Cael, a farmer's son, loses his father when a beast stampede masks an attack on his village. His father's last words: find the ones behind this crest. The brassão he presses into Cael's hand marks one of the highest ranks of the Order of the Eternal Flame — but Cael cannot read it.
Left with only his broken uncle Aldren — a man whose fragmented mind drifts between true and false memory — Cael pushes the wheelchair onto the open road.
Along the way, he meets Lys, a young mage bound for a great
Crest in Ashes - An Unreadable Contract and a Legible Old Man
The highway was dry.
When had it last rained? At least for the past ten days, all Kale Elden could remember was blue sky.
Over the hills, avoiding the forests, pressing ever northward along a narrow road. No wheat fields swaying with grain, no flocks of sheep, no church bells. Only withered grass, a white road marked with wheel ruts, and—the dry sound of wheelchair wheels biting into gravel.
"……Uuuu……"
The old man in the wheelchair let out a low groan. His silver-and-white hair clung to his forehead, matted with dust and sweat. His gray eyes were half-closed, impossible to tell what they were seeing.
"Uncle, want some water?"
Kale stopped and pulled a bamboo canteen from the leather pouch at his hip. He opened the stopper and held it to the old man's mouth. Aldren's throat moved faintly as he took two, three swallows. Then his vacant eyes drifted back to the sky.
"……The song…… forever……"
The same murmur as ten days ago. Kale was no longer surprised. He'd heard those words from his uncle dozens of times over these ten days.
(There's probably no meaning to it.)
Kale closed the canteen and touched his fingers to the copper plate hanging from his neck. A ring and flame emblem. Cold.
His father had died clutching this.
"Find the one bearing this crest."
Those were the only words he'd left behind, before his belly was pierced through.
(Find them, he says.)
(But where the hell are they?)
Kale bit his lip.
The beast that tore out his mother's throat. The masked man who ran his father through. The burning house. The village. Black smoke blotting out the sky.
—He tried not to think about it.
If he thought about it, his feet would stop.
"……Let's go, Uncle."
Kale gripped the wheelchair handles again. His palms were covered in the hard skin built from farm work. Beneath that skin, something was still trembling.
He pushed the handles. The wheels turned. The sound of gravel being crushed.
That was the entirety of Kale's world these past ten days.
Past noon, a small village came into view ahead on the highway.
A dozen or so stone houses. Half of them with thatched roofs. At the village entrance stood an old wooden signboard.
Rid Village.
"……A village."
Kale unconsciously quickened his pace. His throat was dry. He was hungry. Above all—there might be an inn.
For three days now, he'd been sleeping outdoors.
He'd spread withered grass by the roadside and lain on the ground. His uncle had slept in the wheelchair, leaning back against the headrest. The nights were cold. He'd heard beasts howling in the distance. Kale hadn't slept a wink.
Two guards stood at the village entrance.
Simple leather armor. Rusty spears. Sleepy eyes. Not royal soldiers—probably the village militia.
"Halt. You a traveler?"
The older guard lifted his spear slightly.
"Yeah. Heading for the royal capital. Looking for an inn."
"The capital? That's a long way. Three more days to the next post town from here."
"……Three days."
Kale's face fell. He had no food, no water, no money for three days.
"Hey, that person in the wheelchair—your old man?"
"My uncle. His legs are bad."
The two guards exchanged glances.
"……Well, come in. But do you have identification? This village collects the kingdom's literacy tax. Outsiders need to be recorded."
"Identification—"
Kale was at a loss for words. When Elden Village burned, everything in the house turned to ash. His mother's keepsake, his father's old sword, the parchment bearing Kale's name—everything.
"……I don't have any."
"You don't?"
The guard's eyebrows rose.
"The village was—attacked by magical beasts. Everything burned."
The guard fell silent. Then he sighed.
"……I see. A village near the Magical Beast Forest in the west. It's been happening all over these past few years."
"Are the beasts increasing?"
"Rather than increasing—"
The guard started to speak, then closed his mouth.
"……Never mind. I'll let you through for now. But you do have money for the inn, right?"
"Not right now. But—"
"You can work. It's the off-season for farming and there's a labor shortage. Look for work hauling goods for traveling merchants. Go to the square—there should be some merchants stopped there."
"……Thank you."
Kale bowed his head and pushed the wheelchair into the village.
The village was busier than he'd expected.
Three carriages in the square. Two covered wagons. Merchants haggling loudly.
"Wheat is one bag for five silver coins! I can't go higher!"
"Don't be ridiculous! Around here, seven silver is the going rate!"
"The rate is set in the capital. This is the frontier. Take five silver and be satisfied."
Kale watched the scene absently.
(Seven silver in the capital, huh.)
(Here it's five.)
(Same wheat, though.)
The world turned by rules Kale didn't know.
At the edge of the square, an especially large carriage was parked.
A fine four-horse carriage. The canopy was red cloth with gold embroidery. Several cloth-covered crates were stacked on the bed.
A man stood before it.
Mid-forties. Tall. Paunchy. Ruddy-faced. Silk jacket, five gold rings on his fingers. His eyes were narrow, seeming to smile but not smiling.
"Hey, you there, boy."
The man called out to Kale.
"Me?"
"Who else? You're the only one with a wheelchair."
The man approached with a broad smile.
"Grad, traveling merchant. I'm something of a known face around here. You're looking for an inn, right?"
"……How did you know?"
"It's written on your face. You're exhausted. You've been sleeping outdoors for three days, haven't you?"
Kale was startled.
"Relax. I'm a good judge of people. That's how I do business."
Grad pulled a small wooden tag from his breast pocket.
"There's an inn in this village run by an acquaintance of mine. It's called the Silver Spoon Inn—want me to introduce you? It's three silver coins a night."
"Three silver coins—"
(Three silver coins—converted to gold, that's about right.)
Kale calculated in his head. The going rate for hauling goods for a traveling merchant was five to ten silver a day. Three days of work would cover the inn.
"Is there work, too?"
"There is. How about hauling for me? Carry this wagon to the royal capital. Daily wage—ten silver coins. Not a bad deal, is it?"
Kale nearly gasped.
Ten silver coins. Thirty in three days. Even after paying for the inn, plenty left over.
"Really?"
"Yeah. But—we'll need a contract. My business is large, you see. Everything has to be in writing."
Grad pulled a sheet of parchment from the carriage.
"Here, this. Can you read?"
Kale's face froze instantly.
(—Letters.)
He couldn't read.
He couldn't even write his own name.
"……I can't read."
It was a small voice.
Grad didn't change expression at those words.
"Ah, I see. Don't worry. There's a scribe in this village. A man who can read and write—an acquaintance of mine. If you ask him, he'll read the contract for you and sign on your behalf."
"A scribe—"
"Yeah. His office is behind the Silver Spoon Inn. Wait here, I'll go call him."
Grad disappeared into the village.
Kale stood beside his uncle's wheelchair, unable to move.
(A contract.)
(I don't know what it says.)
(But—)
(If I don't work, I won't eat tomorrow.)
He looked at his uncle. Aldren was staring into the void as always.
"……Uncle."
"……U, mu……"
Aldren's mouth moved slightly.
"……Don't…… read…… the paper……"
"What?"
"……If you can't read…… all the more……"
Aldren said only that, then fell silent again.
He didn't understand.
(Don't read it, he says.)
(That's why I'm asking the scribe, isn't it?)
Kale shook his head.
His uncle's words were always like this. Fragmentary, without context.
Ten minutes later, Grad returned.
He had a man with him.
Thirties. Thin. Wearing glasses. Long, pale fingers. A scholarly, gaunt-looking man.
"This is Lloyd, the scribe. Best reading and writing around here."
"My name is Lloyd. Pleased to meet you."
Lloyd bowed politely.
"I'll read the contract for you and sign on your behalf. My fee—two silver coins. I'll deduct it from your pay."
"Two silver coins—"
(Two coins deducted from ten silver.)
(Still eight left.)
Kale nodded.
"Please."
Lloyd spread out the parchment.
Grad handed Kale a quill pen.
"Write your name here. What's your name?"
"Kale Elden."
"Kale Elden—hmm. Then, here—"
Lloyd pointed to the bottom of the parchment.
Kale gripped the quill.
(I can't even write my own name.)
(But—)
Kale put the pen to the paper.
Lloyd took Kale's hand.
"I'll guide you. Like this."
Lloyd moved Kale's hand.
Clumsy lines were carved onto the paper.
(This is my name.)
(Such ugly handwriting.)
Kale gritted his teeth.
"—Yes, that's fine."
Lloyd rolled up the parchment.
"Then we depart tomorrow morning. Kale Elden—I'll let your uncle in the wheelchair ride along too. He can sleep in the corner of the wagon bed."
"Yeah. Thanks."
Grad walked toward the carriage with a broad smile.
Lloyd followed after him.
Kale stood there, unable to move for a while.
(With this—)
(I can work starting tomorrow.)
(I'll have money for the inn and food.)
(—All right.)
Kale let out a deep breath.
That night, Kale slept with his uncle under the eaves of the Silver Spoon Inn.
He didn't have the money to pay in advance, so he begged the innkeeper to let him use the space under the eaves. The innkeeper reluctantly agreed.
"Three silver coins when you leave in the morning. Got it?"
"I know. Tomorrow I'll work and earn it."
"Hmph. Well, do your best."
The innkeeper said that and disappeared inside.
Kale lay down beside his uncle's wheelchair.
The stone pavement was cold.
Looking up at the sky, stars were out.
(Mom.)
(Dad.)
(I—)
Kale closed his eyes.
He tried to sleep.
But he couldn't.
In the morning, Kale stood before the carriage.
Grad and Lloyd were already aboard. Three guards sat on horseback.
"Oh, you came. Then—"
Grad raised his hand.
Just then, someone grabbed Kale's shoulder.
"Hey, boy."
Kale turned to see Grad holding open the parchment.
"Contract confirmation. You owe me sixty silver coins. Inn fees, food, and the contract fee. All advanced to you."
"—What?"
Kale couldn't believe his ears.
"Sixty silver coins—"
"That's right. It's written in the contract."
Grad thrust the parchment in front of Kale's eyes.
"Look. It says right here. 'Advanced payment of sixty silver coins.' You signed it, didn't you?"
"That's—I was told ten silver reward—"
"The reward is ten silver. But the advance is sixty. After deduction, you owe me fifty silver coins."
"What—"
The blood drained from Kale's face.
"Liar! I never heard anything like that!"
"Liar? The contract says it. You can't read, can you? Then the scribe Lloyd must have read it to you. Right, Lloyd?"
Grad looked at Lloyd.
Lloyd pushed up his glasses and nodded.
"Yes. I certainly read it aloud. 'Advanced payment, sixty silver coins.' Sir Kale signed in agreement."
"That's—"
Kale glared at Lloyd.
"You—how could you—"
"It's the truth. As proof, the contract bears Sir Kale's signature."
Lloyd pointed to the bottom of the parchment.
There it was—Kale's signature, in clumsy, ugly letters.
(—)
Kale was speechless.
(I)
(Couldn't read anything.)
(Understood nothing.)
(That's why.)
(That's why this—)
Anger and helplessness surged up at once.
His hands trembled. He clenched his fists, but the trembling wouldn't stop.
"—You've got to be kidding."
It was a strangled voice.
"I'm not kidding. It's business. Your fault for not being able to read."
Grad was laughing.
"Well, don't worry. You can work. Work for me until you pay back fifty silver coins. Take ten years if you need to."
"Ten years—"
"Yeah. Or do you want to pay now? If you can't—I'll take that wheelchair uncle of yours as collateral. He's old, but he might sell."
"—Tch!"
Kale lunged at Grad.
Just then—
"—Show me that paper."
A voice spoke.
A low, clear, aged voice.
Everyone turned.
In the whe
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