Chương 34: The Bells of Graywood Town

"Owen… Ashford?" When Rayne said the name, there was a faint, almost imperceptible hesitation in his voice. The man standing before him immediately clapped his hands, laughing with the cheerful delight of a shopkeeper who had just heard a customer finally pronounce the signboard correctly.

"That's right. Excellent pronunciation." His tone was far too casual, as if this were nothing more than an ordinary little goods shop on some bustling street in Blackstone Town, not the front of a ruined church deep within Blackstone Dungeon. After that, he lowered his head and rummaged through the pocket of his coat. A moment later, he pulled something out and pressed it straight into Rayne's hand.

"Here. A little gift to mark our first meeting." Rayne lowered his head in blank confusion. It was a ring. The design was old-fashioned and understated. Fine vine patterns curled around the dark silver band, and a small white flower ornament was set at its center. Rayne had never seen that flower before. Its petals were long, narrow, and slightly curled. The next instant, a pale-blue light screen appeared before his eyes. [Gulan Orchid Ring] The Gulan orchid grows in the Kingdom of Freyland.

Said to be a heaven-sent medicinal plant, it is often used to brew stamina potions. A ring made by fusing Gulan orchid essence with Edra Essence. It slowly and continuously restores the wearer's expended stamina. Rayne's fingers stiffened slightly. He did not put the ring on right away. Instead, he held it between his fingers and shifted his gaze from the pale-blue light screen back to the man before him.

"You give something like this away on a first meeting?"

"What's wrong with that?" The smile on Owen's face froze for a beat, then turned wounded.

"Oh, are you suspecting me? You wound me." Rayne ignored Owen's performance. Of course he would not dislike a magic item that could restore stamina. But the more practical it was, the less it looked like a simple meeting gift. Rayne closed his hand around the ring without putting it on.

"What are you after?" Owen blinked.

"Business, of course." He spread his hands, the smile returning to his face.

"Leaving a good impression on a customer is the first step in doing business. Especially with valuable customers like you." Rayne's eyes sank slightly. This time, it was not only him. Asar and Serin's expressions changed as well. Tyren even leaned half a step forward.

"Wait." He stared at Owen.

"How do you know we're valuable customers?" No one stopped him. Because that was exactly what everyone else wanted to ask. Owen let out a dry laugh, then straightened his expression as if finally managing to look something like a proper merchant.

"Does that even need asking? You're the first outsiders recently to make it all the way here." He raised a hand and pointed toward the grey mist outside the church.

"Anyone who dares run around outside at a time like this, and still manages to find me safe and sound, usually has some real skill." At that, the seriousness on Owen's face lasted only a brief instant before quickly giving way to that smiling expression again.

"And I've always enjoyed doing business with people who have real skill." Tyren and Rayne exchanged a glance. Rayne's lips moved slightly. Tyren immediately understood and stepped half a pace forward, taking over the conversation in a natural tone.

"So what do you sell? You'll have to let us take a look before we know whether we want to buy anything, right?"

"Oh, right." Owen looked as if he had only just remembered his actual job. He raised a hand and slapped his forehead, then removed the wooden pack frame from his back and set it steadily on the ground. Then he lifted the outer cloak. Beneath it hung rows of small leather pouches, glass bottles, and wooden boxes. The bottles were filled with liquids of various colors. Some looked like potions, while others seemed more like herbal infusions giving off a faint medicinal scent.

Beside them were several packets of dry rations, a few bundles of bandages, a tinderbox, and several small tools Rayne and the others could not identify at all. At least on the surface, he did indeed look like a traveling merchant. Only, no normal traveling merchant would ever set up shop in front of a ruined church deep inside a dungeon. Tyren looked the display over, then quickly asked another question.

"Right, how do we trade here? Barter?" The instant Owen heard that, he rolled his eyes and raised one finger, wagging it left and right.

"Of course not. Business is done with currency." Halfway through, he suddenly stopped and looked at them suspiciously.

"Wait." Owen's gaze gradually turned wary.

"Don't tell me none of you brought money." As soon as those words landed, he almost instinctively pulled the cloak back over his goods. Rayne and the others' expressions all turned a little complicated. They had, in fact, not brought money. After all, when normal people entered a dungeon, aside from necessary weapons and supplies, no one brought a coin pouch deep into the dungeon with them. Strictly speaking, though, they did not have nothing at all.

Tyren patted his own pockets and, in the end, actually managed to fish out a few silver coins. He spread the coins across his palm and tentatively offered them forward.

"Will these work?" Owen glanced at them. In the next second, the wariness on his face turned into disdain.

"What's this?" Tyren blinked.

"Silver coins."

"I know that." Owen reached out with two fingers and carefully pinched one of the coins up, turning it over a few times. His expression grew more and more strange.

"The question is, where did you get this counterfeit coin?" Tyren's face froze on the spot.

"Counterfeit?"

"What else?" Owen stuffed the silver coin back into his hand, his tone perfectly righteous.

"It doesn't have the crest of the Kingdom of Freyland, and the weight is wrong too. Trying to buy things with something like this, young man, is a challenge to a merchant's professional dignity."

"I wasn't!"

"Whether you were or not is not for you to decide." Owen shook his head solemnly.

"But since this is your first offense, I won't make an issue of it." Tyren opened his mouth, then found himself unable to figure out where to even begin refuting that. Asar raised a hand and pressed it to his forehead. Serin's expression also turned somewhat complicated. Deep within Blackstone Dungeon, listening to a man calling himself a traveling merchant solemnly declare that their silver coins were counterfeit was already so absurd that no one knew whether they ought to argue. Rayne, however, did not laugh.

His gaze fell on the silver coin that had been returned, then shifted back to Owen. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Then what do you accept?"

"Good question." Owen's expression immediately brightened, as if he had been waiting all this time for a customer to ask the right question. He lowered his head and rummaged through a small leather pouch at his waist. Before long, he pulled out several coins. Those coins did not belong to Blackstone Town, nor did they match any kingdom currency Rayne had ever seen. Their surfaces were a dull greyish silver, their edges slightly worn.

One side was engraved with a blurred pattern, while the other seemed to bear some kind of emblem that could no longer be identified. Rayne's eyes narrowed faintly. He had seen this kind of coin before. Not long ago. The coins they had found in the treasure chest after the Whisperer fell had looked exactly like this.

"I only accept these." Owen flicked one of the coins lightly between his fingers, then caught it again in his palm.

"Old Freyland coins. Look at this aged sheen. This proper weight. This is what real, trustworthy currency looks like." Tyren looked down at the silver coins in his own hand, then at the old coin in Owen's hand.

"So the silver coins from outside are counterfeit here?"

"Not here," Owen corrected.

"Within the Kingdom of Freyland." He paused, then seemed to suddenly remember something and added,"Of course, if you don't have old coins, I also accept magic crystals." The moment he said that, Rayne and the others' expressions finally shifted. Magic crystals. At the very least, that meant they were not completely without a way to trade. Owen seemed to see through their reaction. Smiling, he lifted the cloak again and revealed the bottles, jars, and little tools underneath.

"So, dear customers." He patted his goods rack.

"Would you like to buy something?" Just as Tyren was about to speak, the sound of footsteps suddenly came from inside the church doors. A figure slowly emerged from the shadows within the church. It was a tall old man wearing a greyish-brown robe. The hem was badly worn, and there were several patched seams at the cuffs. Around his neck hung an old necklace, the pendant hidden beneath his collar, with only a small edge of dull metal showing.

His face was aged and covered in deep wrinkles, but his pale green eyes were particularly sharp.

"Ashford." The old man spoke, his voice low and hoarse.

"Come here for a moment." Owen turned back and glanced at him. The smile on his face did not disappear, though it took on a trace of helplessness.

"I'll be right there." He raised a hand toward the old man, then turned back and nodded apologetically to Rayne and the others.

"Sorry, dear customers. I'm afraid business will have to wait a moment." As he spoke, he quickly and neatly pulled the cloak back over his goods, then hoisted the wooden pack frame onto his shoulders again.

"Bishop Lorian, what do you need help with?" Owen spoke as he walked quickly toward the church doors. Rayne and the others were silent for a moment. Tyren looked at Owen, then at the old man, and finally lowered his voice.

"… So he isn't just a merchant?" No one answered him. Because at that moment, everyone could see it. The man who called himself a traveling merchant seemed quite familiar with the people inside this church. Just then, the old man called Bishop Lorian raised his eyes and looked toward Rayne and the others. The instant that gaze swept over them, Serin's fingers tightened unconsciously around her oak staff. She could not say why.

There was no hostility from the old man, nor the nauseating aura ordinary monsters carried. But precisely because of that, she found herself even less able to relax. Bishop Lorian looked at them for a moment before slowly speaking.

"Outsiders." His voice was not loud, yet it quieted much of the low conversation among the refugees in front of the church.

"You should come as well." ◆ ◆ ◆ Inside the Core Chamber, Owen was watching with considerable enjoyment. Especially when Rayne and merchant Owen began talking to each other, he was so excited that his entire little core bobbed back and forth in midair. Owen Ashford. The name was his real name. The personality had been shaped according to his own standards as well. As for that face, it was not actually his own. That could not be helped. Owen could no longer remember what he had looked like in his previous life.

His features, his face shape, the color of his eyes, even the face he used to see in the mirror every morning had all become nothing but a vague blur. Without reference material, there was naturally no way to recreate it. So for the appearance, he had simply sculpted something he liked. In any case, the face was not the important part. The important part was the way he spoke. The instinctive urge to complain whenever he ran into trouble.

The bad habit of being unable to resist teasing someone a little when he saw them being wary. Those were the parts that actually made a character feel alive. At least, Owen thought so. And he was very satisfied with his own design. Especially just now. When Tyren solemnly took out silver coins, only for merchant Owen to declare them counterfeit on the spot, he had nearly failed to hold back his laughter. Good. Very good. This was the little surprise he had prepared.

An Owen who could stand in front of Rayne and speak a few words with them. Sure, the form was a little roundabout. But that was not a problem. At least Rayne had actually spoken with him. Owen's core lit up faintly. That alone was enough to make him happy for a very long time. However, now was not the time to sink into that joy. At least not for too long. Owen quickly gathered in that irrepressible excitement and turned his attention back to Rayne and the others in the image.

After all, to him, creating things was certainly interesting. But seeing what expressions challengers made when they encountered those things, and what choices they made, was the most entertaining part. Especially with Rayne and the others. ◆ ◆ ◆ Rayne followed Owen and Bishop Lorian into the church. The space inside was even more open than it had looked from the outside.

Most of the wooden pews that should have been neatly arranged in the center had already been moved to both sides, leaving the empty floor covered with straw mats. Many refugees lay on those mats. Some were covered with thin blankets, while others had bandages wrapped around their arms or foreheads. Low coughs and pained groans came from the corners from time to time.

Several priests, also wearing greyish-brown robes, moved back and forth among them, changing bandages, helping the injured sit up and drink water, or softly comforting those whose expressions had gone vacant. When Serin saw that scene, her steps paused slightly. Almost by instinct, she wanted to move forward. But in the next instant, she forced herself to stop and stepped back behind the party. This was not the Church infirmary back in Blackstone Town. This was deep inside a dungeon.

And those people lying on the straw mats might not be real patients. Owen, however, seemed long accustomed to this sight. Every time he passed by one of the priests, he quickly took out a few glass bottles or several rolls of bandages from beneath his cloak and gently placed them in the other person's hands. The priests would also thank him in low voices. Owen merely waved a hand. His steps did not stop as he continued following Bishop Lorian deeper inside. Rayne watched all of it, his gaze sinking faintly.

He was beginning to have some trouble distinguishing whether this was truly deep inside Blackstone Dungeon, or whether they had actually been transported to some remote refuge. Even Tyren, for once, did not immediately open his mouth. So that man who looked like he was full of nonsense, and who had solemnly called their silver coins counterfeit, really was helping people? It reminded Tyren of the fierce-looking old priest he had seen with Serin at the orphanage a few days ago.

People really could not be judged by appearances. The tension on his face eased slightly, and even his footsteps grew a little lighter. As for Barton, he never once lowered his guard. His gaze remained fixed on the traveling merchant Owen from beginning to end, as though he were confirming whether each time the man stopped, he was truly distributing supplies, or preparing to do something else.

Asar walked on the other side, his gaze sweeping constantly over the priests on both sides of the church and the refugees lying on the straw mats. The group continued until they reached the depths of the church. Bishop Lorian pushed open a side door and gestured for everyone to enter. It was a small room, containing only a long table and several wooden chairs. A few crates of dry rations, herbs, and old cloth were stacked against the wall, and the air was filled with a faint medicinal smell.

The moment the door closed, the groans and coughs outside were immediately cut off. Bishop Lorian gestured for everyone to sit. Only after all of them were seated did he slowly turn to Owen.

"Ashford." His voice was lower than before.

"We need your help." Owen's smile froze. Almost subconsciously, he raised both hands. But when he looked at Bishop Lorian's aged face, those hands slowly lowered again. He sighed.

"Tell me." Owen looked at Bishop Lorian, his tone carrying a reluctant sort of helplessness.

"What trouble is it this time? Let me say this first: I'm just a harmless traveling merchant. I can barely defend myself. If you've run into anything serious, shouldn't you be looking for Basque and the other paladins?"

"Basque and the others have already gone to Graywood Town," Bishop Lorian said in a deep voice.

"Originally, they only went to the Old Apothecary to retrieve a batch of medicine, and to confirm whether there were any survivors left in the town." Bishop Lorian fell silent for a moment.

"But they have yet to return." Hearing that unfamiliar name, Rayne and the others were slightly startled. Tyren was just about to ask a question when he saw Owen's expression change in an instant.

"They went to Graywood Town?" Owen abruptly leaned back against his chair, as if he wished he could immediately put more distance between himself and that long table.

"And they haven't come back yet?" Bishop Lorian did not answer. But that silence was already an answer in itself. Owen stared at him for a good while, then slowly drew in a breath.

"Bishop." He spoke one word at a time.

"You should know the bells are about to ring." Off to the side, Tyren finally could not hold back and asked directly,"What are the bells? And where is Graywood Town?" Owen slowly turned his head and looked at Tyren. His expression was a little strange.

"Hm?" He frowned faintly.

"You don't know?" Tyren blinked.

"Are we supposed to?" Owen stared at him for a moment, then finally seemed to give up on pursuing that point. He raised a hand and rubbed his brow.

"Forget it." He pointed toward the door.

"Take the dirt road outside the church and pass through the mist. You'll see a forest path. Follow it straight ahead, and before long, you'll reach Graywood Town." At this point, he paused. The casual tone he had used while explaining the route faded considerably.

"But let me make one thing clear first." Owen lowered his hand, his gaze sweeping across Rayne and the others.

"Graywood Town has never been a safe place." Tyren's expression stiffened slightly.

"Didn't you just say there might still be survivors there?"

"There might be. That doesn't mean it's safe." Owen gave him an irritated look.

"There are monsters there, and Desiccated Guards who continue patrolling even after death. Normally, they wander around the town, fight among themselves, and attack every living person who enters." Rayne's eyes sank faintly.

"Desiccated Guards?"

"The guards of Graywood Town," Owen said.

"Or rather, they used to be the guards of Graywood Town." The room went quiet for an instant. Owen leaned back in his chair, his knuckles lightly tapping the tabletop.

"In any case, before the bells ring, the town is already chaotic enough. Monsters attack guards. Guards attack monsters. Some of the dead townsfolk stay where they are. Some wander around. They don't follow any single rule. They simply act according to whatever instincts remain in them." He raised his eyes and looked at Rayne and the others.

"So before that happens, at least you can use the chaos of them tearing into each other to get through." Tyren listened, his brow furrowing more and more deeply.

"And after the bells ring?" This time, Owen did not answer immediately. He merely looked toward Bishop Lorian. Bishop Lorian was silent for a moment before slowly speaking.

"After the bells ring, Graywood Town becomes something else entirely." His voice was low and steady.

"The things that were fighting each other will stop."

"The things that once did not move will also awaken, as if pulled by the sound of the bells." Bishop Lorian's gaze swept over Rayne and the others.

"When that time comes, everything in the town that can still move will begin searching for the scent of the living." Tyren's throat moved. This time, he did not immediately answer. After a moment of silence, Rayne asked,"Where do the bells come from?" Bishop Lorian raised his eyes.

"The bell tower." He spoke slowly.

"The bell tower at the center of Graywood Town." The room fell quiet for a moment. Owen pressed his fingers to his brow, then sighed as if he had finally resigned himself.

"In any case, I still need to make a supply run elsewhere." He raised his eyes and looked at Rayne and the others, revealing a somewhat strained smile.

"So, dear customers."

"Could you make a trip to Graywood Town for me?" He paused, then added,"Look for Basque and the others. If you can't find them, bring back that batch of medicine from the Old Apothecary."

"Don't worry. I'll pay you properly."