The Expedition (1)

Beep, beep, beep, beep—bweep!

On the walk home, the air had turned sharp and cold, the days growing shorter by the hour. I punched in the door code and gave myself a full-body shiver, shaking off the chill that clung to my clothes.

Inside was warmer than the street, but still a touch cool. I stripped out of my work clothes, stepped under a scalding shower, and let the heat work the exhaustion out of my bones.

Shhhhh—

Hot water poured from the crown of my head down over every aching muscle. I closed my eyes and savored the brief quiet. That soft, pleasant heaviness of a finished workday rose through me like a tide.

I towel-dried my damp hair with a few brisk rubs and wandered out into the living room. Out of habit I opened the delivery app and scrolled through options. On a normal night I would have cooked something myself—but tonight I was bone-tired, and all I wanted was to rest.

"…Ah. The game."

I muttered it under my breath and booted it up, remembering that I had spent a full six hours engraving the Rune of Courage onto Hans's sword.

"Might as well check what it actually does."

A vast temple filled the screen. I headed straight into World Exploration mode. Between the fatigue and the lingering drowsiness of the hot shower, my head felt pleasantly foggy; sleep was already creeping in at the edges.

Ba-bam—!

Kind of middling, honestly. That was my first impression—genuinely middling. Status ailments? Beyond stun, what even counted? And an attack boost that scaled with low HP was a double-edged sword at best.

It looked like a berserker-concept rune. Completely wrong for a holy knight like Kenis. If I had to engrave it on anyone, Friga the barbarian warrior would have been the better fit.

"Well… at least the other runes more or less advertise their effects in the name. That's a relief."

Effect confirmed; nothing more to see. I stretched until my back cracked, then surrendered myself to the bed.

The soft mattress seemed to pull me under. My vision blurred; my eyelids grew heavy.

Ah… I should at least put some clothes on… Not like anyone's going to see me, though…

That idle thought was the last thing I managed before sleep carried me away.

Hans traced the glowing characters with a trembling hand—letters that burned like molten lava. These mysterious, otherworldly symbols were the very script the God Himself had created…

"Truly sacred. Holy beyond measure."

Demonic, watching from beside him, offered the brief assessment. His face remained as stern as ever, but his eyes were fixed on those blazing letters.

"Hah… My part's done. Use it well. I need some rest, so get out of my forge already."

Adam's eviction order. Hans and Demonic both nodded. Paying their respects to six straight days of hammering, passion, and craftsmanship, the two of them stepped out of the smithy.

The moment Hans and Demonic cleared the doorway, a whole crowd of people poured inside.

A noisy clamor followed right on their heels.

"Aigoo!! Master, your face is half the size it used to be!!"

"Urgh—forgive us for abandoning our posts!!"

"You—you useless lot!! Those guests who just left endured the heat for six days straight!! And you call yourselves blacksmiths? What—too hot? Too hooot?!"

Crash—!

"Aaagh!! Ow!! Master, if you hit us with the hammer we'll actually die—aaagh!!"

At the racket rising behind them, Hans and Demonic's footsteps quickened of their own accord. Whatever was going on back there, neither of them wanted any part of it.

When they reached the front of the Pantheon, Demonic turned to Hans.

"Hans. This is as far as I go. Return to your quarters and rest well."

"Ah—yes, yes. Thank you for all your hard work!"

"It was hardly worth calling hard work. Farewell, then."

Hans had thought six days of eating and sleeping in the forge had brought them a little closer—but Demonic delivered a curt goodbye and spun on his heel without another word.

He would report his return at once, then confine himself to his quarters for the remainder of his penance.

"Hmm… Maybe I should go get some rest myself."

Six nights of shrimp-sleeping on the hard forge floor had left every joint stiff and sore. Hans headed straight for his own lodgings. His small room had sat empty for quite some time, yet someone had clearly been tending it—not a speck of dust remained.

Shhhhh—

"Ahhh—now I can finally live again."

He washed away the old sweat and grime under cool water, then sank into a bed stuffed with clean cotton. Back when he had been a farmer and a wandering adventurer, straw mattresses had been the daily norm. If a man could sleep on a cotton bed, he had made it in life.

"This is the life."

Hans murmured it to the ceiling.

Bang! Bang!

"Hey! You still not ready? Get out here! Assembly's any minute!"

The door rattled under a pounding fist. Hans bolted upright. Assembly? What on earth was that supposed to mean?

He yanked the door open to find someone waiting for him under a massive pack. Armor, helmet, a sword at the hip—the man looked ready to march onto a battlefield that very second.

"What, you haven't prepared a single thing? Assembly's almost here—this won't do!"

"Ah, I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding. I only just finished washing up and—"

"Honestly! What a sloppy friend! Just waking up now—what are we supposed to do with that!"

The man didn't wait for Hans to finish. He simply decided what the situation was and ran with it.

"Sure, sure—if you trained hard the day before, that can happen! I was so excited last night I couldn't sleep either! Nothing like working up a sweat under the moonlight to knock you right out!"

"Pardon? No, that's not— I only just returned from—"

"Don't you worry, friend! Who are we? Family—the Apostle Corps! We'll help you out in no time. You head downstairs and get your armor on first!"

"Pardon? Uh? Uhhh—?"

"Hey! We've got a friend here who trained late into the night and only just woke up! Gather round and give him a hand!"

"What? Heh-heh, can't leave a diligent friend like that hanging."

"Heh… A hardworking guy like you? Perfect for heading down and putting on some armor…"

Creak—slam—!

"Huh?"

A throng of men surged in and shoved Hans clean out of his room. Looking around, he saw people everywhere moving at a frantic pace—fully armed, just like the first man, each of them shouldering an enormous pack.

What is this…

He had only wanted a wash and a proper night's sleep. What in the world was going on?

"Hey! You there! Armor's not even on—what are you doing!"

"…Pardon?"

"You vacant idiot! Where's your head at!"

A muscular bald man stormed up and bellowed in Hans's face. Hans shrank back, utterly lost.

"You half-witted fool! Follow me this instant! Armor first!"

The bald man grabbed the still-dazed Hans and hauled him off at a run.

Clack. Clack. Clack!

Sturdy armor was fitted onto Hans piece by piece.

Snap!

A well-polished helmet was set on his head.

Uh…?

By the time his mind caught up, Hans was fully armed, a massive pack strapped to his back. Rank after rank of men marched in formation toward some unknown destination—every last one of them wearing the same uniform armor as him.

Where am I…?

They walked all day. When the sun set, they built a temporary camp on flat ground and slept. When they woke, they ate, then walked again. Then they slept again.

Why am I even…?

Whenever he tried to ask someone nearby, the answers that came back were—

"We're off to fulfill our glorious duty! Don't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠get too tense, friend!"

"You don't know…? Ah. So you still don't. I see…"

"The Sixth God summons us to the field of glory! Victory or death! Lokta—! Ah, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that's dialect—pay it no mind."

One screw-loose answer after another. At best, Hans could dimly gather that they had been called to war in the name of their God.

"What is this…"

Hans wanted to desert on the spot—but somehow word of him had already spread, and there were always eyes watching.

This is insane!

Even now, a cluster of people off in the distance kept glancing his way.

"That's the one, right? The friend who only just joined the unit?"

"Yeah. Barely had time to settle in, and now he's been thrown into a sudden expedition. It's going to be rough on him."

"So let's keep an eye on him and look after him properly."

"Of course! We're family, chosen by God for the same mission, aren't we? We'll take care of him together!"

In truth they were warm-hearted souls trying to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look after a newcomer—but Hans had no way of knowing that.

Stop staring already…!

Under those oppressive gazes, Hans trudged off toward a quiet corner. He crouched down and rummaged through his pack. Escape was clearly off the table.

He didn't know who the enemy was or where they were headed—but a man still had to protect his own hide.

From the thick travel bag he drew a short dagger and began snipping thin twigs from a nearby tree. Then he plopped down and started sharpening them to points.

Not exactly a fearsome arsenal—but you never knew when you might need one. Hans's own homemade self-defense kit, such as it was.

Scritch-scritch.

He was sitting in the corner, working a twig to a sharp tip, when someone wandered over and dropped down beside him.

"What are you doing out here?"

Hair like dancing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flame. Eyes bright as if they held the sun itself. The Chosen Hero—Kenis.

"Huh? Ah— H-Hero?"

"Hans, what are you doing out here all alone?"

Startled by her sudden approach, Hans fumbled to hide the twigs. But a Hero's dynamic vision had already taken in everything.

"Twigs? Were you sharpening twigs?"

"…Yes. Thought they might come in handy somehow."

Suddenly self-conscious, Hans ducked his head. Kenis tilted hers for a moment, then sprang up, gathered an armful of twigs, and came back.

She sat down beside him and, following his example, began scraping away at a stick.

"Being prepared is always a good habit. I'll help."

For a long while, only the sound of wood being sharpened filled the silence between them. The soft scrape of blades and the chirp of nameless insects wrapped the two of them in a small private world.

"Huh? Wait—why won't this work?"

Something clearly wasn't going right. Kenis grunted with effort as twig after twig snapped under her hands. Hans couldn't just watch.

"Hero. That one looks like shiverwood. Shiverwood is hollow inside, so it's hard to put a proper point on it."

"Oh—so this tree is hollow?"

"Yes. People mostly just use it for firewood. Because the hollow trunk makes it tremble whenever the wind blows, everyone calls it shiverwood."

"Wow. I had no idea! How do you know things like that, Hans?"

"Me? Well… I was born a farmer. In winter I'd climb the mountains to cut wood, and I used to roam the hills with my father."

Hans carefully wrapped a now-respectably sharp twig in cloth and tucked it into a pocket. It felt like only yesterday that he had been hunting white winter horn-rabbits with his father—and somehow, somewhere along the way, he had become an Apostle.

I wonder if Father's doing all right…

The man used to strip to the waist and wade into the creek even in the dead of winter. He would be fine on his own.

Kenis's voice pulled Hans out of his brief reverie.

"You know…"

"Yes?"

"I've actually been wanting to talk with you for a while, Hans."

"Uh—pardon?! With me?"

Hans spun toward her, startled. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but he thought he saw a faint flush rising in Kenis's cheeks against the dark.

Embarrassed, she lowered her gaze—then peeked up at him through her lashes.

Far off, a campfire burned; its light seemed to catch and sparkle in her eyes as well.

If we have a granddaughter, maybe name her Lucy… and a little cottage would be just right for a house, wouldn't it?

In that single moment, Hans had already planned as far as his granddaughter's name.