Chapter 90

There was nothing Mikhail needed to say to Ethan just yet.

He turned toward the window and let the night scenery beyond the glass fill his eyes.

Open plains swept past at a steady clip, and far in the distance, the lights of scattered homesteads flickered into view.

"—Mikhail."

Ethan's voice pushed its way into his thoughts. Mikhail turned to face him.

"Talk to me. What exactly are you planning?"

Ethan kept his gaze pinned to the scenery outside, his voice flat as he laid out the question that had clearly been gnawing at him.

…Not an unreasonable thing to ask.

All Ethan knew about their current situation was that they were heading southeast to find a way to suppress his regeneration ability.

Whether as the person most directly affected, or as someone sharing this journey—it was only natural he'd want more details.

"……"

Still.

Perhaps mindful of how strained things had become between them—

Ethan didn't seem to expect much of an answer.

Mikhail lowered his eyes. He took a quiet measure of the shifting dynamics, paused for a beat, then spoke.

"A weapon."

The breath across from him hitched off-rhythm. Ethan's reply came threaded with surprise.

"What?"

"Exactly what I said. We're going to forge a weapon. One that outshines anything else."

Mikhail answered and glanced up.

Ethan wore a dazed expression, processing the words a beat behind, his mouth already opening to ask for more.

He'd want the full story now.

Mikhail turned toward the window before Ethan's voice could follow. He let his eyelids fall shut.

"……"

The moment his vision went black, every other sense sharpened.

The hoofbeats rang like driving rain, and the rocking of the seat jabbed at the small of his back.

Somewhere in there, Ethan's incredulous scoff seemed to come out louder than usual—but it wasn't worth worrying about.

Han and Ul nudging him to open his eyes, then gently gnawing on his fingers when he wouldn't—that, too, was nothing to worry about.

"Ow."

Nothing at all.

---

By the time they reached the village near Melphendes, the evening had deepened considerably.

Mikhail moved immediately to find somewhere to drop their bags.

Every inn in the area would be packed with outsiders who'd come to post or pick up requests.

But there was exactly one place that happened to have a vacancy right about now.

[Inn: Root Broth]

"—Oh my! What perfect timing! We just had a room for two open up out of nowhere!"

Mikhail looked at the innkeeper standing behind the counter.

The woman had a warm, inviting face and was chattering away with remarkable enthusiasm for someone meeting them for the first time.

"That room was supposed to be booked through the day after tomorrow, but the young folks staying in it got lucky—found something valuable in the ruins! A hundred and fifty gold coins' worth, can you believe it!"

"Ah."

"They were jumping up and down, saying they could finally pay this quarter's tuition. How was I supposed to hound them about cancellation fees after that? I congratulated them, charged them for the nights they'd stayed, and sent them on their way."

"Right."

Mikhail was rummaging through his coin pouch, replying in an even tone, when Ethan let out a quiet sigh from behind him and stepped forward.

He was about to address the innkeeper in a voice pitched slightly higher than usual—

Clack. Mikhail set coins on the counter and added:

"That was kind of you."

Ethan flinched and closed his mouth. The innkeeper folded her arms with a look that said it was the most obvious thing in the world and nodded.

"Well, of course! Joy's meant to be shared. Do that enough, and the good comes back around to you eventually."

Clink.

Ethan said nothing more. He simply placed his own coins on the counter.

The innkeeper checked the amount, produced two keys from behind her, and handed them over.

Then she called toward the kitchen in a booming voice, ordering dinner to be prepared.

Jingle.

Mikhail examined his key. The tag dangling from it pointed to the first room on the second floor.

The exact same layout as in the game.

He picked up the bag he'd set down beside him and turned toward the staircase tucked in the corner of the hall.

That was when the innkeeper piped up one last time, her voice bright and cheerful.

"That room you'll be staying in! It was vacated on account of good fortune, so I'm sure good things are headed your way too!"

Mikhail paused mid-step and looked back.

The innkeeper stood in place, wearing a kind smile and waving at them.

Mikhail held the moment for a beat, then let the corner of his mouth lift.

"I'm sure they will."

---

Clatter.

The innkeeper's dinner offering was a stew of chunky meat, potatoes, and carrots, served alongside rye bread.

About half the food on the table remained when Ethan set down his spoon and looked across at Mikhail.

He honestly couldn't tell whether the food was going into his mouth or up his nose.

Part of it was sitting across from someone he'd been at odds with for so long.

But the bigger problem was the unanswered question from earlier—it kept dragging his thoughts back like a hook.

"Mikhail."

Ethan finally put his spoon down and spoke. Mikhail stopped eating and answered.

"What?"

"So. What did you mean about forging a weapon?"

"Oh, that."

Mikhail tossed out a lazy response and went right back to his spoon.

He swallowed a mouthful of stew and replied in an indifferent tone.

"I'd rather not get into it. Not yet."

As if what was happening across the table didn't concern him in the slightest.

Ethan's fingers curled inward before he could stop them. Something bitter surged up from his gut.

He was part of this journey. He'd come along as a member of the team. And yet Mikhail treated him like a subordinate—deciding on a whim whether to share the very information that would shape their course.

Then again, none of this was new. Hadn't the past year been nothing but dismissal, mockery, and strong-arming?

This time would be no different—

"—I know. That it's frustrating."

A voice cold as the night sky cut clean through the tangle of his thoughts.

Ethan looked at Mikhail with a jolt of surprise.

Mikhail was watching the tip of his fork tap idly against the plate, speaking at an unhurried pace.

"But when there's no trust between us—when neither of us really understands the other—sharing more information than necessary won't do either of us any good. Better to narrow the view and focus on what's right in front of us. Less confusion that way."

Mikhail set the fork down with a soft clink and met his eyes, the corner of his mouth pulling to one side.

"What do you think? I figured you, of all people, would get that."

Ethan stared at him for a long moment, then let his gaze drift slowly downward.

The situation kept defying his expectations, and the unsettling feeling of being read like an open book left him off-balance.

Before he knew it, the noise in his head had gone quiet—as though it had no interest in mounting a counterargument.

"Ethan. Let me ask you a favor."

The tone had shifted—genuinely serious now.

Mikhail, when Ethan raised his eyes again, had his chin propped in one hand, wearing a smile layered with meaning.

"Since things have already ended up this way—for this mission, just close your eyes and trust me completely. Well… as much as you can. I swear I won't break my promise to you."

---

The next day arrived.

The sun had climbed well past the eastern horizon by mid-morning. Mikhail and Ethan left the inn and headed for the request office.

"…Why the hell is this place so huge?"

They'd just reached the front entrance when Ethan muttered from a step behind, sounding mildly appalled.

Mikhail glanced back at him, said nothing, and reached forward with both hands to grip the door handles.

As for why Melphendes's request office dwarfed those in other regions—

Showing was faster than explaining.

Creeeak.

The moment the doors parted, a wall of voices crashed over them like a wave.

On one side of the vast hall, shelves overflowed with goods while clusters of people haggled over prices.

On the other, rows of seats faced a raised platform where a packed crowd traded conditions back and forth in heated voices.

Mikhail looked back at Ethan and jerked his chin forward.

"Come on. We need to pick one out too."

Ethan looked bewildered at first, but a quick scan of the buying-and-selling chaos seemed to click something into place.

Given his backstory of drifting from place to place, a marketplace atmosphere like this would hardly be foreign to him.

Mikhail pulled his gaze from Ethan and pressed forward, weaving through the crowded hall.

"……"

He came to a stop near the platform, where bidding was in full swing.

The indistinct murmur from moments ago had sharpened into clear, ringing calls that echoed through the space.

"Request number twenty-nine! Collecting a minimum of ten mana stones from crystal mine route seven! Stones that fell to the ground and lost quality are absolutely unacceptable—they must be harvested directly from the raw ore! If you're interested, raise your hand!"

"Even for an experienced adventurer… look, combat specialists are scarce these days, so sure, we could offer another six or seven gold on top. But without major guild credentials, ten or more is out of the question."

Mikhail threaded past the bustling crowd and spotted two empty seats.

He settled into one of the chairs facing the platform and glanced over his shoulder.

Ethan was swiveling his head this way and that, taking in the surroundings—but soon enough he walked over and sat down beside him.

"So, what are you after?"

A moderately young-looking host was introducing request number thirty-one when Ethan's question reached him beneath the din.

Mikhail stole a glance at Ethan's profile, then turned his eyes back to the platform and answered.

"We're buying. Request number forty-five."