The Beggar (1)
One year into the possession.
I had started to think I was getting used to this harsh world. Hadn’t I cleaned up yesterday’s mess just fine? My shoulders even rose a little. Wasn’t this the mark of a real man among real men? That old life of being called a pathetic weakling had been left far behind.
But today, Evan realized the true crisis had not even begun.
“……A dagger came flying at me?”
“Yes.”
Lapis nodded. She had only just woken up; her hair was still a mess. Evan was a mess too—not so much his hair as the inside of his head.
No. You’ve got to be kidding me.
An assassination attempt. In truth, he had never faced one since possessing this body. Why would he? There was no reason for anyone to want him dead. Evan was a wastrel, a terminal case who could drop dead at any moment without anyone batting an eye. Leave him alone and he would die on his own. No one needed to spend money to kill him. He had no interest in the succession and lived buried in alchemy—sad reasons for that obsession, sure, but for the moment he was a man of zero value.
And yet someone had come for his life. Could it be because of yesterday?
“I did good, right?”
Lapis looked up at him, eyes begging for praise. ……Well. Praise mattered.
Evan forced the tremor out of his hand and stroked her head.
“……You did well.”
“Hehe.”
Lapis grinned. Evan clenched his face against the urge to cramp and asked,
“Did you happen to see who threw the dagger?”
“Mmm…… not clearly.”
“Even a rough description is fine.”
“He looked a bit older. Super strong, too. But…… I don’t think he actually meant to kill you.”
No intent to kill? Then not an assassin?
So he threw a dagger just to deliver a letter?
The dagger in Lapis’s hand had a letter skewered on its tip. Looking at it that way, it really did seem meant only as a delivery.
“The aim was right beside your head. But his hand must have been shaking—it flew somewhere weird. So I caught it.”
“May I see the letter?”
“Yes!”
Lapis answered brightly, pulled the letter free, unfolded it, and held it out for him to read.
Thank you for saving my disciple. I shall pay you a visit tomorrow.
The handwriting was rigid—so neat it looked stamped rather than written.
This feels familiar.
Someone who wrote exactly like this lived in his memory. The Wandering Assassin King. That man had sent letters in precisely this hand.
……Disciple? Whose? Don’t tell me it’s the guy from yesterday?
The man he had released yesterday was a disciple? That weakling Lapis had caught?
Doesn’t seem like it could be anyone else, though.
The seal stamped at the bottom—a crimson mark that looked like a red hood—was used only by the Assassin King. Genuine, then.
The Wandering Assassin King.
A legend among assassins, still an active Master-class killer, and a future main ally.
……And that man was his disciple? Seriously?
Evan recalled the one he had freed the day before. Aside from a slightly thinning head of hair, there had been nothing special about him.
None of the Assassin King’s disciples had a face like that.
Most of them were famous heavyweights—and not on the good side. Villains, mostly. The sort who cooked up wicked schemes until the player stopped them. Every time, the Assassin King himself stepped in to help the player, saying he would take responsibility for the disciples he had raised.
An important character I just never memorized? A MacGuffin? Or…… someone like Lapis?
Maybe he would grow into a main villain later. His eyes had looked a little shifty!
……Surely he hadn’t held a grudge over yesterday? They had parted on good terms.
……It’ll be fine.
Positive thinking! Get a grip!
Evan slapped both cheeks with his palms.
Smack! Smack!
“Ah.”
It hurt like hell. He rubbed the flaming red skin.
“Are you okay?”
“……Yes.”
……Anyway, better to think of it as a good thing. It wasn’t a death threat—just a thank-you letter.
He won’t kill me.
Someone of the Assassin King’s caliber could be trusted. The Wandering Assassin King had been a decent character, personality-wise—exactly the friendly-grandfather type. His creed was solid too: non-possession. A way of life that refused attachment to material things and found freedom through emptiness and sharing. Amazingly, the Assassin King actually lived it. Hard to believe of an assassin who hunted bounties and brought death, yet he never settled anywhere, wandering with the earth as his floor and the sky as his ceiling.
Right. Not a bad man. There was a reason Evan had marked him as another main ally. Severe wanderlust aside, his flaws were almost zero.
I should get on good terms with him while I’m at it.
Tomorrow, he said?
I’d better prepare potions in advance.
Food didn’t matter. Something to fill the stomach would do. What mattered was a potion to treat the illness.
He said the problem was hand tremors.
Not a terribly severe disease—except for an assassin. Hands that shook meant accuracy dropped. When you needed to kill swiftly, silently, and cleanly, it was a fatal flaw. Plenty of other inconveniences came with it too……
So I’ll just cure that.
Fortunately the preparations were almost finished. He needed only one more ingredient.
“Number Four. Bring me the materials.”
The golem shook its head.
“……You don’t have them? Why not?”
It shrugged its long arms and pointed at the shelf. The bottle was empty.
“……Ah.”
Of course it had to run out now. The potion that cured hand tremors had no special name—he had never bothered memorizing every single potion title—and he had even modified it to remove side effects. The key ingredient was the Light Calming Herb, which grew only in the forest near the Alcarte Duchy. It was known to stop trembling legs; that was all Evan knew of its effects. He had simply amplified them a little.
Ah, if I send someone else it’ll take forever……
The herb was hard to gather. The moment it sensed danger it sprayed paralyzing powder everywhere. How to stop it? You couldn’t. It entered through lungs and skin. You couldn’t hold your breath forever, and cloth barriers were useless. That left golems as the only solution—golems didn’t breathe.
I still can’t send a golem all the way to where the herb grows……
His talent was too lacking to install shared vision yet.
“……Haa. I don’t want to go out, but there’s no choice.”
He would have to go himself. Evan made a firm decision.
Jingle-jingle.
“You’re awake?”
“Yes! Young Master! You called!”
The door opened and Dolf bustled in. Lapis rubbed her cheek against Evan’s hand with a blissful smile, looking every bit a spoiled child. Evan watched her a moment, then spoke.
“Dolf. I intend to go out today.”
“……!”
Dolf’s eyes flew wide. The first outing in nearly two weeks. Evan’s skin had grown so pale from lack of sunlight it was almost translucent.
“Would you help me? And…… keep it as quiet as possible, please.”
“Yes!”
For Dolf it was welcome news. His master’s health had always been a constant worry.
“I’ll prepare at once!”
“I shall escort you, Young Master.”
Feroc bowed respectfully. Evan flinched at the unexpected appearance of such a heavyweight.
Why is he here?
Feroc—commander of the First Knight Order, a knight standing on the threshold of Master rank. The same knight who had once come to question Evan as a suspect. Fortunately that misunderstanding had been cleared up.
……Right. Better him than someone else.
But wasn’t this too many people? Even a rough count put the escort knights at more than ten. Before Evan could ask, Feroc spoke first.
“We have strengthened the escort since Young Master Theodore’s…… incident. I ask for your understanding.”
“……Understood.”
Fine. Safety was good. After rationalizing it to himself, Evan asked casually,
“……How is Theodore?”
“He remains in his chambers.”
“……I see.”
Since that day Theodore had shut himself in his room as though ill. Evan had simply stopped caring. The man would look after himself.
Thankfully he doesn’t seem too interested.
Feroc let out a quiet sigh of relief inside. Theodore had barricaded himself in his room after the runaway incident precisely to avoid meeting Evan. He had begun believing in a god he never used to believe in, trembling every day as he vowed repentance. At the mere mention of Evan Alcarte’s name he would go into convulsions. The duke himself had come to check on him, it was that bad.
—A pathetic creature like that is no son of mine.
Remembering the moment, Feroc shook his head. The pathetic part was not only Theodore’s attitude. The real blow had been Theodore starting to believe in a god. The duke’s atheism was famous within the family; he would spit venom even at vassals who kept the faith.
—Divine power? That’s just corrupted mana. Power in exchange for faith? The human heart changes like a reed—how can anyone offer heart and soul to a god who never even shows his face?
So all his children had been raised as atheists, Theodore most of all because he idolized the duke. When that will snapped in a single day, disappointment was inevitable. In effect, Theodore was already out of the succession.
Did he aim for this?
Feroc glanced sideways at Evan. He did not believe Evan was the culprit. Still, the fact that Evan had become the object of terror…… even if not the perpetrator, he was somehow involved.
What is he going out for this time……
Had something arisen that required him to act in person? Or was he hunting for experimental subjects? All sorts of dark thoughts circled, but Feroc showed none of them. What mattered was the present: escorting Evan carefully and safely.
“Preparations are complete, Young Master.”
“……Yes. Thank you.”
Evan returned the polite greeting and climbed into the carriage. Dolf and the little girl Lapis climbed in after him.
So that’s the new slave he took in—the little one.
White skin and striking red eyes. Oddly pretty for a child. Yet for some reason Feroc felt an inexplicable chill.
……Strange things have been turning up ever since that kid arrived.
Especially the rumors about “chimeras.” Could this little girl be an experimental subject Evan had created to approach the Taboo?
Just then—
Twitch—
As Feroc boarded the carriage after them, his eyes caught the armor Evan wore like a robe. It was writhing.
Armor…… moving?
“……Young Master. Where did you purchase that armor, if I may ask?”
“It is my golem.”
That armor was a golem?
Rustle—
The armor writhed as though alive. When Feroc’s gaze drifted toward Evan’s heart, the armor shifted protectively.
……Utterly absurd.
Golems were the exclusive domain of alchemists, yet research on them lagged far behind potions. First, they made no money. Second, the difficulty was extreme. You could not create a golem by transmutation alone. Energy had to radiate from a core, limbs had to move without error, and the construct had to obey mere commands…… Change the form and the structure and flow changed with it. That was why every golem looked roughly the same—simple blocky shapes that even appeared in academic papers. Beyond that, information was virtually nonexistent. Solo research was the only path.
That one has long arms, that one a thick body, that one…… a dog? But the neck is far too long.
Evan was different. The golems of every shape waiting outside the carriage—all made within a single year. Not one or two, but enough to fill an entire room and more.
They look…… incredibly sturdy.
One golem that resembled a knight stood out. Its bulk was so mountainous even Feroc flinched for a second. Without the aura of a Sword Expert, scratching it would be nearly impossible.
What on earth is he planning to do with golems like those……
Was he intending to recreate “that incident” from the black market? Deep unease coiled in Feroc’s gut when—
“…….”
Evan fixed his gaze on him. The look of a man with something to say. Feroc waited, ready for any order. Had someone made a mistake? Apparently not. After staring a moment longer, Evan simply turned his head.
“……Shall we depart soon?”
“……Yes, Young Master. I will escort you.”
“I would be grateful.”
“Where are we headed?”
“To the Black Forest.”
The Black Forest? What experiment did he intend there…… Feroc nodded while his fingers brushed the hilt of his sword. Could he even stop the Young Master if it came to that?
“…….”
Lapis was watching Feroc with those unreadable blood-red eyes.
A short while later, Evan and Feroc arrived at the edge of the forest.
“We have arrived, Young Master.”
“…….”
“……Young Master?”
Evan had fallen silent, his gaze locked on the window. Puzzled, Feroc looked outside as well.
Snore—
“That man is…… a beggar. Shall I have him removed?”
“……No.”
Evan shook his head. The old man outside the window was a beggar—greasy hair, ragged clothes, snoring under a shady tree. Every inch the beggar. Yet Evan knew better.
Why is that old man here?
That beggar—no, that man—was the Assassin King.
……Surely he hadn’t come to kill me?