A Gorgeous White (BL)

Chapter 520: || Chapter 509 || Old Wood and Metal

Thud!

The sounds of rocks hitting each other filled the dark surroundings.

Dust spread in the air.

"That is the last of the bodies..."

Even though he heard him, Moulin did not look at Hadrian. After relocating the skeletons from the boat to the caverns, the man dusted off his hands before washing them with seawater. Those dark eyes drifted towards the lone figure standing on the front deck of the boat. The young man with silver hair silently stared at something he held in his hand.

A small rag doll that lay limp on his stained palm.

"They are really human, aren’t they?" Moulin asked as though to confirm.

"They are..." Hadrian replied. The boat swayed slightly as his feet landed on the wood. He gazed back at the cavern where they had transferred the pile of bones. His voice revealed no emotion as he continued, "But they have long renounced it..."

"What do you mean?" Silver eyes lifted.

Hadrian turned to the doll in his lover’s hand. "Their clothes... and accessories... bore familiar signs of those who worship the devil."

Moulin paused. A heavy silence surrounds the pair. Softly, Moulin caressed the old surface fabric of the toy with his fingers. His eyes grew deep. "Those bones... they were women and children... they must have sought shelter in these caves..."

What could have made them flee and kill them?

"..."

’What else?’ Something deep inside him muttered.

Lost in his thoughts, Moulin laid the doll on the floor. A sudden cold breeze swept his hair lightly. The river should lead towards the open sea, he was certain. Without wasting any time, he and Hadrian searched the cabin once more.

Seeing the destruction within the room, Moulin could imagine the chaos that had occurred. The smell of humidity and seawater surrounded him. The wood creaked endlessly with the sway of the water. It was hard to make out exactly what happened, with all the debris fading over time. But he could choose to close his eyes and see what had happened... but then a warm hand took his.

Moulin opened his eyes, meeting Hadrian’s calm gaze. With one look, Moulin decided not to. He swallowed and shook his head.

Moulin pulled away, spotting a broken table in the farthest part of the cabin. He recalled moving a skeleton there. The person must have crashed into it. With a breath, he took his time searching for clues through the debris.

He could hear the sound of water and wood as time passed. Dust and algae stained his limbs while he had long restrained himself from coughing and sneezing, and internally loathed how weak he was.

He could also hear Hadrian’s footsteps roaming outside the cabin and Snow’s quick paws and loud sniffing.

’What in the world was this brat doing?’

Clearing his throat, Moulin then coughed lightly as he brushed through large, deteriorated wooden boxes. His brows furrowed as he tilted his head. When he pushed it, it resisted.

’Something’s inside...’ Without an ounce of hesitation, he grabbed the edges, using all his strength to pull it apart.

Creak!

With a loud noise, the lid came free. Moulin almost felt that his arm would fly off his shoulder. "Haa..."

Panting, he peered inside. His round head tilted comically.

The first thing he saw was thick stacks of papers and books. Expressionlessly, he gently took them out and sat on the floor, silently reading through them if he could.

...

Hadrian returned to the cabin and saw half of Moulin’s silvery head in the middle of old wooden crates.

"It seems you have found something?" He spoke as he neared the youth, kicking the wood out of the way.

"Mmn..." Moulin made a sound but didn’t look up. His eyes were squinting as he leaned closer to the lamp, trying to make out some words in the paper he held. It felt too dry and brittle, but his fingers handled it so gently.

Hadrian gazed at him with a hint of amusement in his eyes. The man before him looked like a little child, struggling to read. If Moulin heard his thoughts, no doubt he’d receive that vicious glare of his and perhaps a thorough tongue-lashing.

"You were right..." Moulin said in the middle of silence. "They were Vigal’s followers... all these families..."

They have the bones of humans but the blood and flesh of demons. The island has brought forth the dragon’s rage, which came to punish the greedy and corrupt. The island where darkness grew and brought forth the age of malice, plunging the world into chaos and wrath. Where Vigal’s tomb was hidden and protected...

Where his followers took his blood and embraced immortality...

Moulin clutched the pieces of history in his hand, unable to comprehend just how significant these texts were.

"You can read them?..."

Moulin furrowed his brows, "Only parts of it... If I take these to the Alliance. Perhaps, we could find a way to destroy the island for good."

The moment Hadrian agreed, Moulin immediately gathered his discoveries. He hadn’t finished it all, but he had little time to decipher. His fingers handled them with extreme care. But if he could’ve used his mana, it would have been much easier...

After wrapping them in a piece of cloth, Moulin kept them in his pack.

"Is the boat good to sail?"

"Quite. If we go now, we’ll be far enough before the storm comes." Hadrian deduced. "The oars are the only thing we can use..."

Moulin nodded. He already expected leaving the island wouldn’t be easy.

Suddenly, a loud thud sounded.

That sound instantly caught Moulin’s full attention.

At that moment, his eyes widened, eyeing a wooden ground quiver, old and deteriorating, and a back quiver slung on Hadrian’s broad shoulder. Both half-filled with arrows. The metal surface still held parts of rust.

"What do you think?" Hadrian asked.

Silver eyes were filled with stars. He took out one arrow, assessing it from tip to tail. It was not as durable as it should have looked before, old and rusty, but it was still usable. They shouldn’t break when shot. He smiled, "Wonderful..."

The man nodded.

"And I’ve found this..." Hadrian lifted his hand, holding a familiar woven bag. A string-drawn bag hung from the man’s long fingers. It looked old, riddled with holes and very dusty.

"What is it?" Moulin took it in curiosity; he felt the rough fabric caress his skin and the lightness of it on his palm. There was something inside. The firm object seemed to have blunt points, pressing into the inside of his hands as he gripped it.

Curious, Moulin opened the pouch and let the object fall into his hand. Something small and metallic fell. The scent of rust was so strong, he scrunched his nose.

"A crest?" He spoke. But the familiarity of it probed his senses. The grooves and curves and the unmistakable Ice-shard carving upon the metal plate. For the longest time spent living in his family’s manor and refreshing his knowledge and the original Moulin’s memory, Moulin could undoubtedly recognize the elegant symbol of the Fraunces blood.

To sum it up, it bore many similarities to the Frances Family Crest. But older... and plainer. Perhaps, he was just imagining it. His eyes narrowed significantly in suspicion. "It’s not possible..."

"It is what you think it is..."

Hadrian spoke, plucking the medal from Moulin’s hand. He brought it near his eyes, scrutinizing it. "I heard your ancestors had lived through the Cataclysmic War. They had a part in it..."

The man watched those slender, thin brows furrow. Hadrian scrutinized the young man before him with a slight tilt to his head. "I could recognize this symbol anywhere... what do you think brought it here?"

Moulin’s gaze scoured his surroundings. Undoubtedly, these people were sworn enemies of the righteous. Protecting and sheltering the tomb of the great demonic god would provoke and threaten the rest of the world. Their intentions should be far from good. Old noble families who participated in the war and the game of survival earned a place in the new order in their respective kingdoms, no matter how broken they were because of the war. He had learned the Fraunces family had their own part in the war, a small noble family living in the harsh north and staying there to protect it.

Now, how is this thing here?

Hadrian lowered his gaze and took one of Moulin’s hands. Gently, he placed the old metal on the youth’s palm and spoke. "Your ancestors were skilled mages. They were from the north yet knew that fighting alongside the Golden Creature could not only increase the chances of winning the war but also... lose thousands of lives from the heavenly fire. The dragon flames were powerful enough to destroy both friend and foe. The weakness of demonic flesh. Thus, skilled ice-wielders were deployed to maintain numbers and protect those mortals."

Moulin stared at the piece of metal in his hand. How limited yet powerful the mana was in those eras. But despite that, it was those who possessed no innate talent for the magic arts who filled most of the numbers of armies. Protecting them from the fiery energy of the demons and dragons was the least the maeruthans could do.

However, without energy to supply harmless magic, the people resorted to turning to corrupted magic. As useful as it was at that time, it was the catalyst for the widespread corruption throughout the land.

Sighing, Moulin pocketed the old rusty badge. "The most versatile magic in those times was forbidden magic..." Perhaps that was why he found that old demonic shrine beneath the Fraunces Manor.

"It’s funny..." Moulin murmured as he placed a hand on Hadrian’s chest. He could feel that steady heartbeat against his palm, calm and strong. "How all those things... history from another world... brought me, an insignificant being... a stranger in every sense. To become a key to resurrect a tragedy the world left behind..."

Even when I try to escape my world, another comes, dragging me back from the depths and forces me to question my purpose once more.

In his silence, a sudden warmth enveloped Moulin’s hand resting on Hadrian’s chest. Moulin lifted his gaze and watched the golden-haired man raise their hands, gently pressing his face against Moulin’s palm. His heated breath caressed the youth’s skin. It was ticklish and warm.

There were no words shared. Only a silent, small, intimate act... bringing a giant wave of comfort and warmth to Moulin’s heart.

"It’s dusty..." He heard Hadrian finally speak.

"Of course, it is. Do you think it wasn’t?" Moulin smirked.

He heard a deep chuckle and felt the vibrations against his hand. The young man’s eyes softened. Of all the destinies spoken for him, meeting Hadrian was probably his favorite.

"Ao!"

At that sound, both men turned to Snow, who was sitting innocently on the cold ground while staring at them both. His tail wagged in excitement for some unknown reason.

Hadrian and Moulin exchanged a look. Ah, they should get moving.

.....

Some time passed; Moulin dropped the last of the debris and materials off the barge. The dust spread like thick clouds within the radius of light from the lamp. Two men and one fox busied themselves within the floating vessel while being wary of their surroundings. The air had grown colder, and a foreboding feeling warned their senses.

Moulin washed his hands near the shore, wiping them on his shirt afterward. He didn’t know how much time had passed. Perhaps several hours? He knew they spent more time investigating the vessel and the area than actually preparing the boat. And sensing something amiss, he didn’t want to stay in this cave any moment longer.

"Board the boat."

The moment he heard Hadrian’s voice from the vessel, Moulin didn’t hesitate and climbed on board. He instructed Snow to stay close to him and Hadrian before he took one of the oars mounted on the stern in hand.

Meanwhile, Hadrian settled on the opposite side, focused and cautious. And as though in sync, the pair pulled, matching each other’s movements.

The long heavy oars dipped into the black waters without a splash. And the vessel began drifting like a ghost in the dark, humid cave. Their only source of light in pitch-black darkness was a little lamp that was only bright enough to illuminate the front of the boat.

Moulin heard the splashing sounds in the eerie silence echo endlessly. As they grew farther away from the pier, he felt that ominous feeling crawling up his spine grow.