Chapter 13
Veris's good mood lasted until he went out at noon, when he saw the brave young man who was clearly waiting for him at the street corner, and then it all came to an end.
Arnold crouched in the corner, with Allen, who was two or three years older than him, standing beside him. After Veris altered his memories, the two quickly became good friends, completely abandoning their previous wariness.
After being intimidated by him, she still dared to hang around in front of him. Veris hadn't seen someone with such strong mental fortitude in a long time.
Allen's face was tense as he stared intently at the cobblestone path on the ground, as if he wanted to see something beautiful in it.
Arnold spotted Veris first, immediately stood up, and waved happily, greeting him, "Good afternoon! Poet, sir!"
Allen stood with his arms crossed, still staring at the cobblestone path, as if he hadn't heard anything.
Veris glanced at him but didn't pay much attention. Although the street corner was his usual route, it didn't mean he would stop to talk to Arnold.
So the poet simply nodded politely to Arnold, said "Good afternoon," and then headed to his usual restaurant without even glancing at him.
Just like how they treated the other warm residents of Albion.
Arnold blinked and saw Veris walk away without looking back, a look of disappointment on his face.
Allen breathed a sigh of relief and said, "I knew it, he wouldn't talk to you on his own initiative."
"Where is he going?" Arnold asked, watching the direction Veris had walked.
"I don't know," Allen replied, clearly giving a perfunctory answer.
Veris had no idea what the two were up to, but after Nelson's request yesterday, Arnold probably wouldn't be able to move around as much as he does now; he'd need someone with him at least.
He went to a small restaurant, and given his discovery the night before, he felt he had to reward himself with a big meal—he ordered an extra side dish than usual.
Although the young hero was a bit annoying, he would leave soon. Veris was planning to follow him anyway, so after thinking it over, he felt that Arnold's frequent visits to him weren't such a bad thing.
However, he really hates noisy children.
The noisy child, when he grew up, always thought of those incompetent people at the Papacy.
After finishing lunch, Veris, as usual, strolled to the market to listen to the interesting stories and anecdotes brought by merchants and vendors from other places, and jot down the interesting ones.
He noticed that Arnold and Allen had been following him. He wondered if it was because he had ignored them at noon that the two of them didn't dare to approach him anymore, and they just followed him furtively.
Even the bakery owner noticed the two young men behaving strangely and hinted to Veris, "Veris, are you getting along well with that new kid?"
Veris: "How could that be? I've never been to Amberley."
Of course, he didn't know Arnold either.
After buying milk from the bakery owner, Veris said he would come back to pick it up later, and then turned and headed towards the Mercenary Guild.
He walks slowly, even leisurely. When he encounters familiar shop owners or employees, he will stop to greet them and exchange pleasantries for a while. The conversation is not very meaningful; it mostly consists of asking how he is feeling today and wishing him a happy day.
The residents of Albion all know Veris. After all, he has lived here for so many years, and in the hearts of the residents of Albion, they have long regarded Veris as a part of Albion.
Although Veris didn't actually form deep relationships with anyone, the bard's conversation was always pleasant. He was tactful and always inquired about things for the sake of his writing, rather than gossiping like others.
Poets always have a businesslike attitude.
After wandering around Albion at such a leisurely pace, Veris finally arrived at the Mercenary Guild, several hours after noon.
He arrived at the Mercenary Guild, where Arnold and Allen, who were following him, exchanged a glance and slipped inside through a side door. They quickly found Veris in the main hall.
The poet was talking to the young man at the front desk who was in charge of receiving commissions. The young man was in his twenties and had been injured during a previous mission, so he could only do odd jobs here to make ends meet.
Veris asked President Nelson how long he had been gone from Albion. The young man glanced outside and said, "If the president hasn't returned in another hour, he'll probably be spending the night in the city."
“Oh, okay. When he comes back tomorrow morning, tell him that Veris came to see him.” Veris nodded, gave the instructions to the young man, and then turned and walked out of the Mercenary Association.
Albion has returned to its former prosperity. Merchants' caravans can still be seen resting at the gate, discussing which inn in town to stay at. Horses and donkeys are tied to one side, and people sit around the goods, their faces flushed, under the blazing sun.
This was their first time visiting the town, and they had already sent people to negotiate with the inns in the town. Their caravan consisted of over a hundred people, and they needed to find an inn that could accommodate them. At the very least, inns that were close together would be acceptable.
The carts and goods stretched from not far outside the Mercenary Guild all the way to the edge of the town.
Normally, Veris would have approached them and struck up a polite conversation, hoping to learn about the caravan's experiences on the road.
But this time, he only glanced at it and hesitated, standing opposite the caravan.
The coachman and the merchant were talking. Veris listened for a moment and deduced that they came from Amberley. It seemed that this was their first time going around Albion, and their destination was most likely Mercury City.
After thinking it over, Veris still walked over. He immediately spotted a middle-aged man in the crowd who was clearly of a different status. After all, this man looked a bit fat and was wearing a lot of jewelry.
"Good day, everyone. I am a bard. You are from Amberi, aren't you?" Veris had the familiar smile of the Albion residents on his face, and with his handsome features, few people would refuse him.
But clearly, today's mission had not gone well. The caravan owner looked up and sized him up, his gaze moving from the faded metal button on his neck to his drab gray robe. Although the young man was by no means slovenly, he was certainly not handsome either.
He immediately deduced that this person was a poor young man; after all, few bards were wealthy.
He would never have taken this route if it weren't for the need to deliver the goods to that future great magician as quickly as possible, and to make matters worse, he encountered a poor poet trying to strike up a conversation with him.
So the caravan owner, with a long face, replied, "That's right."
Veris raised an eyebrow. They were originally one standing and one sitting, but the caravan owner acted like a king, not even looking at him, just glancing left and right, his chin held high, as if he wanted to put his nostrils down on Veris.
"Albion welcomes you." Seeing that the owner had no intention of communicating, Veris quickly abandoned the idea and smiled as he spoke. Indeed, based on what he had just observed, this caravan, from the driver to the owner, exuded a strange arrogance.
In the short time it took to stop, the ground began to tremble. Veris looked up and moved closer to the outside of the road.
A commotion broke out among the caravan members. Those on the outermost edge stood up and craned their necks to look out. The experienced caravan members could naturally tell that the sounds were from horses trotting the ground, but such an overly synchronized tremor was truly rare.
Soon, the sound of the church's distinctive horse bells rang out, and at the end of the road, the first person to appear was a priest dressed in a black robe with a golden bow and arrow badge around his neck.
He was nearly fifty years old, with graying temples, but he rode at the very front of the group with a serious expression. When he saw the Albion sign, he pulled on the reins, and the bell hanging from the horse's head rang again. The priests riding behind him also pulled on their reins.
The caravans that were still resting turned to look at the missionaries and began whispering among themselves.
The black horse trotted slowly toward Albion. Just as it was about to enter, the priest suddenly saw something, his expression froze, and he rang the horse's bell again. The priests following behind him, who were moving slowly forward, changed their expressions slightly.
The priest, who could be considered elderly, grabbed the reins, deftly dismounted, and led the impeccably glossy black steed toward Veris.
The portly merchant beside Veris, thinking the priest was coming for him, was both nervous and excited. Had his caravan's reputation already reached Mercury? Was the priest even dismounting to greet him? Or had the powerful magician made arrangements beforehand to have the church receive them?
He was already engrossed in his own fantasy.
Veris looked at the priest with deep wrinkles on his face and a serious expression, and sighed inwardly.
The priest finally approached him and bowed respectfully.
The fat businessman's dream was shattered in an instant, and he turned his head in disbelief to look at the thin, poor poet next to him.
In the many churches of Orlando, the priest holds a significant position, essentially overseeing the entire city and the surrounding towns and villages, and is a highly respected figure.
"Good day, Mr. Veris," the old priest said. He was still quite healthy and his voice was loud, but his words were not as high-pitched as usual. Instead, they were soft and cautious as he spoke to a thin poet who looked much younger than him.
The fat businessman suddenly stood up, his face turning pale and then red.
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