Chapter 191: Chapter 191: Business and Responsibility
The back room of the tavern was quieter, tucked away from the bustle of laughter and clinking mugs outside. Its walls still carried the faint scent of new timber, though the table at the center was scratched and worn from years of use—kept more out of mory than necessity. Arden closed the door behind them with a firm push, sealing out the noise.
"Sit, boy," he said, gesturing to the table. His voice had the sa rough edge as always, but beneath it lingered a sense of familiarity, almost comfort.
Trafalgar lowered himself into the chair, posture relaxed, his dark cloak draping over the side. Marella, ever bustling, pulled out a chair across from him and gave a warm smile. "You must be hungry, Trafalgar. Shall I fix you sothing? It won’t take long."
He gave her a single nod. "Yes. We can eat while we talk—it’s going to be a long conversation."
"Then I’ll see to it." Marella disappeared toward the kitchen, skirts brushing lightly against the floor. The door swung shut behind her, leaving Trafalgar and Arden alone.
The silence between them was heavier than in the front hall. Arden crossed his arms, leaning against the wall for a mont before moving to sit opposite Trafalgar. His gaze was steady, asuring.
"So, boy," he began, voice low, "how have you been? Rumors travel fast—faster than ale, faster than fire. We’ve heard plenty. Even from the man who brought Mayla here."
Trafalgar rested his arms on the table, eting the old man’s stare without flinching. "If you an the loss of my uncle, then yes, I’ve heard what’s being said. But don’t worry. I’ll tell you directly."
Arden leaned forward, his elbows pressing into the table. The flickering lamplight carved lines into his weathered face. "I’ll be blunt, Trafalgar. Rumors aren’t just rumors anymore. We’ve heard about Mordrek, about the dragon, about Valttair’s duel. It’s spread across Velkaris like wildfire."
Trafalgar exhaled slowly through his nose, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. "Then let
put it plainly. Yes—my uncle is gone. Mordrek was... different. A decent man. A husband, a father. I respected him. But if you expect grief for the Morgain family as a whole, don’t. I’ve no fondness for them."
Arden’s sharp eyes narrowed, studying him. "And the Gluttony Dragon?"
"My father defeated it," Trafalgar answered without hesitation. "The scale was massive, even though it was one against one. There’s no hiding sothing like that. If people don’t know yet, they will soon."
The old man grunted, leaning back. "So it’s true, then. Hm. But let
ask you this, boy—how are you holding up? Don’t give
that stone-faced nonsense. You’re sixteen. Old enough to call yourself a man, sure, but still young enough to be broken by things like this."
For a mont, Trafalgar’s expression didn’t change. Then he gave the faintest shrug. "I’m fine. Don’t waste your worry on . It happened. That’s all there is to it."
’No point digging into feelings I can’t change,’ he thought, his jaw tightening briefly. ’The world doesn’t stop for grief.’
The door creaked open, breaking the silence. Marella returned, balancing a tray with three steaming plates. The rich sll of seared at filled the room, cutting through the heavy air.
"Here we are," she said warmly, setting the food down. "Eat. Talking’s easier with a full stomach."
The plates clattered softly onto the table. Thick cuts of steak, still sizzling, rested beside roasted vegetables. Marella placed a fork into Trafalgar’s hand with the sa care she might show a grandson.
"Eat, honey," she said, settling into her chair. "You need strength for the road ahead."
Trafalgar didn’t argue. He cut into the at and took a slow bite, chewing while his eyes wandered across the room. The tavern had changed. No longer a hollow, half-ruined shell, it pulsed with life. Even here in the back room, the hum of voices carried faintly through the walls.
He swallowed, setting down the fork. "The place feels alive now. A full hall, plenty of drink flowing. And the mission board looked crowded too. Business must be good."
Marella bead, pride lighting her tired features. "Since the renovations, everything has been steady. More work than ever. But I don’t complain—it keeps us busy, and under your na, the flow hasn’t stopped."
Arden gave a rumbling laugh. "Aye, it’s been lively. And speaking of lively—your money showed up." He reached beneath the table and dropped a heavy pouch onto the wood. The sound of coins clinking echoed like a promise. "A lycan ca, said his na was Augusto. Left this behind. Surprised , I’ll admit."
Trafalgar lifted the pouch, weighing it in his hand. It was heavy, enough to fund more than just food and ale. "We struck a deal on mithril. This is my share. I’ll keep most—Euclid needs it. I’m building a library, and Vincent will teach the children. The rest will go to items and elixirs. But ten percent stays here. Invest it however you like."
Arden nodded once, satisfied. Then his gaze sharpened. "One more thing—why tell us to watch over Mayla?"
Trafalgar set the pouch aside, his expression unreadable. "Like I told you before, she was my maid. But things inside the Morgain household weren’t safe for her. Here, she’s out of reach. You two have contacts, and I trust you more than anyone else to keep her secure. She’s... important to . That’s reason enough."
Arden studied him for a long mont, then gave a curt nod. "Fair. She’s been staying nearby, but she’ll need a proper place sooner or later. I know soone who owns property in a safe district. Wealthy folk, stable, no trouble. I’ll give you the contact."
"Good," Trafalgar said simply.
Marella added with a wink, "And if you tell her you co through , the landlady will shave off so coin. She owes
a favor."
"That’ll do," Trafalgar replied. "Still, I’ll be at the academy soon. I won’t always be around. On the first of every month, Arthur will co—broad man, middle-aged, you’ll recognize him. If I’m absent, have him wait. He’s my man."
"Understood," Arden and Marella said together.
They finished the last of their al. Arden gathered the plates without a word—his way of balancing Marella’s cooking. Trafalgar leaned back, satisfied that nothing had been left unspoken.
Then the back door creaked open. Two figures stepped inside. Garrika’s sharp green eyes lit up the mont she spotted him.
"Trafalgar!" she shouted, bounding forward. Before he could react, she wrapped him in a fierce hug.
He stiffened, trying to pry her off. "Garrika—enough."
Behind her, Mayla lingered at the threshold. Her brown hair, tied in a neat ponytail, frad a face no longer hidden behind the plain uniform of a maid. A white blouse, a brown skirt—simple, but striking. She looked... different. Beautiful, in a way Trafalgar hadn’t noticed before.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. "Young master—" She paused, corrected herself. "Forgive . Trafalgar. I’m glad to see you again."
He t her gaze, surprised by the warmth in her eyes. "...Yes. Finally."
Reviews
All reviews (0)