Chapter 104

At Kraft’s strong insistence, William temporarily abandoned the idea, and the team quickly withdrew from the mine.

“We can’t just turn back like this—after you’ve asked your questions, you’ll still have to go down,” William shook his head at his inexplicable caution, casting an unwilling glance at the cave entrance behind them; next time they came, they’d have to endure another agonizing climb, “And an obscure cult in some tiny village—do you really think it means anything?”

“It’s nothing but fools deceiving other fools who know nothing.”

He stamped out the torch in the sandy soil, calming his emotions slightly, realizing he had been too hasty—crossing paths below was merely a guess.

What puzzled him was that Kraft’s attention had shifted from the original objective, his behavior now dominated by inexplicable caution, even rejecting immediate further exploration. A team that had previously cooperated well suddenly had two diverging voices.

Yet William was quite accustomed to this situation—he’d encountered it before. In fact, it was fairly common; some people believed minor events were interconnected and represented an undeniable revelation.

You can’t openly refute them, because logic can’t dismantle something whose origin can’t even be explained—just as the prospect of two silver coins wouldn’t make a local take two more steps downward.

The best approach is to go along with them; once this phase passes, things will naturally resume.

“The mine isn’t going anywhere—we’ll go down first,” William led the way back along their path; this time could be used to find a local willing to guide them downward—no waste.

…

“Sorry.”

Kup followed Kraft, who was scanning the village, and muttered an apology under his breath. He had seemed to hesitate for a long time, waiting until they returned to the village and parted from William’s group before speaking alone.

It was rare—since becoming this new retainer, most of his time had been spent catching up on lessons; he had no idea what he was supposed to do, let alone what actions were wrong, and thus rarely had the chance to apologize.

And Kraft’s communication style was mostly advisory, rarely direct criticism; thus, Kup’s solemn apology felt oddly abrupt.

“Why say that? I don’t recall you ever doing anything wrong.” He quickly reflected on recent interactions—was there some misstatement that led Kup to misunderstand him?

“Because my ramblings caused your decision and Captain William’s to… diverge slightly.”

“You don’t need to think that way. My stance doesn’t favor anyone’s single-sided account.” Kraft understood his meaning—Kup likely felt his uncertain feelings had negatively influenced their decisions, even contributing to the team’s minor split.

He turned to the two behind him, looking at Kup and Yin Feng, “Moreover, you should all clearly realize that now—and for a long time to come—we are one unit, and you will eventually shoulder parts I cannot manage.”

“So, I’m glad you’re willing to voice your discoveries and opinions, whether certain or not—it’s a good step.”

“Thank you, my lord. I understand.” Kup nodded, half-understanding, and continued walking beside Kraft toward the village center.

Where terrain allowed, these villages were generally built along a single line and point: roads for mineral transport, and above all, water sources.

Given the village’s size, the actual distance might be mere steps, yet new houses still chose locations as close as possible to the well, almost forming a custom tied to subtle status competition or other unexamined reasons.

This made it easy for outsiders to skip asking for directions—just walk straight in, and you’d easily find the well. The circular, narrow rim, built of dusty yellow rock, looked unappealing, but since everyone came here, it was perfect for charlatans to preach.

A half-grown boy was straining to pull the well rope; his chest barely reached the well’s edge, unable to find the right angle to lift the full bucket.

Clearly, this wasn’t Old Gori.

“Need help?” Kraft reached out and assisted him, lifting a bucket nearly as wide as the well opening, brimming over. Only because the opening was so small—otherwise, you couldn’t say whether the bucket or the boy would come up first.

He showed no surprise at the help, handed the rope to the stranger without turning, and only when about to thank him did he realize it wasn’t a familiar neighbor: “You’re from outside?”

Beneath his dusty forehead hair, his eyes—slightly cloudy like discarded glass beads from the Vetchum workshop—held suspicion and a faint, detectable hostility, as if mineral impurities had solidified within.

It was directed at the “outsider” identity; his young age hadn’t yet taught him to mask this rejection—he displayed it openly, far more than the subtle xenophobia felt in other villages.

Before he left, Kraft tried to trade his recent “favor” for information: “Do you know where Old Gori is? Someone told me I could find him here.”

“Why are you looking for him?” The boy stepped back, creating distance, as if ready to bolt with the bucket.

Kraft fumbled beside his hip and left chest—half his soul instinctively reached for a nonexistent pocket to pull out some trinket to win favor: a shiny tube, a pen that clicked.

But his empty pockets held only a copper coin he’d idly slipped in during his last payment, and a scrap of paper.

He offered the coin: “We’re interested in the drawings on the stone by the village entrance—we can’t understand them at all. Do you know where Old Gori is?”

The boy pushed aside his tangled hair; dust and gray flakes fell. He squinted, then opened his eyes, finally looking away from the coin—not taking it, but his frown eased slightly.

“I know.”

“You know?” Kraft retrieved the coin, folded the paper—thankfully, its fibers were still tough, offering some room for manipulation.

“He’s a messenger!” The boy answered, proud as any child reciting something drilled into him.

“Very clever.” Kraft had expected to learn Old Gori’s location—this village didn’t look like a place where messengers came, nor could he fathom how any part of the drawing related to a messenger. “You actually know about messengers?”

“Old Gori says messengers bring things from far away—and they can bring my father back.”

“Your father?”

Kraft’s hand froze, nearly tearing the paper’s edge—a voice from behind interrupted, asking first. Kup, unusually, interrupted during Kraft’s conversation, his questioning tone trembling with disbelief.

“Yes—he’s been trapped in the cave for years because of those two outsiders. Old Gori says the messenger will bring him back.”

Kup fell silent, as if his interruption had been a momentary impulse.

Kraft folded the paper in his fingers, smoothly taking over, smiling as he demonstrated the technique, successfully easing some of the boy’s suspicion: “That’s wonderful. Did he say how long it would take?”

“I’ve already seen him!”

“Oh? Where did you see him?”

“In the cave,” the boy replied as if it were obvious, surprised this outsider was so forgetful he had to ask. “Didn’t I say he was trapped in the cave?”

“Ah, right—I’m sorry, I’m being foolish.” Kraft shaped the paper into a beak and handed it to the boy; this time, the gift wasn’t refused. “Here you go.”

“What’s this?” The boy’s small hand took the unfamiliar gift.

Thanks to the dictionary he’d flipped through while binding books, he’d found the Norse equivalent: “You can call it a paper crane—a kind of bird.”

“Never seen one.”

“To be honest, I’ve never seen one either. Anyway, I hope your father… stays safe.”

Kraft bid him farewell. The boy walked off, holding the small toy, hoping it wouldn’t get soaked by the water in the bucket before he reached home. “By the way—did you see Old Gori today?”

“No! He used to be right here!” His figure turned behind a wall and vanished.

The boy’s laughter over his new toy hadn’t faded when the face of the man who’d just given it froze—his smile dead, his expression hardening into solemnity as he turned. “I’ve never seen a messenger like that.”

And Kup—the retainer who had suddenly interrupted—had looked unwell since then, just as he had the night before, standing before the rock painting, facing the “familiar” face.