[Jack's POV]
In the never-ending horizon that always remained out of reach, the moon slowly sank. Soon, sunlight coming from the brightest star would wash over this place, similarly to how it did with the rest of the world.
... The sky brightened up slightly. Stars that flooded the dark night blanket slowly disappeared, as the bigger and brighter star briskly rose to its usual position.
It's kind of a pity. The night sky is gorgeous.
"The twilight period is coming to an end... The welkin will be clear soon."
Those words came from the sitting figure of a fiend. One of her legs remained extended on the floor, the skin and dust only separated by the leggings she wore. As for the other, it was raised in a mountain-like manner.
One of her hands rested its palm on top of her knee, while her other hand hid within a pocket of the dark green coat she wore. It was the same dark green coat she had the day we all met.
Sometimes, she'd wear that. It wasn't my problem, though.
"... I'll be leaving soon to train with Randall." Anne's expression didn't change much. The same applied to her almost ethereal, brown eyes.
"Great. Remember what we talked about." I told her in response.
Delivering the news yesterday would have proven difficult because of my exhaustion, but today? Easy task.
Fortunately, the two adventurers took it… rather well.
Some wood creaked in the house.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Those walking sounds from the storage room further shattered the silence of the morning, only followed by a feminine-sounding voice stating a command. "Let's go."
'... They're gone now.'
I waited for two minutes, then left my hideout to head for the town's centre. It'd be nice if I could get some talks out of my way.
Solitude in this close area became painfully clear. Not even the Shepherds' soldiers wandered through here, unless they were on a patrol or night watch.
I went deeper into the middle layer of Fernbedie. And, as usual, the townsfolk headed towards their workplaces. No one dared to be on their own, though.
What happened to Damien must have been a good example.
'Definitely,' I thought. My fists clenched considerably.
Have syndicates really grown so brutal that they'd beat down civilians like that? Just how much did things change while I was gone?...
This line of thought reminded me of… them.
'... My former syndicate.'
I wondered how they're doing nowadays.
… That is what I would have liked to ask myself, but the answer shone with some clarity in my head. Things must have gone downhill for them. For all I know, they could have disbanded… Or maybe someone got revenge on them and left the whole group dead in the sewers.
Neither would be surprising. They were always treacherous and quick to betray.
'Motherfuckers, they didn't even spare me.'
… And I can't even make them pay.
Haaaa.
'Ok, enough mental ranting, I'm at the stonegrinder.'
Upon dispelling my thoughts, I invited myself into the business.
The gray haired demon crossed both of his arms, resting on the stone counter. His stoic expression almost stayed the same as every day. However, today was the first time I saw his black eyes so… withered.
The titan's spot behind the counter gave him a good observing position of his displayed products: The delicately-made stone sculptures, all of which acted as a testament of his control.
Standing on the pale pillars, ever-growing grass blades bathed on the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Unlike the weapons on display, these plants seemingly grew just a little bit every day, only to be cut back to a reasonable size.
If it wasn't for the gray tone specifically chosen by Peter, I might have mistaken them for real plants.
Yet, a sense of indifference overshadowed every life-like plant in sight. Despite him often emanating a certain level of coldness, it's the first time I saw him being like this.
Kind of fitted with his knowledge in stone manipulation.
"Morning, Peter." As I stretched my arms, I came closer to the wood-like counter of the business.
"Morning… Did you see if the streets were crowded?"
"No, not quite. There were some people travelling, but the majority of demons I saw belonged to the syndicate's patrolling squadrons."
It took him some seconds to nod his head. "I see…"
Silence reigned over the front of the store.
'Perhaps he's still not in the mood to talk.'
Possibly.
"... Well, I guess I'll come back tomor-"
A veil of puzzlement overshadowed him. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
… Ah. True. "Haha, my bad. I think I've been working too hard recently."
Not far from the truth. If not for Randall and Anne, I… I don't know if I'd have survived all of the recent missions. My body shuddered at the thoughts of the "what ifs".
'Whatever. None of it happened, and I'm still alive!'
Right.
"I'll be staying, then. Mind giving me a sneak peek of today's topics?" I asked the shopkeeper.
But no answers came.
No further exchanges took place afterwards. Only the light tapping emanating from outside broke the silence cultivated here.
That was the norm for ten minutes. Afterwards, two demons strode into the stonegrinder: Joe and Jason.
"Hey. Sorry for tanking long," The mighty voice of the towering titan echoed in-between the stony walls. Brown hair strands sprouted on the man's tank-like face, contrasting slightly with the purple jaw. Scarlet cloth decently weaved together concealed some of his muscles, but his confidence still leaked out effortlessly.
"Go to the back, I will being there soon." The others accepted Peter's idea, given that he had to "close" the store.
Thus, we went to the back. Our footsteps echoed thanks to the wooden floor.
… Similar to the previous room, this one had some stone-made furniture. It looked far more rudimentary than those from the store's front, though.
A few wooden cabinets here and there housed some items, alongside simpler, non-stone decorations. Like actual plants, and a few of Demian's drawings.
One of such drawings portrayed Peter touching a rocky statue's head. The rough, uneven bottom half differed greatly from the orderly top half.
Jason and I sat down on two of the chairs. Joe went to the side of the room and placed his bag on a white-ish sideboard.
"So, these last few weeks were tough." Joe's words echoed in the room, alongside the sound of him taking out some cups and small bags. Afterwards, he carried the drinking equipment over to the table.
'That's something we can all agree on.'
The assault on Demian, the "war declaration", the sleepless nights and the syndicate's patrols…
As far as they knew, it was troublesome.
… Sadly, reality proved that this hectic issue ran much deeper.
Possible traitors amidst the folks, covert expeditions for Repemtite, and blatant secret-keeping attempts.
The possibility that any of the present demons could be collaborating together with the mercenaries was… existent, but low. It didn't scare me enough to be an actual threat.
Click.
The door closed behind us.
"Shop's closed now…"
His stony expression had no visible changes. "Let's start."