CH85

"This rag doll…"

Helag picked it up and gently brushed off the thick layer of dust.

It was just an ordinary rag doll, not a cursed one, with no peculiar features.

Looking at the doll, Helag reflected on everything he had experienced. He felt that the blacksmith's family and the town had likely faced some misfortune, leaving them restless even in death.

He sighed and placed the doll back where he found it.

In the daylight, Helag noticed that the room's decor and colors indicated it was a little girl's room.

He looked around, finding everything similar to the night before, but much more deteriorated.

For instance, the wardrobe door fell off when he opened it, and completely rotted.

Inside the wardrobe were some clothes, all for a little girl.

Leaving the room, Helag carefully descended the decayed stairs to the attic.

The attic was even more chaotic, overgrown with weeds, and the ceiling had several holes.

Helag glanced at the windowsill, where there was no severed head.

The window glass was shattered, and the frame was half-rotted, hanging precariously.

After exploring the blacksmith's house, Helag left, propping the fallen door frame back in place before he did.

He had hoped to find the blacksmith's family's bodies, even just bones, to bury them properly.

From what he saw the night before, the blacksmith's family had likely become restless spirits, unable to find peace.

Helag wanted to see if he could find their remains and give them a proper burial.

Without the blacksmith's help, he might have died. The information the blacksmith provided was crucial for dealing with various situations.

Unfortunately, he couldn't find any remains.

Helag then went to another location.

He reached the house with the Demon Flower garden and found the garden still there, filled with various flowers, but no Demon Flowers.

The house beside the garden was now a pile of rubble, with no recognizable structure left.

Helag continued exploring the town, hoping to find Robert, who had gone missing.

He checked every house but found nothing, no bodies or bones.

"There are fewer houses than last night."

After exploring, Helag noticed that the number of houses was significantly less.

He had observed that there were more houses at night than when he first arrived in Creek Valley Town.

"Could it really be two different spaces?" Helag felt increasingly confident in his theory.

Verifying it would be simple—just return at night.

But Helag had no intention of returning, at least not until he was strong enough to handle the spider swarm.

He continued down the mountain path, noticing that the footsteps following him had disappeared.

"When did they stop…"

Helag realized he hadn't noticed when the footsteps ceased. They seemed to have stopped early on.

Recalling, he realized he hadn't heard them since entering the cave.

At the time, he was focused on the cave paintings and the slate, not noticing the absence of footsteps.

When he exited the cave at dawn, the footsteps were still gone.

Helag pondered, "What were those footsteps?"

He was puzzled. The footsteps had followed him for a long time but hadn't posed any danger. He couldn't understand what they were or their purpose.

Though the footsteps hadn't caused him harm, Helag felt they were unresolved.

He glanced at the tavern, now mostly collapsed, with tables and the bar visible from outside.

After one last look at the tavern, Helag continued down the mountain.

Looking back, Creek Valley Town remained a ruin, and the path down was overgrown with weeds. Soon, the path would blend with the mountain, erasing any trace of it.

The narrow mountain pass had also changed. Helag remembered it clearly from his arrival.

The path had been well-maintained, showing signs of regular upkeep.

Now, it was almost a jungle.

Tall shrubs filled the pass, obscuring the path.

Helag drew his sword, cutting through the undergrowth as he walked.

By the time he exited the pass, he was wet from dew and water accumulated on broad-leafed shrubs.

"Hmm?"

Upon exiting, Helag saw a familiar face.

Robert was sleeping under a tree, leaning against it.

A squirrel on a branch above stared at Helag with wide eyes.

As Helag approached, the squirrel chattered in alarm and scurried away.

Robert, awakened by the noise, groggily opened his eyes and saw Helag.

"Sir…"

Helag looked at him and asked, "Why are you sleeping here?"

Robert, confused, scratched his head. "I don't know. I remember having a butterbeer with you and the blacksmith in the tavern, then nothing."

"Anything else you remember?" Helag asked.

Robert shook his head. "No, my last memory is the tavern. Did I get drunk on one beer? Or was something added to it…"

Listening to Robert, Helag thought, "Robert's last memory is in the tavern. The Robert we encountered later, and the dismembered Robert, might not have been him."

He suddenly turned to Robert, thinking, "Or maybe this isn't the real Robert…"

Robert, feeling Helag's intense gaze, swallowed nervously. "Sir, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Let's get going. Time to head back," Helag said, glancing at the horses tied to a tree, calmly grazing.