The Adventurer’s Predicament and a Mother’s Wisdom

Upon learning that Roland was the adventurer who had conquered the Thunderous Ruins within Loran Forest, city defense officials promptly “invited” him into the city.

This “invitation,” however, was merely a polite term for being forcibly relocated to an isolation point within the city. Fortunately, the process was devoid of any complications or red tape; even the mandatory ten-day quarantine outside the city walls was waived. He, along with his “family,” found themselves comfortably settled in Mondstadt’s finest establishment, the Moonlight Tavern.

The Moonlight Tavern, an establishment boasting nearly a century of history, featured outer walls crafted from elegant blue-white stone bricks. These were intricately carved with patterns by skilled artisans and then enchanted by professional mages to prevent aging and cracking.

The tavern spanned five stories. Its first floor housed a grand hall, dedicated to serving fine wines and delectable dishes. Here, round tables fashioned from mahogany were arranged, surrounded by barrels brimming with the exquisite Moonlight Grape Wine.

The second floor was reserved for private rooms, catering specifically to guests seeking discretion. The upper three floors, from the third to the fifth, comprised the guest room area. These rooms were adorned with refined and beautiful decorations. Crucially, each floor and every individual room was enhanced with soundproofing magic, meticulously safeguarding the privacy of every guest.

The tavern’s current operations were managed by an elven woman named Socia. Those who had met her claimed the proprietress possessed captivating charm and alluring beauty, her admirers so numerous they could form a line stretching beyond the city gates. Yet, others whispered that she was centuries old, merely a beautiful old woman.

Roland closed the book, *Tales of the Moonlight Tavern*. He had spent the past few days confined to his guest room, perusing its pages, and had thus gained a general understanding of the establishment.

He was now situated in Room 502 of the Moonlight Tavern, sharing it with Freya. Old Jenny, meanwhile, had been settled in the adjacent Room 503.

It seemed the officials responsible for their arrangements had understood something unspoken; regarding this, he could only concede that ‘those who know, know.’

‘An adventurer, huh…’ Roland mused, pressing his palms together in thought. ‘This title is quite useful. While not a destiny, it’s certainly a respectable appellation.’

Across the continent, a distinct group of individuals existed. Driven by a passion for thrill and exploration, they survived through their wisdom and courage. These people eagerly engaged in perilous or uncertain endeavors, often in pursuit of profit or status.

Their destinies varied widely, encompassing archers, mages, swordsmen, and martial artists, among others. Such restless souls, unwilling to conform, were collectively known as adventurers.

He recalled the significant impact of his previous act: helping Freya, incidentally eradicating a group of mutated Goblins, and rescuing a number of abducted women. At the time, after tipping off the authorities, he had simply hurried home for dinner, paying little mind to the subsequent developments.

He had only heard that among those rescued was an alchemist’s apprentice, reportedly quite formidable. Since it was an alchemist’s apprentice, surely they would possess a method to resolve Freya’s current predicament.

As for the exact predicament…

“Haaah…”

Those hands once again climbed around his neck. Though his wounds were bandaged and disinfected, and he had even been subjected to [Slow Healing], having the person behind him cling to his neck still felt rather uncomfortable.

“Mmm…”

‘Damn it, that soft thing is pressing against me again. Pressing is fine, but why so tightly? Are you afraid I won’t feel it?’

“Ngh…”

‘Your tongue… don’t just lick anywhere… my neck is sensitive…’

“Just… a little more…” Freya’s tongue flickered to Roland’s earlobe, her breath hot and misty, her eyes vacant.

“No,” Roland stated, pulling a small bottle from his pocket—an addictive aphrodisiac he had pilfered from a corpse earlier. “Only three bottles are left.”

Besides, it will only make you more dependent, until you become utterly useless.

The girl behind him reached out, attempting to snatch it away. Roland deftly evaded her “attack,” then tucked the potion back into his pocket.

“Hey, do you truly remember nothing now?” This was the second time Roland had posed the question since her awakening.

“Give it… give it to me…” Freya merely repeated the words incessantly, attempting again and again to seize the item from Roland’s pocket, completely oblivious to her own exposure.

Slow reactions, regressed speech, a blank mind, and a body consumed by desire. Roland silently assessed Freya’s current state.

He had tried before: if he withheld the substance, she would curl up on the bed, her body trembling as if from severe cold, emitting continuous moans of pain.

Yet, if she consumed even a little of the potion, her body would immediately begin to tremble. She would instinctively shed her clothes, her skin turning red and sweating profusely, as if scorched by intense heat. Following this, she would desperately crave his body, developing an even stronger dependence on the potion.

It was all his fault for softening earlier, for giving her a few drops when he saw her suffering.

Amnesia Potion combined with an aphrodisiac—truly the trump card of brothels for controlling their prostitutes. He had heard tales of a defeated count’s daughter from the Kingdom of Engler, who, during her escape, was bought by a brothel.

Controlled by these very substances, she eventually became the establishment’s star attraction. By the time she was rescued, she was barely human.

He could not allow her to consume any more of this substance. What if she broke completely before a solution could be found…

Roland gazed at Freya, her eyes vacant and hollow. A pang of pity and sorrow resonated within him.

“You were once a Demon Lord of exalted status, omnipotent and formidable. To think you would one day be reduced to this…” Roland tilted his head, pondering. “Is this the retribution of those who died by your hand?”

The Demon Lord had certainly not been a benevolent entity in the past. The war between the human and demon realms had claimed tens of thousands of lives. Countless demon clans were annihilated, and numerous human families were shattered, their members scattered or lost.

The former Demon Lord undoubtedly had much blood on her hands; historical records alone attributed hundreds of thousands of deaths directly to her. Folk tales, too, recounted stories of the Demon Lord dispatching various demon armies to invade the human realm, engaging in wanton slaughter.

However, as Roland looked at Freya, who continued to press against him, he found himself truly unable to reconcile her with the malevolent Demon Lord described in history. From her outward appearance, she was merely a pretty little girl with a muddled mind…

Though he wasn’t someone who judged solely by looks, this particular individual, in this lifetime, had truly committed no evil deeds.

‘Perhaps… he could slowly change her, at least rein her in, transform her into a… champion of justice?’

‘Never mind, he was dreaming. It would be a blessing if she simply didn’t bring harm to others.’

****

Knock, knock, knock—

A knock echoed from the door. Roland estimated it must be his mother.

To prevent anyone from seeing Freya in her current peculiar state, Roland quickly slipped out the moment he opened the door, leaving her inside.

“What’s going on?” Old Jenny inquired, a strange look on her face.

“Freya is having some trouble right now; it seems she’s been affected by some kind of drug.” Roland carefully chose his words, slowly recounting the events from the forest.

Old Jenny’s expression gradually shifted from surprise to sympathy, prompting her to sigh, “Oh, you poor child…” She pondered for a moment, then asked pointedly, “And these past few nights, have you two…?”

“No,” Roland replied, gesturing to his wounds. “My injuries haven’t even healed yet. How could I possibly manage anything like that?”

“Is that so…” Old Jenny lowered her gaze, her eyes unreadable. “Then, how do you feel about her?”

“Just… like that, I suppose.”

“Even though she’s the Demon Lord, and she harbored ill intentions towards you before, the way she behaved truly left me unable to find fault…” Old Jenny sighed. “She really is a good child.”

‘A good child?’

Roland nearly burst out laughing.

‘That’s only because her acting was so superb before, even I was ashamed of my own abilities. Afterward, it was because she lost her memory and I managed to bluff my way through, alright?’

Having realized that Old Jenny already knew he was the Hero, Roland had fully disclosed the truth about Freya’s origins and background to her (except for her former gender). Yet, these revelations seemed to have no impact on Old Jenny’s perception of Freya.

It appeared Freya’s image as a virtuous wife and loving mother had become indelible during their time together. Even the terrifying identity of the Demon Lord was subconsciously overlooked in Old Jenny’s eyes.

Now, the aging mother’s primary concern was when Freya would recover, followed closely by the nature of Roland’s relationship with her.

The dilemma remained: should he report her to the church once she regained consciousness, or simply pretend nothing had happened?

Old Jenny, unaware of Roland’s internal conflict, preferred to act as if nothing had transpired. She even harbored a slight fear that Roland might consider reporting Freya to the church, given her own strong prejudice against the institution.

Consequently, Old Jenny gently pulled Roland aside, revealing the truth of his lineage.

The more Roland listened, the more preposterous it sounded. How could he, a mere villager, suddenly transform into the Hero, and gain a father who was the number one assassin of the [Shadow Assassin League]? Wouldn’t that feel a little too… predestined?

If Old Jenny had told him this before, he would have instantly retorted with something like, ‘The son of an assassin? Perhaps you should seek someone more capable.’

Being the Hero was, in fact, quite arduous. However, since fate had already decided, there was nothing to be done.

“So my father held such a position…” Roland held Old Jenny’s hand, looking at her solemnly. “Mother, once this calamity concludes, please return home. I will seek out some acquaintances in Mondstadt and see if I can help Freya. As for Father, I will also keep an eye out for any news of him.”

Seeing Roland’s demeanor, Old Jenny felt a wave of relief. “Originally, I only wished for you to live a peaceful, ordinary life. To think it would come to this…” Old Jenny sighed. “In any case, you are grown now. The future belongs to you, my Roland.”

She reached out, carefully smoothing the stray hairs from Roland’s forehead, just as a mother would advise her child before they left home in childhood.

The child was grown, and the mother had aged.

While the future belonged to Roland, Old Jenny would never forget the memories of the past.

The events of his childhood flashed before Roland’s eyes like a rapidly turning kaleidoscope. A bitter feeling began to settle in his nasal passages. He sniffed, then chuckled wryly, “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

“Try your best not to get involved with the church, and also…” Old Jenny glanced at the number on Room 502’s door. “How exactly do you feel about Freya?”

“What… how do I feel?” Roland’s brow furrowed.

“Do you like her?”

‘Of course not…’

‘Of course…’

‘Of—’

The answer Roland had instinctively wanted to blurt out caught in his throat. Meeting his mother’s keen gaze, he felt a surge of bewilderment.

Clearing his throat, he frowned and asked, “Why are you asking that?”

“Heh heh… If you like her, I wouldn’t worry. But if you don’t…” Old Jenny said meaningfully, “As a man, sometimes you have to take responsibility.”

‘Hold on, hold on! Are you misunderstanding something?!’

‘Whether it was back home or now, whether others were trying to set us up or some inexplicable force kept pushing me and this little Demon Lord into physical intimacy, I maintained my bottom line at the very last moment, alright?’

‘Don’t you want me to be a gentleman?’

“I didn’t!” Roland emphasized once more. “Really!”

“Alright, alright.” Old Jenny returned to her room, casting a deep, knowing glance back at him. “I understand everything. I’ve been through it all.”

Watching her retreating figure, Roland’s eyelid twitched.

‘What do you understand?!’

‘I truly didn’t do anything!’

‘Really…’

‘Those things before… they don’t count, do they?’