Thump!

The metal spike dug through the ground, pushed into it by each slam of Glenn's hammer. The young man took a step back, frowning at his pitiful excuse of a tent he had prepared for the night. They were only half a day away from King's Rise, but, as planned, Maron ordered a break in a nice green glade with a fresh river flowing in its center.

The convoy soon installed itself at different speeds, the mercenaries and workers getting their tents set up with efficient movements and minimum time loss. Glenn and Sahro, on the other side, struggled a little to set theirs up. One because he was incompetent and had his tent set up by someone else before, and the other because one of his arms was missing.

After the two struggled on their sides for a good quarter, they promptly asked the other for help. By putting both of their efforts together, they managed to get the bloody tent up before the night fell, which they could only be happy with. Glenn stowed the hammer away and headed to the nearest campfire with his Black Heir's friend. The young men silently sat on dead tree trunks, warming their hands next to the fire.

"...Sahro, I need your help with an investigation," Glenn finally said with a serious expression. Sahro raised an eyebrow but nodded, inviting his friend to continue. Glenn threw a small log into the fire, before clasping his hand together.

"I've noticed quite a few incongruities with Maron..." He quickly shared his doubts with Sahro, whose curiosity was instantly aroused by hearing him speak.

"...It feels like he is cursed with unluckiness, and gets saved by nothing short of miracles each time...There might be something to look into here," said the Black Heir as he scratched his cheek, before frowning deeply.

"...But why do you care? Whether he's lucky or not doesn't have any importance, since he's just a merchant. Once we arrive at King's Rise, the first thing he'll do will probably be to count his losses and gains, before finding ways to get more money...So why are you interested in the matter?" Sahro asked, raising his arm in the air with a puzzled expression. Glenn rubbed the bridge of his nose, before sighing loudly.

"Don't you feel it?" He whispered, the corner of his lips rising slightly. Sahro raised an eyebrow and remained silent, awaiting his friend's explanations. Glenn clasped his hands together, his tone grave and heavy.

"We found ourselves in mysterious situations one after the other, and–" The young man stops talking, his eyes fixed on a black leather cover protruding from Sahro's pants. He pointed at it, puzzled.

"...You're writing a diary?" Glenn's smile grew widely, and he barely restrained himself from laughing, "...Well, I never thought you'd have such a cute secret. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," He said as he jumped on his feet, passing his arm around his friend's shoulder without letting him react, "...But hey, did you write about your secret crush in it? ~Come on, you can tell me, man!"

Sahro pushed Glenn away, confused.

"What are you talking about–" The Black Heir glanced down, his eyebrows creasing as he pulled the black book out. The title inscribed on the dark leather had been washed away by years and dust, unreadable. Sahro blew air on it, trying to find out what the book's name was.

"...It's not my diary, it's–damn, how did I forget about that?" Sahro mumbled as he carefully opened the book. Glenn stopped laughing, curious, and peeked from above his friend's shoulder.

"Where did you find this? This looks old as fuck..." Glenn asked, wincing when he saw the first-page crackle, threatening to crumble to dust. Sahro stopped abruptly, his breath still as he watched the paper tremble. Very carefully, he closed the book, sighing in relief when nothing crumbled. Thankfully, it seemed like the book wouldn't crumble as long as it was closed, its leather cover much tougher than the old paper making its contents.

"Back then, in that bronze laboratory...I picked it up on the ground," Sahro answered after a few seconds of staring at the book with growing curiosity. Glenn looked back and forth at the book and Sahro, sneering at the absurdity.

"So you're telling me that book was just...laying there, gathering dust? What?" Glenn opened his arms confusedly, "...What was it even doing here? Why wasn't it in Doyle's possession?"

Sahro grunted and shoved the book into Glenn's arms, exasperated.

"What, do you think I've got all the answers? It was there, I picked it up, end of story! Now, I'd be more than pleased to see if you can understand a single shit out of this book, because from what I've seen of the first page, I can't!" Sahro kicked a rock away, pouting, "...Shit, I'm the one who found it to begin with, why does it have to be written in such a weird dialect...?"

Glenn snorted, carefully prying the book open.

"Heh, what makes you think I can read it when you can't—?" Glenn frowned, sitting on the ground. The warm light from the campfire wasn't enough for him to be sure of what he had just seen, forcing him to use a weakened version of his Sun Touch. His middle finger glowed warmly, projecting enough light to light up the pages brightly without transforming Glenn into a lighthouse.

'Heh, should we name it the Sun Finger?' Diamanes mocked, jeering. The young man ignored him, squinting to decrypt the old, washed-out letter on the crumbling paper.

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"Isn't that...English?" He mumbled, scratching the back of his head in confusion. Sahro swiftly rotated, question marks in his eyes.

"Inglishe? What's that?" The Black Heir asked innocently. Glenn bit down on his lips, looking at the sky in search of an answer.

"Well, huh, it's..." He smacked his lips, shrugging, "...A dead language. I know it because some people used it in my hometown, but I've rarely seen it here..." Glenn replied while thinking back to Exan's introductions. The only people who knew English were Earthlings, which meant that whoever wrote these notes came from Earth.

Because, indeed, it was a notebook. Glenn read aloud the few words he could decipher again, just to make sure.

"...' Project Sword of Damocles, First Iteration',"

Sahro's head leaned to the side, his face plunged in contemplation.

"Incredible, you can read that. Who's Damocles though? Any idea?" He asked without much conviction, the name not evocating much to him.

"Damocles...I don't remember if that was a person, but there was a saying in my hometown..." His nose creased as he pinched his lips, "...The Sword of Damocles is constantly hanging above everyone's head, even the strongest..."

'...Was that the saying?' Diamanes asked, unsure. Glenn mentally shrugged, dismissing him.

'Whatever, what's important is the meaning.'

"A bit like time and death, right?" Sahro pieced together, struggling to understand. Glenn bit down on his tongue, wincing.

"Well, yes and no. The Sword of Damocles is threatening everyone, be they timeless existences or not..." The young man's eyes widened and he slammed his fist in his open hand.

"The Gods!" Glenn and Sahro exclaimed at the same time, looking at the book with a shocked gaze. Glenn shook his head, getting rid of these thoughts.

"Listen, that's only the title of the notes. Let's not try to dig too deep into it without reading the actual book," He quickly calmed both his and Sahro's fires of excitement out, carefully flipping a page open. Sahro peeked at the book, trying to decipher the strange language at the same time.

"...Shit, whoever wrote this had a shitty penmanship..." Glenn squinted, following the lines with his finger.

"...This experim...must succee...do not...choice." He read out loud, drawing a breath in annoyance. As if the passing time wasn't enough, the author had to be someone who wrote like a doctor!

"I think it said: "This experiment must succeed, we do not have a choice."" Sahro guessed, eliciting a nod from Glenn.

"Shit, that only was the introductory line... We're going to spend our whole life trying to read those notes!" He exclaimed angrily, his grip on the book tightening. The page shook, making him relax his handle over the book instantly. But the damage was already made, and a portion of the first page disappeared, crumbling into dust. Sahro slapped his forehead, grunting in disappointment. Glenn slowly closed the book in shame, holding it back toward Sahro.

The Black Heir snatched it away, safely keeping it tied to his belt.

"Yeah, I'm guarding that shit until the only thing we have to do is to study it. And I think I'll try to find another specialist in that Inglishe tongue you spoke of," He stated firmly, denying the book's access to Glenn. The young man opened and closed his fist, sighing regretfully.

"...Sorry," He forced an apology out, earning a disapproving gaze from Sahro. With the main curiosity gone, Glenn's mind swerved back to the original subject he wanted to explore, which was: what the hell was so special about Maron? He turned his head toward Sahro to ask him for help, but the Black Heir had already walked off from the campfire, angered and annoyed by Glenn's actions.

'...That was his finding, and you ruined it. Good job!' Diamanes taunted, succeeding in pulling a sigh out of his host.

'Yeah, that wasn't well thought from me... I'm not so easily annoyed usually, though...' He thought, sneering at his pathetic attempt to find an excuse for his behavior.

'Oh wow, incredible, that dear Sir is finally realizing that there is something wrong with him!' Diamanes exclaimed in awe, making his host's eyebrows rise in surprise.

'There is?'

Diamanes didn't answer for a few seconds.

'Well, yes? Do you realize how much you've been through these past few months? I can accept that you have an iron will because of your already shitty experiences in this world, but at some point, sanity can only diminish after being hammered so much. Of course, that doesn't excuse you from being a jerk, it just means you should try to... I don't know, get some rest?' The entity explained expertly, plunging Glenn into deep thought.

"I wouldn't say no to a few weeks tanning on some beaches, but I'm not sure they have this in this world..." He muttered amusedly, before shaking his head.

"...And I don't have the time to spare for that. I still need to get Giselle's grandson back, beat the fuck out of the Baron, and find Exan. Without counting Onnea's sidequest, of course..."

'...Whose side quest? It's crazy how stupid this censor is,' Diamanes complained. Glenn shook his head, giving up on trying to explain anymore. Instead, he blew the fire away with a gust of Nitrogen, killing the flames. He pushed himself up from his seat and dusted off his pants, before heading for Maron's tent. The light coming from it indicated the merchant was still very much awake, probably working on some administrative matter.

He nodded at Lefeivre and a group of workers eating around a bonfire, who nodded back at him. The moonlight and the warm hue from the torches in the camp illuminated his way. He grabbed the flap of Maron's tent, about to announce himself, when he heard something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

"Dear Lord of all that is golden, I thank thee for your support and your patronage. I shall abide by your will, and continue to climb the monetary stairs to offer you a gift that will be worth more than my puny life..." Maron was praying quite loudly making it hard for Glenn to ignore it. The sound of something falling in the tent followed by a short cry of pain alerted Glenn, who entered without hesitation.

A blinding golden light greeted him, forcing the young man to take a step back. He blinked, squeezing his eyes to try and see through the white blanket that had fallen over his eyes.

"Hey, Monsieur Maron, you alright?" He asked loudly, rubbing the blindness off. Finally, he managed to perceive something that left him with his jaw hanging on the ground.

The merchant was kneeling while holding his head painfully, bare chest, his body half Blumar, and half flesh. But that was nothing that would surprise Glenn, on the contrary. No, the truly surprising spectacle was the small, golden lizard that was struggling to flee the tent through a small hole. Glenn shook his head and lunged forward, grabbing the lizard's tail. The lizard slipped through his fingers, escaping in the darkness of the night.

"What the fuck?" He blurted out, looking back at Maron in shock. His sight came back clearer, and there, on Maron's Blumar arm, he could see engraved a strange tattoo. Or was it an engraving, since it was on stone?

Anyway, there was something engraved with yellow, shining lines, like a vein of gold running through the merchant's arm.

And that vein is shaped like a dragon.

A golden dragon.