No Swallowing the Kid

The kid in front of me looked about the same ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠age as that little brat Lania. True to form as the son of a poor merchant, his clothes were ragged and dirty. Still, with those curly cream-colored locks, he was a pretty cute-looking boy. He'd probably be pretty popular once he grew up.

The boy hissed like a snake again.

"Saaak, saak."

His mind really did seem a bit off. Poor kid. No chance of becoming a heartthrob now.

"Saat, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sat."

"Saaak!"

I joined in with a hiss of my own, and the boy's face turned beet red as he rustled excitedly. He was snorting through his nose like he was super worked up. Maybe I should stop teasing him now.

But what to do? He'd caught me hiding. If he blabbed to the merchants, I'd be out on my tail. The wagon trip had been pretty comfy and relaxing—I was loving it. We still had days to go before reaching my destination, Kalea City.

—Well, planning a massacre?

Pellelian tossed out a terrifying suggestion.

'Can't do that. You think the merchants would just sit still?'

—True enough. Even if you ate this little human brat, the wagon ride would still end the same way. Lucky you, kid.

Still, how had he known I was hiding there? The way he was shushing from the start, it seemed like he'd figured it out ahead of time. Made me miss that invisibility cloak I never got. Would've been so handy if I'd snagged it. Probably still in the hands of that gnome from the Great Forest. What a shame.

—Hold on.

Pellelian suddenly got serious.

—That book the human kid's holding. Bring it here.

A book? The one the kid was clutching had this written on it:

Some kind of magic intro book, huh? I wagged my tail at the kid and the book.

Hey, bring that book over here.

"Shyushit!"

Snake noises again. Hiss—better grab it before I get mad. Felt like a bully shaking down an elementary kid.

I used Transparent Hand to snag the boy's book.

"Whoa, magic...!"

But instead of freaking out, the boy's eyes sparkled with joy. Ignoring his intense gaze, I flipped it open. A fancy ink pen was tucked inside.

On the open page:

'Simple Practical Snake Language Conversation. 1) How to greet a snake you meet for the first time.'

Gasp. Oops, my bad. Thought he was just a weird kid, but he'd been mimicking the book.

'No way there's really a snake language?'

A snake language I didn't even know about? Revolutionary.

—As if. Total nonsense.

Pellelian flat-out denied it, despite not being a snake himself.

—Liberta, Liberta... rings a bell...

Pellelian had me flip to the intro and scanned it eagerly. Meanwhile, I grabbed the pen with Transparent Hand.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

'Common tongue will do.'

Then scribbled in the corner of the book:

'You, do you know who Liberta is?'

I'd accidentally slipped into Nanaruk's speech pattern.

"Ah! A... sasak..."

The kid started shushing again. But his convo level seemed pretty low. It was kinda fun watching him struggle to answer. Thought about dragging it out more but let it go.

'Snake language is bullshit. No way for humans to learn it.'

"I-is that so?"

'Tell me, do you know who Liberta is?'

"A great... archmage, I heard. Active about a hundred years ago."

Pellelian muttered, 'Archmage? Hmm...' deep in thought. I waited for more from the boy.

"Master of all elemental magic... always wore a golden mask, so they called him the Sage of the Golden Mask."

Pretty romantic wizard. Then—

—Ah, that con artist bastard!

Pellelian smacked his big head like it had finally clicked.

'You know him? A con artist?'

—Yeah. Little punk who went around scamming humans, bragging he was an archmage.

'Ho ho.'

—Golden mask, huh? Now I get why he wore that thing.

Looks ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like Pellelian had history with the book's author. Wasn't super curious, but for politeness' sake, I asked. He lit up and spilled.

—Even tried scamming me. So arrogant, I flipped his nose upside down and stuck it back on.

'...'

—Said he coughed like hell whenever it rained after that. Uhahaha!

Pellelian really was a continent-level menace of a mage.

'So the kid's learning magic from a con artist's crap book?'

—He could probably write a basic primer, but this snake convo chapter... old habits die hard.

Tough break for the human kid. But better he knows the truth now.

'Little human, Liberta was a half-assed mage. Nothing worth learning there.'

I worried the kid might cry from shock. But nope.

"Gasp, you've actually met Liberta?!"

His eyes shone even brighter. I pondered, then replied.

'Indeed. Pathetic guy. So arrogant with that high nose, I flipped it, and he hid behind a golden mask.'

Hehe, fun. The kid was awestruck.

"Whoa..."

'Couldn't hide his ugly soul with gold.'

"Then how old are you?"

Almost said four months old, switched it up.

'Ab... four hundred years or so.'

"Gah!"

Pellelian sniped, 'Say four thousand, small-timer.'

Like Earth kids loving scary dinos, this world's kids dig monsters?

"Such an ancient snake... so you're a Serpent, right?"

'...Something like that.'

"What should I call you?"

'Call me Ouroboros. Or Ur for short.'

"Ur-nim..."

Stuck on how to end the prank, but the boy pleaded earnestly.

"C-can you teach me magic?"

Hmm. Kids are kids. Asking a random snake for lessons—gutsy.

—Liberta, that consistent trash. Lousy grimoire. Pitiful kid learning from that.

'What to do with him?'

—Eh? 'He wants magic lessons.'

—Do whatever.

'Hmm... Ah!'

Playful mood hit, but an idea sparked.

'You seek teachings?'

"Yes...!"

'Offer proper tribute and mend your manners, and I'll share knowledge.'

"Tribute...?"

Maybe we could help each other out.

'Bring writing tools, paper, and food.'

Could live even comfier.

"Food... like rats or frogs?"

'You punk!'

"Th-then?"

'Bring baked potatoes and sausages.'

Craved human grub bad. Tired of jerky.

"Got it!"

The boy nodded solemnly.

'You haven't introduced yourself yet.'

"S-sorry. I'm Amaen."

'Right, Amaen.'

Time for a pact.

'Best no one knows I'm here.'

"Yes!"

Didn't forget the threat.

'Or I'll have to eat you, your dad, all these humans.'

"Ah..."

'Been a while since I filled my belly with human meat...'

I stuck out my tongue—shyurit—and retreated into the wagon's shadows. The kid's face went ghost-white with fear.

Pellelian murmured low.

—Having fun?

'Yeah, hehe.'

Was a blast.

Truth is, I couldn't properly teach the kid magic. Still learning from Pellelian myself—who was I to teach? Just wanted to stick around the comfy wagon longer, use Amaen to score supplies and snacks. That was the plan. Figured I'd bail if discovered.

But recruiting the kid turned out genius. Amaen was sharp for his age.

"Dad, gonna train in the cargo hold."

"Again?"

"Yeah, it's quiet and dark—helps me focus."

Amaen hopped in casually. Royle didn't suspect a hair on his son's head. The oiled canvas muffled sound fine—no screams, perfect for magic practice.

Day two of Amaen coming and going, still no leaks on my presence.

'Here?'

"Yes, Master."

Smart and polite. We chatted via ink pen.

'What I asked for?'

I'd requested a pot of black soil this morning. No way on these mountain paths. No expectations—but Amaen delivered.

"Used a stew bowl—filled with dirt."

Handed over a wooden rice bowl. Perfect planter for the vine seed. Kid had chops.

'Excellent. Mastering Mana Breathing well?'

"Yes."

'Show me.'

Amaen sat, eyes closed, breathing. His old method was crude. This was Pellelian's.

'Good.'

Tough on a bumpy wagon, but he nailed it. Unlike humans or elves, no dantian for me—hard to stock mana via breath. Felt down, but watching him cheered me up.

—Well, damn. He's got talent. Real talent.

Pellelian muttered at Amaen.

—Would've been easier teaching him...

'Then travel with him instead of me.'

Snapped in annoyance, but Pellelian pondered seriously. Finally shook his head.

—Nah. Humans are inferior. Sixty years tops, no evolution.

'...'

Pellelian admitting snakes beat humans. Progress.

Amaen finished flawlessly.

'Well done. Today's lesson: elemental magic circles.'

"Elemental magic circles!"

Fresh from Pellelian this morning, but writing let me skip acting.

'How to infuse mana into a fire circle.'

Teaching reinforces my own grasp. Same for circles. With Pellelian's help, I drew a small one on paper.

'Infuse mana here.'

Stuck it on my dagger Ashra. Raised it.

'Like this.'

Slight mana injection.

Amaen's eyes gleamed with envy.

'That's fire aura.'

—This punk. Using shaman tricks, but...

Finally a first-rate magic swordsman.

One week since the three wagons left the mid-trading post for Kalea City. Tomorrow, we'd arrive. Three nights camping straight—merchants looked ragged.

"Ugh, city tomorrow, right?"

"Straight to the inn for a wash."

Dark night. Merchants chatted by one campfire. Last night, they shared rum to warm up. Stew and rum? Bearable cold.

One drank stew from a cup, no bowl.

"Damn, where's my bowl?"

"You were dish duty, Jackson. Who knows?"

"It was there then..."

Jackson's nose glowed red. Always boozing. Bad habit, ignored warnings.

Amaen curled sleepy by Royle.

"Mmm, Dad..."

"Cold? Blanket too."

Royle draped his over Amaen. Heartwarming.

Jackson mumbled blankly.

"Kid's smart. Cute too."

"Haha."

Not super close, but knew each other.

"Your boy wants to merchant too?"

"Uh, yeah..."

"Bring him sometime. Wife okay?"

Jackson hemmed.

"Well... yeah."

Awkward. Crickets chirped.

Jackson broke silence.

"I take first watch? Tired."

"Sure. I'll do second—wake me."

They took shifts. Bandit rumors lately, hungry beasts possible. Near demon mountains.

Others bedded down sans Jackson. Breathing evened, all asleep.

Jackson sipped rum, muttered.

"...Fucking hell."

Nice-guy Royle snoring, son nestled. Sweet sight—bitter to Jackson.

Drunk, he thought:

'Royle mocking me too?'

Bring the kid? Long time no see that face.

One day, home early—stranger in bed with wife. Rage-blackout, beat them. Man fled, wife bit wrist hitting her cheek. Drunk fury, nearly killed her. Back stung—son stabbed with kitchen knife. Trembling hand, glaring red eyes. Barely scratched skin. Nosebleeding wife hugged son, screaming leave. Bizarre, but Jackson fled.

Told booze buddies—rumors spread. Royle clueless or teasing?

'Bastard. Thinks he's hot shit.'

Rum fueled rage. Wanted to smash kid and Royle's face. Didn't act.

But Amaen cracked eyes—felt the malice?

Thwack!

Hot pain—something pierced Jackson's cheek. Arrow, realized later.

"Guhk, kweeeek!"

Jackson shrieked, bolted up. More arrows whistled dark.

Thud thud thud!

Three hit—dead. Toppled into fire.

Thud! Sparks flew.

Noise woke all. Ugly thugs emerged with crossbows, maces.

"Couldn't one-shot? I win."

"Nah, would've died anyway."

"Bull? Would've lived old. Hahaha!"

Laughing at murder. Dog barked.

"B-bandits!"

Amaen screamed.

CHAPTER_TITLE: Bandit Subjugation

"Bandits?"

"Talking to us, duh."

"Heh, our rep's tanked."

Obvious bandits chuckled. Meantime, merchant by dead Jackson crawled back. Escape attempt?

"Yup, bandits here! Goods and lives—hand 'em!"

Bearded guy kicked him.

"Agh, mercy! T-take it all!"

Smart—begged, tossed purse flat.

Beard snatched it.

"Tch, chump change."

"Wagons too!"

"Beer in there?"

"No beer..."

"Useless!"

Slashed casually. Clang—head off.

Royle clamped Amaen's scream.

Killers, no hesitation. Royle terrified too, but son there—had to man up. Backed away step by step with Amaen.

No escape.

"Hey, mister with kid."

"..."

"Who we look like? Bandits?"

Wagon hit Royle's back. Save Amaen at least?

"H-heroes, sirs."

"Heroes? Hahahaha!"

Roared like joke. Royle forced smile.

"M-my wagon's full of ale—for Kalea. Chance to give all to heroes."

"Oho, Kalea brews are tops."

"Yes, premium 1-gold barrels... all my coin, wagons, mules too!"

Just spare lives. But one soured.

"Stating obvious? Makes us sound bad—hurtful."

"Sorry! My slip. Yours by right."

Royle groveled like offering guts. For trembling son.

"All yours... my life too."

Not dumb—knew they toyed.

"Spare my son. Kill me."

"Aww, touching."

Royle hugged shaking Amaen. Whispered:

'Amaen, bolt to bushes. Now. No look back. Count three in head.'

Son flinched.

"Think we're evil? We don't kill for fun."

"Y-yes."

"But rumors of us? You said bandits—too late?"

Three... Royle shoved Amaen, charged. Die torn, buy time.

"Won't tell. Never..."

Two, one. Royle lunged—

"M-Master."

Amaen cried frail. Royle froze. Told to run—Amaen hand on wagon.

"Master, help..."

No reply, obviously.

"What the—?"

Bandit tilted head, drew sword.

"Someone inside? Or scared stupid."

"Kid pissed himself."

"True? Haha!"

Laughed, scowled.

"Mocking adults?"

Slashed Amaen. Royle dove—took it.

Thud! Blood sprayed. Royle stared at face splatter. No pain.

Bandit frozen mid-swing.

"Gurk."

Weird gurgle, blood drooled. Dagger in chest.

Thud—down. Others clocked it.

"Wh-what?!"

Chaos—clear hiss rang.

Shyurit—shyurit.

Snake sound. Royle chilled. Something crawled from wagon shadows, onto shoulder.

Shyurit.

A snake. Crystal scales, small crown—not huge.

"Monster?"

One mumbled—dagger auto-ejected from dead chest. Slashed another's throat.

"Aaaagh!"

Shyit—whistle per bandit down. Three more instant.

"Crossbows! Fire!"

No sharpshooters for snake, aimed Royle anyway.

Ping ping!

"Aak!"

Bolt hit thigh. One straight at white snake head.

Crack!

Unbelievable—snake bit, crushed bolt midair.

Bandits' morale crashed.

Snake hopped off Royle shoulder, plopped ground, slithered at them.

Amaen checked dad's wound—his book auto-flipped. Pen floated, scribbled blank.

Amaen calmed, read shaky:

"Ouroboros asks."

His proxy clear.

"All you scum gathered here?"

No polite replies.

"Boss!"

Bandits wailed. Dagger jammed one's mouth—horseman charged.

Shackled wrists, weird garb.

"Gah...!"

Royle recognized: wanted fugitive Yatus. Escaped prison with crew—hiding in demon mountains?

"What snake?!"

Yatus drew cleaver—ora gleamed. Charged snake.

Snake floated dagger.

Tik.

Dagger blazed fireworks.

Prisoners, Royle gawked.

"A-ora—!"

Who'd imagine a monster's feat?

Thrilling.

'Ora!'

—Heard ya, punk! Woke to noise, came out. Bandits? Didn't expect.

This world had greenwood bandits too? Classic debut for young heroes—hunt 'em.

Demanded toll? Nah, killed merchants on sight. Utter scum.

Flame Sword Art qi-filled dagger flew at throat.

'Ora, they say!'

—Heard!

Paper circle on dagger mimicked ora—fooled bandits.

Boss type, whoever.

Cleaver clashed dagger.

Lame result.

Clang!

Dagger spun away. Fake flames scattered, shock dissolved Transparent Hand.

"What?!"

Boss baffled too—near unhorsed from over-swing.

—Puhaha!

Pellelian laughed at my flying dagger. Yeah, fake ora—expected.

"Fancy trick snake!"

Charged to trample. But dagger ora? Misdirect.

Two Transparent Hands. Book-scribbling pen already curved dark.

Swoosh—flames hid it from boss eyes.

Sharp nib pierced nape.

"Kek!"

Boss tumbled. Snake style, bandits.

Snatched nearby bandit's heart. Bit ankle of one rushing boss rescue.

No survivors here. Massacre day.

Braggers dead—boss with pen in throat rose. Horse fled earlier. Bolted dark silent, throat pierced.

'Hey, my pen!'

Thief! Fast runner—already far.

Other bandits done. Disciple and dad know me now—whatever. Midnight, no people—perfect skill practice.

Great chance.

Massive mana drain. Control size this time—last grew dad-sized, couldn't handle.

"E-eh, eeeh?!"

Royle screamed behind. Body ballooned. Moonlit scales glittered translucent. View rose. Fleeing guy looked back, shrieked.

"Hiiiieeeek!"

Stealth lv8. Not dense as Great Forest—clear sight. No hiders.

Then.

Giant leap thundered. No bite needed—squashed boss flat.

Boom!

Yap. Canceled giantification.

Lv1 mastery soon. Shocked—boss unrecognizable mush.

'My pen!'

Safe. Snagged it, returned to Royle and Amaen.

"Master!"

"Hieeeek!"

Boy welcomed—dad trembled screaming. Brave earlier? Short-lived. Amaen bowed thanks politely.

"Thank you for saving us."

Mature, but wet pants betrayed.

"Uh, ugh. Th-thank... you."

Royle eyed son and me, thanked.

No biggie. Owe ya for wagon stay. Jerky I ate? More aid fine.

Neared Royle—fear intensified. Yanked thigh bolt.

"Aak!"

Subspace potion on wound.

Sizzle.

Wound healed.

"Whoa... potion."

"P-precious potion... thanks."

Grinned.

"Hik!"

Royle flinched terrified. Whatever—lodging paid.

"Saak."

Called disciple. Amaen whipped notepad, pen.

Scribbled: 'Staying longer.'

"Stay...? Ah, yes! We owe our lives."

Royle nodded gibbering. Good. Legal now!

Next day, wagons reached Kalea safe. Mountainside city, big thanks to mines—proper walls.

Guards checked entrants at gate. Royle's wagon too.

"Search the hold yourself."

Stern Guard Captain ordered. Strict today—long line, no complaints.

Soldiers entered: ale barrels.

And...

"Jerky box, five barrels!"

"Check barrels."

"Check?"

"See inside!"

"Y-yes!"

Pushed, peeked lids.

"Clear."

"Yeah?"

Captain softened. Approached Royle, Amaen on seat.

"Sorry for hassle. Highwaymen rumors—they might sneak in."

"Haha, no prob."

Royle smiled kindly. Thicker coat now—me inside.

Stealth, coiled like belt 'round waist.

"That coat."

Captain pointed. Peeked out, hid quick.

"C-coat?"

"Nice. Warm-looking."

"Yes, I chill easy. Haha."

"Enter."

"Thanks."

Soldiers waved through. Felt ten years younger.

Captain muttered behind:

"Thought I smelled blood..."

Why so competent? With 'Guard Captain Slayer' achievement—dodge best.

Patted Royle shoulder—good job.

Plan: crash with them here. Can't solo as monster with Pellelian's dungeon attached.

—Great, dungeon time!

Pellelian antsy. Me too—but info first via them. Cave rumors? Or looted already?

Imagination short.

Inn—Royle asked owner: 'Big tree west of Kalea?'

"Pellelian's dungeon?"

"...Yes?"

Owner wiped mug.

"Outlander with kid—don't know? First time?"

"Second."

"Known spot. Top tourist site—kid-friendly."

Pellelian. Frothing at dungeon name.