Master Says the Drawn Traits Must Not Be Wasted

Chapter 165: Chapter 164: The ”Ear” Through the Wall

The night was black as ink, and the frigid wind howled.

Before the land was completely cloaked in darkness, the convoy arrived at the Gilded Horsehoe Inn in Riverside Village.

True to its name, the village was situated right next to the wide and gentle Twilight River. Across the river lay the Gray Mist Forest.

Thanks to the trade route connecting Rose Town and Trout Town, as well as its convenient waterway access, Riverside Village was much larger and more bustling than the other villages along the road.

The Gilded Horsehoe Inn’s three-story main building of wood and stone, along with its spacious stables and courtyard capable of accommodating several merchant caravans, was the most direct testament to this prosperity.

On the second floor of the inn, inside a standard room meant for Adventurers.

Firewood crackled in the hearth, doing its best to drive away the chill seeping in through the cracks of the door and windows.

Grek was sprawled out on the bed nearest the door, his boots still on. He carelessly rested their mud-caked soles on the bedding.

He was tossing a few copper nails in his hand, but his gaze was unfocused. Clearly, his mind wasn’t on the money.

On the other bed, Logan was like a wary fox, leaning against the wall and deftly cleaning his fingernails with a dagger. His ears twitched slightly, missing no sound from outside the door—or inside it, for that matter.

”Hey, Logan,” Grek said, breaking the silence. The copper nails landed in his palm with a dull thud. ”So, where’d you find this crew anyway? They seem... tsk tsk.”

A long-awaited smile touched the corners of Logan’s mouth. Without looking up, he continued to deftly scrape under his nails with the tip of his dagger. ”The notice board at the Oak Tavern, of course. Heard they only just arrived in Rose Town.”

”Probably don’t have much experience leading a party. They didn’t even have us introduce ourselves at the morning meeting.”

He paused, his tone shifting. ”But they’re two Priests, after all, and the pay looks decent. Definitely better than following those loudmouths who promise the world to go clear out a goblin nest.”

”Who’s asking about that!” Grek shot up with a SWISH, an unabashedly excited look on his face. He cupped his hands in front of his chest, tracing a certain shapely curve. ”I’m talking about the one named Hayley! You telling me you didn’t see her? That figure... she’s damn ’top-tier’!”

”What? Got your eye on the little Priest?”

Grek chuckled. ”Heh heh. Looking at it this way, losing those thirty Silver Scales at the Oak Tavern the other day wasn’t a total loss after all.”

Logan finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. A teasingly skeptical look appeared on his face. ”Oh?” He drew out the sound, clearly and deliberately waiting for Grek to justify himself.

”Duh!” Grek flopped back down, pillowing his hands behind his head. ”If I hadn’t lost my damn shirt, you think I’d want to take this gig? This godforsaken weather gets colder every day, and we still have to go north! I’ve heard that shithole Blackwater Swamp is wet, cold, full of muddy pits and bloodsucking bugs, and maybe even poisonous gas. It’s no fucking place for a person!”

He seemed agitated, rolling over again to face Logan. A hint of uncertainty he himself didn’t notice crept into his voice. ”Sigh... Hey, you think... that Mage, Galen, he’s got a Bronze emblem pinned to his chest. He can’t be as useless as you make him out to be, right?”

Logan’s work on his nails paused for a moment. He retorted in a casual tone, ”So what if he’s Bronze rank? That guy ’Hain’ also wore a Bronze emblem, didn’t he? Have you forgotten?”

He deliberately stressed the name ’Hain’.

Sure enough, Grek shot up from the bed as if electrocuted. His face turned ashen, and his fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

”Fuck! Don’t bring up that peacock in heat! That motherfucker used his Mage status and silver tongue to get way more women than me!”

”And he called himself the ’Imperial Tutor’! I bet this Galen is cut from the same cloth! Sitting in the carriage with his eyes closed, acting all fucking profound. Who knows what kind of rotten schemes he’s cooking up in that head of his!”

Seeing Grek’s explosive reaction, Logan lowered his head, pretending to wipe the blade of his dagger. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, uncontrollably.

He suppressed his smile. When he looked up again, his expression had changed to one of sincere confidence. ”Exactly. That’s why I’ve told you before: Mages who haven’t reached the Professional level are just dead weight in a real fight. They’re only good for scaring rookies who don’t know any better.”

”Not to mention, this guy brought a stupid dog with him. It’s just ridiculous.”

That really struck a chord with Grek, and he immediately ran with it. ”Haha, exactly! I almost laughed when I saw that dog this morning! This kid’s probably even more useless than Hain. At least that guy could conjure up a little flame to light his pipe. This one probably can’t even squeeze out a spark!”

”Bringing a dog... anyone who didn’t know better would think we’re a travelling circus trying to recruit people. It’s a joke!”

Seeing that Grek’s prejudice was thoroughly ignited, Logan slid his dagger cleanly back into its sheath in his boot and concluded, ”Anyway, the pay is by the webbed foot. If he’s useless, that’s just one less person to split the money with, and we can rake in more. As for the little Priest...”

He shot Grek a look that said it all. ”The road ahead is long. You’ll have plenty of chances to make your move. But I have to warn you, keep a close eye on that Mage. Don’t let what happened last time repeat itself, where someone else got the prize for free.”

As if hitting a sore spot, Grek mumbled, ”That was an accident...” Then, he looked resentfully at the wall, as if his gaze could pierce through it and see Hayley in the next room.

...

In another guest room, just one wall away.

Hayley was not resting. She knelt on the floor before her bed, facing the hazy moonlight outside the window.

In her hands, she held a Holy Emblem of ancient design. It was not the symbol of the Light God, common on the continent, nor that of any other well-known Deity. Instead, it was a simple, circular pattern of intertwined vines and water droplets.

Her eyes were closed, her lips moving silently in evening prayer. Her expression was focused and devout, and she seemed to be surrounded by a tranquil, peaceful aura.

The elder Priest, Hughes, sat in a chair by the window, reading a leather-bound book by the light of an oil lamp.

He had just meticulously wiped the lenses with a soft cloth, so his glasses now seemed exceptionally clear.

Seemingly accustomed to Hayley’s prayers, he did not disturb her. He would only occasionally look up, and when his gaze swept over Hayley and the Holy Emblem in her hands, an imperceptible, complex expression would cross his face—a mixture of concern and a hint of worry.

Downstairs, the inn’s main hall was still bustling with noise.

The convoy’s guards and drivers were gathered together, chasing away the fatigue of their journey with ale. They loudly boasted about past experiences or complained about the weather and road conditions.

The innkeeper, a bald, middle-aged man with a beer belly, bustled amiably between the tables, directing waiters to see to the guests’ needs.

The warm air was thick with the mixed scents of roasted meat, tobacco, alcohol, and the press of a crowd.

Hesia was not in his room at the moment.

He had paid a few copper nails for permission to use a secluded corner of the inn’s backyard.

The cold moonlight spilled onto the ground. The only sound was the faint whisper of the frigid wind sweeping past the firewood pile.