Chapter 46: Entrance Exam (8)

Lucien had followed the figure with a vigour that bordered on the religious, like a lamb following its shepard, Lucien followed his saviour to what looked like a house.

Despite the constant downpour, Lucien was able to make out the sign hanging haphazardly above the door, a handmade wooden sign with the letters ‘Hearthlight Inn’ carved into it.

As the duo stepped inside, the warmth hit Lucien like a wall the moment he stepped through the door.

It smelled of boiled herbs and baked bread, of slightly burnt wood and something citrusy beneath it all.

The sudden contrast to the freezing storm outside made him wobble a little on his feet, and the figure, his rescuer, gave his back a firm pat to keep him steady.

Lucien blinked, dripping rainwater onto a hardwood floor.

This… wasn’t what he expected from an inn.

The front room was cramped and cozy, with faded wallpaper and cushioned furniture that looked like it had been salvaged from five different homes.

There were children’s toys scattered across the floor, small wooden animals, a lopsided spinning top, and a well-loved stuffed wyvern missing one eye.

The “reception desk” was a modest wooden table tucked near a bookshelf, with an old guest ledger open beside an oil lamp and a tiny plate of lemon candies.

“Looks more like someone’s living room.”

Lucien asked, glancing around.

The figure snorted.

“It is someone’s living room. And an inn. Kind of both.”

With that, he removed his soaked hood.

Lucien blinked again.

The boy looked to be around his own age, maybe a little older.

He had short, messy hair that stuck to his forehead, dark bags under his eyes, and the kind of tired look you only got from juggling three lives at once.

Still, his features were kind, and despite the clear signs of exhaustion, there was a strange energy to him, sharp and fast-moving, like a man who’d long made peace with chaos.

The boy set the groceries on the desk and called out:

“Ms. Mera! Got the stuff! Also, we’ve got another guest. Might wanna come check him in before he turns into a puddle.”

Lucien opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, a clatter came from deeper inside the building.

A moment later, a woman in her late forties appeared in the doorway, apron flapping and a ladle clutched in one hand like a weapon.

Her cheeks were red from the heat of a kitchen, her graying hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she had a wild-eyed look of someone juggling twenty tasks at once.

“Oh! Goodness, so sorry for the delay!”

She said breathlessly.

“Balt, I changed your sheets like you asked! No mold this time. I think.”

‘So his name is Balt…’

Lucien acknowledged his benefactor.

“Much appreciated,” Balt replied with a tired thumbs up.

“He’s the guest. Found him nearly frozen in an alley. Can’t feel his fingers, probably hasn't eaten, but still has enough sarcasm to complain about the décor, so I think he’ll live.”

Ms. Mera gasped, her expression shifting from panic to motherly concern in an instant.

“You poor thing! You’re drenched! Look at you, soaked to the bone!”

Lucien tried to straighten up, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m okay, really. Just need somewhere to dry off. I can pay- wait-”

He reached into his coat and pulled out the smaller coin pouch, which jingled with the weight of copper coins.

He winced, opening it to reveal the depressing collection of loose change.

Ms. Mera glanced at the pouch, then at Lucien.

Her face softened.

“Oh, dear. Don’t worry about that tonight.”

She waved the ladle dismissively.

“You’ve clearly had a rough time. And we’ve got room to spare, no one staying at the moment besides this rascal.”

She nodded toward Balt.

“You can stay the night free of charge. We'll talk about payment tomorrow. Once you’re warm and fed.”

Lucien blinked.

The kindness hit him harder than the cold had.

He hadn’t realized how tense he was until his shoulders slumped, all the weight of the day slipping off them in one long exhale.

“…Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Really. I didn’t expect…”

Balt shrugged off the gratitude.

“Don’t make it weird.”

Then he turned to Ms. Mera.

“I’ll get the fire going again. He can bunk with me. No point wasting another log just for one night.”

Ms. Mera frowned.

“Are you sure? I could heat another-”

“It’s fine. Room’s already warm. He won’t snore louder than the plumbing.”

Lucien chuckled under his breath.

“You don’t even know that.”

“I’ve got faith,” Balt said dryly.

“Besides, if you do snore, I’ll just shove a pillow over your face. Nothing personal.”

Ms. Mera slapped him gently with the ladle.

Lucien laughed.

Properly this time.

And for the first time since he’d arrived in Vadena, since leaving home, really, he didn’t feel like a stranger in a strange place.

He looked between the two of them, then nodded, clutching his dripping luggage to his chest.

“Alright.”

Balt smirked, already leading the way up the stairs.

“Trust me. You’ll kill for some good sleep before sitting down and writing that test.”

Lucien raised a brow.

“You are here for the entrance exam as well?”

Balt paused mid-step.

“Trying to. Like everyone else.”

Then, without turning, he added, “Quite the struggle.”

Lucien followed him up the stairs, heart a little lighter despite the rain still battering the world outside.

***

The hot bath had been brief, but it felt like it had scrubbed away days of weariness, and maybe even some of the existential dread that had clung to Lucien since stepping into the capital.

After washing away the caked mud and city grime, Lucien stepped out of the small shared bathroom, his hair still damp, his skin flushed pink from the heat, and his soul slightly lighter.

Balt’s room was modest.

A single bed was pushed against the far wall, the mattress well-used but neatly made with fresh sheets (as promised, apparently).

Beside it, a second mattress, spare but clean, had been generously laid out for Lucien by Ms. Mera.

A small oil lamp flickered on the nightstand between them, casting long shadows across the mismatched furniture and book-stuffed shelves.

There was an old, wheezing kettle steaming in the corner, its gentle hiss the only sound breaking the stillness of the room.

Lucien sat down, towel around his neck, letting the mattress sink under his weight.

“…Thanks again,” he said after a moment, glancing over at Balt who was seated cross-legged on his bed, fidgeting with a little

mechanical trinket that looked halfway between a clock and a beetle.

“For, you know, finding me in that alley. And not leaving me to freeze into an Ice Sculpture.”

Balt snorted, not looking up.

“You really make it sound like I dragged you from the edge of death or something.”

Lucien gave him a flat look.

“You literally did. I’m pretty sure I was five minutes away from full-on icicle mode.”

“Eh.” Balt shrugged.

“It wasn’t a big deal. Where I come from, we look out for our own.”

Lucien tilted his head.

“Your own?”

Balt finally glanced up.

“You’re here for the Academy entrance, right?”

“…Yeah?”

“Then we’re the same. Birds of a feather. Idiots who think frying their brains with spell matrices and economic theory is a noble life path.”

He tossed a screw in the air, caught it with practiced ease.

“You were on the same road I was, just moving slower and wetter.”

Lucien laughed, shaking his head.

“Still. I’m grateful. I mean it.”

Balt leaned back, arms behind his head.

“Sure, sure. You can show gratitude by not snoring.”

“I’ll try.”

Lucien hesitated for a second, then reached for the coin pouch with coppers again.

He held it in both hands, turning it over slowly.

“I’ll pay you both back. I mean it. As soon as I get some money in my hands.”

Balt rolled his eyes.

“Relax. I know you will.”

Lucien blinked.

“You’re awfully sure about that.”

“Of course I am,” Balt replied, now lying on his side.

“I saw your satchel. Even through the rain, the leather’s too good to be from the bargain bin, and more importantly… I could tell from the shape that there were books in it.”

Lucien squinted.

“Books?”

“Thick ones. Heavy ones. You had them jammed in there like your life depended on it. Which it probably does, if you're anything like me.”

Lucien looked over at the satchel he’d thrown near the foot of the mattress.

The top was cracked open slightly, revealing the warped, waterlogged corners of his history and arcane theory textbooks.

“…Okay, but how does that mean I can pay you back?”

Balt grinned, eyes glinting in the dim light.

“Simple deduction. Two kinds of people carry around expensive books like that.”

He held up a finger.

“One, thieves. They steal books and haul them around before they can flip them for coin.”

Lucien frowned.

“Do I look like a thief to you?”

“Exactly. You don’t.”

Balt pointed at him with the second finger.

“Because any thief worth their boots wouldn’t let their precious black-market loot get drenched in rainwater like that. You were holding onto those like they were textbooks, not merchandise.”

Lucien opened his mouth, then closed it.

‘Fair point.’

“The second kind of person,” Balt continued, “is someone who owns books like that. Someone who buys books like that. Or inherited them. Either way, it means you’ve got at least some means, whether it’s family money or a noble sponsor or whatever. Normal folk? They don’t just… wander around with tomes on economic policy in their travel bag.”

Lucien chuckled, a little impressed despite himself.

“You got all that just from glancing at my bag?”

Balt gave a smug little shrug.

“I’ve got an eye for detail.”

Lucien leaned back on the mattress and laughed.

Not loudly, he was still tired, still sore, but with genuine amusement.

“And what if I don’t end up being able to pay you back?”

He asked.

Balt snorted.

“Then at least I get to say I helped a poor, drenched soul out of the gutter. Makes me look good for karmic bookkeeping.”

Lucien snorted.

“A noble man.”