At the End of Hell (3)
A soft chime rang out as a blue egg appeared in one corner of my inventory. True to its name, frost clung to it in patches here and there.
So what am I supposed to do with this now?
In other games you usually had to buy a separate incubator to hatch eggs. Was I going to have to shell out money for one here too?
Please move the 'Frost-Covered Egg' to a sunny location! Eggs grow through steady care and affection!
So I just leave it anywhere, huh.
I dragged the egg over to a decent patch of grass. Aside from the temple, the transfer gate, the forge, and the tunnel leading to the mine, the whole place was empty prairie anyway—every spot was basically the same.
Thud.
The egg sat alone in the middle of the grassland. The dwarves immediately swarmed around the sudden new arrival, buzzing with curiosity.
They huddled together, poking at it from every angle and tilting their heads. Worker No. 3 raised his hammer like he was about to give it a good whack, Worker No. 1 frantically tried to stop him, and one of them—clearly already drunk—clung to the egg and started pouring out his life story. Quite the colorful bunch.
I couldn't tell whether the dwarves were just that small or the egg was that big. Stacking three of them on top of each other might barely match its height. Whatever was going to hatch out of this thing, I was already excited.
"When does it hatch?"
Tapping the egg made a little hourglass pop up with a soft pling. The sand in the upper half was slowly trickling down.
Probably a timer until hatching.
Watching those grains fall at such a leisurely pace, it looked like it was going to take a while.
"Time to log off."
With nothing left to do, I quit the game. It was a holiday, so I spent the rest of the day catching up on neglected housework, running laundry, and bustling around the apartment.
A chill ran down my spine.
"Ugh, what the hell is that for real."
That cold prickle along my back again—the unmistakable feeling of being watched. This wasn't the first or second time. It had been going on for days now.
I'd torn the place apart looking for peepholes, bugs, cameras—anything—and found nothing. The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth.
I'd spent my entire life not believing in ghosts, religion, aliens, or any other supernatural nonsense, but at this rate I was going to have to visit a shaman or a temple.
"Maybe there really are ghosts..."
I decided I'd pick up a talisman on the way home from work sometime.
Footsteps echoed slowly.
The sun was tucking its face behind the ridgeline, spreading a crimson sunset across the sky, while far off the moon and stars came rushing hand-in-hand. As the dim twilight settled over the streets, the citizens of the Holy City drifted home one by one. They would share the day's joys and sorrows with their families and offer prayers of thanks that they had made it through another day unharmed.
Footsteps continued.
Warm light spilled from windows of every house, illuminating the streets.
Lionheart returned to the Holy City beneath that vermilion sunset.
Creak—
"Adam, you in there?"
The forge's air, already gone cold, greeted him. For some reason his old friend Adam had left the place empty.
"...Well, that's a first."
Lionheart muttered to himself, feeling a little awkward. Just as well, really. Better to wash up thoroughly before Adam got back and prepare himself for tomorrow's trial.
Thud.
"Hmm."
His eyes fell on his beloved weapon, leaning alone against one wall.
A comrade that had crossed countless battlefields at his side through long years.
Perhaps it was because he had just visited the cemetery after so long. An unnameable emotion welled up, and Lionheart carefully took hold of the weapon.
Heavy. Quiet.
It had drunk rivers of blood and cut down far more evil still. Lionheart's gaze sank deep. This had never originally been his weapon.
It was the beloved blade his master had wielded in life—passed down to him.
Which meant he was using a keepsake of the dead.
Been a long time. Ought to put an edge on it.
The years had dulled the blade considerably. Neglecting its care during his wandering days hadn't helped either.
Scrape, scrape—
Being a forge, a whetstone was easy enough to find. The stone kissed the edge, and time flowed slowly. Weapon maintenance that began at dusk only finished as evening settled in.
Tonight I'll purify myself with a proper bath and face tomorrow with a devout heart.
Thud.
He set the freshly honed weapon against the wall and headed for the living quarters inside the forge to bathe.
He stopped short.
"Hmm? Th-this smell..."
Sniff sniff.
Lionheart's steps halted as he sniffed the air. From deeper inside, beyond the tightly shut warehouse door, a familiar fragrance was drifting out.
The scent of lively carbonation, that sharp refreshing bite, and the distinctive sweetness of honey.
It was the aroma of the beer he and Adam had drunk themselves senseless on not long ago.
Gulp—
He swallowed without meaning to. The taste of Adam's beer—the first he'd ever tried—rose unbidden in his mind and began to seduce him.
Bubbles that tapped gently at the throat, beer somehow made impossibly cold, and when you filled your mouth the honey's sweetness danced while a cool freshness swam across your tongue.
In all his life he had never tasted beer so good.
Smack—!
Halfway to the warehouse as if entranced, Lionheart slapped his own cheek hard and snapped himself awake.
"Hoo— No. Absolutely not. Being carted in on a wagon once was more than enough."
He barely managed to rein himself in. His hands trembled, his feet kept trying to turn toward the warehouse, but with a Paladin's proper self-restraint he held firm.
Tonight he would spend in piety.
With that firm resolve he washed every inch of himself carefully in the bathhouse. Then he was confronted with a scene of pure despair.
"Urgh— Ah, Leon! Give me a hand, will you? This thing's heavy as hell."
"..."
Adam, who hadn't been seen for a while, was lugging an enormous beer barrel and asking for help. Every step Adam took with the barrel produced a liquid sloshing sound from within.
To Lionheart that sound was the whisper of a demon trying to tempt him.
He asked in a trembling voice,
"Y-you. Where've you been? I didn't see you around."
"Where would I go? Been organizing beer in the warehouse. Some of the beer the people at the arena drink is stuff I brewed myself, you know."
Adam—already the Holy City's finest blacksmith—now eyeing the brewer's trade as well. He set the barrel down with a heavy thud and shrugged.
"This is a real opportunity, isn't it? A chance to spread the beer made with the masters' secret recipe far and wide."
"R-right. You're not wrong there."
Lionheart's eyes trembled violently. Even though he'd just bathed, his palms were slick with sweat.
Lifting a couple of barrels was no problem. It would be fine.
Even if that seductive beer swayed its body alluringly and tried to tempt him, he would not fall.
"Just move these two over by the door for me. I've already sorted the rest."
"..."
"Leon?"
"Hoo— All right. I'm ready."
"Huh? Well, okay then."
Lionheart's eyes were steely and serious. Adam wondered what had gotten into his friend, then dismissed it as nothing important. Bound to be some silly reason.
"Hup...!"
He hoisted both barrels onto his shoulders in one motion. Truly astonishing strength. Adam clapped lightly in admiration.
"Whoa. Impressive. I don't lose to anyone in a contest of strength either, but I can't match you."
"Grrngh...!! Enough! Where do I put them...!!"
Grind—
Lionheart's face turned beet red and the sound of grinding teeth filled the air. Adam figured the barrels must be that heavy and hurriedly guided him.
"Here! This way!"
"Hup!"
Slosh, slosh.
With every step the beer knocking against the inside of the barrels tickled his ears. It was temptation. It was a trial. Even a demon that drained a man's vital essence couldn't produce a sound this sweet.
Lionheart recited scripture madly in his head, steadying his mind.
Tomorrow was his trial—alcohol was absolutely forbidden! If he showed up carted in on a wagon again, Tony would put a hole straight through his gut.
Thud—!
"Hoo— hoo— That do it...?"
"Mm! Thanks!"
Lionheart had barely shaken off the beer's temptation. His whole body was soaked in sweat, but he felt deeply proud. He had overcome the seduction of that wicked beer! One could call it a triumph of the human spirit.
Pop—
An ominous sound reached the ears of the self-congratulating Lionheart.
The sound of a lid being opened.
As if demons were bursting forth from the Abyss on the day of the apocalypse.
To Lionheart it sounded like the merciless hammer of judgment descending.
Adam opened the barrel lid and inhaled the beer's aroma to his heart's content. His expression was full of satisfaction—like a father looking upon a son who had grown up splendidly.
"Sss— haaah. This fragrance... I brewed it myself, but damn if it isn't perfect! Fancy a sip?"
"Th-ththth... Grrngh...!!"
His hand moved forward of its own accord. The tips of his fingers trembled roughly.
Look at that honey-colored liquid, swaying coquettishly and glittering with light! Listen to that tiny symphony of adorable bubbles popping one after another!
Oh, it was temptation itself.
Yet even this Lionheart overcame.
"I-I...!! I'm fine!! To- hoo— tomorrow's my tri-trial, you see...!!"
"Ah... right. That's right, I forgot. Tomorrow's your turn, isn't it?"
There was not a shred of malice on Adam's face. He had genuinely, purely offered a single sip.
Looking mildly disappointed, Adam scooped himself a large cup of beer and began to drink alone.
Gulp... gulp...
"Y-you..."
Adam's throat bobbed with each swallow. Condensation rolled down the cup in fat drops, and Lionheart's eyes shook without mercy.
This was the limit.
"Kahh—!! That's it, that's the stuff! This is the beer made with the masters' secret recipe! Honestly, you could drink two and die and still not know how good it is!"
"M-me too...!!"
Lionheart squeezed his eyes shut and shouted.
Just one cup.
He would truly stop after just one cup. Yes, just one cup would be fine. What could go wrong with a single cup?
"Pour me one too....!"
"You sure you'll be all right? Tomorrow's trial..."
"Don't worry about it! I'm only having one! Hurry, pour it already!"
"Whoa there, easy. All right, all right. Impatient as ever."
Adam poured Lionheart a cup with a doubtful look. The rapturous sound of beer cascading into the cup!
He drank carefully.
One mouthful.
Another mouthful.
It was divine.
In an instant the cup was empty, and Lionheart filled it again.
Just one more cup... really just one more... this time truly the last...
Empty barrels gradually piled up, and the night grew deeper still.
And the next morning.
"Urgh—"
Lionheart appeared at the arena with a face flushed bright red.
Reeking of alcohol from head to toe, and staggering every step of the way.