actually based on true facts but slightly altered for my purposes. I said that I once joined a mercenary band with my family to fight in the war against the Republic, only to be gravely wounded and left for dead. I was rescued by a high-ranking spiritualist, but this person turned out to be a madman who visited battlefields seeking materials for human experimentation.
I said that Yaro, too, was abducted by this crazed spiritualist since he was targeted for his rare spiritual talents. The spiritualist conducted numerous experiments on us, during which Yaro learned the basics of spiritual arts and retaliated. He managed to inflict minor injuries on the spiritualist, but in his rage, the spiritualist dealt Yaro a fatal blow.
Seizing the opportunity presented by the spiritualist’s loss of composure which was in turn fueled by anger from being bitten by his experimental subject and regret over having killed it, I struck and defeated him. I then joined up with my friends, only to find that many had fallen in the war. Realizing that continuing to fight would lead to the extinction of our family, I chose to wander away from the battlefield.
During my travels, I saved a nobleman’s daughter from bandits. She took a liking to me, and I ended up being hired as her guard, traveling with her to the central part of the continent. Considering it was an improvised story, it seemed quite well-crafted.
“Gulp, gulp… Ahh… So you went through all that, huh? It seems like a more tragic end than I thought. It really doesn’t suit you, honestly.”
While sipping from the goblet that had been brought during our conversation, Nord spoke in a sympathetic tone. Perhaps because he was tipsy, he seemed to believe my story readily.
Well, now I’ve heard what I wanted to hear. I picked up enough gossip from the tavern as well. All that was left was to pay Nord his reward and wait for the vigilantes who would likely come to fetch me. It was just as I was about to leave that Nord made a remark that I couldn’t ignore.
“And look at that, Olivia wasn’t really betrayed after all?”
Olivia. When I heard that name, I realized I needed to hear more of Nord’s story. Suppressing my impatience, I asked Nord about her.
“Do you know of Olivia? Before he died, Yaro asked me to take care of her if anything happened to him.”
“To entrust her to you like that… It seems Yaro was really serious about buying her freedom.”
Olivia was a fragment of Yaro’s memories I had glimpsed and she was a prostitute he cherished the most. He had sincerely intended to buy her freedom from the brothel and marry her.
Then, it was necessary to inform Olivia of Yaro’s death and to take care of her if she wished so. Even if she declined, I had to give her enough money to ensure she wouldn’t struggle for a while. This was the least I could do as a tribute to Yaro, who was pitifully killed just because he was compatible with me, and it was something I had resolved to do myself long ago.
“So, about Olivia…”
“She’s dead. Died about two years ago.”
“I see…”
However, it appeared that I was unable to fulfill my vow. Olivia had died before I had the chance to meet her. The moment I learned of her death, all the strength drained from my body, which had been leaning forward eagerly just seconds before.
Leo and Lappy looked up at me with concern as I sat there, disheartened. Despite my feelings of regret, there was nothing I could do since the person I owed a debt to was no longer alive. I communicated to them telepathically that I was alright and tried to stand up again.
“The most pitiful one is the kid. He lost his mother before he was even fully aware, you know.”
“The kid…? Could it be!”
“Yeah, Olivia’s son. No doubt he’s Yaro’s child. You can see it in his eyes; they’re just like Yaro’s.”
Saying this, Nord pointed at his own forehead. The third eye was a distinctive characteristic of the Reka race, just like Yaro. It was highly unlikely that there were many rare Reka race members among Olivia’s guests, so there was no doubt that the boy was his child
I was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness when I heard of Olivia’s death, but I was pleasantly surprised to hear that she had a son. I couldn’t help but ask where he might be. I found myself leaning forward eagerly once again.
“Do you know where this son might be?”
“Yeah. There’s a hangout for kids without parents, and he should be there. Even though he’s only four or five, he’s like the brains of the bunch.”
Nord remarked that the boy was unlike either his father or mother, as he heartily laughed before downing his liquor. I had no memory of Yaro having a child when I became a demon. This meant the boy must have been born after Yaro was captured. Considering the timeline, the child being four or five years old made sense. The likelihood of him being Yaro’s child became even higher.
It was unfortunate that he wasn’t growing up in a better environment, and I was concerned about his health among other things. What interested me more was that he was around the same age as Lappy when I first met her and yet he already held a position like the brain of the abandoned children.
Could he be a so-called prodigy? I would know once I met him. And if I went to the vigilante group, they would surely know where the children’s hangout was. I placed some of the money I had on the table and offered it to Nord.
“Whoa! Is this really for me!?”
“It’s a token of thanks for your information. Please take it.”
“Heheheh! Thanks a bunch! Hey, another round here!”
Perhaps the reward money was enough, as Nord ordered another drink with visible joy. As he reveled in his good fortune, I couldn’t help but think he might spend it all on drinks by the end of the day. With this thought, I made my way out of the tavern.
After the three of us stepped outside, I couldn’t help but take a deep breath. Fortunately, the smell alone hadn’t made me drunk, but it was true that I had been surrounded by an odor I disliked. Even though it meant inhaling the foul stench of the refugee camp, I personally found it better than alcohol.
“Um…”
“Hm? Ah, the vigilante group from earlier. I’d like you to show me the way to your base.”
“Yes, right this way!”
While taking deep breaths, someone hesitantly approached me. They were members of the vigilante group that had taken away Heinz and his henchmen. It seemed like they had been waiting near the entrance of the tavern for us to appear.
There was no reason to refuse their guidance, so I quickly followed them to the vigilante group’s base. They formed a protective formation around us, but it was clear that their attention was focused outward, not on us. It was clear that they considered their role to be that of escorts, not captors.
“This is the place. The leader is waiting for you inside.”
“Thank you.”
The vigilante group’s headquarters wasn’t a hut but a rather large tent. However, although I called it a tent it was actually a combination of multiple tents, likely larger inside than the shabby tavern we had been in. The captain of the vigilante unit that escorted us lifted the cloth at the entrance, so I thanked him and went inside.
The interior of the base was just as spacious as I had expected and more orderly than I had anticipated. In the center stood a large, scarred table, surrounded by chairs with missing backs and legs. At the edge of the tent, a tattered barrel had a pole propped against it.
Though tidy, everything seemed to be second-hand or salvaged and barely functional. Considering they were a vigilante group in a refugee camp, it must have been difficult for them to procure such equipment. They seemed to be struggling too.
“Welcome, please come in… Oh?”
“You are…”
Across from the entrance, on the other side of the long table, stood a lone man. As the unit captain had described it, this man was likely the leader of the vigilante group.
However, I had just recently met this individual. He was part of the group that had come to petition for support during my visit to the royal city of Gaelia. This person, who appeared to be their captain, was the leader of the vigilante group.
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TN: Wait, so does that mean mc technically has a son?
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