Episode 0-a. The Advancer (2)
If the world had been at peace.
If no one had ever harbored greed beyond their own share.
If humans had been created that way from the start.
Could everyone have worn happy smiles amid such untroubled scenery?
This world had become my reality, but as a novel in its original form, surely everyone could have reached a happy ending.
Funny thing was, no one would have read a story like that anyway.
I often had those thoughts.
They stemmed from the gray haze that seeped in, but the bitterness lingered because the landscapes we kept pushing toward—on and on—were so wretched.
For every stage symbolizing peace, there was one embodying unrest.
For every bright, crisp day, there was a dreary, parched one pouring down endlessly.
For every person smiling in bliss, there had to be some poor soul weeping in sorrow.
It was a tale—and an ending—decided by the gods.
And somewhere in the snowy mountains, by a campfire in a cave, two giggling kids sat.
They were the poor souls weeping in sorrow, in a manner of speaking.
War orphans, the pair of them.
After a year or so scraping by in the duchy capital, they'd ended up sprawled in some podunk village on the way to another city.
Parents lost to the war, just the two of them clinging together, begging for scraps—tiny little things.
I'd only stopped in the village planning a short rest, but those kids kept sticking in my mind, nothing like my intention to just crash and bail.
I mean...
Abandoned street kids without parents.
That sight dragged up memories of a certain woman for me.
Made it impossible to just walk away.
So, despite barely being able to fend for myself, I'd impulsively taken them in.
Hence the names.
Yaki and Tori.
"…."
If they'd been from the novel's lore, fine, but sorry—not. I gave them those names myself.
Uh...
Lame excuse time: I'd parked the cart on the village street, caught a chicken in the brush, and was roasting it over the fire.
These grubby little heads poked out, sidling up and drooling.
That's when it hit me, out of nowhere.
"Tori, big bro Ain's staring at us all creepy."
"Yaki, that's not creepy, he's just tired."
"..., quit yapping and eat."
I'd tossed out "Yaki" and "Tori" without thinking, and the kids latched on—said they liked 'em, started calling each other that.
Recalling their real names would've just been sad, they said, flashing bittersweet smiles laced with all sorts of feelings.
That image still burned fresh in my head.
Anyway, bottom line...
I'm the one who saved 'em and dragged 'em along, and no one in this world knows what they mean, so it's fine, right?
Ignorance is bliss, and hey, they sound kinda cute phonetically.
"He says quit yapping every day."
"You yap plenty too, bro."
"…."
So listen, you chicken nuggets, shut up and eat already.
Breath fogged the air.
A sharp whoosh of exhale bunched it into thick white vapor like fresh snow, spreading like mist before scattering.
Wrapped head to toe in fur for the cold, they waddled like bears, but it wasn't enough against the mountain chill—goosebumps prickled constantly.
Every step sank feet-deep into the drifts, snow seeping into clothes, numbing limbs bit by bit.
"We're legit gonna die out here, freeze to death..."
"Ugh, if I croak, grab my body at least, Yaki..."
"..., I told you thirty times not to follow before we left."
They bickered like crazy on the surface, but deep down, I knew the chatter kept them going—and that eased my mind.
"Should've tried harder to stop us. Right, Tori?"
"Yeah..., but that sounds a bit heartless."
"…."
Even if their grumbling irked me a little, I listened close and kept trudging—one step, then another.
And what we pushed through hell for? Buried red solar flowers.
Some quack doctor—or researcher—said he needed them. Material for the research I'd commissioned.
So...
"..., told ya, that quack doc uncle's assassination plot."
"Revenge of the steamed buns..."
"Neither. Wrong."
I'd find those solar flowers somehow and haul ass back.
And after wandering the peaks forever...
Pfook—
"Goddammit, what kinda frozen hellhole has wolves? Hoo..., stick behind me for now, you runts."
A pack's howls suddenly hemmed us in.
I'm a mid-tier adventurer now, sure, but no talent to speak of—panting against a couple wolves, your standard nobody.
Stab—
I jabbed the first charger with my dagger over and over, splattering crimson across pristine snow for a grisly contrast.
The serene flurry's hush shattered into echoing howls.
A call to their buddies: fresh meat here, come and get it.
"You cowardly mutts! We got enough already—why call more?!"
I flung off my thick robe backward and charged the nearest one.
"I said stick behind me...!"
"Try burying yourself in snow under that thing...!"
Grip tight on my hip sword's hilt—shing—
The blade ground free, scraping sheath, slammed into the first wolf, then a hard swing schluck—cleaving it clean in two.
Blood sprayed.
Howls twisted to pained yips.
Gruesome as hell, but after three years, I'd numbed to it.
Blink, tilt head, scan for the next target.
Pfook—my sword plunged again; wolves flinched back, widening the gap.
Can't beasts stick to instinct?
Wolves weren't dumb brutes, though—their eyes flicked from me to the thick fur robe blanketing the snow.
Less risky than the dangerous meal, easier pickings. Instinct, sure.
But...
Crunch—
A wolf gaped wide, chomping the robe—that sound.
The pack tore in, but crack—a tooth snapped.
Pricey custom job—heavy, sure, but no cheap trash pierced by wolf fangs.
"Money is power."
Only tossing it without a care worked 'cause I could afford it.
"Eek! Bro Ain, quit with the weird talk—save us quick...!"
"Don't wanna get eaten..., rather freeze here..."
I kicked off again, snow pfooking underfoot, sword whipping through.
A few breaths, a few yowls later—crimson petals bloomed somewhere along the snowy ridge.
Time passed.
"Ugh..., gonna die."
I'd finally stabbed the last wolf, collapsed blood-soaked into the snow.
"Uh, bro?"
"What? Don't talk. Exhausted..."
"Bro, you're lying on those red petals..."
"Blood. It's blood."
"No, not blood—red flowers! That's solar flower!"
Right under where I'd flopped: frozen red solar flowers.
"..., Huh?"
Shit, what the hell.
Couldn't spot a single one all this time, then flop from exhaustion and boom—jackpot.
Not even a quest reward. What kinda bullshit?
Anyway.
Me and the twins snagged the solar flowers and dragged back to the inn.
"Lucky we didn't freeze, Tori."
"Yaki, shh. Can't feel my hands or feet."
The kids kept muttering all the way down the mountain into town, up to the inn.
"You two, hit the bath first—warm up in hot water."
""Yessir~""
I ruffled their heads, then knocked on the usual door—knock knock—and went in.
"Aberly."
"Ah..., Ain. Thought you'd died when days passed with no sign..."
"…."
Hm. No way this guy's actually plotting my death like the kids said, sending me to the mountains, right?
His words were so absurd I eyed him hand on hilt; he shuffled over sheepishly, hand out.
"Uh..., got the solar flowers?"
"Here—only three roots. That okay?"
"Y-yeah, fine. One's enough for multiple tests..."
His eyes locked pure on the flowers.
Put bluntly.
All my companions had their quirks and flaws, but this guy? Especially so.
"Just in case: don't waste 'em. Consider this your warning."
"..., No worries. To me, the gray is just another plague—I'll keep working on a cure."
He stroked that freakish white robe obsessively, staring at the solar flowers like a zealot.