Emrys hurried back to the kitchen, his anticipation palpable as he awaited the completion of the order.

Minutes ticked by as he waited with bated breath. At long last, Damien emerged from the bustling kitchen, carrying a steaming, fully cooked stew that looked so tantalizing even Emrys couldn't help but feel his mouth water at the sight.

Emrys approached the elegantly set table where the soldier sat, clad in pristine white attire, a silent grin playing on his lips as he observed the soldier indulging in his drinks. However, his amusement turned to astonishment as he realized the soldier had already downed nearly half of the bottles he had been given.

"Give me that, you bastard!" The soldier's voice was laced with hostility as he lunged towards Emrys, his intent clear as he aimed to plunge his bare hands into the freshly cooked stew that had just been delivered. Emrys reacted swiftly, sidestepping just in time to avoid the soldier's grasp. Though a few drops splattered, he managed to prevent any significant contamination.

Emrys deftly placed the steaming fish stew on the table, its rich aroma mingling with the faint scent of beer that lingered in the air. He discreetly moved the empty beer bottles aside, his polite smile never faltering as he addressed the soldier. "Would you like me to take these bottles away for you, sir?"

The soldier's response was a mix of indecision and growing intoxication. "Yes! No, wait... No!" His cheeks flushed with redness as he continued to consume more beer, the effects becoming evident in his demeanor. He inadvertently caused a stir in the restaurant, drawing curious glances as he grabbed Emrys' collar, his actions becoming increasingly erratic.

These soldiers and their privileges

"You're not going anywhere until I, the great walker Paul, finish this stew!" The soldier's grip on Emrys tightened as he commandeered the spoon, his eagerness to devour the dish evident. The fish stew, a culinary masterpiece, tantalized with its medley of tender fish, aromatic spices, and rich broth that promised a burst of flavors with each spoonful.

"The flavors are exquisite!" The soldier's eyes widened with delight as he savored the stew, relishing each mouthful. Without restraint, he devoured the entire dish in one swift motion, wiping his mouth with the collar of his shirt, now smudged with remnants of his armor.

Rising from his chair, the soldier commanded attention, his imposing figure towering over the surrounding diners. His voice boomed through the restaurant, demanding an answer to his culinary delight. "Who is the genius behind this delectable stew?" His question echoed, drawing the gaze of everyone present.

Emrys, noticing the soldier's escalating enthusiasm, grew increasingly apprehensive. He attempted to catch the soldier's attention, tugging at his brown leather pants and gesturing subtly towards his armor, but the soldier remained oblivious to his efforts.

Damien emerged from the kitchen, alerted by the soldier's booming voice that echoed through the diner. His eyes fell upon the towering figure of the soldier, whose hand was raised in a commanding gesture, pointing directly at Damien.

"You there! Are you responsible for this exquisite stew?" The soldier's voice reverberated across the restaurant, drawing the attention of everyone present.

"Sir, you must come down from there," Emrys interjected, his tone tinged with nervousness.

"Silence, peasant!" The soldier barked at Emrys, his focus solely on Damien as he awaited a response.

"Yes, I am. Thank you," Damien replied curtly, his expression remaining cold and indifferent as he turned to retreat back into the kitchen.

The soldier's initial shock at Damien's response quickly morphed into bewilderment, his expression reflecting his surprise. Emrys, sensing the need to maintain order, gently guided the soldier back into his seat, silently urging him to calm down and resume his meal.

"Sir, you really shouldn't be doing that here... it's a violation of our policy..." Emrys spoke in an apologetic tone, his concern evident in his voice.

"It wouldn't matter anymore! Ha! After I become a walker... I'll be unstoppable!" The soldier exclaimed triumphantly, leaning back in his chair with a boisterous laugh.

"...Walker?" Emrys inquired, his curiosity piqued by the soldier's cryptic words.

"Yes, peasant, the owner of this restaurant... er... what was his name again...?" the soldier mused, trying to recall.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Smith?" Emrys offered.

"Ah yes! Him! He's the one holding the ritual for me to become a walker tomorrow night!" The soldier revealed with a jolly tone, his excitement palpable as he shared his upcoming plans.

“What do you exactly mean by a walker?”

“Would you like to hear a story peasant?”

“Yes, I would like to.” Emrys would sit in front of the soldier as he took the elegant seat. He’d recall a story that Smith told him when he was young.

It was the story of a walker who walked the branches of a tree to gain unknown powers to defeat whoever stood in his way. This was one of Emrys’ favorable stories to hear since he loved heroes and magic.

"I'll only tell you this today! Today only! Haha!" The soldier's drunken expression was a mix of jubilation and intoxication, his words slurring slightly as he leaned closer to Emrys. The alcohol on his breath was unmistakable, and Emrys couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation at the man's behavior.

He’d get another bottle of beet and start telling the tale.

“Well… y'know the Titlantia empire right…? So … er basically…” He scratched his head, trying to recall the memories in his drunken state.

“Yes, I do.”

“So basically they get strong soldiers with er… political power? To become er… these magicians with strong powers!” He’d look up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what these ‘magicians’ were called. “What were they called again…?”

“Walkers?”

“Yes, Walkers!” The soldier pointed at Emrys with a large smile on his face going up to his ears. “This ‘Smith’ guy is basically the… er… opener of doors who… gives walkers their path to divinity!”

“Path… to divinity…?”

What is this man blabbering about? Is anything he is saying even true?!

"Yes! The path to divinity was... um... I forgot the details!" The man's speech was punctuated by a loud gulp as he took a large sip of his beer, the sound echoing through the restaurant. He slammed the drink back onto the table with a resounding thud, drawing the attention of nearby people.

“Please continue sir.”

“So uh… the path to divinity is uh… a path!”

No way…

Emrys thought sarcastically.

“It’s a path where people gain these trees, from what I recall… they were called…” The soldier thought very cautiously, trying to remember these fragmented details from the past.

“Ah yes! Leylines! They’re the things that give… us mere humans superhuman powers!”

“That's great and all but… what does this have to do with Smith? What is this ritual you're talking about?-” Emrys got cut off by the soldier trying to get a chance to speak once more.

"I'm the only one who gets to spea... spea... speak..." The soldier's words slurred as his eyes began to droop and spin. Suddenly, he lost his balance and toppled onto the table, his arms splayed out in an exaggerated pose of defeat. A few nearby diners chuckled at the unexpected spectacle.

Damnit! He stopped speaking! This ‘story’ sounds all too similar for some reason… What is that old man up to…?

As Emrys saw the soldier slump into sleep, panic surged through him like a tidal wave. He looked around frantically, his mind racing with a million thoughts at once. The bustling restaurant suddenly felt suffocating as he realized the gravity of the situation.

What do I do...?! What should I do?!

Emrys muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. He lightly tapped the soldier's large shoulders covered with armor, hoping to rouse him back to consciousness, but to no avail. Sweat beads formed on his forehead as he struggled to come up with a plan to handle the unconscious soldier amidst the curious gazes of the other people in the diner.

Suddenly, a man with a terrifying aura approached Emrys and the sleeping soldier. His naval cap bore the ominous Titlantian logo, casting a shadow over his menacing demeanor. With each step, his boots echoed ominously against the floor, sending a chill down Emrys' spine.

As the man drew closer, his sharp eyes locked onto Emrys with an intensity that made Emrys instinctively look down at his own military clothes, a gesture born of fear. The air grew heavy with tension, and the once bustling restaurant fell silent as all eyes turned to the impending confrontation between Emrys and this formidable figure from the Titlantian military.

“I’ll take him.” He said with a commanding deep voice as his obsidian eyes looked at Emrys.

“Yes sir!” Emrys stood up, trying to show respect to the man in front of him.

They proceeded to take the drunk soldier from his sleep. However, Emrys couldn’t help but wonder about the story the soldier told him.

He’d look at them before they left, but the large man gazed his eyes at Emrys one more time, instilling fear in him.

What exactly is a walker…? If these things do exist in this world… could he be one of them?

Emrys had a soft smile at the large man, determined to take down the large nation one day. He’d pondered on one line the drunk soldier said: “He's the one holding the ritual for me to become a walker tomorrow night!”

What is the old man up to these days…