Chapter 230 - 231: The Odds
- Noel POV -
The quiet hum of the boutique faded into the background as Noel sat beside Balthor and Noriel, the scent of malt still lingering in the air. His dark green outfit hugged perfectly to his frame, tailored down to the millimeter. One final sip of the strong dwarven brew warmed his throat.
The three of them sat in a uncomfortable silence—until Noriel broke it with a guilty glance.
"I shouldn’t have brought up your brother... sorry," he muttered, setting his mug down.
Balthor exhaled slowly, the foam still clinging to his beard. "No, don’t worry. If anything... I’m glad you did. I came here for that reason. When Noel told me Torwan might still be alive, I had to see it for myself."
Noel leaned forward, elbows on the table. "But you didn’t recognize him when you saw the director of the institute?"
Balthor shook his head. "Same face. But not the same man. Back then, he was wild like me—no suits, no titles, just booze and business talk. Now? The posture, the clean language... I had my doubts, but deep down, I knew."
Noriel chuckled, lifting his mug. "You two together were chaos. I still remember the night you set fire to your own bar trying to light a pipe with magic ale."
Balthor laughed. "That was his fault, not mine."
Noel smiled faintly, watching the exchange.
’Even with everything happening, these moments feel... normal. Almost peaceful.’
Noriel raised his mug toward Noel. "Well, good luck in the tournament, kid. Win a few rounds and make this old dwarf rich."