Chapter 53: Tim

Kalanfor.

A small town near River Valley Town.

It was no different from countless other obscure, small human settlements within the territory of the Kingdom of Servia.

The river channel was short and shallow, far from reaching the conditions for navigation, serving only for the townswomen to scrub clothes and dump dirty water.

It produced no rare specialties, and no large mineral deposits capable of supporting the entire town's economy had been discovered in the surrounding area.

Moreover, because of its proximity to the Misty Forest, the wilderness around the town harbored a much denser population of monsters than other regions, making the travel of merchant caravans exceptionally dangerous.

To some extent, if River Valley Town did not possess that perfect terrain surrounded by mountains on three sides, easy to defend and hard to attack, and if it were only a bit further away from the Misty Forest...

Kalanfor would simply be what it is today.

Fortunately, precisely because of the existence of a "major adventurous hub" like River Valley Town—which boasted an Adventurers' Guild and provided a large amount of taxes to the kingdom's province every year—

Kalanfor, surrounding it like a satellite city, was able to cling on like a leech and earn the suffix of a "small town" rather than a "village."

It managed to avoid complete decline.

The distance of only four or five days' travel back and forth to River Valley Town, combined with the relatively flat surrounding terrain, made it a temporary resting and recuperation spot for many adventurers and merchant caravans.

To speak without reservation, seventy percent of Kalanfor's annual tax revenue came from the wealthy adventurers passing through the town.

On the other hand, however, it was like a delicious and sweet drink that subtly undermined one's physical health.

Those adventurers, walking on the edge of a blade where hefty incomes were accompanied by immense risks, needed to vent the pressure in their hearts by various means after every mission.

While granting the town a bright prospect, they simultaneously bred countless filth and vices in the shadows behind it.

At the western end of Kalanfor, along a somewhat desolate street,

stood a small tavern named "Full Purse."

The unpretentious shop name, along with the sign depicting a coin bag bulging with gold coins,

while expressing the tavern owner's benevolent wishes, also obscurely revealed its dual function.

"Clack, clack..."

In the air saturated with alcohol and hormones came the crisp, bright sound of dice shaking within their cup.

The soft, slightly yellowish lighting, accompanied by the warmth of the burning fireplace, was like the bedding on a winter morning, making one unconsciously immerse themselves in it.

The tavern's main hall, which should have been spacious and bright, became narrow and cramped due to the dense crowd of people gathered in front of the gambling table.

Consequently, it transformed into a breeding ground of fanaticism and excitement.

Unlike large cities like Neum, which were filled with nobles and literate intellectuals,

Kalanfor possessed no expensive large riding arenas that required massive funds to build and maintain; nor could many people muster the patience to sit down for an engaging yet complex game of Dragon Chess.

These low-level adventurers simply used the simplest and most direct methods, amidst endless thrills and gambles, to vent the greed in their hearts.

"Four, five, two..."

Tim stared fixedly at the dice on the table in front of him. On his sweat-streaked face was a degree of concentration he had never even shown years ago in the wilderness when facing a gnoll hunter.

"Eleven, fuck!"

Without the slightest intention of lowering his volume, the curse filled with dissatisfaction dissolved like a droplet of water into the ocean amidst the surrounding gamblers' din.

The coins that originally belonged to him were ruthlessly swept away.

Tim touched the somewhat shriveled purse at his waist, his expression hesitant.

As a former adventurer, his high-risk, high-return occupation had allowed him to accumulate a rather considerable savings within just a dozen years or so.

Even without any incoming revenue now, he could have lived a decent life in Kalanfor on these savings, and even spent his old age in peace.

However, the income from his adventurer days, which far exceeded that of ordinary commoners, and the bad habits formed in high-pressure environments had long accustomed him to the lifestyle of lavish spending and drunken stupor in taverns.

In just a few years, savings that would have been enough for a large family to live comfortably had been squandered away.

At present, he was no richer than an ordinary porter in the city.

"Hey, is it over? Is it my turn?"

Behind him, gamblers crowded in line, waiting for their turn at the table, urged him impatiently.

Tim whipped his head around, his reddened eyes flashing with the fierce glare that had once only appeared when fighting monsters.

"What's the rush?! Get lost!"

The grumbling and complaining filled with dissatisfaction vanished instantly, replaced by the other man shrinking his neck and seeking out another gambling table, while faint mumbling could still be heard:

"Just a poor wretch, putting on airs, even..."

Perhaps the other's words stung Tim's increasingly sensitive heart, made raw by a life of distress,

or perhaps the golden and silver luster piled up on the opposite side of the table was exceptionally eye-catching.

He clenched his teeth tightly, his flushed face bearing the madness characteristic of a gambler.

"Bang!"

His shriveled purse was slammed heavily onto the table.

...

Spit—

A mouthful of phlegm laced with the smell of alcohol was spat onto the stone-tiled floor.

The cold night wind made Tim instinctively pull his shabby coat tighter around himself; the purse at his waist was completely empty.

"Fuck, if I had just chased that hand earlier, I definitely would have broken even by now!"

Filled with deep resentment, he replayed the scene at the gaming table just moments before.

It was as if given just one more chance, he could win back everything he had lost.

His legs moved mechanically, treading the path he knew all too well.

In a daze, he had already returned to his front door.

This was a two-story small house, even featuring a small garden at the back.

The location was considered decent, only a few dozen minutes' walk from the town center.

It was precisely because of Tim's work as an adventurer that he had been able to buy such a house in his middle age.

He suddenly snapped back to his senses.

His lips parted slightly, feeling a faint dryness in his mouth.

He pushed open the door and entered.

The first thing that met his eyes was a petite and adorable figure.

"Daddy, you're back!"

Accompanied by a silvery, childish girl's voice, Beth rushed forward and threw herself into Tim's arms.

Her little head rubbed against her father's collar, displaying a child's deep attachment to her parents.

Tim gently stroked his daughter's smooth blonde hair and carefully lifted her up.

Suddenly, as if remembering something, his expression turned rueful and apologetic:

"I'm sorry, little Beth, Daddy forgot the pancakes you love the most."

"I'll buy them for you tomorrow, okay?"

"It's okay, Daddy!"

The girl's face showed a flash of disappointment, but immediately fearing that her father might think she was angry, she cheerfully shook her little head and said sensibly.

Thud—

"Beth, come eat."

A steaming plate was placed on the table with a cold sound.

A fair-skinned woman with her hair rolled up in a bun unbuckled her apron as she called out to the girl.

Her gaze, however, did not even glance at Tim, who was holding their daughter, acting as if he did not exist at all.

And the guilty man only managed an awkward, sheepish smile as he walked toward the dining table.

"Coming," he said.

...

At the dining table, the blonde-haired girl lively recounted to her mother which new friends she had made today and what had happened.

And the woman with the rolled-up hair listened patiently and earnestly, occasionally asking a few detailed questions.

Tim said nothing, simply keeping his head down in silence, spoonful by spoonful, drinking the meat soup.

"Went again?"

Suddenly, the gentle tone with which his wife had been chatting with their daughter turned cold and abrupt.

Knowing she was asking him,

the spoon in Tim's hand paused. He lowered his head and nodded imperceptibly.

There was no scolding.

Tim only heard a faint sigh coming from across the table.

"Mom and Dad miss little Beth. I'm planning to take her back to the countryside to stay for a while."

Tim snapped his head up, his expression astonished.

"No, don't! I'll earn the money! Just a little capital, just a little! I can definitely break even."

Faced with his promise, his wife merely looked at him coldly, without saying a word.

Tim felt an increasing sense of panic.

"I, adventuring... right! I can still go out and take on missions. Things will get better, they will! I promise!"

The atmosphere at the dining table fell silent.

After a long while, his wife sighed again, reached into the pocket of her somewhat worn-out clothes, and pulled out a bulging money pouch.

She placed it gently on the table.

"This is some money I've saved up from working as a laundress lately."

"Whether you use it to maintain your gear and go back to your old trade, or spruce yourself up and find a job..."

"Enough said, do as you please."

"I'm going to wash the dishes."

His wife slowly stood up, gathered the plates from the table, and walked toward the kitchen.

Tim stared intently at the money pouch before him, remaining silent for a long time.

Suddenly, the hem of his garment was gently tugged.

He turned his head to look.

He saw little Beth, who had stopped talking since the moment the cold atmosphere fell over the table,

now tilting her little head and looking up at him with a sensible expression, speaking cautiously:

"Daddy, you don't need to buy pancakes tomorrow."

"Beth doesn't like to eat them."

...

The next day, just as dawn was breaking,

Tim left the house early, clutching the money pouch his wife had left him.

As a former adventurer with extensive combat experience against various monsters,

even without stepping foot into the Misty Forest, right here in this relatively safe town,

there were plenty of odd jobs he could do.

However, after so many years of decadence, the sharp edge he once possessed from fighting desperately amidst the blood of monsters had long since been worn away.

Even though he used the money his wife had saved to change into a half-decent outfit,

the air of decay clinging to him, combined with a reputation that had already spread throughout relevant circles,

caused Tim to be repeatedly rejected.

By dusk, as the sky gradually darkened,

Tim walked home alone, his demeanor exhausted.

He knew that with his current condition, finding a job with a satisfactory salary would not be easy,

and certainly wouldn't show progress in a day or two.

Yet...

Recalling the cold faces of those few men who had rejected him earlier,

Tim couldn't help but grind his teeth in resentment, thinking bitterly:

"What airs are they putting on in front of me? Ten years ago, I..."

"Money, isn't it just some money?"

"Back in the day, a single mission of mine would net me well over 10 gold pieces!"

Lost in his own fantasies, his legs nonetheless moved with a sort of muscle memory,

yielding to the deepest desires of his heart.

Step, by step...

By the time Tim came to his senses, he was already standing before that familiar gate.

Warm, bright light, accompanied by intoxicating the aroma of alcohol and clamor, spilled out through the cracks in the door.

His expression was dazed, and deep within his eyes brewed an indescribable emotion.

Subconsciously raising both hands, he pushed the door open slowly.

...

Inside the house, which was cleaned and tidied yet felt somewhat desolate due to the sparse furnishings,

his wife looked through the window at the sky outside, which had completely darkened.

On the distant street, the figure that should have returned long ago failed to appear, just as on previous nights.

She lowered her head and sighed no more,

silently packing the luggage instead.

"Beth, are all your clothes packed?"

"Packed, Mom! But Daddy, he..."

"Go to sleep, we'll leave at daybreak. Grandpa and Grandma miss you so much."

"Mm... okay."

...

"Bang!"

The door of the two-story house was pushed open violently.

Tim still bore the flushed excitement of a sleepless night. Facing the bright sunlight outside, he returned home excitedly,

holding a delicately packaged bag of pancakes in his hand.

"Hahaha, little Beth, look what Daddy brought back for you?"

The petite figure that would rush out with a smile every evening to welcome him did not appear, nor was there the crackle of a frying pan from the kitchen.

Only his high-pitched, excited voice echoed through the empty house.

Seeming to realize something,

the paper bag in his hand slipped to the floor. He called out, pushing open every door in the house, even pulling open the wardrobes to check thoroughly.

His excited expression gradually froze.

It wasn't until the sun sank once more, sitting alone in the cluttered living room, that Tim finally recovered from that overwhelmingly empty and agonizing state of mind.

A hint of determination, unseen for many years, surfaced on his face.

"Screech—thud!"

An old, dust-covered wooden chest was dragged from the basement into the living room.

After struggling to find the keyhole amidst the grime, he inserted the key, turned it, and opened the chest.

What appeared before him was a set of half-scale armor showing faint traces of rust, alongside a pair of metal daggers that had lost their sharpness.

He stroked them gently, feeling the familiar cool touch of their surfaces.

Tim then touched the bulging, yet deeply unsettling, money pouch in his chest.

He muttered to himself:

"This money definitely isn't enough to buy a new set of gear, but taking these old pieces of mine to the blacksmith shop for maintenance is more than enough."

"I wonder how the captain and the others are doing..."

Knock, knock, knock—

A knock suddenly sounded on the door.

In disbelief, Tim scrambled up in a panic and rushed toward the door,

even tripping clumsily on his way before scrambling back up in a fluster.

"Creak!"

The wooden door was pulled inward with a violent jerk.

Tim's pleasantly surprised expression instantly froze.

Staring at the familiar figure outside the door, he blurted out instinctively:

"Captain?"

Standing before him was a middle-aged man who also bore the marks of aging.

Yet, compared to the decadent and listless Tim, this man appeared exceptionally spirited.

He possessed a fierce demeanor, a robust physique, and even wore a well-maintained set of armor.

"Captain, why are you here?" Tim forced a smile onto his face, stepping aside to make way. "Quick, please come in!"

To his surprise, his former adventurer squad leader stood firmly in place, giving him a frowning, disdainful glance before saying coldly:

"The squad took on a newcomer recently, and we're short on space. I made a trip to River Valley Town and had your name removed from the roster."

"You're not doing this line of work anymore anyway, right?"

With that, the man pulled a money pouch from the pack behind him and tossed it to Tim.

"Still have a mission to run, won't disturb you further."

"See you around if there's a chance."

...

"Clack-bang."

The door closed slowly.

Tim sat alone at the dining table.

The dim, fading twilight filtered through the window behind him, casting a gentle glow over his body.

His expression, entirely devoid of ripples and calm to the point of being terrifying, was shrouded in shadow, hiding his true emotions.

He simply stared quietly at the tabletop before him, at the semi-old set of armor that still lacked the time to be wiped clean of dust.

His fingertips twitched slightly.

...

At the pawnshop,

the scale armor and the pair of daggers were ruthlessly tossed onto the table,

trading for a money pouch with a faint golden glint gleaming from within.

At the tavern,

Tim's face was flushed red, roaring as bloodshot eyes reflected the shaking dice cup,

as if his very soul were being pushed onto the gambling table along with his stake.

Late at night,

Tim reeked of alcohol as he staggered unsteadily down the wide, empty street,

muttering incoherently to himself about god knows what.

"Bang!"

A strong force collided with him from the front, and Tim tumbled heavily to the ground.

"F-fuck (%#￥% curses)!"

He swore incoherently, turning his alcohol-numbed and dizzy head to catch a glimpse of a robust figure rapidly striding away.

Struggling back to his feet, intending to settle the score with the person who had knocked him down,

his hand, reaching out to steady himself on the ground, felt a strange texture.

It was a thin book made of bizarre leather.

The cover bore no words at all,

save for a white human skull pattern stamped neatly in the corner.