Chapter 117 : Chapter 117

Chapter 117: The Dashing Cervantes

“What the hell is that?”

Walter muttered.

The gazes of his guild members lined up against the wall and the merchants seated around were all fixed on the mysterious man.

“……”

Godin was no exception.

Turning his head, he stiffened slightly in surprise.

Step.

At last, a man in a splendid ceremonial outfit, wearing a golden masquerade mask, crossed the threshold and approached Godin.

Above the mask, which revealed only his eyes, purple feathers tinged with red light stretched upright like a dark shadow.

Diriring— Ding— Ding… Diriring—

In the sudden silence that descended, the only sound filling the banquet hall was Jimmy’s playing.

With every step the masked man took, Jimmy’s fingertips pressed the strings in sync with his stride.

It was as if they had rehearsed, the music flowing naturally with the man’s movements.

“Who the hell are you? This isn’t a place for dancing! Hey, outside! Who let this guy in!”

Walter shouted, looking past the man.

That’s when it happened.

Thud—

A sound rang out like an answer.

Walter furrowed his brow.

Beyond the open door, he saw the face of a guild member collapsed on the corridor floor.

It was the guy guarding the entrance.

“Do you know Cervantes?”

The man’s first words.

Diring—!

As if adding a flourish, Jimmy strummed all five strings forcefully.

“That’s me.”

Diriring—

“Ha, what…”

Gritting his teeth, Walter shoved his chair back and shot to his feet.

“What kind of dogshit nonsense are you spouting? Hey! What are you doing? Drag him out!”

Two guild members from either end rushed toward ‘Cervantes.’

Just as they reached to grab his arms—

Smack—! Smack—!

With a light lift of his folded arms, the two guild members, struck square in the face, collapsed simultaneously.

‘…!’

Jimmy’s eyes widened.

He missed a beat.

He hadn’t even seen how the man moved.

‘Sh-shit. This is it! This is it…!’

Jimmy swallowed hard.

Sweat dripped from his chin.

He made up his mind.

His final performance on land—this was the moment.

Ding— Diding! Dot, dot, dot—! Ding— Diding!

Jimmy stood up.

His playing style changed.

His right hand, which had been plucking the strings, began occasionally tapping Viorella’s wooden body.

The dull yet lively sound, alternating between fist and palm, added tension to the performance.

Meanwhile, his left hand slid along the neck extending from the body.

Now, all Jimmy could see was ‘Cervantes.’

“What’s that bastard doing now?”

Walter’s enraged face was laid bare.

Gritting his teeth again, he jerked his chin.

Kiing! King! King!

The sound of blades being drawn echoed from all directions.

The seated merchants screamed and scrambled out the door in a frenzy.

Amid the chaos, only two people remained unmoved.

Godin and ‘Cervantes.’

“Who are you?”

“Didn’t you hear? I’m Cervantes.”

“Cervantes…?”

Tap.

‘Cervantes,’ or rather, Bihen, placed a hand on Godin’s shoulder and gently stepped back.

Caught off guard, Godin stumbled backward, and guild members wielding swords rushed into the space he’d occupied.

Thwack—! Thwack! Crack—!

Dang, dadadang, dadang—! Dangdadadang—!

Each time the purple cape fluttered, guild members flew into the air and crashed to the floor.

Jimmy’s Viorella added a fierce rhythm to the strikes.

“Big Brother! Get out of here!”

“……”

The Easton merchants crowded at the door and called out to Godin.

But Godin couldn’t move.

He didn’t even realize his mouth was agape.

‘Who the hell is that guy…?’

Meanwhile, ‘Cervantes’ continued his dazzling movements.

He leaped onto a table, kicking approaching guild members, smashing heads with plates, hurling cutlery to strike foreheads, then jumping down to unleash the Gold-Catching Hand Technique, sending two men flying at once.

“Awesome!”

Jimmy, now excited, shouted. Unconsciously biting his lip, he was immersed in his performance.

Dangdarada— Dangdangdang! Dangdaradang, dang! Dang! Dang! Dang!

As Cervantes’ movements quickened, Jimmy’s Viorella launched into a full-blown rapid tempo.

Was the movement driving the music, or the music leading the movement…?

It didn’t matter.

In this moment, the two were perfectly one.

“Argh!”

The guild members’ screams mingled with the cacophony of ‘Cervantes’ leaping across tables, blending into a single harmony.

Even the fleeing merchants turned back, becoming spectators.

Someone muttered to Godin.

“Big Brother… who… who is that guy?”

“……”

By now, Jimmy had surrendered himself to the melody.

In a trance, he shook his head to the beat, sweat flying with each movement.

And finally—

The ferocious tempo came to an end.

Like a flame burning through its last embers in a blazing burst before fading away.

At the same time, the commotion ceased.

Dirring…

Jimmy’s right hand, having swept the final string, traced a smooth arc through the air.

His hand rose above his head, his shoulders heaving slightly.

His ragged breathing soothed the lingering resonance, as if it were part of the performance.

“Haa, haa…”

Jimmy kept his eyes closed, steadying himself to avoid trembling.

He didn’t want to ruin the perfect conclusion of this harmony.

His soul’s partner, Cervantes, stood tall among the sprawled guild members.

Step, step.

The incarnation of Cervantes, Bihen, approached Walter.

To Walter, it was as if fear itself was striding toward him.

“D-don’t…”

Bihen swiftly reached out and grabbed Walter’s throat.

Thud!

“Guh… kgh!”

Walter flailed his hands wildly.

He struck the firm arm gripping his neck, but the slaps sounded weak and pitiful.

“S-save… me…”

His face flushed red in an instant, blood rushing to his head.

In Walter’s eyes, he saw it.

Beneath the golden masquerade mask, the man’s lips twisted into a wicked grin.

“I told you. Touch my shoulder, and I’ll break your limbs.”

Whispering in his ear, it hit Walter.

It was yesterday.

In Godin’s shop.

‘Could it be… this guy…?’

For a moment, Walter felt a slight relief as if his choked breath had loosened.

Indeed, the grip on his neck weakened.

Walter seized the chance.

“W-whatever you want… I-I’ll give you anything!”

“Anything I want?”

“Yes! So spare me! I can make you rich and carefree for life…!”

“Hmm.”

“I’m serious!”

Walter sobbed, his face smeared with spit and tears.

The eyes visible through the golden mask were endlessly cold.

Crack—

“Kghh…”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? Tsk.”

Walter’s head tilted back, his tongue lolling out.

Looking down at his face, Bihen muttered softly.

“No matter how I think about it, this is right. A cunning bastard like you is dangerous.”

Walter’s lips trembled.

The realization that he couldn’t comprehend the words felt even more horrifying.

“You’ve tormented people less clever than you, haven’t you? Don’t feel wronged, Walter. I’m just returning the lives you stole to their owners.”

Walter’s body, eyes rolled back, went limp.

Walter was dead.

‘Hmm.’

Bihen suddenly glanced back.

The head seat Walter had occupied offered a clear view of the door leading into the banquet hall.

A figure, a head taller than the others, caught his eye immediately.

Beyond Godin and the merchants crowded near the half-open door—

“Hak, hak, hak!”

Bill was stumbling toward them from the end of the corridor, running as fast as he could.

‘Bill? Why?’

Bihen turned to face him.

“Uncle Godin—!”

Bill, pushing through the crowd and entering, panted heavily.

Normally, he’d have collapsed right there.

Sure enough, Bill, retching and doubled over, looked like he might fall…

“Kraaang!”

With a bizarre yell, he straightened his back.

Godin, approaching with a startled expression, asked,

“Bill? Why are you here…?”

“Uncle! Are you okay?!”

“Me? I’m…”

“You haven’t already fought, have you?!”

Godin was momentarily speechless.

Because it might have actually happened.

If the mysterious man ‘Cervantes’ hadn’t appeared at that critical moment.

“Hah…!”

Following Godin’s gaze, Bill gasped.

Only then did he see it.

The place was already a battlefield.

Tables were overturned, broken dishes and fallen bodies scattered everywhere.

“Uncle…”

Bill trailed off.

His eyes, now moist, looked at Godin before dropping.

“…I’m sorry. I wanted to protect you.”

His voice grew quieter.

Guilt, helplessness, regret—a mix of indescribable emotions poured out.

The man he respected had ended up with blood on his hands again.

He knew better than anyone how much that meant abandoning a great resolve.

“The Oath of Bastion…”

A tear glistened at the corner of Bill’s eye.

Turning his head, he finally saw it.

Why hadn’t he noticed before?

A man in a flamboyant purple outfit and a golden masquerade mask stood before him.

Like a villain guarding the final gate.

Sniff.

Bill wiped his nose.

Straightening his posture, he faced the villain head-on.

The aura was different.

Probably some elite mercenary hired by Walter.

He tightly gripped the Arming Sword and Buckler in his hands.

“If Uncle had to abandon the conviction he held so dearly…”

A burning resolve in his eyes blew away the tears.

“I’ll muster the courage of a lifetime to make up for it.”

To the boy Bill, there could be no greater consolation.

“Haha.”

The villain chuckled softly.

Bill frowned.

“Don’t laugh at me! What do you know!”

Swish.

The purple villain turned.

His long cape fluttered as it wrapped around him.

Walking to the window, he stopped and turned his head toward Bill.

Point.

He gave a thumbs-up.

To Bihen, Bill was no longer just a camping expert.

“Respect to a brave man.”

Crash—!

And so, Cervantes disappeared.

* * *

A few days later.

Chop chop chop chop—

All sorts of delicious sounds filled the inside of ‘The Oath of Bastion.’

Accompanied by Godin’s humming.

Creak.

Godin turned his head. A subtle smile spread across his face.

“Today’s the day.”

“Let’s settle this for real.”

Both grinned simultaneously.

Bill sat quietly without a word. In this moment, idle talk was unnecessary.

“Need some ‘Morning in Ludglen’?”

At Godin’s question, Bill smirked and raised his index finger, wagging it side to side.

“I’ll pass.”

“…Ho.”

In the silence, only the sound of cooking quietly resonated.

Bill, as always, closed his eyes gently.

The sound of waiting, the savory aroma filling the modest shop, the joy of imagining the happiness just moments away.

He felt it all fully.

Tap.

“Here, ‘The Oath of Bastion.’ It’s a bit spicy today.”

“Bring it on.”

Bill gripped his utensils in both hands.

He took a deep breath.

“Let’s eat.”

The first bite.

His face flushed instantly.

His breath hitched.

Normally, this was when he’d chug ‘Morning in Ludglen.’

But not this time.

Silently, the next piece.

Sweat beaded on his nose, his mouth tingling.

Another bite.

His eyes burned, and his jaw ached.

It felt unbearable.

Just one sip of cider, just one, his mind screamed.

But Bill held firm.

Another bite, and another.

When did it start?

‘Ah…!’

Bill’s eyes widened.

Something stirred at the tip of his tongue.

The maddeningly spicy meat, chewed long enough, began to turn savory.

Like crossing a bitter, rugged hill to find a peaceful meadow beyond.

The rich, savory flavor spreading through his mouth was an indescribable relief and happiness.

“You’ve got the face of enlightenment, Bill.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Finally, the last piece.

After putting it in his mouth, Bill quietly exhaled.

“The Oath of Bastion must have been everything to you, Uncle, something irreplaceable. I’m a soldier, and I have comrades, so I understand. The bond with them is everything. But choosing to walk the path of cooking, letting that go… for me, it’s a pain I can’t even imagine. It’s like denying a part of your life, your past.”

“……”

“Without the encouragement of your comrades to charge forward without looking back, and the oath you shared with them to never return to being a ‘warrior’… you wouldn’t be here.”

A small cough.

“This dish speaks of the weight of that promise. Life’s many hardships and trials—you could close your eyes just once and pass them by easily. But ‘The Oath of Bastion’ says to keep moving forward steadfastly.”

Bill smiled.

“That heart, I’ve fully received it.”

Today, Bill truly became a man.

What more needs to be said?

Godin raised the corner of his mouth, the smile of neither a loser nor a winner.

“Guess I should give you a gift.”

As he placed a glass in front of Bill and pulled out a small oak barrel from somewhere—

Creak.

The door opened, and both their gazes naturally turned that way.

A man in tattered clothes, carrying an instrument slightly smaller than himself on his back, stood there awkwardly.

“……”

“……”

Why was it? Godin’s eyes began to mirror the way he looked at Bill.

“Come in.”

“…Is this the place that sells ‘Consolation for Starving Artists’?”

Godin nodded quietly at the question and gestured for the man to sit next to Bill.

He took out another glass, placed it in front of Jimmy, and tilted the oak barrel to fill both their glasses silently.

The liquor had a purple hue.

Bill and Jimmy clinked their glasses lightly, turned their heads slightly, and took a sip.

Their eyes widened simultaneously.

“This is…”

“So refreshing.”

Godin looked at the two with satisfaction.

Smacking his lips to savor the taste, Jimmy spoke.

“Romantic…”

“Ho, is that the artist’s touch?”

“What’s this drink called?”

It was to become the signature menu of ‘The Oath of Bastion,’ and his voice carried weight.

“The Dashing Cervantes.”

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