Ketron had never really found himself marveling at others' appearances—probably because of his own looks.
No matter how beautiful the woman, how handsome the man—even when others went wild saying they fell for Saintess Layla at first sight, Ketron had remained indifferent. Augustine had even once seriously asked, “Ketron, are you sure you’re not broken or something?”
But that innkeeper… was something else.
When someone had shaken him awake for the first time, Ketron had been so overwhelmed by a burning storm of rage that he wanted to destroy everything.
The continent he had tried so hard to protect. All the people smiling and laughing like nothing had happened. His former comrades who had betrayed him—every single one of them.
But before that fury could boil over into lava, that man—the so-called innkeeper—had suddenly shaken him awake.
For a moment, Ketron thought he must have died and gone to heaven. But then he remembered that he wasn’t exactly the saintly type to deserve such a place, and that was when it finally hit him—this was real.
Who was this man, whose face shone like that just by existing?
That man had dragged Ketron into what he called his inn, handed him food, gave him a room, and even brought unfamiliar-looking medicine to treat his wounds.
Of course, Ketron ignored all of it and holed up in the room. He had outright rejected the kindness. But even so, the man never kicked him out.
On the contrary, just as Ketron was sinking into his lowest depths again, the man showed up once more—timed as if perfectly planned.
“What, you didn’t cry? Good job staying strong.”
…With that ridiculous comment.
The man walked into the room holding the same yellow milk and medicine from that morning. But the bottle he had now was visibly chilled, beaded with moisture—it wasn’t the one Ketron had ignored.
Ketron said nothing.
Without a care in the world, the man plopped himself down on the floor in front of Ketron, ignoring both the chair and bed. It was oddly casual for someone who looked that good.
“I get it if you’re picky about food, but I can’t ignore the wounds. Just leaving them like that makes me feel uneasy.”
Picky about food.
First calling him a “kid,” then treating him like a crybaby—this guy had a weird way of picking words.
“You’re still young. Don’t act like you’ve been through everything already. Let’s get that injury treated.”
There it was again—“young.”
Ketron wasn’t that old, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone had spoken to him like that.
When he was a kid, there weren’t any adults around to say those things. And once he grew up, he became a powerful figure—one of the strongest, someone no one dared to talk down to because of his age.
But now this man stood before him, treating him like some greenhorn—as if he really were just an ordinary twenty-year-old.
Of course, the man didn’t know who Ketron was. Everyone had forgotten him. But still, Ketron was well aware that his appearance usually struck people as threatening. And yet, this guy didn’t seem the least bit bothered.
“If it’s okay with you… can I take a look at your wounds?”
The man asked it gently.
“……”
Ketron gave no response.
It wasn’t that he was wary of the man. At this point, he had no will left in him. Even if someone were to approach him with a blade and press it against his neck, he wasn’t sure he’d even flinch. And the man clearly wasn’t a trained fighter—anyone could see that.
He just… had no will to do anything.
“……There’s no need.”
Ketron quietly refused. For someone who had barely spoken since realizing the betrayal, this was already the second time he’d opened his mouth today.
“Why?”
The man tilted his head, clearly puzzled.
What should he say? He could’ve ignored it. But somehow, Ketron felt that no matter how many times he did, this man would persist.
With his gaze lowered, Ketron slowly parted his lips.
“I…”
He spoke evenly.
“I’m someone who’s allowed to die.”
If he disappeared from this world, no one would know. And that wasn’t a metaphor—it was fact. The few people who still remembered him likely wanted him dead.
That morning, when he’d nearly erupted in rage, it had been this man who stopped it. And ever since then, Ketron had realized that the emotions that once filled him were now frozen solid.
There was no fuel left to ignite them. No will to act on them.
Much like his existence, those feelings had become forgotten—blurred to the point where he couldn’t even tell what they were anymore.
“……”
This time, the man stayed silent.
Anyone would be thrown off if someone they barely knew suddenly told them they didn’t care if they lived or died. Ketron knew that. But he hoped this would finally put an end to the stranger’s interest in him.
A stranger. A stranger’s connection.
People usually back off after hearing something like that—unless they want to get deeply entangled.
Sure enough, the man looked dazed. He probably hadn’t expected that answer.
Ketron quietly closed his eyes again. He hoped the man would just walk away and lose interest.
If he would just do that, then Ketron could finish sorting himself out and leave this place for good.
But what came next wasn’t the sound of the door closing.
There was a soft pop—like something piercing a thin film. Reflexively opening his eyes, Ketron saw the man poking a straw into the milk bottle.
He held it out to Ketron.
For a moment, Ketron just stared at the straw, not understanding what it meant.
“Drink it.”
The man’s voice was oddly firm—more serious than before.
“It’s not poisoned. You can drink it. And hey, even if it was—didn’t you say you’re someone who’s allowed to die? Then drink it. It’s sweet. Makes you feel good.”
The straw nudged under Ketron’s chin. He’d never reacted even when swords or arrows grazed his throat—but now, with that soft plastic straw, he flinched instinctively.
The man calmly pressed the straw between Ketron’s lips.
The warm, unfamiliar sensation of plastic pushing past his lips made Ketron freeze in shock.
“Just suck on it. Like that—pull it in.”
He even explained how to do it. Without realizing he’d been swept up in the man’s pace, Ketron obeyed. He sucked the straw, and the transparent plastic filled with yellow as the liquid rose.
“!”
The taste was cold, sweet, and rich—something Ketron had never experienced before. Startled, he immediately pulled away, and the liquid dribbled down his chin.
“Oops.”
The man chuckled and wiped his chin with his hand. Yellow milk smeared across his fingers.
For some reason, the way the man wiped him down—like he really was some messy little kid—made Ketron feel embarrassed and confused.
“Don’t waste it. This stuff’s not even for sale, y’know?”
Here.
The man offered the straw again.
“……”
The first time, Ketron had reacted without thinking. But now he knew exactly what this straw did. And what it tasted like.
If anyone else had done this to him, Ketron would’ve knocked the bottle away with a frosty glare.
But for some reason, he couldn’t do that now.
Ever since waking up and heading toward the Empire, he’d sold nearly everything he had—except for the sacred sword—to scrape together enough to travel.
No one paid any attention to the hollow-eyed young man. They took what he offered, gave what they owed, and walked away.
This was the first person who had shown him kindness without expecting anything in return.
Ketron wasn’t the kind to get moved by little things like that—not even now.
But he didn’t want to spit in the face of that clear smile. He didn’t want to hurt those soft, uncalloused hands that had probably never held a blade.
So, hesitantly, Ketron took the straw back between his lips. Now that he knew how, he sucked on it more easily, and the yellow liquid flowed smoothly into his mouth.
Cold, rich, and—
“Sweet, right?”
The man asked with a smile. Except it wasn’t really a question. It was the tone of someone who already knew the answer.
Just like the man had said—it was sweet. That thick, sugary taste filled his mouth. Like someone who’d found an oasis in a wasteland, Ketron sucked greedily, without realizing it. Like a child.
“The only ones who deserve to die are those who’ve committed unforgivable sins. You? You done anything like that?”
Ketron couldn’t answer with words—his mouth was still busy drinking—so he just shook his head.
Sins, huh. Ketron had always carried far too much on his shoulders. He hadn’t always taken the most peaceful route, but there had always been justice behind his actions.
The man smiled faintly, like he’d expected that.
“Then live. Life’s not some grand thing. Even when bad things happen, good things happen too. That’s what makes it worth it.”
“……”
“You’re still young.”
This time, the man gently patted Ketron’s head, like he was his little brother.
“You’ve got time.”
Gurgle.
Right on cue, the milk bottle let out a loud noise. Both of their eyes turned toward it. The yellow container, once filled with liquid, was now clear. Ketron had finished the whole thing.
Somehow, that made him feel weirdly embarrassed. He froze with the straw still in his mouth.
“How was it?”
The man asked softly. Ketron didn’t understand what the question meant at first. Was he asking about what he’d said? Or about the milk?
Before long, he realized it was the latter. He answered honestly without thinking.
“It was sweet.”
“Told you it was good, right?”
The man smiled proudly, like he’d just been praised.
And the way he’d asked if it was tasty—Ketron couldn’t help but hear it as if the man were really saying, “See? Good things exist too.”
Good things, huh.
Ketron thought for a moment. It had been a long time since anything new had entered his mind. But this one question sparked an answer almost instantly.
Yeah.
It was probably the best thing that had happened to him in the past month.