Because It's Not a Story (1)
We returned to Hudelen. For someone from the modern world, this place hardly counted as civilized either—but at least we had left behind the kind of barbarism where guilt-by-association still thrived.
“Prepare the water.”
“Yes.”
Whatever else, once you made it back to town the first order of business was always this.
“Are all knights like that? You’re going to sweat it out again anyway, yet you wipe yourselves down so often. Berserk decided it was too much trouble and just doesn’t.”
“…Doesn’t it become a problem if you smell too badly?”
“Ah, a young hunter would have to wash often. But the things Berserk hunts don’t have noses good enough to catch a scent and run. It’s fine.”
No, please wash. We’re traveling together—I’m the one who’s uncomfortable.
I silently thumped my forehead as I watched Berserk plant herself in the dining hall, still caked in dust, sweat, and every other kind of filth.
The Inquisitor, being temple-raised, kept her body pure; the Archmage washed fairly often as well. Maybe because he specialized in ambushes, Dev also bathed regularly to scrub off the scent.
But Berserk. Berserk…
“Prepare water for that one too.”
“Huh?”
“Your filth is more than enough of a vulgar language.”
I hadn’t seen her wash once since she joined us!
I finally snapped and ordered a bath for Berserk as well. The water wasn’t cheap, but this was the temple. They wouldn’t bill me.
So why hesitate? Just as Dev had been forced into brushing his teeth whenever I did, I would make sure Berserk washed every time we hit a town.
“It’s only going to get dirty again anyway…”
“You’re only going to get hungry again—should I hope you never eat either?”
Wash. Wash, I said. If you’re a person, wash!
“Berserk doesn’t want to. You won’t even spar with me…”
“So you thought I would cross blades with you while enduring that reek?”
Not until you wash. Go.
“…Then once I’ve washed, you’ll accept?”
Thankfully, Berserk had at least that much sense.
I simply closed my eyes for a moment without answering.
“Berserk will wash!”
“The water probably isn’t ready yet.”
“Oh, you mean to wash? Then why not share a bathroom with me? I was about to wash myself and already requested a bath…”
“Good!”
“You’re broad-minded, pretty boy. If it were me, I couldn’t wash with a muscle-brain like that.”
“What need is there for a strong stomach?”
I’d been worried she wouldn’t even know how to wash properly—though as a man I had no intention of stepping in myself—but luckily Kimchi Mandu volunteered.
“Then I shall join you as well, Inquisitor. Akata needs a wash too, as it happens.”
…? Why my name…?
“Ah. It’s nothing much. Just saying we should wash. Will you join us?”
And with the Archmage piled on top of that, there was no chance of her coming out still filthy. I completely relaxed.
“The water is ready—yes?”
“Going!”
“Ah, please send the water prepared for that lady to my bathroom, Sister. And Berserk, that’s not it! The other way!”
“I see!”
The timing was perfect; water had just been prepared in that bathroom as well.
I waited for my own bath while dodging the mental image of a golden retriever and her flustered owner thundering down the hall.
“Sir Knight, everything is ready.”
It didn’t take long.
After luxuriating alone in a tub filled with steaming water, I trimmed the hair that had been steadily growing while my body warmed, then scrubbed my clothes as well. I knew they had a self-cleaning function, but it still felt unclean.
After that I scraped off every last bit of grime so no one could accuse me of smelling. The trauma Kankan had left behind ran that deep.
Well, at least it kept pointless thoughts from creeping in.
I wrapped my warmed body in clothes and buried my face in a soft towel. Soft things against the skin always put me in a good mood for no reason.
“Good thing I didn’t set a beard.”
That random thought floated up while I nuzzled the towel.
My hair already grew fast enough that I had to trim it constantly; if I’d had a beard on top of that it would have been a living hell of maintenance.
I didn’t even need to look far—my real life was proof enough. I recalled the days when I shaved once a day without fail.
My beard grew so quickly that a single day left my jaw prickly, so every morning meant a shave. It had been deathly annoying.
“I wish Dev would take my beard.”
Thinking of beards naturally brought Dev to mind. Some people’s jaws looked like that after one day, yet his carefully cultivated attempt still looked like… that.
Of course he was thoroughly annoyed about it. Why won’t it grow? What kind of constitution is this?
I figured he was just still young, but either way it was a first-world complaint. If he knew how much work a real beard took, he wouldn’t say that.
Anyway, the character I was using now had a body that simply didn’t grow a beard—or never had one—so I was grateful.
I stroked my baby-smooth jaw and headed for the dining hall. We always gathered there; half the time the feet moved on their own.
“Hello there! I thought you’d come out quick, but you took longer than I expected!”
And when I finally reached the dining hall, there was White Wind—who had split off at the village gate and gone to the Magic Tower—waving at me in clean clothes.
“What.”
Do we still have unfinished business? We agreed she’d only talk once the mana-snake results were in.
Don’t tell me it’s already done?
“I’m here about the reward! These things have to be settled quickly so no hard feelings pile up, right?”
Ah. The reward.
I had completely forgotten.
“So, on top of what we originally promised, plus a little extra as…”
I stood in the doorway and listened to White Wind’s rapid-fire voice.
From farther off came the soft chatter of the Inquisitor, the Archmage, Berserk, and Akata. Bath time was over; they were heading for the dining hall.
We had never agreed to meet, so their steps were unconscious too.
“I’ll take something else.”
“Hm?”
Even those unconscious steps gave me a strange feeling. There had been a time when role-play came before party or anything else; when had I been domesticated this thoroughly?
“First—the Chest Protector. I want a new one.”
“Not hard… Did it break? If it’s broken I can fix it any time.”
“It’s gone.”
“…Gone? You always wore it over your heart, didn’t you?”
Anyway, I couldn’t keep standing here. I picked a chair at random and sat.
A little performance of mild irritation at having to admit a weakness was free of charge.
“…It vanished when I was wounded.”
I hated saying it with every fiber of my being, but whoever took it might get caught up in something, so I had to speak.
I twisted my face and spat the words out like bitter medicine. White Wind’s expression turned odd.
“That’s… a little strange. Maybe the one treating you took it. Well, if it’s gone there’s nothing for it. Okay! I’ll make a new one! You lost it in the Great Forest, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll throw in a tracking job while I’m at it. I don’t want innocent victims from my inventions.”
Oh. That was good news.
I gratefully accepted White Wind’s freebie and stated my second condition. In practice this was the last one.
“Second—that child. I will take that child’s future as the price.”
White Wind’s eyes took on a curious light.
“…You don’t really need to worry about that, do you? That child only ever caused you trouble; she never did anything for you.”
“I have no more need to tell you my reasons than you have.”
“…True enough. Fine. So the Magic Tower looks after her until she reaches adulthood and can live her own life—will that settle the debt?”
“…Add one more. Make sure the child never knows.”
“Haha. Afraid she’ll feel bad? That’s surprisingly thoughtful.”
White Wind scribbled rapidly across a fresh sheet of paper.
A suitable, well-equipped shelter. Weekly checks while she lives there to confirm nothing is wrong. Weekly allowance. Additional support money when she becomes independent. All of it to be done without the child’s knowledge.
“Will this do?”
“…Confirmed.”
It was slapdash, but enough. Obsessing over every variable that might crop up while the contract was fulfilled went against my concept, and my real self wasn’t exactly a genius either.
Besides, the voices outside were getting far too close. Time to finish the deal.
So I trusted White Wind’s conscience and signed. I had at least checked that there were no poison clauses, so nothing major should go wrong.
Even if the Magic Tower never followed through, I was the only one who lost; the kid wouldn’t be threatened.
“Sometimes I wonder about your kindness. No one will ever know—why go out of your way?”
Then White Wind asked me. The voices in the hallway were practically at the door.
“Is it because of that trauma of yours that I never ask about?”
And just as the voices nearly reached the door, I closed my eyelids.
Speaking now would let them overhear… but that was fine. I had already told the Archmage something about blood kin I killed with my own hands; might as well lay a little more groundwork on that front.
“The dead have no need of gold.”
I deliberately made the words ambiguous.
It wasn’t even a lie. In the setting my family was already dead, so there was no reason to hoard money for their sake.
The concept itself didn’t plan for the future either, so saving was pointless.
And me? Honestly, unless it was for show, I didn’t need money either.
In a single-player game that wasn’t online, when would you ever need cash? Maybe when swapping gear or restocking consumables, and that much money practically earned itself.
I leaned back in the chair, thinking of my still-comfortable wallet, and stayed nonchalant.
“Haha. True enough.”
While I relaxed into the seat, White Wind rose completely. Click. She strode over and opened the dining-hall door; outside stood the others looking blankly at us.
“Everyone, enjoy your lunch!”
Ah, right—it was lunchtime. We had entered Hudelen just before the sun reached its peak, after all.
Add travel time to the temple and the showers, and a slightly late lunch made sense.
“…You arrived first.”
The slightly damp Archmage cleared his throat and opened the conversation. Berserk immediately bellowed that she was starving and stormed in with the rest.
“Have you already eaten?”
That was what the Inquisitor said, eyes rolling about.
I gave her a look that said “Do you think I have?” and closed my eyes again. Akata dithered over where to sit before finally choosing the seat two places down from mine.
Her lips kept parting and closing as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite manage it—the same look she had worn the entire way here.
“Demon Knight! You promised! After we eat—a spar!”
Meanwhile Berserk, hair still half-wet, charged over and slammed the table.
The Archmage and Inquisitor seemed to be shrieking beside her, but she paid them not the slightest attention—very like her.
“Still as vulgar as ever.”
Yet watching her, I realized I was growing oddly fond of that too.
Lately I’d been having too many useless thoughts, and the mess we’d just been through had been lightly tangled with politics—filthy business. Looking at simple, hearty Berserk somehow put my heart at ease. A little of that “looking back, she was an angel all along” feeling.
Well, compared to the bastards who took children as hostages and made threats, anyone would look like an angel.
“What, is that a refusal?!”
I barely held back a laugh as Berserk collapsed over the table, accusing me of lying.
“The Demon Knight is a liar.”
“Berserk, strictly speaking the Demon Knight never promised to spar after—”
“I can no longer endure the whining either.”
I opened my mouth to hide the smile. As if sensing something in my words, Berserk lifted her head, golden eyes gleaming.
“I’ll straighten you out.”
“…Yes! That’s how it should be!”
Fine. Let’s go one round.
We were resting anyway, and there wasn’t much else to do. Better to spar until my body ached than hole up in a corner and drown in useless thoughts.
“Uwahaha!”
When I finally accepted the spar, Berserk burst into pure, booming laughter. It was a simple, sunny smile—dangerously contagious.
“…Do you even know how recently your heart was pierced?”
Of course the Archmage watching from the side clapped a hand to his forehead as if he had aged a decade.
True, even with magical healing, proposing a spar only days after nearly dying did sound a bit insane. No—it was insane.
“…! You’re not canceling, are you?!”
“Do you think I would yield to such a thing? Do not insult me.”
But I would be the one doing that insane thing.
I shamelessly took on the role of “the classic protagonist who never looks after his body while his companions clutch the backs of their necks.”
Shout all you want—my concept isn’t listening!
“Yes! That’s how it should be!”
Berserk and I fell into perfect rhythm. I could almost hear the Archmage’s rising blood pressure as background music—thump-thump-thump.
Heh. This is fun. Berserk might actually be a surprisingly good match as a companion.
“…Then do you also know you have a body examination tomorrow?”
But that attack I hadn’t expected.
Hmm. Does it really matter, though?
I never felt any aftereffects from the poison in the first place, and the heart wound was trauma, not disease. Once it healed without even a scar, wasn’t that a full recovery?
Plus I’d been fine while wrecking things back in the Bigal tribe, and fine the whole way here—nothing seemed wrong with my body.
And if the real worry was the hypothesis that drawing mana every time I got hurt shattered the sealing wards, then this spar was almost mandatory.
There was no way I wouldn’t get hurt fighting Berserk, and getting hurt would give me data to test the theory.
“So.”
The Archmage could hardly fail to guess what I was thinking. He sighed under my chilly gaze.
“Then at least postpone it until tomorrow.”
Only a single mixed phrase, yet he seemed to have given up on stopping us. Berserk shot back an OK that was half disappointment, half delight.
“If it’s a day later, we do it properly! Using mana and everything!”
“No, that’s—”
“You hasten your own defeat.”
Oh, allowing mana use was fine by me. I’d been a little worried my physical ability would fall short if we fought bare-handed.
While the Archmage clutched his face as if he wanted to cry, Berserk and I—well, I only on the inside—laughed and set the terms for tomorrow’s spar.
They called it a spar, but aside from not killing each other it would be no different from a real fight.
“A-are you all right?”
“Even so, that is a bit…”
“What, am I the last one here?”
Just then Dev walked into the dining hall. He seemed to have washed his clothes too; he was in light gear. His hair was still half-wet and stuck up in places.
“…Uh, is there a problem?”
That cut the conversation short for a moment.
The air that had been heating up—me and Berserk leaking fighting spirit without a care for the room, the Archmage trying his hardest to stop us, Kimchi Mandu and Akata trapped in the middle and fidgeting—settled back into calm.
An atmosphere that defied further comment was the free bonus.
“…You’re not late, so sit. The meal will take a little longer; have some tea in the meantime.”
Haha. Archmage’s declaration of defeat.
I watched her change the subject and accepted the tea she had been carefully nursing for a while now.
“…!”
It was the same tea I had enjoyed so much in the Great Forest.
“The fragrance is excellent.”
“Sniff sniff. What’s this?”
“Tea.”
“Eugh. Berserk likes liquor better than tea.”
“Ah, hot-hot-hot.”
“…I ordered liquor as well, so don’t worry. And you should let yours cool a little more before drinking.”
So she had boiled the leaves we intercepted back then.
At the time it had been a tiny bit annoying, but if she was sharing it like this the story changed.
“There’s more, so drink as much as you like.”
Hehe. Delicious.