Chapter 65: Rainy Night

The rain poured down.

The howling gale, intertwined with the thunder that lit up the night sky, swirled and circled above the firmament.

"Patter!"

The worn-out leather shoes, worn for who knows how long, landed heavily, stepping into a puddle by the road.

Instantly splashing up countless dirty water droplets mixed with fishy black mud.

Joey wrapped himself tightly in the coarse hemp coat that covered his body like a cloak.

His head hung low, hiding his cheeks beneath the hood.

Yet his feet never stopped for a moment.

He didn't need to look up to recognize the way; like a rat in the sewer, he navigated the intricate alleys with extreme familiarity.

With the moonlight occasionally leaking through the rain and mist, and his own decent eyesight,

He could clearly perceive that as he went deeper, the hard, solid brick floor beneath his feet gradually turned into a rough, soft gravel road, and finally into muddy dirt paths.

In the corner of his eye, the neat brick houses that had once shone with warm light on both sides of the road turned into dilapidated wooden shacks with only blurred outlines in the night, and small grass sheds swaying and wailing in the wind and rain.

He didn't stop.

His home wasn't here.

Thinking back many years ago, Joey had once had a place that was somewhat reassuring.

But after his parents died, that place became the love nest for his uncle and aunt, and he became an outsider.

Nothing to miss.

He didn't know how much time had passed.

Until the night under the storm grew darker, and the few lights in the town gradually went out.

Only then did the two thin calves, constantly stepping on puddles, finally stop, planted deep in the mud.

Appearing before him was a small, yellowish-brown tent patched in various places.

"Home."

Casually wiping the mud off his soles on a stone nearby, Joey lifted the tent flap and walked in quickly.

He couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief.

Although the tent roof had sagged significantly due to accumulated water, fortunately, the material of the tent was quite tough and didn't leak.

A long-lost joy bubbled up in his heart.

He moved a stool from the corner, stood on it, and on tiptoe, gently pushed and pressed the sagging part with his right hand, letting the accumulated rainwater slide off the two ends of the tent.

A moist, thick, and icy sensation came from his fingertips.

Come to think of it, this tent was a gift from Ingram.

It was said to have come from some long-retired adventurer who seemed to be in a hurry for money, so it ended up being cheap for him.

He couldn't help but recall the sheriff's frowning reprimand from earlier.

Joey curled his lip.

Although it was basically useless, he knew the other had always been helping him.

To some extent, he often took advantage of this relationship between them.

He took out a piece of black bread he had bought that afternoon from his bosom.

The shell, originally as hard as a brick, was even colder now that it was moistened by the rain, but it was slightly softer and easier to eat.

Hiding the flattened purse from Ingram in the corner of the tent, Joey dragged out an old stove from somewhere and skillfully lit a fire to warm himself.

He wasn't stupid.

Of the two adventurers he met today, one was a short guy who liked to giggle; he looked silly and seemed very easy to trick.

The other was a bit terrifying, tight-faced, cold, and carrying two longswords on his back; he looked like someone not to be trifled with.

In the past, he would have been too busy hiding to even think about it.

The reason he dared to step forward just now was because he knew Ingram was nearby.

Even if he failed and was caught, as long as he wasn't killed on the spot and made a little noise, the other would come to help him out.

It was a pity that not only was he caught red-handed, but he had also accidentally chosen a penniless wretch who had just lost all his money at the casino.

Thinking of this, Joey gnawed on the black bread in his hand and couldn't help but curse in a low voice:

"Stinking gambler!"

In the humid air, sparks flickered, the stove fire struggled to start, burning decadently and weakly.

Feeling the warmth coming from before him, a thoughtful look appeared on Joey's face.

"Next month is the annual Midsummer Festival; the market should be lively soon."

"I'll go try my luck then; maybe I'll run into a big fat sheep from out of town..."

"Thump!"

The dull footsteps from outside the tent suddenly startled Joey from his thoughts.

"Who!?"

He lowered his voice and shouted.

No answer.

But the footsteps, which were exceptionally clear amidst the sound of the rain, grew closer.

Joey instinctively drew a rusty short dagger wrapped in rags from his waist, gripping it tightly with both hands.

"Who is it? Speak up!?"

Still no answer.

But the footsteps suddenly stopped.

Sitting in the corner of the tent swaying with the gale, through the faint orange-red firelight,

A sturdy, hulking figure stood quietly outside the tent flap.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

A large hand covered in calluses slammed onto the table.

"I'm telling you, when I faced that cave bear back then, I didn't even blink; one sliding shovel..."

The adventurer, reeking of alcohol and flushed red, had one foot on a chair, boasting at the top of his lungs.

"Hahaha, didn't you say earlier that you circled to the side and pierced its spine with a dagger? How come the story changed after a few days?"

Someone nearby teased.

"Eh, you don't understand! That cave bear..."

Xia Nan sat at the dining table with a half-drunk cup of water in front of him.

Feeling the warmth spreading through his body from the filled stomach, he couldn't help but narrow his eyes comfortably.

Beside him, the Halfling Alton listened with great interest to the adventurer at the same table boasting.

He even plucked the lute strings occasionally, providing accompaniment to set the mood for the adventurer's story.

"Hey, have you heard? Something strange happened in Kalanfur recently."

Seeming tired of the cave bear with a hundred ways to die, an adventurer at the table suddenly lowered his voice and asked mysteriously.

"What could happen in this tiny town? At most, two people die."

A teammate was unimpressed; in the adventurer business, they were long used to the cycle of life and death, and the appeal of an ordinary murder case wasn't even as great as a random goblin on the side of the road.

"Don't be in such a hurry, listen to me."

"According to my friend who is a guard in town, the victim's entire arm bone was pulled out!"

"There wasn't a single wound on the outside; it was just a piece of rotten meat!"

Rumble—

Thunder crashed outside the window, and the Halfling pulled the lute strings high at the right moment, making a very timely, chilling sound.

The adventurer telling the story was startled and shivered.

Only then did he look at Alton with embarrassment:

"Buddy, you don't have to..."

"Knock, knock, knock!"

The hurried knocking interrupted the other's words.

The originally noisy room fell silent instantly.

Eyes turned toward the wooden door, which was swaying slightly under the knocking.

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 66 =====