The Monster Hiding in the Building (2)
“Business not going so well?”
“Nah, no way. It’s harvest season—how could a blacksmith be strapped for cash?”
Harvest time was when blacksmiths got busy, what with all the farm tools needing repairs. Hotulusil’s farm had used Clara’s sickles, so she probably wasn’t short on work.
……Maybe she makes them so well that they never need repairs?
I remembered hearing about a company that made farm machinery so durable it lasted forty years without breaking. They went bankrupt because nobody needed repairs or bought new models—the customers were already satisfied with what they had. Clara might be in a similar spot. After all, the sickle she made had sliced clean through the neck of a mana-wielding King Walking-Gorani.
“Here!! I brought some items dwarves use all the time!!”
Thud-thud-thud—!! Clatter-clatter!!
Clara quickly arranged the weapons she’d brought in boxes. There was a ridiculous amount of stuff.
“For dwarves, I recommend weapons that make the most of their dexterity and strength! How about this high-weight hammer?!”
With that, she offered Franc a massive hammer that looked like it could smash a lion’s head in one blow. Seriously, who the hell attaches an anvil to the end of a stick? If Tabula got hit with that in Beast Mode, he’d be done for. I picked it up to test the weight—damn, it was absurdly heavy. Could Franc even lift this?
“Here, Franc.”
“Thanks.”
—Flash!
She actually could. What the hell.
Right. In terms of raw strength, she’s always had me beat.
Franc lifted and lowered the hammer—one-handed—like it weighed maybe twenty kilos in my estimation. The balance was decent, so it wasn’t too hard to hold, but carrying it around looked impractical. It wasn’t exactly light, and if she bumped into a passerby while wearing it, someone was getting at least a compound fracture. If it hit someone in the balls, that’d be their first ovulation day.
“Don’t you have anything else? Something this heavy is too hard to handle.”
Seeming to share the thought, Franc set the hammer down. Clara rested a ringed hand on her chin, eyes sparkling.
“If you don’t like heavy weapons, how about the lightest ones? I recommend this throwing knife series!!”
Shhhk-shhhk-shhhk—.
Small knives spilled across the table like casino coins. They came in bundles of five, each one thin as a single scissor blade.
“These are throwing knives favored by adventurer rogues. Humans and elves sometimes use bows, but dwarves tend to go for knives.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Ah…… Throwing lets you make the most of a dwarf’s dexterity and strength.”
Wouldn’t the same apply to bows? Marksmanship and dexterity weren’t directly related like rifle shooting, but strength definitely factored into bows. Bows made from monster materials were so stiff that ordinary people couldn’t even draw them—and arrows fired from them could pierce stone.
“……Ah.”
Watching Franc pick up a knife, I realized the real reason Clara had left unsaid.
It’s because of their height.
Short-statured dwarves couldn’t use longbows—their limbs were proportionally short too. A short bow might work, but it wouldn’t let them leverage their full strength.
Crossbows aren’t common in this world either.
Dwarves’ small frames would make crossbows easy to use, but in this world they’d been phased out in favor of bows. Arrows shot by hand were simply stronger. Rate of fire? Want to race me in Beast Regression mode? To the people of this world, crossbows offered so little advantage that their very existence was barely noteworthy.
“Alright!! I’ll set up a target—go ahead and throw!!”
—Clunk.
Clara had stuck something like a dartboard to the wall. Franc lightly tossed a throwing knife at it.
—Thwack!
It stuck dead center. In the wall.
“……Kehk.”
“S-sorry!!”
Seeing a scratch on her own shop wall, Clara made a strangled sound like she’d been the one hit. Franc panicked and bowed repeatedly, but the professional weapons merchant forced a smile and held it together.
“N-no, it’s fine~! I told you to throw it~!!”
“I-I’ll throw it properly this time!!”
Franc declared with determination as she picked up another knife. Clara’s face twisted like a frog that had been stepped on. Her silent scream said it all:
—Boyfriend!! Stop her!!!
—Got it.
I reached out and gently caught Franc’s wrist, then opened her hand and took the knife. It was heavier than I’d expected—slightly heavier than kitchen shears.
“Nord? What’s wrong?”
“Nah, I just want to demonstrate. When you throw darts or balls, you do it like this.”
I’d always been a throwing pro back on Earth. In high school I’d made bets at the school store with some lunatic’s darts, and in the army a crazy platoon leader had dragged us out for catch with the guys. Those days had been pure hell, but the “how to throw properly” the lieutenant taught me still came back easily.
“When you put power into it, twist from the waist and use your lower body. The timing of the release and the wrist snap are what matter for accuracy.”
I explained the principle while taking my stance. If I missed after all this posturing, I’d look like an idiot. I quietly drew up mana and sharpened my focus. My senses sharpened dramatically, and feeling returned to my fingertips.
Ready—
Throw!
Whish— Thwack!!
“Whoa!!”
“That was excellent!!”
—Clap clap clap!!
Franc and Clara clapped in surprise. My knife had landed dead center on the target. Half of it had been luck, but a hit was a hit. I rubbed my nose to hide my smugness and said,
“See? You get the idea now?”
“Yeah! I’ll try!”
Franc picked up a knife with enthusiasm. Clara watched nervously, sweat on her palms. Ten seconds later, a silver knife left Franc’s hand.
Whish— Thwack!
It stuck near the edge of the target. Still a hit, so I raised my hands to clap—only for Franc to keep going without pause.
Whish— Thwack! Whish— Thwack! Whish—— Thwack!!
“Whoa.”
Like sighting in a rifle, the throwing knives crept steadily toward the bullseye. I watched in admiration. Franc’s form was, frankly, a mess. Her posture changed with every throw, and her waist power was inconsistent—obvious even to an amateur like me.
Whish—— Thwack!!
She compensated for those flaws with pure dexterity. Even with sloppy form, her release timing was perfect, so her aim never strayed. With every throw she instinctively adjusted the timing and snap, succeeding no matter the posture.
Damn, that’s probably harder than throwing with proper form.
If she mastered this, she could probably nail the target while lying in bed with just a flick of her wrist. So this was the difference in talent. Humans really were idiots.
—Thwack thwack thwack thwack!!
Having grasped the knack, Franc hurled knife after knife, every single one burying itself in the center of the target. The spread was no more than three centimeters.
“Nord! I think I’ve got it now!”
“You’ve surpassed the master. You may ‘descend the mountain.’”
—Clap clap clap clap!
I applauded in genuine awe. Our Franc had found an unexpected talent.
“Cheong-chu-ram?”
“It’s an expression. Means you’ve surpassed your teacher.”
Old sayings and proverbs didn’t translate well. Papago wasn’t omnipotent either. I retrieved the target and the knives stuck in it.
“Pick out one more weapon besides these. You’ll need something for close-range enemies too.”
“Just a sec? Let me think.”
After consulting with Clara, Franc bought a hammer of moderate length—similar to the one she’d used before. A pick-hammer. She’d chosen something familiar. In the end we bought one hammer and thirty knives. Franc stored them carefully in a dedicated case inside her poncho pocket.
“Throwing knives are one copper for five, and the hammer is seven coppers. Three knife cases brings the total to sixteen coppers.”
“Huh? Seven coppers?”
I’d been about to pay when the price startled me. A copper coin slipped from my wallet onto the table.
“I-I can’t discount it any further!!”
Clara flinched and shouted. She was probably short on money, but what surprised me was how cheap it was.
“My pants were sixty-five coppers, weren’t they? And a hammer meant for combat is only seven?”
“That’s because your pants were made from monster hide……”
Well, shit. She had a point. Comparing the two, my pants used more expensive material and more of it. Throwing knives were basically shaped like scalpels, so they were easy to make, and the hammer was just a reinforced everyday tool. So that’s why Franc used a hammer.
Seven coppers. Seventy thousand won. Insanely cheap. Or maybe my pants had been ridiculously expensive. The hammer and knives together probably didn’t even weigh ten kilos. Iron was cheap in this world.
“Yeah, that price is fine. Here.”
I picked up the one-copper coin and added eighteen more. Clara accepted the money with both hands and smiled brightly.
“Thank you! Please come again!”
“I will.”
I’d probably be back often, if only for more throwing knives. After buying weapons, we headed to the clock shop. It was on the same upscale street we’d visited the night before.
“These are the items we recommend for adventurers.”
The old man—wearing a monocle and looking every bit the clockmaker—showed us a sturdy pocket watch.
“To wind the watch, insert the included key and turn it. One full turn moves the watch for a day, but turning it more than ten times will just spin freely, so be careful.”
First I’d heard of it—the pocket watches in this world ran on keys too. I’d heard the key-winding technology itself had developed because of golems.
“If it gets wet or stops, you can pay a fee at any city’s clock guild for repairs. These watches were made for adventurers, so they rarely break.”
“How much?”
“Forty coppers each.”
Holy hell. Expensive as sin. I clicked my tongue and paid. Good thing we’d made a decent haul from wiping out that bandit group. Still, once we hit Bronze Class our income would rise, so we could manage.
“Franc. This one’s yours.”
Outside the shop, I handed Franc her watch. I’d considered making it romantic, but the practical, cost-effective design made that feel embarrassing. It was more like the Casio watch parents buy before military service.
“You only need one for yourself……”
Probably because of what we’d said at the inn last night, Franc accepted the watch I’d bought without complaint.
“Still, it’s better if we each carry one when we’re working.”
It had been the same when we took down the bandit group with Tirsi. If I’d had a watch then, we could’ve set an entry time. Without it, there’d been unnecessary tension. If the bandit leader had been as strong as Tabula, Tirsi might’ve run into him alone and gotten hurt. Rather than let Franc face that kind of risk, I’d rather just spend the money.
“That’s most of the supplies. Let’s head back to the inn, pack our bags and rations, and get moving.”
I clipped the watch chain to my clothes and tucked it away. The goblin extermination request was finally beginning.
***
Bronze Class adventurers occupied an awkward position. In a company they’d be below team leader; in the military, something like a private first class with three years in. People assumed you should know what you were doing by now, yet no one actually taught you anything—so you ended up overconfident in your half-baked skills and got yourself killed. That was the rank.
But that’s only for fresh newbies who just left the academy.
Given the level of enemies I’d fought so far, getting nervous over a few goblins would be ridiculous. Let’s distinguish between carelessness and actual fear. So Franc and I made sure our supplies were in order and set off for Pefort Village.
“Once we reach the village, you’re going to ask the animals, right?”
Franc asked as we walked the road leading to Pefort Village.
“Yeah. We should get there before nightfall. I’ll ask the local animals and decide whether to go straight for the goblins or book an inn and tackle them after a night’s rest.”
I’d already told Franc about what happened at the bandit hideout last night, and explained my magic too—or rather, a magic similar to it but simpler and faster-acting. I’d asked her to keep it secret.
If it were Franc, telling her about the translation ability would’ve been fine……
But it still felt too soon to reveal everything. Explaining the ability would naturally lead to questions about how I got it. Bringing up Earth at that point would be too massive a topic to handle. And making something up would just be lying to cover a lie.
Still, I’ll have to tell her eventually.
If Franc found out I was looking for a way back to Earth, she might be devastated. I should tell her before the year ends, just in case.
—Step step.
Like proper low-rank adventurers, we walked on foot. Franc and I could walk all day without tiring. We’d reach the village faster than ordinary travelers.
—Hee-hee-hee……
As we walked, a strange cry came from a pasture beside the road. It sounded like a horse that had lost all will to live. The kind of sound you’d make lying in bed on the verge of death but suddenly needing to shit. It was so tragically miserable that the word “cry” fit perfectly.
“What’s that sound?”
“Sounds like a Hamal.”
“Hamal?”
“Yeah. Over there.”
Following Franc’s finger, I saw a creature in the stable that looked utterly ridiculous. It resembled a cross between a hippo and a horse, with three times the leg hair. Franc looked at it and said,
“So this ranch raises Hamals too. I didn’t know.”
“Hamal, huh. I’ve heard of them. Is that the Hamal from the saying ‘strutting around like a Hamal carrying a man on its back’?”
“Probably? I’m not great with Britannian proverbs.”
Hamal. One of the most representative lazy creatures in this world. I hadn’t known what they looked like, but I’d heard the name in sayings and idioms now and then.
“They say those kids refuse to work the moment you put a person or a load on their back. That’s why they’re called ‘selfish horses that won’t do favors for others.’”
“That’s not selfish—that’s just normal, isn’t it?”
Even the people of this world divided livestock into useful and useless. A sad fact, really.
Laziness, huh.
They only got lazy when something was on their back. Maybe they had their reasons. I’d heard they were fast when unburdened, so it might be worth checking them out. Ranches sometimes rented out livestock too. Feeling curious, I turned to Franc.
“Franc. Want to take a quick look?”
“Huh? Ah, if you want to go, let’s go together. I haven’t seen one in a while either. I used to see them often back home.”
And so we entered the ranch that raised Hamals.