Episode 3-a. The Flower That Smells of Rotting Corpses
A small village and a mysterious flower await just to the east. A massive bloom that gives off the stench of rotting flesh, yet bears sweet fruit in stark contrast. It is the pride of the village.
For the residents scraping by in this tiny hamlet, it provides daily sustenance. And to the occasional tourists who visit, it fetches a high price, helping make ends meet. Though its odor is enough to wrinkle noses, this flower mysteriously never wilts throughout the year, its petals forever unfurled in beauty. Amid the changing seasons, it alone stands unchanging—a colossal sentinel. No one knows when it first appeared here; the only fact is that it predates the village itself.
And once a month, its petals briefly close, heavy with round, blood-red fruit that resembles congealed droplets of blood.
Indeed. Might there be something here that you seek?
The small village you chance upon while heading east. The enormous, enigmatic flower. You and your companions, weary from Tebris, stop to rest your bodies. At least, I hope you won't simply lounge about like the others. If you've chosen the thorny path of hardship, don't settle—press on. I pray you do.
Inside the carriage halted by the roadside...
"Ah."
"Ah."
"“Aaaah...”"
"Ah..."
The brief sighs of four people sprawled out like the letter 'X' were all that could be heard.
"..., I'm gonna die."
"I'm dying..."
"“I feel like I'm gonna die...”"
"I'd rather just die; it'd be easier..."
The hollow eyes and trembling limbs were bad enough, but the real problem—the biggest one—was that even in this state, I'd been determined to keep the carriage moving. The horses, however, had collapsed right in the middle of the road, ignoring my will entirely.
So I'd fed them hay and water, pulled the carriage off to the shoulder, and declared a rest.
"Mom..., I forgot about the horses. They've been cooped up for eight days too."
"That's mother-hating talk every time."
"..., What's the difference between mom and mommy?"
"Well..., sprout or dickhead, same difference. Whatever, keep going, you dickhead."
No. Old man, muttering to yourself and spewing curses right in someone's face are totally different things.
That's what I thought, but I switched words and muttered softly.
"..., Hag."
"Yeah, sprout?"
"..."
It was blatantly ridiculous, but the old man's stubbornness and mindset, forged over centuries, were rock-solid.
Anyway.
"This won't do. Once the horses recover, let's find a town or village up ahead and rest properly for a few days before moving on."
Had we pushed too hard leaving Tebris? My whole body ached like it was being torn apart; I couldn't bear the thought of sleeping in this hard carriage.
Horn grunted in agreement from his sprawl, nodding faintly.
"Agreed. Never been this beat in my life. Am I getting old? Feels like death."
"A few hundred years is pretty old."
"Dwarf-hating talk."
Of course, Horn's agreement was never purely calm or positive.
"Fuck, what the hell now? You just hate me, don't you?"
"Spot on. Quick on the uptake for a human."
"Unbelievable, seriously."
True to form, the peak racist was hypersensitive to slurs against himself—a paradoxical trait.
Anyway, wondering why only Horn was responding to my suggestion of a short break before departing, I turned to look beside me.
And immediately understood why.
"..., Out cold again."
"They're kids. Must be exhausted."
"What about Aberly?"
"Madman. Even I don't get him."
The twins and Aberly had both passed out again.
A crackling campfire roared to life after a long while.
We'd crashed out like we'd fainted, too drained to worry about bandits or Imperls. When we woke and looked around, darkness had fallen, so I'd hastily lit the flames.
"..."
The kids, Horn, even Aberly—everyone was so wiped they showed no sign of stirring.
I wanted to sleep more too, but we had to prepare for possible attacks.
"I'm hungry..."
Truth was, my stomach hurt from hunger—that's what woke me. I sluggishly pulled out a pot and set it over the fire.
Careful not to wake the sleepers, I grabbed the boxes of ingredients and plunked them on the ground.
Opening the icebox with anticipation revealed no fresh veggies or meat—just withered jerky and limp, slightly spoiled vegetables.
"Mooom..., hag."
Put simply, Tebris prices were tourist-trap insane. I'd figured we'd stock up cheaper elsewhere.
Never imagined we'd all collapse wailing like this.
Idiot.
So I trimmed the wilted veggies, then dragged my sore, shaky body into the woods.
Thud-thud—I made loud footsteps, tapping trees with my sheathed sword to make noise.
Small critters would flee from the sound, but maybe a wild boar would come sniffing out some punk invading their turf.
So I kept making noise, wandering deeper, plucking fresh wild herbs and edibles from the dark forest floor.
Just one. Come on, just one.
And after a bit, my eyes gleamed like I'd wished it into being.
A boar approached, snorting and huffing.
But.
"No..., I said just one."
The problem? There were way too many.
Enough to suggest I'd blundered into their territory—a whole herd charging me.
I drew my sword.
Shing—the blade caught the moonlight, gleaming.
My arms and legs still shook, the deep scars throbbing with pain.
"But I ain't the one getting beat today, you fucks!"
I kicked the first one hard, bellowing.
It squealed in harmony—queeeek!—echoing through the trees.
Yes. Dinner tonight: delicious boar stew.
Soon, the pot bubbled merrily.
Chunks of dressed boar, heaps of forest herbs and wild greens, all simmering. The aroma was mouthwatering.
"Mmm..., smells so good..."
"Yakiii..., save some for meee..."
The kids stirred first at the sound and scent, stumbling out of the carriage.
Gripping hands tightly, they shuffled over, half-lidded eyes flicking between me and the pot, grins spreading.
"Ain bro's the best..."
"Oppa is the bestest..."
They tottered to my sides, climbing my legs as always and hugging tight.
"You two are getting too old for this, y'know."
"“Yaaawn..., we're still little, it's fine...”"
I hugged them gently while stirring, and the other two emerged.
More precisely.
"Hmph, dunno why this one's still out. Looks dead—wanna dump him in the woods?"
"Not a bad idea."
"Then I'll chuck him over there."
Horn, stretching, grabbed Aberly by the hair and dragged him out.
And he still didn't wake—impressively dedicated.
His dark circles were already bad from late-night experiments; now they sagged to his cheeks after eight days. No wonder.
Still, he'd been a big help this time.
I waved Horn off, yanked Aberly's remaining hair, and pulled him over.
"Enough. Leave him here and sit, old man. Save him a bowl for when he wakes."
"Just kidding. Hmm, but sprout—you must be the most beat, yet you made stew?"
"Tch..., couldn't sleep; stomach hurt too much."
"Woke me up too."
"“Us too, hunger woke us...”"
We shared looks and chuckled.
And then.
"Ugh..., th-this smells amazing.... Like the reagents I-I make, a fantastiiic..."
Aberly muttered, eyes still shut.
I glanced at him and said,
"Old man, this guy's smiling."
"Let him be. Good dream, probably."
Hmm. Then eat plenty in your dreams.