novelraw Chapter 193: A fateful encounter.
Chapter 193: A fateful encounter.
A sunny day.
A joyous one.
Dong....
Dong...
Dong...
A continuous slow resonating chime rolled through the air.
Then came the sound of birds fluttering their wing, cutting into the frame as the scene panned down from one of the towering spires of a building within the main city.
Dong..
Another chime rang out across the sky, low and solemn.
A man, cloaked in deep black from head to toe, came to a halt at the mouth of a narrow alleyway.
His head turned slightly, just enough to glance over his shoulder toward the distant clock tower.
Under the shadow of his hood, his eyes narrowed.
Then came a gentle tug at his side, a light pinch at the hem of his cloak.
The fabric shifted faintly, and he turned his gaze downward, following the movement.
The hand that had grabbed him was slender, elegant.
His eyes traced it upward... and met her face.
Ilya.
Her eyes blinked once, slowly, as if locking in her next thought.
"Kelen, you promised not to run around. You said we’d actually spend time together today," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Then her gaze followed the path of his earlier glance. "Were you looking at the clock tower? I’ve heard the view from up there’s beautiful."
"We can go later." Kelen reached out, took her fingers gently.
A beat passed, his grip tentative, before he held it a little firmer, then lowered both their hands, enclosing hers in his palm. “A promise is a promise.”
“Good.” Ilya’s face lit up, her expression blooming like a flower under the sun.
She’d put real effort into her look today, and it showed.
A rare day off from the dungeon.
A full day to be spent beside the man she once hated… and somehow, now, loved.
People passed them by, the crowd loose and relaxed.
There was enough space between strangers to walk comfortably, no shoving or shoulder brushes.
The day had that sort of ease to it.
They strolled through a few more streets until something tugged at Ilya’s attention, a flash of color, a texture perhaps.
She grabbed Kelen’s hand and pulled him, her pace quickening.
It was a street stall.
Or more accurately, a small booth tucked beneath a broad, sun-bleached umbrella.
An elderly couple stood beneath it, taking refuge from the bright sun.
One of them offered a gentle smile to passersby.
The other busied himself at the rear, tending to portable wooden shelves stacked with neat rows of flowers.
Kelen’s eyes flicked to the base of the structure.
Small metal wheels peeked out beneath, sturdy enough to suggest the whole stand could be packed up and wheeled away in minutes.
“Miss? Any bouquet catch your eye?” the old man called, straightening as the two of them approached.
His apron was faded and threadbare, stained with murky patches.
His pants sagged slightly, worn at the hems, and his white collared shirt was clearly too large for his frame, shoulders drooping, sleeves rolled sloppily.
There were no homeless people in this city anymore.
But poverty? Poverty still clung to those who had fallen between the cracks.
Not everyone was young enough, or strong enough, to find work under the booming industries brought in by the ruling powers.
Native or not, it made little difference.
And the jobs under the Lord’s oversight, mines, operations, fieldwork, required physical standards most older folks just couldn’t meet.
“How much is this firefrost flower?” Ilya asked, her fingertip grazing the petals of a bouquet nestled at the front, a striking mix of blue and crimson bloom.
“Ahh, the flower of heart,” the old man said, instantly recognizing her choice.
He smiled, a little proudly. “Ten copper coins, miss. That’ll do.”
“Then I’ll take it,” she said with a nod. Then turned to Kelen, hand outstretched. “Give me money.”
...???
Kelen gave her a long-suffering look from under his hood.
He didn’t say anything, just exhaled lightly, pulled a pouch from inside his cloak, sorted through it, and handed the coins directly to the old man, completely bypassing her waiting hand.
Ilya stuck her tongue out at him in return, then grabbed the bouquet with both hands, pulling it close and inhaling its scent.
“Mmh... It’s fresh.”
They were just about to leave when the old man suddenly raised his hand, hesitating, then called out.
“If it’s not too much to ask… may I trouble you for something?”
“Pardon?” Ilya turned back.
Kelen did too, though his expression was unreadable, less engaged than hers, more guarded.
“Yes, go ahead…” she said, stepping closer.
The two of them moved back under the shade of the umbrella.
The old man came around from behind the stand, hands clasped, his back bowed as he approached.
“I’ve already reported this to the Sentry Guard under Lord Elias,” he began, voice rough with age. “But there’s still been no news about my daughter’s disappearance.”
“Your daughter’s missing?” Ilya’s expression changed. “The recent disappearance cases, I—”
But the old man cut her off with a hasty shake of his head.
“My daughter wasn’t like those others,” he said. “She didn’t just wander off.”
He bowed deeper. “She went to apply for work. A job at a pharmacist’s shop in the city. The guards did check, but found nothing. No signs of her whatsoever."
"I tried going there myself, but that man... Just a glance, he gave me a creepy feeling as if I was being watched by something, not human... "
The old man hesitated, fingers trembling, "I didn't dare to enter inside the shop, and I am unable to do anything else."
His voice wavered. “But my gut... it keeps telling me she’s still there.”
A pause.
“That’s why I came to you. Respected Awakeners. I want to request a commission.”
"I can tell that you two are not ordinary."
Surprisingly, Ilya didn’t flinch at being recognized. People often underestimated just how many could tell.
Still, she shook her head gently. “We’re not allowed to take commissions outside the Adventurer Guild’s jurisdiction, old man. If you can, go through the proper channels. Come to us with formal papers.”
“I can’t,” he said simply, quietly.
“Can’t?” Her brow furrowed.
The old man slowly lifted his right sleeve to the elbow, revealing a dark, scorched mark, a bold X seared into his skin.
Ilya’s breath caught.
...Slave marks.
Her mouth closed instantly.
A mark like that meant he was permanently bound to whoever had purchased him.
Unless that owner died, this old man would never hold legal identity. Never file paperwork. Never speak as a free man.
Currently, there was no system or countermeasure in this city against this issue.
How he’d even managed to escape into the city… she didn’t want to ask.
Before she could say anything else, Kelen took a step forward.
His arm stretched out, his hand gripping the old man’s shoulder, not roughly, but firm enough to lift him out of the bow.
And for a moment, the frail elder stood face to face with a towering figure well over 1.9 meters.
“I’ll take it,” Kelen said quietly.
His voice wasn’t loud.
But something in it made the air still.
Perhaps a sense of his never ending duty?
The hunger to kill those creatures?
Under the hood, his face remained unreadable, his expression calm, cold.
His eyes, though, carried distance.
They looked like they’d stared into death too many times.
Because they had.
“Kelen…” Ilya murmured from the side, stunned. Then, after a pause, she bit her lower lip. “You really are…”
“It’s fine.”
He gave her a sidelong glance, then turned back to ask the old man a few more questions, pressing gently for more information.
And once they had enough, they left the stand.
Their path took them beyond the city’s core.
The further they went, the more the crowd shifted, outsiders, former refugees, even marked slaves filled these outer edges.
Still, life here had improved. Food was more stable. People were safer.
As they walked, Ilya kept glancing toward Kelen.
She opened her mouth a few times, meaning to say something, maybe a thank you, maybe a protest, but the words never quite left her throat.
Today is their day! She wanted to say this, but in a way, she doesn't want to be selfish.
He noticed, of course. He always did.
But still, he walked forward, silent.
He couldn’t turn away.
Not after hearing what that old man had said. Not after learning the truth about what was really happening in this territory.
Anger?
The anger, rage, and the never ending feelings of wanting, to destroy... Those monsters...
Kelen, he was confused...
He too, doesn't understand his own self.
Eventually, they arrived.
It was a quiet little shop tucked into the outermost corner of the city.
Few people roamed here, just a sparse handful.
Only the occasional patrol of dark-armored knights gave the place a sense of order.
A sense of security that clashed with the silence hanging over the district.
The two came to a quiet stop just outside the shop’s wooden door, the kind that looked like it hadn’t seen fresh paint in years.
An odd one given the time this city was established.
Kelen lifted his gaze, eyeing the weathered sign above with a slow exhale.
“Dark Cauldron Pharmacist Shop, huh.”
"Quite a style he has chosen to go with... "
He read the words aloud, voice low, more to himself than to Ilya.
A few quick glances left and right, checking the exterior, then his gaze slid to the side, where Ilya stood rigid, her expression folded with unease.
Her brows were slightly drawn, lips parted just enough to suggest hesitation, and her shoulders stiffened as though caught between two decisions.
Kelen’s eyes softened a little, a sigh slipping out. He knew why she looked like that.
Today was supposed to be different.
He promised a proper outing, something normal for once.
No danger, no leads, no business with cursed beings or shady shops.
Just a date. Just her.
Yet here they were, standing in front of a place that reeked of mystery.
Trying to do the right thing, huh? Or maybe he was just feeding the thing inside him.
That obsession. That itch that never left.
At the slightest hint, the craving would crawl up his spine again, the need to hunt them, those things that shouldn’t exist.
That shouldn’t breathe. That shouldn’t walk.
He clenched his jaw for a second.
Then quietly muttered, “I’m sorry.”
No further words.
He pushed the door open with a firm hand, the bell above it giving a soft ring. Ilya hesitated just for a moment.
Her fists were clenched at her sides, nails pressing into her palms, but she stepped in after him without a sound.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs, mint, licorice root, something vaguely floral.
The shop was dim but not dark, lined with plain wooden shelves.
Each one was filled with carefully labeled bottles, some clear, some darkened, all tightly sealed.
Glass jars held crushed powders, roots, dried petals, and more mysterious things that neither of them bothered identifying.
Tables were neatly arranged in rows, each with different ingredients laid out in orderly chaos.
Then came the sound, thud, soft, almost graceful.
The door behind the reception counter cracked open, and from it stepped a man dressed in a sharply cut black suit.
His shoes didn’t even make a sound on the old wooden floor.
He adjusted the silver monocle perched over his left eye, and smiled.
It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t cold. It was gentle, unsettlingly so.
A man like that shouldn’t be running a place like this.
It felt, out of place.
“Greetings, guests,” he said, voice smooth like tea on a tired throat. “My name is Sayfein. What can I help y
ou with today?”
Kelen didn’t answer immediately.
His eyes narrowed, locked onto Sayfein’s face with a sharpness that cut through the quiet air between them.
So this was how it started, two strangers, standing across from one another.
One smiling.
The other, scrutinizing.
What a fateful encounter it is.