Chapter Forty-One: Getting Ready to Take It Away and Lick It

As Baker left, Eric took a sip of his mead, then devoured several large bites of the freshly served roasted meat. At a certain moment, he suddenly turned his head and looked in the direction he had just gestured toward.

"..."

At a corner table, a mysterious man wearing a hood failed to retract his gaze in time, locking eyes directly with him.

After a brief flash of surprise, the man had no choice but to feign composure and look away.

Beneath the hood was an unfamiliar face. There was no facial hair, no scales, and the skin tone was normal—he seemed to be just an ordinary human.

Eric was certain he had never seen him before, and this face did not exist in his memories from his past life either. It seemed he was not anyone important—at least, not particularly important.

Could he really be a thief eyeing his valuables, just as Baker had suspected?

After glancing elsewhere for a moment, the man shifted his gaze back and found that Eric was still staring at him. Finally, his expression changed.

Following a brief silence, he said something to his companion sitting opposite him. The companion turned to look, and the man immediately stood up and walked over.

Instead of continuing to avoid him, he was taking the initiative to approach?

Eric watched the other party calmly, while the coachmen and guards at the neighboring table rose in unison, locking their eyes on the man.

The hooded man was startled, seemingly unaware that the two groups were connected. He immediately stopped in his tracks and raised both hands to show that he was unarmed and had no intention of harming anyone.

Eric nodded slightly, and the guards sat back down, continuing to eat and drink.

The man walked up and looked at Eric. "May I ask how Your Excellency is addressed?"

"Eric." He only gave his first name, omitting his family surname.

"Mr. Eric." The man bowed his head slightly, his attitude quite courteous. "I am Garcia of Arlan, and I apologize for this abrupt intrusion."

With that, he lifted the hood from his head, revealing a crop of short silver hair.

"An Arlan..." Eric was truly surprised this time.

"That's right." Garcia bowed to him in greeting once again. "My companion and I are survivors of the ancient kingdom of Arlan. We noticed that the style of Mr. Eric's sword closely resembles the craftsmanship of our homeland, which is why we couldn't help staring. I am deeply sorry for our rudeness and offense."

Before recovering from his surprise, Eric shook his head slightly to indicate it didn't matter.

Garcia's gaze drifted back to his weapon, and he earnestly asked if he could borrow the sword to examine it.

"No problem." Eric glanced at the guards, handed over the sword, and informed the Arlan man, "You're not mistaken. This is indeed a relic from the ancient kingdom of Arlan."

Looking somewhat excited, Garcia received the sword with both hands. He caressed it gently, carefully testing the sharpness of the edge with his fingertips and observing every pattern on the hilt and blade.

"Indeed... This is the standard steel sword most commonly used by the royal guards of the ancient kingdom of Arlan! I never imagined that after several centuries, it could still be preserved in such pristine condition."

Eric watched him closely—not out of fear that the man would suddenly turn violent and attack or run off with the sword, but because Garcia's gaze made Eric feel as though the Arlan man might lick the blade at any second, which would be quite disgusting...

After admiring the weapon with infatuation for quite a while, Garcia finally remembered his kinsman and hurriedly called him over as well. Together, the two men feasted their eyes on the blade over and over again.

*Once I get the sword back, I must soak it in hot water for half a day and thoroughly sterilize it with alcohol first,* Eric thought silently to himself.

"Mr. Eric." After another moment, when the two Arlan men had finally finished admiring it, Garcia spoke up to ask about the weapon's origin.

Guessing their intentions without even needing to think, Eric replied smoothly, "My grandfather bought this sword from a weapon merchant in Rutia when he was young. When I set out on a long journey this time, he gave it to me for self-defense."

The two nuns quietly watched him.

Just as expected, Garcia offered to buy the sword from him. Eric politely declined on the spot, stating that the sword carried his grandfather's expectations and he could not bear to part with it.

"Twenty gold coins."

"This isn't about money."

"Fifty gold coins. What do you say, Mr. Eric?"

*He really is willing to spend,* Eric glanced at Baker not far away, and still shook his head. "This really isn't a matter of money."

Seeing that he was unwilling to sell the sword under any circumstances, the two Arlan men looked utterly heartbroken. They touched it a few more times before reluctantly returning the weapon to him.

"If Mr. Eric happens to acquire a better weapon in the future and intends to replace this one, please be sure to contact me." Unwilling to give up just yet, Garcia said as a parting remark.

"Alright," Eric agreed readily.

He wasn't so attached to this steel sword that it was irreplaceable; he merely found it convenient to use and had nothing else to swap it with for the time being, which was why he didn't want to sell it to them.

Garcia's eyes instantly lit up. "In that case, Mr. Eric can go to the Cael Ice Lake in Northuria..."

His companion's expression suddenly changed, and he bumped him with his elbow.

"..."

Recovering his senses, Garcia realized he had spoken out of turn, and his face turned pale.

Fortunately, the young noble opposite them seemed not to notice anything amiss with his words and simply waited with a smile for him to continue.

"Uh... Mr. Eric can just consign this sword to the auction house in Rutia, addressed specifically to me, Garcia of Arlan. I will check in on it regularly."

Eric nodded. "Consigning it to an auction house? That's a good idea, I'll keep it in mind."

After exchanging a few more words, Garcia was pulled back to his original seat by his companion, and he pulled his hood back up.

"Arlans... what kind of people are they?" Sophie, who had been listening in for half the day, finally found an opportunity to ask.

"Just like us, they're human," Eric said. "It's just that their hair color is a bit special—silver from birth. There's no other difference."

He paused, recalling the history he knew in detail. "As far back as the Dark Age when the Demon race ruled the continent, the Arlans established their own kingdom. Later, it was destroyed, and most of them integrated into the Empire. But a faction of Arlans calls themselves the Arlan Remnants; they stubbornly refuse to accept the Empire's rule, wandering and lingering in the territory of their former homeland. They hold a fairly strong desire to restore their country and consistently practice endogamy. That's why the hair color of those two Arlans is such a pure silver-white... The number of Arlan Remnants was never large to begin with, and they usually only operate in the north. It's quite a coincidence to run into them here."

Sophie turned back to glance quietly at the Arlans in the corner and asked, "Why would those Arlans rather wander than accept the Empire's rule?"

"Because it wasn't the Demon race that destroyed the ancient kingdom of Arlan," Alana spoke up.

"Ah?" Sophie was stunned.

"It was the Empire's people, including my ancestors," Eric took over the head nun's words. "The current Diran Empire was built upon the ruins of a dozen ancient human kingdoms in the first place."

Sophie opened her mouth. "Didn't the Hero King Utu drive out the Demon race and establish the first human kingdom?"

It seemed their understanding of the early history of the Empire differed somewhat.

Eric had no interest in shattering the young nun's fairy-tale-like worldview. He picked up his goblet, swirled it, and took another sip of the sweet, low-alcohol mead.

What he cared about more was why these two Arlans had appeared here.

"The Cael Ice Lake in Northuria..."

He could not simply pretend he hadn't heard the place Garcia had accidentally blurted out.

Northuria, the northernmost province of the Empire, possessed a frigid climate and remained covered in snow and ice for most of the year. To the north, it bordered the Demon Territory via the Black Ice Great Wall; to the east lay the Valana Kingdom, which had split from its interior.

Judging by his words, the Arlans who had been wandering for hundreds of years seemed to have quietly established a stronghold near the Cael Ice Lake over there.

Eric remembered taking on a quest issued by a heavily injured Arlan survivor who claimed their tribe had been massacred by the Demon race. Now that he thought about it, the Arlan stronghold must have been right in the path of the advancing Demon army and was wiped out along the way.

*Talk about bad luck...*

Eric felt a trace of sympathy, but not much.

"It seems there was also a somewhat well-known Arlan NPC... Who was that again?"

Unable to recall for the moment, Eric let it go and continued eating and drinking.

Once they were well-fed and rested, the party went to sleep at a nearby inn, spending their first night since leaving Dante County.