I, Viretta, Am Going to Hunt a Dragon-Chapter 50

Ranken leaned closer, almost shouting, until his face was inches from hers. The fact that he was dressed down in casual indoor clothes, just like her, sent a chill up her spine.

"Y-yes, that’s right. You and I are bound by eternal friendship," she stammered.

"I think so too. You're my one and only friend. Not that I had much chance to make others, thanks to you dragging me around everywhere. But still, my one true best friend. I think of you as a guy with a chest."

"Ugh, that’s insulting! Why can’t you think of me as a woman with... that instead?"

"Doesn't matter. Our friendship is eternal and unbreakable, not even small obstacles can shatter it."

Before she knew it, Ranken had fully taken over one side of the bed. Sitting opposite her, he draped part of the blanket over his shoulder and wrapped the rest snugly around Viretta.

"That being the case..."

"So, there's no problem with us sharing a room, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"It might be a bit cramped, but no big deal. We've shared space in stables before."

Well, that was true. They’d slept in carriages together, camped out under the stars, and even dozed off amidst the stench of horse manure in stables.

But somehow, this felt different—a single cramped bed in a tiny room.

Even for Ranken, this felt like trouble waiting to happen.

Could two people facing each other on a narrow bed, wrapped in a single blanket, really call themselves friends?

This was a far cry from her daytime assertions about how marriage meant no room for male-female friendships.

Viretta tensed up at the sudden shift in Ranken’s demeanor. The usually yappy Ranken, who barked like a small dog, was now approaching her seriously, and it felt odd.

The moonlight and soft glow of the room’s lamp illuminated his face, making it sparkle in an almost beautiful way.

She couldn't bring herself to push him away. When Ranken looked at her with such an earnest expression, it was impossible to reject him.

Despite his background as a neighborhood mercenary, Ranken wasn’t without his charms.

If Iola was the kind of man with strong, bold features that exuded rugged masculinity, Ranken was the opposite.

His shabby clothes and perpetually furrowed brow often masked his appearance, but there was a delicate handsomeness to his boyish face.

Golden eyes that sparkled like blossoms in full bloom, soft round features, smooth skin, and a slender but not frail frame—everything about him seemed designed to subtly tug at one’s protective instincts.

‘He’s always been like that,’ Viretta thought, recalling the first time she met him eight years ago.

Back then, Ranken’s face had been even more adorable, though covered in thorns. It was only natural, given that he had been sold into debt bondage by his father to a mercenary group.

Even now, she could remember how utterly useless he was as a mercenary—weak, antisocial, terrible at hunting, and averse to hurting others.

He was smaller, weaker, and more delicate than Viretta. If she hadn’t taken him under her wing, he would have been bullied to death or swept away doing menial chores in the mercenary band.

And that was why she chose him as her escort.

She liked that he needed her protection, that he was a small boy she could nurture.

‘...Though he hates it when I put it that way.’

She couldn’t forget the way Ranken had looked at her like she was insane when she first selected him.

"You're weak, which is perfect! We can grow stronger together!" she’d said cheerfully, only for him to angrily bristle and insist on acting tough.

That innocent, defiant face that didn’t want to admit to needing protection—it was endearing.

"Ranken..."

In the end, Viretta had a soft spot for him.

It wasn’t the same as her vulnerability to Iola; it was more akin to a big sister’s indulgence toward a younger sibling.

She wasn’t even this kind to her actual brothers, but then again, that was just how real siblings worked.

Ranken’s heartfelt plea stirred something deep in her.

For someone who normally scowled to avoid looking weaker than her, seeing him approach so candidly in the dimly lit room made him seem even more boyish.

She couldn’t ignore it. When Ranken reached out his hand, she didn’t push it away—instead, she held it.

The moment she clasped his hand, feeling a tickling warmth in her chest, she realized something odd.

"...Your palm is sweaty."

"Yeah."

His hand was so clammy it was immediately noticeable.

It was too dark to see clearly, but on closer inspection, his face was pale too.

"...Were you scared and came here?"

"No. I came because I thought you might be scared and unable to sleep."

It was a laughably unconvincing excuse.

Viretta tightened the blanket around their shoulders and gently stroked Ranken’s hand.

"Was it the sound of crying and moaning that frightened you?"

"What? I didn’t hear anything like that!" Ranken shouted, his voice rising in alarm.

"There’s a bird outside making noises like ‘Save me’ and ‘I’m dying.’"

"That’s not a bird! How could that be a bird?!"

"Who’s to say it’s not? No one’s proven it can’t be some weird bird."

A bone-chilling wail echoed through the night, cutting through their banter.

"Screw that! That’s no bird!"

Ranken's soprano shriek filled the room as he gripped her hand tightly, pulling her closer.

Even as they clung to each other, strange shadows danced across the walls and ceiling.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Finally, the door burst open.

Standing in the doorway, holding a sword, was Iola—the scariest presence in the entire inn.

"Viretta."