NOVEL NEXT Chapter 79: Price for information
The inside of the elven tavern didn't look much different from a human one.
People of all sorts sat around, chatting, laughing, and drinking some type of alcoholic beverage. Warm wooden beams were scattered around the ceiling, and faint incense mixed with the smell of roasted meat. Lanterns swayed gently overhead, casting golden light on the polished tables and worn floorboards.
But there was one visible difference in comparison to the human taverns Edward had been to.
The moment he entered, everything went quiet. Every pair of eyes locked onto him. Even the laughter that had just echoed moments before now died down, replaced with whispers and uneasy glances.
The innkeeper frowned, a short, stout elf with a greying beard and eyes that had seen decades of tavern brawls and secret dealings.
His gaze shifted between Edward and Elarien.
"Elarien, please tell me you have a good reason to—" the innkeeper began, but before he could finish, Elarien cut in.
"Elandir's dead."
Edward could see many of the elves sitting in the tavern tremble at those words. But most of all, the innkeeper. He looked like he'd been hit by a train, visibly shaken at what the girl just said.
"W-Who?" he barely murmured, his knuckles white from how hard he clenched them.
"This is why I'm here," Elarien began.
"Huh? You know better than anyone that no one here would dare lay a finger on Elandir. He was family."
"The person who did it isn't from Valendell. I have a name—Vael. That's our only lead," she explained.
The innkeeper lingered, his gaze flicking to Edward a couple of times, but he brushed any thoughts aside. His focus remained locked on Elandir's death.
"I don't remember anyone named Vael passing through here," he muttered.
Elarien looked around. Every elf who had been listening shook their head. No one seemed to know anyone by that name.
Edward wasn't surprised. He couldn't remember a time when he found a killer without having to deal with the headache of searching endlessly for right person.
What did surprise him, however, was how deeply the elves were affected by Elandir's death. The room felt heavier somehow, and he could sense a tension he hadn't experienced since coming to the Elven Lands.
Before he could dwell on that any longer, Elarien turned away and walked out of the tavern.
Edward, not wishing to stay alone in a place full of elves who didn't seem particularly welcoming to humans, followed swiftly.
"What now?" he asked once outside.
"They had to pass through here," Elarien replied. "The next town is days away. No one would leave Valendell without replenishing supplies or resting for the night."
"Someone running away from murder could've…" Edward muttered, more to himself than to her.
Elarien looked around slowly, lost in thought, as if trying to figure something out.
"If you just killed someone and ran away," Edward asked, "what would be the first thing you did?"
Elarien raised a brow. "Change clothes?" she replied, half asking, half answering.
"Is there any place here where you can do that?" he pressed.
She lingered for a moment, then turned toward the east side of the village.
"Armour shop. They mostly sell metal and leather armour, but I suppose they might have ordinary clothing too," she said.
"Let's check it out," Edward replied.
As they entered, countless pieces of metal and leather armour decorated the walls. The smell of oiled leather and cold metal filled the air.
A lone shopkeeper stood at the back—a large elf, bald, with scars stretching across his face in jagged patterns. His arms were thick with muscle, and the way he carried himself made it clear that he was as skilled in combat as he was in crafting armour.
The elf's gaze fixed on them, sharp and assessing, every twitch of muscle signalling that he didn't miss a single detail.
He snickered as they approached the counter.
"Look who it is, Lady Justice herself," he hissed, his voice rough and coated with disdain.
Edward glanced at Elarien, confused.
But she didn't seem inclined to explain.
"Have you seen anyone named Vael pass through here?" she asked.
"Even if I did, why would I tell you, of all people?" the shopkeeper replied, a cold smile forming as his eyes glinted with mischief.
Elarien clenched her fists but didn't respond.
Instead, she turned and left the store.
"Huh?" Edward's brows rose. He glanced at the shopkeeper one last time before following her.
"What was that about?" he asked.
"We're… not on best terms," she replied.
"Can you be any more vague?" he pressed.
She let out a sigh and began explaining.
"I grew up in this town. Elandir and I both. But once I left and joined the elven army, I returned only to find out he was selling elven equipment to humans. Elves and humans were at war at the time. It wasn't easy, but I had to do what was right. He served fifty years in prison and still hates me to this day for it."
Edward lingered for a moment, then spoke.
"Listen. If we want to catch the person behind your brother's death, we need to find that Vael person. I'm going to try to speak to the shopkeeper. You wait here."
"What?! You're a human—"
"I have a feeling he might prefer to speak to me more than you," Edward replied.
Elarien fell silent, unable to dispute the claim.
She watched as he entered the shop, alone this time.
The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed as Edward approached the counter. The scars along his face seemed to deepen in the shadowy light, giving him an even more intimidating aura.
"Did anyone named Vael pass through your shop?" Edward asked.
The shopkeeper lingered for a moment, then his lips curved upward into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"As a matter of fact, they did."
Edward's brows rose in surprise.
"What—"
But the shopkeeper raised a hand, causing him to pause before he could even form a question.
"If you want information, there is a price to pay."
"How much?" Edward asked with a deep frown.
"Not gold," the shopkeeper replied, his grin widening, eyes glinting with a dangerous edge.
"The price," he said slowly, "is the hound of the Nightbane Howler," he said with a menacing grin.