Gratitude Upon Gratitude – Two Uncontrollable Threats Remain
Now there were just two uncontrollable threats left. The mysterious enemy, and Mitra's paladins. Judging by those bastards' attitudes, they were far more likely to get in our way than to help. Sure, in a one-on-one duel, Esen wouldn't lose to those lunatics. But if a few paladins grabbed her ankle by force, not only would promotion be out of reach, she could end up seriously hurt. And with the Sun God Church backing them, it'd be even trickier to smooth things over.
But now, even if one party tried to check us, we had two parties standing openly on our side. If internal strife broke out, the numbers would cool their heads fast. Tomco and Buerden were real heavyweights whose names popped up in the papers all the time. They played in a different league from a mere porter like me. Two people deeply entangled with a nation's power wouldn't tolerate some greenhorn treating them like props and ignoring them outright.
The conclusion? They'd made a foolish choice, and we'd made a wise one. But still, what was this lingering unease in my head?
I'd find out soon enough. It wasn't about Esen. She was definitely safer now. On the other hand, I'd clearly drawn way too much attention to myself.
"Isn't that guy a crossdresser, Captain?"
My milk nearly came back up. Esen and the Monica sisters thumped my choking back in startled alarm.
The 'Countess's Handgun' party members, whispering as low as they could, must've noticed my panic. They quickly smacked the one who'd spoken.
"What if she heard you, you idiot!"
"But if it's not, it's not. I've spent over seven years whoring at the docks, and that ain't a woman's voice."
"That's something to brag about, sailor? Save 'androgynous beauty' for something useful."
"Saying it's a man's voice makes even less sense. Did salt wind rot your ears?"
What sin had I committed to eavesdrop on this nail-biting bullshit? Fucking hell.
"Face is kinda ambiguous but pretty decent. Body type? Must be all that muscle from porter work."
"Even so..."
A few of the ex-pirates carrying on this dumb debate slyly asked our party members how many we had. When they heard the full party was a hundred strong and I was the only porter, they turned away like something clicked.
"Yeah, that'd build muscle."
...That's how they buy it. Felt like watching a parade of idiots.
Of course, most of the reason they bought the crossdressing—with minimal effort on my part—was thanks to the ponytail wig artifact and the scented oil on my skin. Plus, female porters were really rare. Any sane porter aptitude holder these days worked in logistics. Safer than parties by a mile—honest business or merchant caravans.
In parties, you play pack mule for monster-hunting heroes, taking their shit while risking bites from beasts now and then. Non-combat aptitude holders? If your comrades get ideas, God knows what happens—unless you're under church or mage tower protection. Hauling on paved roads beats crossing mountains and rivers.
Anyway, gotta be more careful not to get caught from now on. No scandals for the party.
Maybe practice a high-pitched woman's voice.
Meanwhile, the Monica sisters chatted sweetly somewhere and boldly scored two servings of rye cake and milk.
"This is sweeter and tastier than I thought."
"...You still eat like a champ, sisters."
She insisted it was honest trade. Ex-pirates begged for injury heals; she treated four and got two in return.
Suuure. Less about healed wounds, more souls sold to those tits.
The sailor-dressed party members, pathetically splitting the remaining two servings among four, looked happy anyway. Eyes glued to Monica sisters in rapture. Even from behind, that feminine mass inspired awe.
Feeling queasy, I returned the food to them and gave Monica sisters my spare bag stash instead. Her near-pout turned blissful. And I subtly lured her inside, out of their sight.
Esen, catching on first, burst out laughing.
"Protecting your mom, sonny?"
"And why didn't you ask for more? That was emergency shares for the party."
"In the middle of a city? Come here. Got something to say."
Esen suddenly beckoned me up like an order. Our party froze mid-bite, staring crumbs flying. They gawked at us.
...Looks like she'd dragged someone off quietly and wrecked them a few times. Safe to hang with Esen?
Excused myself to the party and followed. Then realized we headed for the second-floor women's restroom. Vision darkened. Can I even go in?
Luckily, Esen stopped at the entrance, sparing my dilemma.
"Might not let you in. No one's listening?"
"If you sense none, probably not."
"Seems clear. Gotta talk quick before someone comes. Why'd you do it?"
"Do what?"
I spread my arms like, didn't it work out great? Esen glared long and hard. Then crossed her arms, subtly averting her eyes like something bugged her.
"I got more shots. Even if I miss the demon this time—no humiliating fuckups—and take another mission, I can try again."
I'd heard too. From elf Nenya subbing for the absent leader. Catching that ferocious mountain troll in a blink had boosted Esen's career big time. The woman Esen saved by throwing herself in? Some high noble's daughter. Troll rolled boulders down the mountain, smashing the stroll, snatched the flashiest-dressed lady, and we happened on it same day. Nenya was thrilled—new patron house incoming.
Getting sent on this shaky mission meant the Party Federation rated Esen and us high. Overseers watching her skill; shine now, special-rank's a lock.
Roughly explained that. Esen rubbed her brow like dizzy.
"Why go that far?"
"Told you. Quote came in, so I swung. I'm a vet newbie; see work, you pounce."
"You just joined our party."
What fresh gripe? Then tears welled in Esen's eyes.
"Whoa, hold on..."
"Those few days, I just bossed you around. What'd you gain? Fucked a few times. Don't even know if you liked it."
Didn't see that coming. Self-reflection without grilling? Whether I liked it? Hell if I know. Knew it was mostly her horniness.
"If I had to pick, didn't lose out."
"...Liked it or hated it?"
"Fucking amazing. Felt like it shaved years off my life."
Tension eased from Esen's eyes. I shrugged.
"Wasn't personal 'cause of our thing. Your party's my party now. Help coworkers if you can."
Same party, right? Porter's job: give heroes room to shine.
"You're on my side? We're in this together, yeah?"
Esen nodded. Avoiding eyes meant staring at her scalp. Stroked her hair. She flinched.
"That's enough for now. Knowing I can back your fights."
Dead serious. Last party treated me like a war-slave. That alone was hell.
"...Thanks."
"Know you're grateful? One favor, Esen."
She looked up, mission-faced. I glanced out the second-floor window. Rain started; wet armor gleaming, shambling closer in a hurry.
"Mitra's paladins coming back soon. Watch our sisters for me."
"Heh. Send the daughter-in-law?"
"Yeah... wait. What?"
Esen tossed the world's most awkward joke, sensed my stare, and descended even more awkwardly. Face redder than her speech.
"Nah, just... yeah."
"What the hell's 'yeah'?"
Mulled her nonsense forever, then rushed downstairs. Knew paladins'd return, but this felt off. Door kicked open. Collapsing thud. Urgent shouts.
"Healer! Any with healer aptitude?!"
Ranks don't always match skill. They're just qualifications.
Even among special-rank fighters, some lag behind Esen or other A-ranks. Somewhere, a B or C might beat amazing Esen.
But an A-rank party title? There's a reason.
The paladin who'd picked a fight en route: Florica. Esen's fellow A-rank, Mitra Church pride, one step from special-rank.
And her group fled to the city ASAP after arriving.
Returning paladins wailed. Among the wrecked, Florica's wounds worst.
Mitra-blessed paladins had divine healers. But her back—black-red smoke from torn flesh—wouldn't close.
Mitra's golden priests yelled.
"Need more healers!"
Treating them like shit even now. Proud White Tower profs scowled.
But bad blood aside, rudeness ≠ life-or-death. Two from pirate party, three from lily party rolled sleeves and charged.
Sisters' faces hardened. First trauma, then duty seconds later.
I grabbed Monica sisters rushing in. She turned, super flustered.
"No need."
"What?"
"Other healers besides you, sisters."
Brief agony in her eyes. I pictured Sun-emblem folk killing my family, laughing. Justice served.
I knew. Leave 'em, high death odds. And odds they're Monica's enemies? Like finding same sand grain twice at beach.
But emotions reject 'ifs.' She feared, worried that.
Least as family, grab her once. No need to toil in fear.
"...Deep down, hoped someone'd stop me. No need to push myself."
She forced a smile. Pushed off my restraining hand.
"But you know few heal like me, Tan."
Yeah. That's her. Can't stand others suffering her shortfall.
Mitra cult? Living saint by now.
I didn't argue more. Monica sisters nodded, knelt by Florica. Pink petal-glow from hands.
While treating, Esen and I guarded her back.
Florica woke soon. Black rot gnawing deep gash? Pale white-mage students/profs purified clean. Scholars muttered: demon energy confirmed.
Florica bowed deep thanks to mages/healers. To Monica sisters? Knelt, tried kissing hand.
"Benefactor, your name?"
Sweating finish, Monica sisters' proud face froze in panic. Hand-kiss awkward; firm grip suspect.
I stepped quick, pried hand free.
"Sorry, our healer's shy. Thanks later, privately?"
Tried natural, but Florica's face screamed confusion.
...Pray that's real.
Florica mumbled apology for rudeness, stood. Changed tack.
"Never heard of such strong healer in our church. Must be famed."
Answered for trembling-turned sisters.
"Overpraise, thanks. Sisters, this way—"
"Pardon. Which church?"
Monica sisters' legs buckled.