On the Altus Plateau stood a quiet, peaceful little village.
Inside the village tavern, the glow of a few candles lit the entire room. Their flames swayed gently in the breeze, as if performing some ancient, mysterious dance.
In such a remote rural place, life was simple. Very few people could afford something as extravagant as a Glintstone lamp. Yet even the dim candlelight could not conceal the tavern's lively, raucous atmosphere.
Recently, many people had arrived from the Royal Capital and the neighboring region of Liurnia of the Lakes. They flooded into villages like this one, taking on any dirty or exhausting work available, as long as it earned them enough to survive.
No one here offered charity to refugees. If you wanted to live, you had to rely on your own hands, even if it meant scraping by on the thinnest of wages. And after a full day of grueling labor, that hard-earned money was often quickly spent in small taverns like this.
Coupled with the fact that the coalition armies led by the various lords had no interest in squeezing the common folk dry, this place had stumbled into an unexpected kind of prosperity.
Watching the patrons drink deeply, the tavern owner's deeply lined face split into a broad smile. The air was thick with the sharp stench of sweat, making even the cheap liquor seem rich by comparison.
To him, this smell was nothing less than the scent of runes steadily flowing into his account.
Through the half-open wooden window, the sounds of heavy panting drifted in from outside. Clearly, some people couldn't even bring themselves to pay for a room at the inn and had instead chosen to wage their passionate "battles" right there in the stables.
The pursuit was crude, but it was exactly the kind of joy ordinary people needed right now.
After all, not everyone was a noble, sitting atop their own fief and doing as they pleased upon it.
Wearing the armor of a Golden Needle Knight, Nolan sat quietly in a corner.
He had no intention of interfering in the behavior of those around him. Endless wars had already brought countless suffering and pain upon the common people. If they wanted to keep living, they couldn't simply endure misery without respite.
No one was born solely to suffer.
So Nolan ordered a mug of beer and sat beneath the faint, flickering candlelight in the corner, accompanying Her Highness the Princess as they observed the many faces of the world.
"So," he asked, "what do you plan to do next?"
Perched atop the knight's broad, solid shoulder, the princess reached out her small hand to steady the cup he offered and took a light sip.
Nolan slowly withdrew his arm and tipped his own cup back, draining the last of the ale in one gulp. The strong liquid flowed down his throat like a roaring flame, letting the knight—who had spent days exposed to wind and weather—feel a trace of the warmth of human life once more.
"I want to seek out the Haligtree Army," he said. "But for now, I can start by learning more about Leyndell."
He set the empty cup back on the table, feeling that he was, in truth, rather fortunate. He had Trina at the Haligtree, Sellen in Liurnia, and now Ranni here on the Altus Plateau.
Seen that way, loneliness always seemed to lag one step behind him.
Glancing at the tavern owner who came over to refill his drink, Nolan pulled out a handful of runes and slapped them onto the table.
In that instant, the owner's eyes lit up like a freshly kindled bonfire, his hands reaching eagerly to scoop up the tempting runes.
Just as his fingers were about to touch them, he suddenly froze, as if struck by an electric shock.
The tavern owner had noticed this strange customer long ago. A bizarre-looking doll sat on the man's shoulder, and he treated it with surprising intimacy, occasionally whispering to it as though it could understand him.
Either this man had some peculiar proclivities, or he was trouble waiting to happen.
In all his years running a tavern, what odd people and strange situations hadn't he encountered? And customers who behaved this strangely were usually best avoided if possible. It was wiser not to provoke them.
"Sir, what is it that you're…"
The owner had half a mind to call over an ordinary server to deal with this guest instead. If not for the shortage of hands, he wouldn't have come out to serve drinks himself.
But the small pile of gleaming runes on the table was simply too tempting. His feet refused to move.
"This is my payment for the drinks," Nolan said with a smile.
"Ah? A few beers aren't worth this much! Sir, you're truly generous, a real good-hearted gentleman!"
The owner froze for a split second, then immediately plastered on a broad smile, nodding and bowing as he chimed in.
"Judging by your attire, you must be a noble knight, my lord. May the Erdtree bless you always!"
"Alright, enough flattery. Sit down. I have a few things I want to ask you," Nolan said, gesturing to the seat across from him.
The tavern owner hesitated, a trace of doubt flashing across his face as his eyes flicked toward the runes on the table. He was also worried that this mentally unstable fellow might cause trouble, but with the thought that fewer problems were better than more, he eventually sat down.
This was just an ordinary tavern, not some intelligence bureau. They served drinks and food, not secrets.
Still, when a group of grown men gathered to drink freely, they often became loose-tongued, and all kinds of information could spill out.
At that moment, a drunken man staggered into the center of the hall, waving his arms and launching into an impassioned rant. Surprisingly, quite a few people responded enthusiastically, fists clenched and faces eager, as if ready to band together and head off on an adventure right then and there.
Whether they would later become bandits who burned and pillaged, or soldiers who defended their homeland, was anyone's guess.
"Tell me," Nolan said, "isn't the Royal Alliance attacking Leyndell? How far has the war progressed?"
Hearing the question, the tavern owner let out a quiet sigh of relief.
So this man wasn't some agent sent from the city to pry into secrets. If he'd been asked about classified matters, the owner wouldn't have known a thing, and that could have brought serious trouble.
But something this trivial was common knowledge. You could ask any local and get the same answer.
The owner quickly stuffed the runes into his robe, then leaned forward with an ingratiating smile, explaining the current situation in a tone bordering on flattery.
Lords from every region had led their armies to form the Royal Alliance, jointly attacking the Royal Capital. Grand Lord Godefroy from Limgrave had been captured, and the Ancient Dragon Knights who claimed the credit were rewarded by the Erdtree.
The alliance had breached Leyndell's outer city. The Golden Lineage heir Godrick had vanished without a trace, suspected to have fled. Then a mysterious hero appeared out of nowhere, aided by the Fell Omen, turning the tide and halting the alliance's advance.
The owner spoke at length. To him, it didn't really matter who ended up on the throne. As far as he was concerned, all the lords involved were acceptable enough.
Even the fugitive Godrick, aside from being constantly criticized for his lack of personal strength, had no major stains on his record when it came to ruling.
In short, whatever the final outcome, it had nothing to do with people like them.