Chapter 131: A Warrior

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At this moment, Handel’s mood was rather anxious. The turmoil of the times had caused them to be delayed along the way, and even their current destination was somewhat off course. Yet Handel knew he mustn't lose his composure; he had to settle Mr. Moore down.

They had arrived in Bach, a large city near the border.

The two of them hurried through the train station, one following the other, then boarded a carriage heading into the city center. Along the way, the scene was a blend of prosperity and decay. Industry was booming, and the roar of steam engines filled the city’s air, as if countless iron hearts had been installed within it.

Snowflakes drifted from the sky. The continuous journey had left them both exhausted and hungry. Even Handel was utterly worn out, let alone Moore. They urgently needed an inn where they could eat and rest.

“Mr. Brook, over there, that one!” Moore pointed across the street to a sign that read something like “—tin Hotel,” missing some letters and thus not entirely clear. The street nearby was littered with trash, but warm steam escaped from the cracks in the windows, and the soft yellow light inside gave a feeling of comforting warmth.

Handel, a man of high standards, had intended to find a more decent inn, but upon seeing that place and smelling the fragrance wafting out, he found himself unable to move away.

So the two quickly made their way toward the inn. Even from outside, they could hear the somewhat raucous sounds inside. It was more of a tavern-cum-restaurant that offered lodging—such hybrid establishments, though modest, were common.

When the door opened, the string attached to it triggered a bell inside with a clear “ding-dong” sound, followed by a wave of mixed odors and warmth rushing out, causing Handel to frown.

“Close the door quickly!”

“Yeah, if you’re coming in, come in fast; if you’re leaving, get lost fast!”

Voices shouted from within. Moore tugged at Handel’s arm, and the two entered the establishment, closing the door behind them.

Inside, several kerosene lamps cast a dim yellow glow that failed to light the entire room, but it was clear the place was crowded, with nearly all tables occupied except for a few seats at the bar.

Though most guests continued their chatter, many covertly observed Handel and Moore, who in turn swiftly scanned their surroundings.

“Hey, two classy types…”

Someone whispered lowly, followed by laughter.

Handel and Moore paid no mind and went straight to the bar. Already, Handel had spotted a sign hanging by the window, so as soon as they sat down, he called out:

“Two steak meals, with two extra loaves of bread, and a glass of fruit wine.”

“Right away, strangers.”

The bearded old man behind the bar responded, shouting an order to the kitchen, then set two wine glasses on the counter and began pouring. Handel frowned upon seeing the somewhat grimy glasses but said nothing, watching the murky liquid swirl within.

The food arrived quickly. The two ate quietly without speaking, as the hall once again filled with noise—laughter, shouting, even cursing.

Starving as they were, Handel and Moore devoured their meals without any pretense of refinement, their manners oddly at odds with their attire. This amused the patrons, who now seemed less hostile.

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Handel finished his meat in a few bites, using bread to scrape up the meat juices from the plate before swallowing, then gulped down the wine.

“Delicious!”

“Haha, you have good taste!”

The old man behind the bar chuckled and began chatting with them, the conversation revolving around whether they were outsiders, their purpose for coming, and if they intended to stay.

Handel and Moore responded politely while observing the room. Handel sensed at least two hostile gazes.

In a corner, a burly, stout man swayed to his feet, showing a mouthful of yellowed teeth. Holding a cup, he staggered toward the bar. Handel immediately sensed ill intent.

Sure enough, the man stumbled toward the bar and collided with Handel. But Handel had already tensed, and as the man’s body hit him, Handel gave a sudden jolt.

Though smaller in size, Handel’s physical strength far surpassed that of a normal man, not merely by a hundred pounds or so.

As a result…

The stout man lost his balance and fell to the floor with a heavy crash, knocking over a nearby table. Glasses, bottles, and plates shattered with a clatter.

“Oww…”

The man howled in pain, a deep gash bleeding on his calf from broken glass. Many patrons turned to look, but no one stepped forward; instead, they pushed others aside.

“You bastard, Obati!”

The innkeeper cursed angrily and stepped out from behind the bar, followed by a frail assistant.

“Get up…”

“Oww, it hurts so much…”

The man not only had a cut leg but had also twisted his ankle. Neither of the two could lift him, and he collapsed again, crying out in pain.

“Mr. Brook, we should help.”

Moore set down his bread and rose, pulling needle, thread, gauze, and medicinal powder from his bag.

“Don’t move him yet. Alcohol—do you have any? High proof spirits will do.”

Moore crouched down, calling out as Handel quickly reacted, using his keen sense of smell to fetch two bottles of the strongest liquor from the bar’s cabinet. He popped the corks and handed one bottle to Moore and the other to the burly man.

“If it hurts, drink.”

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Needles, thread, gauze, medicinal powder…

Moore set to work, disinfecting, stitching, dressing, and bandaging the injured man.

Throughout the process, the man howled in pain but instinctively kept drinking to numb it.

After some time, the man was bandaged and his sprain examined. Handel and the innkeeper helped him to a chair by the wall.

Moore’s skill led everyone to assume he was a doctor, a respected figure indeed. Even the initially hostile burly man expressed heartfelt gratitude, especially after learning Moore would not charge for his services.

Following the commotion, the patrons’ attitude toward Moore and Handel softened; the hostile looks disappeared. The innkeeper became much more courteous, offering discounts on food and lodging, though not free of charge.

Exhausted beyond measure, Handel had originally planned to find another inn for Moore, but after this incident, they decided to stay.

That night, in a room on the inn’s second floor, Handel and Moore lay on a double bed. Though it could not compare to their homes, it was vastly better than the train—and a rare moment of comfort in recent times.

“Mr. Brook, I don’t plan to move on. I’ll stay in this city. We’re already in Bach. Wherever I go next won’t matter. I’ll write to my students to come find me.”

“As long as you’re certain. Mr. X said the final decision rests with you. I’m merely escorting you to your destination.”

Handel said this, then turned to look at Moore.

“It takes time for letters to pass back and forth. How will you manage before your students arrive? I don’t have much time—I must return soon. I can’t stay here with you indefinitely.”

“Haha, Mr. Brook, I’m not a child. I have my ways of surviving—like just now. I can take care of myself. Until my students arrive, I’ll stay here at the inn.”

Handel thought for a moment and nodded.

“No problem. The people here are friendlier to you. I’ll stay with you for a few days. After that, whether your students come or not, I must leave.”

“Good. That’s settled. Let’s get some rest. We’re both tired.”

Moore closed his eyes but his mind continued to churn. Beside him, Handel’s breathing soon grew steady and even.

“What a powerful and mysterious being. The world is indeed more complex than I imagined. The path to truth is fraught with difficulty. I may not succeed, but I am not alone on this road.”

With that thought, Moore gradually drifted into sleep. He had never been an idealist; in his soul’s self-definition, he was a fighter.