A knight and a dwarf ran over, and they saw Littlefinger Felps. The dwarf lifted the halfling up in one swift motion, cheering with joy. It seemed that these two would also be friends, not standing against Lynch. Everyone put away their weapons, and Zilvra asked, "Gentlemen, where did the Mage Lynch go? Hurry and follow up, won’t you?"
Wislin gave her a curious look, that clumsy Common Language was indeed quite strange. However, he still pointed in a direction: "If I’m not mistaken, Lynch should have returned to his home."
In that old inn, the mage gently placed his mother on the bed, tucking her in. A wooden chair floated up to settle behind him, offering a seat for the mage.
It was a small, south-facing room, the place where Lynch had spent his childhood. In one corner of the room, clothes hung on the wall that he wore as a child, still neat and spotless; the two large beds were patched up thoroughly, creaking even with the slightest movement; three chairs surrounded a wooden table, with a block of wood wedged under one of the table legs as usual—otherwise, even a bowl of soup couldn’t be placed stably. The only lively spot in the room was a few pots of small flowers by the window, both in position and variety exactly as Lynch remembered.
Years had passed here without much change, all the furnishings were still kept as they were. Lynch caressed the wooden frame at the side of the bed; its surface, once polished smooth by time, had also darkened and decayed slightly over the years. The mage looked at his mother, at the wrinkles on her face, and counted the silver strands at her temples, unable to say anything.
The decorations here remained unchanged, but the people had long since been transformed.
Footsteps echoed from downstairs, like metal tapping on a wooden floor. Lynch grabbed his magic wand, gently pushed the door open, and floated down the stairs. At this moment, Wislin brought his companions here, just in time to meet a Lynch with a face full of murderous intent.
"Lynch, how is Auntie?" Wislin asked urgently. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel⸺fire.net
The mage then put away the magic wand, preventing anyone’s attempt to go upstairs: "My mother is resting upstairs, it’s better if you don’t go up. Let’s talk here." He waved his hand, and the chairs in the inn’s hall floated over, stopping right in front of everyone.
Being indoors, Lynch didn’t bother to cover Zilvra’s eyes. The female drow quickly moved to the mage’s side, pulled up a chair, and sat down.
"What the hell is going on?" Lynch said. "How did you know I live here? And why did you specifically come here to hold a funeral?"
Wislin and Morgan exchanged glances, and it was the knight who explained everything here: "After Moon Harbor City fell, we lost contact with you. According to Macken the Great Knight, you were fighting the Great Mage at the Lord Mansion and then got buried by an explosion. We secretly entered there but couldn’t find your body."
Morgan said discontentedly, "So those priests who talk about ’the sun rises’ and ’the sun sets’ all day presumed you were dead, such fools."
Wislin gently tugged Morgan’s big beard: "Didn’t I tell you? Now we need to unite and let go of those prejudices. How can you still not be mindful of your words?"
Morgan shook his head, his beard swaying along: "I was just speaking the truth... Forget it, I didn’t say anything, what a hassle it’s become!"
Wislin also understood that Morgan’s temperament was not something that could change overnight. He continued, "The High Priest of the Holy Pate believed it was necessary to find your whereabouts. So we went to the Mage Association, where we learned of your family situation. Even after we reclaimed Moon Harbor City, there was still no news of you. Hence, my superior decided to come to your hometown to hold this funeral."
Wislin let out a couple of bitter laughs: "I told them many times, saying Lynch, you wouldn’t die so easily. But they didn’t quite believe it. It seems this has caused quite some trouble for your mother, and I apologize to you for that."