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There was a specific inn that Roan had picked out, inhabiting the section of the city that seemed to be primarily occupied by passing and staying adventures alike with equipment shops and guilds being a frequent sight.

As they arrived at the establishment, there was a wooden porch leading up to the entrance, which Roan led the way, prompting the two to follow behind him.

“This is it?” Emilio asked, looking up at the building.

“It seems a little…” Melisande began to say, looking down at the cracked, wooden floorboards she stepped on.

Seemingly experienced with the establishment, Roan scratched his head with his dark, leather glove, glancing back as he opened the door that jingled, “C’mon, I’m the one paying for our rooms. Trust me, it’s a comfortable place.”

“…Sure,” Emilio nodded.

He exchanged a doubtful glance with the emerald-eyed girl before following the man into the rundown inn, finding the lobby to be partly a ‘lounge space’ as well with an entire tavern occupying the left half of the first floor.

“Woo-hoo!”

“Another! Another!”

“Go! Go! Go!”

All gathered around one table, adventurers of all shapes and sizes, races and ranks, cheered on a muscular, dwarven woman with bright-red, braided hair and a burly elven man with light-green hair that were engaged in a duel of booze drinking.

There was no doubt that they were adventurers without even seeing their insignia, as the attire they wore was telling enough: leather armor, strapped with steel shoulder pads, black-belted uniforms, and a menagerie of pouches on their belts.

“A tavern?” Melisande remarked.

“Guess so. Can’t say I’ve seen this combination before,” Emilio responded.

It was certainly rowdy for what was supposed to be a place meant for rest, though it was welcoming in its own way.

Roan was already sliding a few coins over to the freckled, elven woman at the reception desk.

“Welcome back, Roan! Who are these two adorable guests with you?” The receptionist asked, holding her hands in front of her as she leaned forward to get a look at the two.

As the woman moved, her remarkable bust bounced in full view of Emilio’s tired, but lecherous eyes as he gulped, shaking his head to avert his gaze. In his mind, all he could think about was how only a single button was keeping her verdant vest from popping open to reveal her bosom.

Though Melisande seemed to have some sort of sixth sense for the young man’s less-than-pristine mind as she shot him a glare that caused him to cough, focusing himself.

“I’m Emilio Dragonheart,” he introduced himself with a smile, giving a good impression, “I’m on my way to becoming an adventurer, so I hope we can have a fruitful relationship from here on.”

The receptionist was taken aback by his manners, now recognizing his adventurer-like getup with the sword at the boy’s hip and a staff holstered on his back, “Oh! What a delightful young man you are. And you, little lady?”

“Melisande Tareund,” she gave her name, “I’ll be an adventurer soon, too.”

Bringing her hands together, the blonde-haired, freckled-faced elf seemed delighted with their youthful aspirations before handing the two keys to Roan, “How fabulous! I am Serenity, I dope hope we in fact have a long lasting relationship. The ‘Sword and Shield Inn’ welcomes all adventurers with open arms. I’ll be praying for safety in your journeys!”

The neighboring rooms Roan had purchased to cover their stay in Indasia were on the second floor, occupying the very end of the olive-walled corridor.

“Alright, don’t get into any ‘antics’ you two,” Roan said.

It was expected as there were only two beds in a room so two rooms were needed, but the idea of sharing a private room with the silver-haired girl made Emilio’s introverted self tremble.

“Huh?” Melisande tiled her head at his words.

The red-haired adventurer clarified, “I mean I better not hear anything from Serenity about stains–”

“Enough, enough, we’ve got it!” Emilio interrupted the man with flushed cheeks, snatching the key.

Through his flustered state, he had to fiddle with the key, trying to fit it into the lock with frantic hands before finally inserting it, turning it as the door clicked, allowing Melisande and himself into the room.

The wooden floorboards were partly decorated by a fluffy, olive rug that matched the wallpaper. It was somewhat basic, simply housing two beds, a nightstand with fragrant flowers, and a bathroom, but it was enough.

Without hesitation, the two flopped into their respective beds. This is where Emilio learned the true merit of the Sword and Shield inn: the beds were cloudlike, as if the mattresses were filled with fluff carved straight from the skies.

“…Oh, wow…” Emilio sighed out in relaxation.

“…This is way better than the carriage…” Melisande sighed out as well.

After laying on the bed in silence with his arms and legs spread out as if trying to create a snow angel, he finally sat up.

“I wonder what we should do tomorrow. Roan said we’ll be here a couple days, so I was thinking–”

Emilio cut himself off as he looked over, finding that Melisande was already fast asleep, curled up on the other bed.

He was surprised at how quickly she fell into slumber, but then again, he felt that same exhaustion himself as he smiled softly. Getting up, he took the blanket on the girl’s bed, gently pulling it over the girl so that she didn’t grow cold.

Looking at the girl who slept soundly, hugging into the pillow by her side, that silver hair of hers and face resembled his lost friend enough that he found his smile slightly fading. As he went back to his bed, he sat on it, removing his vest.

As he looked at his own body, rolling up his sleeves, he found that the blemishes and minuscule scars he accumulated throughout his journey thus far had not faded.

It still feels like just yesterday I was trapped in that hell, he thought.

The “Undying Blood” flowed through him, that much was felt as the blood running through his veins felt more alive; it was an inexplicable feeling, one that was more akin to a spiritual resonance within him.

Clenching his fist, he felt the blood pump through his veins before releasing, holding a somber look in his amethyst eyes.

Vandread, you’re here, aren’t you? This is the same blood you had…I feel it now–what you went through, he thought.

While looking at his hand, he found the sight of the six-pointed star etched onto his palm, reminded of the other questionable event that had occurred.

That’s right…that little girl with the platinum hair and an attitude, Hextrice, I think? And the well-mannered man with crimson hair…Gavill? My familiars, he recalled, I still feel like I’m not ready for something of this level yet. I just feel like…my spirit needs to recover.

As plagued as his mind was with many thoughts, he decided to call it a night, setting his staff and sword at his bedside before laying down.

Laying there, he found himself hesitant to sleep; this was a recurring problem he faced since experiencing the dreadful cataclysm that shook Larundog. Part of him was scared of what nightmares awaited him once closing his eyes, but alas, his eyes closed on their own after some time.

The dreams he was ensnared in were hardly coherent; jumbled connections of frightening visuals and invocations of anguish, dread, and lamentation. It was a prison inside his own mind; shadowy figures swirled around him, taunting and cornering him as he trembled in the nightmarish dreamscape, all alone.

A sight of hope surfaced in the familiar figure of his silver-haired friend, though as he reached out, that person he yearned for turned around, looking at him with wide, frightened eyes.

“…Joel…!”

Stretching his hand out, he reached for him, and Joel met him halfway, though just as their fingertips met, the figure was torn into shreds by disembodied, dark hands.

“…No, no, no…”

The isolated world of nightmares shifted around him, returning to a field beneath the gaze of corpses, bringing him to a sight he didn’t wish to see.

It was the death of Vandread; devoid of a heart, the man was ruthlessly impaled by giggling figures.

Over and over, these nightmarish scenes repeated as he wished to escape, curling up in a fetal position as his teeth chattered.

“…Help…”

It was at his lowest point, truly regressing to the mindset of a child, that he found himself greeted by a familiar figure.

A man with long, crimson hair knelt beside him, giving him a hand, “It’s alright now, Master.”

“…You are…” Emilio looked up with teary eyes, recalling the figure.

It wasn’t a single person–there were six in total; the sight of them caused the six-pointed star on his palm to tingle with a slight heat. They varied in size from a little girl to a large, burly man, though he could hardly make them out through the dark world of nightmares around him.

“Gavill…?” He recalled the name of the spirit he was contracted with.

“Rest easy now, Master. Leave it to us,” Gavill warmly assured him.

Those words, along with the presence of the six spirits, tore away the plague of nightmares on his mind, soothing Emilio’s mind into a proper, peaceful slumber.