I, Viretta, Am Going to Hunt a Dragon-Chapter 52

Iola pulled Viretta’s hand firmly, as if trying to steady her.

“Look at it this way. The fact that the esteemed elder of the Medleidge family is still alive and well, surrounded by his descendants, is proof that ghosts don’t exist. If they did, he’d have been long gone by now.”

“That’s a horrifically disrespectful thing to say, Iola! I mean, it’s true, but still disrespectful!”

—Are they insane… uuuuhooohooo…

Had the ghost just called them crazy?

Ranken glanced around nervously, doubting his own ears. Then again, Viretta and Iola’s conversation did sound insane.

From Carlin Medleidge, who started as a peddler and built the Medleidge trading empire, to the current generation, the family’s karmic burden was indeed deep. But the granddaughter and her future husband casually pointing this out felt like sacrilege against the heavens themselves.

In the presence of these two fearless souls, strange shadows flickering or scratching sounds along the walls began to feel more like childish pranks.

Ranken, slightly exasperated, cast a sideways glance at Iola.

“If ghosts don’t exist, what brought you here? What scared you enough to come?”

For someone denying the existence of ghosts, he sure seemed rattled when he entered Viretta’s room.

In other words, if he didn’t want to be alone, he should drop the pretense.

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“I went to see Moslin, but her room was empty.”

As always, Iola’s words were unexpected.

“She probably went to the bathroom.”

“There were blankets neatly laid out as if someone were there, but Moslin herself was gone.”

“Ah.”

Now that was unsettling. Viretta glanced toward the direction of Moslin’s room. Though she turned to the wrong side, Iola didn’t bother correcting her.

“...Could she have already been taken?”

“N-no way. She’s an incredible mage!” Ranken shook his head vigorously, pale as a sheet.

“Exactly. If something had happened to her, there would have been thunder or lightning. That’s why I didn’t worry and went to look for Saffron, but his room was empty as well.”

Ranken and Viretta tensed up. Visualizing Iola’s account, combined with the eerie noises still echoing, sent shivers down their spines.

“Then I checked Ranken’s room, but it was also empty. That’s when I started to feel uneasy and came here.”

Hearing his story, they couldn’t blame him for being shaken.

Finding one empty room might be coincidence, but opening door after door to find them vacant was chilling.

It explained why Iola hadn’t scolded them for the compromising scene he’d walked in on. After three fruitless searches, seeing the two huddled together must have brought him a sense of relief.

Realizing this belatedly, Viretta and Ranken sighed in unison before snapping to attention.

“Why are you only telling us this now?!”

“Well, it just happened that way.”

“Two people are missing! Why didn’t you mention it sooner?!”

“You both seemed scared already.”

The sheer absurdity of his reasoning hit Viretta like a slap.

This man, truly.

Unbelievably capable and intelligent, yet somehow riddled with glaring blind spots.

It wasn’t that he was slow—it was more like his priorities were completely skewed, or his thought process was just… different.

“Iola, you’re really something else...”

Undeniably strong and brilliant, but somehow, he felt like the kind of person who might misstep and get himself killed if left on his own.

Like a dragon soaring proudly through the skies—powerful and majestic, yet utterly unsuited to life among ordinary people.

“I guess I’ll have to stay by your side!”

And she liked that.

Her fondness for him, worn down by his impeccable academic and martial prowess, suddenly returned in full force.

High maintenance, difficult to handle, and liable to get himself killed without supervision—this combination stirred something in Viretta.

“You’re far from perfect. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“Hey, stop celebrating like trash and worry about Moslin and Saffron first!”

Ranken, unable to hold back, threw a pillow at Viretta.

Wrapped in blankets, Ranken, Iola, and Viretta ventured into the corridor.

The hallway creaked ominously, despite not being made of wood. It was eerie, but they couldn’t ignore the disappearance of Moslin and Saffron.

Moving in tense silence, they opened doors one by one. Ranken held a lantern, Iola carried his sword, and for reasons unknown, Viretta clutched a coin pouch.

The door to Moslin’s room creaked open.

Inside, the bed was neatly arranged, as if someone had packed it with pillows and belongings to mimic a sleeping figure. Yet there was no sign of Moslin herself.

Her personal items were tidy, but there was no trace of her outer garments—a worrying sign.

“It wouldn’t make sense for Moslin to be taken without a fight.”

As a battle-hardened mage and an eager dragon hunter, Moslin was the least likely to go quietly.

“And Saffron wouldn’t have run away either. If he had, he wouldn’t have clung so annoyingly to avoid coming here in the first place.”

Saffron, a slave, wore a thin metal collar. The slave’s restraint could only be removed by a master’s key or by being broken in a forge.

Running away with it would be a foolish act, as he would be immediately caught.

Although they hadn’t known him long, Saffron seemed more pragmatic than foolish.

When Iola reopened the door to Saffron’s room, a sound echoed from the hallway behind them.

—Run awaaaay heheheheeeeeee!

A door creaked open, followed by the strange, high-pitched noise.

At the same time, a shimmering fabric burst from the room, floating eerily into the air.

In moments of extreme fear, people fall into three categories:

First, those who flee.

Second, those who freeze.

Third, those whose fear turns into aggression, compelling them to attack the source of their terror.

Unfortunately, all three of them belonged to the third category.

“AAAAAHHH!”

“KYAAAAAAH!”

“......!”

The “ghost,” shrieking in response, collided head-on with the trio charging at it and tumbled into the hallway.

“Die! Die! Die!”

“Curse you, grudge-bearer against my grandfather—or grudge-bearer against those who should have grudges against my grandfather!”

The latter didn’t matter. Her grandfather was clearly the bad one, but there was no stopping her punches once they started.

“Ahhh! Stop! W-wait! Ow!”

The “ghost,” emitting realistic cries of pain, proved to have a tangible body. It wasn’t a ghost at all.

Iola, wearing a relieved smile, sheathed his sword and wiped his brow theatrically.

“A common thief, after all. Lucky I didn’t cut them down.”

“Lucky for who?”

The “ghost,” draped in shimmering fabric, groaned as it lay sprawled on the floor.

But before they could celebrate, cold steel touched the backs of their necks.

People from nearby rooms emerged, armed with swords, spears, and clubs.

“It’d have been easier if you’d just run off thinking it was a ghost. Now you’re making this complicated. If you know what’s good for you, drop your belongings and leave.”

A spear pointed at Ranken and Viretta from a distance, prompting them to raise their hands.

Iola, facing a blade just inches from his throat, slowly stood, his gaze steady as he assessed the five armed strangers.

“Judging by your clumsy threats, you must be new at this. It seems this area has become rather unstable.”

“What’s with the analysis? If you want your companions to stay safe, drop your weapons.”

But Moslin and Saffron weren’t present. If they’d been taken hostage, Viretta’s group was at a disadvantage.

“Let’s be reasonable here. You seem well-off. We won’t take everything. Just drop your weapons, and we’ll all go our separate ways.”

“That’s inconvenient. In a town full of Medleidge’s enemies, I can’t very well leave the daughter of Medleidge unarmed. However, I’m willing to negotiate—”

“Medleidge’s daughter?”

Viretta broke into a cold sweat.

In a city full of people ruined by the Medleidge family, mentioning that name seemed reckless.

But the situation didn’t go as she expected.

“Med... Medleidge’s daughter? That terrifying family...”

The thief holding the sword paled, his face turning the color of a river on a freezing winter day.