If it was the church’s mistake that caused the disaster here, then the time for atonement has come...

God said, the dead shall remain dead...

Sunlight streamed down as the priest closed his eyes, praying softly.

Ding-ling~

A young witcher pushed open the door, and the bell hanging above gave a crisp ring.

“Wow, wow, wow... What day is it today? Lonely Old Tom has so many visitors! Welcome, guests, what service do you need?”

A fat old man with a big belly snapped his fingers and greeted them with an exaggerated expression, completely oblivious to the fact that the guests who had just entered all stiffened and instinctively edged away from the door the moment the black-haired young man walked in.

“...A room, yes, by the hour, until five o’clock this evening.” The witcher said, pointing at the pale-faced Smith. “Put it on his tab.”

“Is that so?”

After receiving a bitter nod from Smith, the owner grinned and asked, “Anything else you need, guest? Old Tom has a special today—grilled steak and all kinds of liquor!”

“No need.”

Shaking his head coolly, Charles Carter lifted his longsword and said, “Please show me to my room, thank you.”

“Oh~ what a boring lad. You know, a man who doesn’t drink or eat meat—what kind of man is that? Look at you, so skinny...”

The owner muttered a couple of complaints, bent down with difficulty, picked out a key from a bunch, and handed it to Charles Carter.

“Second floor, turn left, third room. Go on up yourself.”

“Since you’re together, I’ve put you in adjacent rooms... Young man, really don’t want a drink?”

“Whiskey, rum... How about some rum? That’s the favorite of real men at sea!”

“No.”

Taking the key, Charles Carter headed upstairs with his sword. As he passed the bar, he paused, as if remembering something, hesitated for a moment, then, under the owner’s expectant gaze, slowly said:

“...A cup of hot milk... with sugar.”

With a cold, clear voice, the witcher strode up the stairs, leaving the fat owner’s face to fall. Amid the owner’s constant muttering, a soft chuckle sounded...

“Sir Knight just now...”

Hugging a music box, Little Tina laughed as if she’d discovered a new continent, her big, bright eyes watching the direction where Charles Carter had disappeared.

“His ears looked a little red...”

...

Gently closing the door, Charles Carter looked expressionlessly at his slightly flushed ears in the mirror. After a moment’s thought, he swung his sheathed sword, and with a swish, the white bedsheet covered the mirror. Only then did he nod in satisfaction, sit cross-legged on the bed, and wait for his hot milk...

This habit inherited from his adoptive father was Charles Carter’s only indulgence.

Thump, thump, thump~

A moment later, light footsteps sounded in the attic. A small figure pushed the door open, looked at Charles Carter, and smiled, “Sir Knight, your milk...”

“...Aren’t you afraid of me?”

Charles Carter frowned slightly, watching Tina Bennett walk over with a cup of milk, the aroma wafting through the air. He picked up the cup, his thumb rubbing the warm surface.

“Earlier, I almost cut you down.”

“I am a little scared... but Alex Carter said you saved me.”

The little girl looked at Charles Carter and said earnestly, “Thank you for saving us, Sir Knight. Even though you’re so fierce, you really are a knight, just like in the stories!”

“Thank you!”

With that, the little girl hugged Charles Carter’s neck and gave the witcher a light kiss on the cheek, then ran out blushing, leaving Charles Carter standing there, face blank and expressionless.

“...Nonsense...”

After a moment’s silence, Charles Carter downed the milk in one gulp and set the cup on the bedside table.

The witcher smacked his lips lightly.

“...So sweet.”

Time does not bend to human will. The fear of Smith’s family did not affect its flow. In the hall, Charlie Carter, who had been sitting in silent prayer, changed into a white robe, a thin silver chain tied around his right wrist.

A pure silver cross hung down, glinting faintly with the priest’s low prayers.

“The Lord is my guide, the Lord cares for my soul, in your name, Lord.”

“Christ, lead me to save the souls possessed by evil, let them be lost no more...”

“Expel the evil...”

In the room on the second floor.

A long, steady breath paused. Sitting cross-legged, Charles Carter slowly opened his eyes, his right hand resting on the knight’s sword across his knees.

The clock on the wall pointed to five o’clock in the morning.

Suddenly rising, Charles Carter, his energy fully restored, took up his sword and walked out of the room. He glanced briefly at the room of Smith’s family, then, expressionless, went downstairs. In the hall below, the calm-faced priest had just finished his prayers.

“Let’s go...”

“Of course, Sir Knight.”