Helmut: The Forsaken Child - H.F.C Chapter 145 (Part 1):

‘I should have changed into something more suitable.’

Helmut regretted not voicing his opinions more when applying for the artifact. But anyhow, it wasn’t the dean’s fault.

Despite its drawbacks—being hot, having traitors, and beasts appearing in the desert—this country had its advantages.

It was permissible to beat someone up over a dispute. Killing was off-limits, but breaking limbs was fine as long as you won the fight. It was a country remarkably lenient towards the victor.

Helmut flicked his wrist, sword in its sheath in hand.

“If you want to pick a fight, come at me. Don’t just flap your gums.”

His cloak was still being modified. Because of that, Helmut was annoyed by the heat.

“Look at this guy.”

“Pathetic. A brat with some nerve.”

Rough men stepped towards him.

“You there, personal fights are forbidden near the martial arts tournament arena!”

A receptionist yelled out in a booming voice.

“Looking like a girl but quite spirited, aren’t you? I’m Jackal.”

One of the men who initiated the dispute shrugged and passed by.

“Let’s see you in the preliminary round. No one will intervene then.”

Helmut deeply memorized the faces of those nearby, including that man. He prayed he wouldn’t encounter him in the preliminaries; he wouldn’t let him walk off the stage with his limbs intact.

A cold light flashed in Helmut’s eyes.

***

“It’s 3,000 marks. A fine cloak you have. It didn’t take much to add a feature since it was in good condition, so I’m only charging a little.”

3,000 marks was considered a small amount? Even so, it was about the cost of one night’s stay in a fancy room at the inn. No matter how good the room was, it felt too wasteful.

After paying, Helmut returned to the inn. The cloak felt cool and was certainly more comfortable. Escaping the heat improved Helmut’s mood.

‘It feels like I’m alive.’

Until he returned to the inn, that is.

“You’ve arrived. Let’s have a word.”

Upon entering the inn, an employee, who was talking to a man, recognized Helmut and gestured to him.

A bad feeling washed over him, a premonition of troublesome affairs ahead. Such premonitions never missed. The man talking with the employee walked over and said,

“Are you the guest who rented the Emerald Room on the fifth floor?”

“Yes.”

He was likely a knight. Judging by his skin color, he wasn’t from the Basor Kingdom. His tone was calm but carried an underlying authority.

“My master has nowhere to stay, and we would like to ask you to give up your room. We will compensate generously.”

“So, you’re saying you have nowhere else to stay?”

It would be bothersome to look for another room. He might even end up sleeping outside, in this heat!

Helmut had already considered the 2 million marks his own, so he wasn’t fazed by the amount.

“You’re alone, aren’t you? The room has a smaller one attached for attendants. We would appreciate it if you could make a concession.”

It seems the employee had been too talkative. While it might be okay to negotiate, revealing that a customer was staying alone was another matter.

With such a costly and thriving inn, one would think they’d be cautious about their words. Or perhaps, it’s the very nature of such places to be discreet.

‘They underestimated me.’

The employee was untrained. A stern lesson was necessary.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Try finding a room at another inn.”

Helmut had been open to negotiating if they found another room and compensated him, but that option had now vanished.

As he turned to head back to his room, the knight’s hand caught Helmut’s shoulder.

“You! We said we would pay the price!”

At that moment, a murderous intent flashed in Helmut’s eyes. This country must be infused with some bad energy. It didn’t mesh well with him. Constantly being provoked was tiresome. A chilling voice emerged.

“Remove your hand, or I will cut it off.”

A warning was given once. His hand reached for the sword’s hilt. Would three seconds be enough? Even if it caused an issue with the martial arts tournament, well…

“Stop it, Robert. Don’t be rude to the other guest for my sake.”

A youthful androgynous voice spoke. Strangely, it had the power to draw people in. Helmut turned to see where the voice came from.

“Sorry, my knight acted as if he were a Basor person.”

A boy in luxurious travel clothes approached Helmut and spoke softly.

Maybe thirteen or so. Pale face, blond hair, blue eyes. A slim face with a smile. A boy of noble and dignified bearing.

The term ‘doll’ wasn’t meant for Helmut. The boy before him was the true embodiment of a doll. In Basor, he would attract disputes as much as Helmut did.

The knight, referred to as Robert, grumbled.

“Lord Michael.”

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