Lencar chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender, and took a seat at the scarred wooden dining table. Marco and Luca scrambled to get the plates and cups, eager to help their sister.
The kitchen quickly filled with the comforting, mouth-watering aromas of a home-cooked meal. Rebecca had moved to the hearth, stirring a large, heavy iron pot of stew that had been simmering low and slow over the embers since the night before. It was a hearty, rustic dish—thick with root vegetables, barley, and chunks of savory meat. The smell alone was enough to make Lencar's stomach rumble loudly, a stark reminder that he had been surviving on hastily cooked, mana-infused beast meat and adrenaline for the past week.
She served him a massive, steaming bowl, placing a thick slice of crusty, freshly baked bread on the side. "Eat," she ordered softly, her green eyes scanning his face. "You look like you've lost weight again."
"I assure you, I am perfectly healthy," Lencar replied, picking up his spoon. But as he took the first bite, he closed his eyes and let out a quiet, involuntary groan of appreciation. The stew was incredible. It was warm, perfectly seasoned, and tasted entirely of comfort. It tasted like his mother's cooking and the same feeling as his home back in Sosei.
Breakfast was a loud, joyful affair. Marco talked a mile a minute about a stray dog he had seen near the market, detailing his elaborate, highly flawed plan to catch it and train it to be a guard dog. Luca proudly showed off a drawing she had made on a scrap of parchment, completely ignoring the fact that she had spilled some stew on her sleeve. Lencar listened to everything, nodding along and offering comments, soaking in the normalcy like a man dying of thirst.
When the bowls were finally scraped clean, Rebecca stood up to gather the dishes. The morning light was fully illuminating the kitchen now, casting a bright, golden hue over the worn furniture.
"Alright, Marco, Luca, it's time to get your chores done," Rebecca instructed, stacking the plates. She turned to look at Lencar, her expression turning serious and maternal. "As for you... you are going straight to bed. Your room is exactly how you left it. I put fresh sheets on the mattress yesterday."
Lencar paused, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. "Actually, I was planning on heading into town with you."
Rebecca stopped wiping the table, giving him a flat, unimpressed stare. "Absolutely not. You just arrived in Nairn an hour ago, Lencar. You've been traveling all night. You look exhausted."
"I feel fine, Rebecca," Lencar insisted smoothly, standing up to help her clear the table despite her earlier orders. It wasn't entirely a lie. Physically, his body was in peak condition, thrumming with Stage 3 mana and the residual effects of his accelerated recovery magic. But spiritually and mentally, he was carrying the weight of a war. "I've had plenty of rest on the road."
"Liar," she said bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I can see the bags under your eyes from across the room. I'm going to the 'Rusty Spoon' to work my shift. You are staying here, pulling the blankets up to your chin, and sleeping until noon. That is an order from your senior prep cook."
Lencar offered a gentle, appreciative smile, but he didn't back down. He couldn't explain to her that lying alone in a quiet room was the absolute worst thing he could do right now. If he lay in the dark, his mind would inevitably drift back to the Kiten Dungeon. He needed the noise. He needed the distraction of mundane labor to scrub the blood from his psyche.
"I appreciate the concern, Rebecca. Truly," Lencar said, his voice lowering to a soft, earnest timbre. "But I need to move. If I sit still right now, I'll just get restless. I'd rather be in the kitchen with you and Gorn, chopping carrots and listening to the tavern gossip. It helps me... settle back in."
Rebecca studied his face for a long, silent moment. She possessed a terrifyingly sharp intuition when it came to the people she cared about. She couldn't read his mind, but she could read the passionand the subtle hint in his eyes.
She let out a dramatic, defeated sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. "You are the most stubborn, hard-headed mule I have ever met, Lencar Abarame."
"I consider that a compliment of the highest order," Lencar smiled, knowing he had won the battle.
"Fine," Rebecca conceded, waving a wooden spoon at him in warning. "But if you drop a plate, or if you fall asleep while stirring the soup, I'm personally dragging you back here by your ear. Understand?"
"Understood completely, Chef," Lencar replied, sketching a mock, exaggerated salute.
Marco, who had been listening to the exchange while putting on his boots, suddenly pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! Can I come too? Gorn said he'd show me how to tap a new keg today!"
"You can come, but only if you promise to stay out of the kitchen during the lunch rush," Rebecca agreed, grabbing her worn woolen cloak from the hook by the door. "And you have to hold Lencar's hand on the way there so he doesn't fall over from exhaustion."
"I do not need—" Lencar protested.
"It's non-negotiable," Rebecca interrupted, tossing him his own dark traveling cloak.
Ten minutes later, the three of them stepped out of the Scarlet household and into the cool, crisp morning air of Nairn. The town was already bustling with activity. Merchants were pulling wooden carts loaded with fresh produce toward the central market square, calling out greetings to one another. The smell of woodsmoke, roasting meats, and damp cobblestones filled the air.
Lencar walked at a leisurely, relaxed pace, a stark contrast to his usual hyper-efficient, ground-eating stride. Marco was practically skipping beside him, his small hand wrapped tightly around Lencar's calloused fingers, just as Rebecca had ordered. Rebecca walked on his other side, her red hair catching the morning sunlight, nodding politely to the passing townsfolk.
For Lencar, the walk was a sensory reset. He let the ambient noise of the Common Realm wash over him. He listened to the haggling of a fruit vendor, the clatter of a blacksmith's hammer in the distance, and the scuff of leather boots on stone. He didn't scan the crowd for magical threats. He didn't assess the structural integrity of the surrounding buildings for tactical advantages. He just breathed.
"Did you see any cool monsters on your delivery job, Lencar?" Marco asked, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes, practically vibrating with curiosity.
"A few," Lencar answered, keeping his tone light and conversational. "I saw a wild boar the size of a carriage, and some very aggressive birds that tried to steal my rations. But nothing a good, sturdy walking stick couldn't handle."
"I would have punched them," Marco declared confidently, throwing a weak left hook into the empty air. "Like this! Pow! Then I'd roast them for dinner."
"I'll be sure to bring you along as my personal bodyguard next time," Lencar chuckled, giving the boy's hand an affectionate squeeze.
They navigated the winding, narrow streets until the familiar, slightly leaning, timber-and-stone facade of the "Rusty Spoon" came into view. The tavern was located in a busy alleyway, nestled comfortably between a spice merchant and a tailor. It wasn't the fanciest establishment in Nairn, but it was warm, heavily trafficked, and fiercely loved by the locals.
Lencar pushed the heavy oak door open, a small brass bell chiming merrily to announce their arrival.
The interior of the Rusty Spoon smelled incredibly inviting—a deep, rich blend of stale ale, polished cedar wood, and the savory spices that were already being prepped for the day's menu. The tavern was mostly empty at this hour, save for a few early risers nursing mugs of dark tea in the corner booths.
Behind the long, polished wooden bar stood Gorn, the owner and head chef. He was a massive, burly man with arms like tree trunks, a thick, greying beard, and an apron that was perpetually dusted with flour. He was currently wiping down the counter with a rag, scowling fiercely at a stubborn stain.
Gorn looked up at the sound of the bell, his scowl deepening into a look of genuine shock as his eyes landed on the trio entering his tavern.
"Well, I'll be damned," Gorn's deep, booming voice echoed across the empty room. He tossed the rag over his shoulder and crossed his massive arms over his chest. "Look what the stray cat dragged in. I thought you wouldn't come back to this Rusty place for a few more days, Lencar."
"I still want to keep a stable job, Gorn," Lencar replied smoothly, offering the large man a respectful nod as they approached the bar. "And the roads were clear, so I didn't want to waste anymore time idling."