Master Says the Drawn Traits Must Not Be Wasted

Chapter 119: Chapter 118: Return to the Small Town

After carefully dressing the herbal poultice and bandaging the wound, Hulk and Belte worked together to secure the Beastman, Zande, to the pack saddle on a Land Bird’s back.

The members of the Dragon Fang Squad finished packing, preparing to set off as early as possible before the fog could rise and return to Rose Town.

It had taken them the better part of a day to travel from the next viable campsite.

It was now high noon. If the fog held off, reaching it before sunset shouldn’t be a problem.

The Dogman Mage’s skull had already been cleaned by Trist. Hesia carefully wrapped it in a soft cloth and placed it in a satchel on another Land Bird’s back.

Fevik had mentioned that the skulls of some powerful Demons could be used as the wand tip for a Magic Staff, thereby increasing Spellcasting efficiency.

Although they hadn’t found the Goblin Shaman, Hesia believed the Dogman Mage’s skull would suffice.

’After I get back, I’ll find that peculiar Half-Elf Mage to help me with it.’

’I’ve pretty much figured her out by now. She acts tough but is soft-hearted, and she loves to play the teacher.’

’Besides, I have a few questions about my new [Weak Red Dragon Bloodline] that I can ask her about as well.’

”Galen, stop spacing out! Get Zoya, it’s time to go!” Belte’s shout rang out.

Hesia snapped back to reality and saw that the other three were already packed. Only Zoya was still crouched next to Bruce, fiddling with something.

He peeked over her shoulder curiously. She was tying an object to Bruce’s neck, just below the [Sleepy Knight’s Wristband].

It was a meticulously carved wooden dog head. The expression in its eyes and brows was identical to Bruce’s.

’So this is what she’s been secretly working on these past few days? I never knew she was so skilled.’

”This is really well made,” Hesia couldn’t help but praise. ”What made you decide to carve this for Bruce?”

At the sound of his voice, Zoya’s purple eyes fluttered. She quickly stood up, shook her head gently, and didn’t answer.

Hesia didn’t press the matter. But in the instant she stood up, he happened to glimpse the dagger at her waist—the very one he had given her.

And on the dagger’s lanyard hung a similar small, wooden carving of a head.

’Why... does that look so much like me?’

Just as he was about to get a better look, Zoya had already darted ahead like a gust of wind.

Hesia shook his head with a helpless smile and quickly caught up with the team.

...

At the door of the log cabin, Trist leaned against the frame, watching as the group’s silhouettes gradually vanished at the far end of the forest path.

His gaze was hollow, as if piercing through the layers of shadows cast by the trees, staring into some distant time and place.

After a long while, he seemed to jolt awake from a dream, his pupils refocusing.

He then raised a hand, pinched the skin on the side of his jaw, and tugged it gently outward.

The stretched skin revealed a fibrous, web-like texture.

He let go, and the skin instantly snapped back into place.

”This mask is perfect in every way, except it’s a little stuffy.”

Trist turned, went back inside, and placed the yellowed parchment he had put away earlier back on the desk.

The topmost sheet was inscribed with an ancient script:

Ilhar l’ khal th?lik (The Skin Peeler in the Forest - The End).

Ussta...

(They have become the dew in the woods, or new bark under the moonlight.

It struck me then that I had spent a lifetime peeling away the surface of life, trying to fill the void in my heart with the skin of others, yet I had never touched the texture of a soul.

Hate is a dagger, but it cannot strip away the void.

Now, I lay down the dagger and open my palm. For the first time, I feel the weight of the sun and the caress of the wind—this body is finally my own.)

...

「Seven days later, at dusk.」

The graystone archway of Rose Town slowly emerged from the hazy twilight.

The late-October temperature had dropped quickly. The group had been caught in two autumn downpours on the road, and the damp, bone-deep chill had long since soaked through their clothes, clinging to them and leaving them utterly exhausted.

The round trip for this commission had taken exactly half a month.

Though they hadn’t encountered any particular dangers on the way back, the bizarre rift and the mysterious, thick fog hung over their hearts like a dark cloud, making the return journey far less cheerful than their departure.

”Yeah! I’m finally back!”

”Shut up, you’re so loud,” Laila retorted listlessly. She had wrapped herself in her cloak, her face even paler than usual. ”Let’s just get into town. I’m freezing.”

As the familiar town gate drew nearer, the couple’s customary bickering finally injected a spark of life into the somber return journey.

Passing through the town gate, the CLANG of hammers on anvils and a wave of searing air rushed to greet them, chasing away some of the chill.

Though night had fallen, the blacksmith’s forge near the town entrance was still brightly lit, billowing waves of heat.

Adventurers always came here first after a job, either to have their old weapons serviced or to splurge their fresh earnings on finer gear.

The squad stopped near the forge.

Hulk glanced at Laila’s pale face. ”Belte, you and Laila head back first. She doesn’t look well.” He then looked over at the still-unconscious Zande on the Land Bird’s back. ”I’ll take him to...”

”I’ll go with you, Captain,” Hesia offered.

Zoya said nothing, but quietly moved to Hesia’s side, her actions speaking for her.

And, of course, a certain tail-wagging fellow.

Belte took his and Laila’s packs from the Land Bird’s back.

”Alright, thanks for handling it.”

With that, he helped Laila along, and the two disappeared around a street corner.

The three of them led the Land Birds through the clanging blacksmith district and the still-bustling town square, heading northwest.

The farther they went, the more the surrounding din subsided, replaced by an inexplicable tranquility.

Hesia surveyed the side of the road.

There lay a cemetery of neatly arranged headstones. To his surprise, the resting place didn’t feel morbid at all. It was enveloped in a peaceful serenity, as if even the wind softened its breath here, afraid to disturb the slumbering souls.

”We’re here.”

Hulk’s low voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Hesia looked to the other side of the road.

A building constructed from dark gray stone blocks came into view. It wasn’t large, but the mottled stains on its walls spoke of its age.

It had no soaring spire, only a low, unadorned dome.

The main entrance was a heavy, dark wooden door, equally plain in design. Above the lintel was an engraving of a veiled visage, symbolizing night and secrecy—the Holy Emblem of the goddess Nephentia.

As one of the two most-worshipped Deities on the continent, Nephentia held dominion over night, secrets, mercy, redemption, and oblivion.

Unlike the Saint Sun God, Lucis, who symbolized light and order, the goddess seemed far more forgiving toward her followers.

Like the wooden door of the church, which was always left ajar, she was willing to offer a second sanctuary to those in need of a hiding place, a moment of respite, or a chance to begin anew.