He Was a Strange Man
He was a strange one. Right from the test to see if he'd make a good porter.
"You just need to transport this safely, right?"
"Yeah. You're supposed to be a capable porter, so that much should be easy for you, right? Pfft."
"Is this a mana core from a metal golem? Well, wrapping it in cloth to avoid contact with metal makes it simple enough."
"...Huh? You figured that out just by looking at it?"
"Because I'm a capable porter."
It was actually just a little prank I'd set up. I figured if the luggage suddenly turned into a golem, he'd freak out. That was the plan.
"Are you a mage?"
"I'm a porter. I can't use magic or anything."
"Then how...?"
"So, did I pass?"
"...Yeah, whatever."
How had he identified the core just by sight? My curiosity was piqued. That's why I let him join as our porter. The others didn't care who we hired anyway.
"Mage. I found this book at an old bookstore. Thought it might interest you, so I brought it."
"Y-you! Where did you find this?!"
And from then on, the porter kept exceeding expectations every time.
"A book written in ancient runes, and you read it? But you said you're not a mage."
"I'm not a mage, but I'm well-versed in languages."
"Jeez."
What was this porter's deal? What secret was he hiding? I learned the truth one day while experimenting with an ancient spell from one of the old books he'd brought.
"Wh-what?! Why is this—"
A simple ancient spell to boost catalyst efficiency. The effect matched the book's description, but it clashed with the magic engraved on the golem's core. The core's mana went berserk, forcibly pulling in nearby metal and overloading.
"Nngh—"
"Porter!"
He was the one who calmed it. He grabbed my hand in a rush, inserted himself into the spell formula I'd created, and forcibly dispelled it. A feat only a mage could pull off. I stared blankly at the porter holding my hand.
"...Cough."
The porter grimaced and spat up blood.
The classic symptom of handling more mana than one can bear. I immediately clocked his condition.
"...Porter, your mana circuits are wrecked, aren't they?"
"Haha..."
"No wonder you know so much mage-exclusive stuff... You trained in magic before, didn't you? Then a mana rampage fried your circuits, so you quit."
"Mm. Right now, I'm just a porter."
"That damn 'porter' line..."
Honestly, it wasn't that dangerous. Even if the catalyst boost made the core rampage, I could've handled it. No need for him to smash the formula like that. He'd probably experienced a rampage before and reacted on trauma reflex.
Learning his secret made me chuckle for some reason. My nagging curiosity was finally satisfied.
"Must hurt like hell..."
"Please keep my health a secret from the Hero. With his personality, he'd just worry needlessly."
"Jeez. Who's worrying about who here?"
"Haha..."
After that, we got pretty close. Sharing a secret bridges gaps, whether you're the one with it or the one keeping it.
"Porter. What do you think of this spell?"
"Hm. The performance isn't bad, but there are more efficient or versatile spells with similar effects. It's kinda meh."
"Right? Old mages were all like that."
We'd sneak in magic debates sometimes. His insight was astounding. Probably kept studying even after losing his magic. Obsession, regret, a dream—whatever it was, I kinda liked his attitude.
"Heard you're learning the sword?"
So I'd meddle unnecessarily.
"Don't learn that swordsmanship."
"Haha..."
"You know why. Your body can't handle mana-based techniques from the start. Sure, you brush it off as muscle pain, but it's really nerves ripping apart in agony, right? You can't just willpower through it."
"It's fine. I'll pace myself."
"...Then tell the Saintess. She can't fix your circuits, but her holy power could ease the strain."
"Nah, can't waste important holy power on a porter like me."
"Waste my—"
"Mage."
"..."
"I'm the guy who carries the load. I don't want to become your burden."
Who said you're a burden?! I wanted to snap, but I'd already blown up my relationship with the Hero once, so my mouth stayed shut. I knew my social skills sucked. Without the porter smoothing things over, the Hero still wouldn't talk to me.
"Thanks for worrying."
"Jeez! Who said I was worried?! I just didn't want you whining about pain and bothering me! That's all!"
"Haha. Got it. I'll stop sword practice. Starting today, I'm teaching the Hero porter duties anyway."
"...Ugh, you're so nice. Annoying."
That ended the sword talk. A few days later, the Hero could kill goblins, so the porter didn't need to swing a blade anymore.
"Kinda wanted to learn a bit more swordplay. Shame."
"It hurts like crazy—why bother? Got some weird masochistic kink? Pfft."
"..."
"...You do?"
"No way. I don't like 'pain' either."
"Right?"
"Don't wanna worry you, either."
"Wh-what? I don't worry."
I did worry. Interest turning to genuine fondness isn't weird. He was a good guy who saw through my sharp tongue to the truth. As he became our party's core, knowing his secret gave me a smug superiority over the others.
"Yeah, yeah. Still, thanks."
"Unbelievable..."
After that, things went smoothly. The Hero's stalled journey moved forward, and our enemies grew stronger.
"...Hurt again?"
"Ah. Yeah. Sorry. Worried you."
The porter stayed out of danger, but as battles scaled up, the fallout started nicking him. I got anxious. The others felt the same, so we decided to kick him out. Lucky timing—we found subspace magic in an ancient tome he'd saved us.
...Or maybe it was terrible misfortune.
"Here. Your severance pay."
Severance. A luxurious pouch of cloth, obviously pricey. Seeing his dejected face, I impulsively handed it over.
I didn't know. A porter fired from the Hero Party, wandering alone with a fancy pouch—how tempting he'd look to greedy scum.
I shouldn't have. I killed him.
"Urk—"
It's my fault. I killed the porter. Why did this happen? Was I not honest enough? Meddled too much? Did I ruin everything by sticking my nose in?
I just wanted to help. Why? Why?
Sorry for his sad face—I told him to blow the cash and wait, figuring he'd be back soon.
Sorry. Sorry. My fault. I'm sorry. So sorry. I was wrong...
...My stomach hurts. Hurts. Wanna empty it. Hurts. Nauseous.
"Blergh, urk, uweeeck—"
If I'd told him to keep sword training, tough out the pain and learn from the Hero—maybe this wouldn't have happened.
All my fault.
"..."
Vomiting didn't help. Felt like writhing black smoke filled my gut. Legs gave out; I slumped, dodging my own puke. Pathetic.
Big deal. My fault he died like that. Puke means nothing.
...What if I'd told the others and gotten help?
With the Saintess's aid, he could've eased circuit strain and trained. I just wanted to hoard the secret. Revel in superiority.
Trash. Selfish bitch.
Regret gnawing, I looked at the Saintess.
"...Saintess?"
"Sorry... sorry... sorry..."
Unconscious, she murmured apologies in her sleep. Her peaceful face twisted in nightmare terror and guilt.
[Changing observation point.]
I learned the porter's secret while healing a small wound on him.
"Porter, you okay?"
"Yes, Saintess. Just a scrape."
"Let me heal it—ngh?!"
Infusing holy power to treat the wound, it drained out like water into a bottomless jar. As if something else needed filling first.
"No way..."
I knew what it meant.
"Porter, your lifespan—"
"Shh."
"..."
"Haha... Saintess. Could we talk alone tonight?"