Kennard briefly glanced at him before returning his attention forward. “What’s troubling you?”
“If hundreds of soldiers are mobilizing from Montefiano, rumors are bound to reach His Majesty. Do you think he’s considering another territorial expansion?” Serin voiced his concerns.
Kennard found himself pondering Serin’s concerns, recognizing his tendency to worry about matters he often overlooked, always prioritizing Kennard’s well-being.
“Regardless, there’s little we can do,” Kennard mused aloud. “Wouldn’t His Majesty appreciate our efforts in expanding the territory, ultimately benefiting Baruchella?”
“He may outwardly express gratitude,” Serin agreed, his gaze narrowing thoughtfully. “But despite Baruchella’s rapid growth into an empire, His Majesty seems more wary than grateful. Isn’t that a cause for concern?”
Kennard waved off his worries. “Let’s not dwell on His Majesty’s suspicions. I’d rather avoid actions that might fuel his concerns. Besides, our current mission isn’t about preparing for war.”
“But what if there’s more to it? Isn’t the mobilization of troops along the border indicative of something else?” Serin pressed, his brows furrowing with uncertainty.
Observing Irish, who had taken cover behind a rock, Kennard and Serin swiftly followed suit, seeking concealment.
Irish sniffed the air, his focus honing in on the empty space ahead.
“He mentioned no plans for war,” Kennard whispered, barely audible.
“I said ‘if necessary.’ Dealing with the White Fox tribe’s repeated incursions into the Terra Demorte Forest has become troublesome, but this level of mobilization is unprecedented,” Serin added quietly.
“I’m just trying to prevent them from leaving signs of bloodshed.”
“Is it because of the attack on Elena last time that you’re so annoyed?”
Kennard’s gaze sharpened as he turned to face Serin. “Are you suggesting I am someone who would start a war over one woman?”
“I… I didn’t mean to imply…” Serin faltered under Kennard’s glare.
“If you’re inclined to speak such baseless conjectures, perhaps you should reconsider your place here. While our comrades press forward, commanders like you excel at idle chatter,” Kennard retorted sharply.
“It’s not idle chatter,” Serin protested in a hushed tone, but wisely chose to hold his tongue thereafter.
“Your Highness!” Irish’s almost inaudible call broke Kennard’s gaze from Serin’s direction.
“We should be close now,” Irish informed, his voice low but filled with certainty.
“Alright,” Kennard acknowledged, his attention now solely on the task at hand.
With Serin now silent, they trailed behind Irish as he led the way through the forest. After a while, a small clearing emerged, revealing a solitary house standing amidst the snow-covered ground.
The absence of any signs of life or light rendered the house eerily desolate, as if it were awaiting the emergence of ghosts.
Approaching through the snow, they noticed a single-door wooden gate leaning crookedly, with only its top fixed in place. Irish took charge of removing the gate while Kennard watched, and Serin remained vigilant from behind.
As they entered, Kennard’s muttered exclamation broke the silence. “What in the world…”
Upon closer inspection, cobwebs adorned every surface of the house, weaving a white mesh-like tapestry from ceiling to walls, furniture to floor.
Kennard stood at the entrance, surveying the interior. In the center of the living room sat a small wooden table with two chairs, one of which lay overturned on the floor. A fireplace adorned one wall, with a large pot suspended above it, presumably used for cooking. A few scattered dishes littered the floor, the only remnants of life within the desolate abode.
“Someone lived here?” Serin muttered as he stepped inside, surveying the barren interior with skepticism. The lack of proper household items cast doubt on whether the house had ever truly been a home.
“It’s this way,” Irish directed, opening an inner door and casting a glance back at Kennard.
Kennard moved forward slowly, following Irish’s lead. As they passed, the cobwebs, once spread out like curtains, now cascaded down on either side, creating an even more eerie atmosphere.
Stepping into the room, Kennard came to an abrupt halt. What had been nearly empty moments ago was now filled to capacity, leaving barely any space to move. The small room was cluttered with various items: scattered books littered the floor alongside teeth, fur, and dried-out bear paws. An unidentifiable foul smell hung in the air, prompting Kennard to retrieve a handkerchief to cover his nose and mouth as he entered.
Careful not to disturb the scattered books, Kennard ventured further into the room, his gaze falling upon a table against one wall. Upon it sat a dozen candles, casting flickering shadows across the cluttered space. Nestled among the candles were several small bowls, each no larger than a palm.
Surveying the room, Kennard noticed the scattered remains of animals—teeth, claws, fur—while one bore dried blood stains.