Even If I Shout (1)
A little more than a month had passed when I arrived in Bemyurhen. Yes, I had finally reached this city.
The city where I would, at last, learn a portion of the truth.
“...It's quite heavily fortified.”
“It's a city that has waged war against the mermen longer than any other, after all.”
Perhaps because fighting the enemies of the sea was its primary work, Bemyurhen differed greatly from an ordinary port city.
There were no docked ships—there wasn't even a pier to begin with.
Moreover, the walls facing the sea rose higher and thicker than those on the continental side, and beyond them stretched dikes and breakwaters twisted into multiple branches. The turrets standing at intervals along those dikes only added to the menace.
All of it stood ready against foreign invaders.
“Let's go in.”
Even the city's interior had been built with enemy intrusion in mind.
“...The roads are really dual-layered.”
“Indeed they are. What exactly is that lower path?”
“Berserk hungry. Restaurant. Now.”
I cast a sidelong glance at the roadway below.
Should one call it a canal they had dug, or simply that they had raised the buildings high and laid another entrance and path at second-story height?
Yet no water flowed, so it leaned closer to the latter. Still, it felt oddly narrow and deep for a road.
“Though rare, there are times when the mermen arrive with a tsunami.”
“Ah, so it's preparation against flooding?”
“That as well, and other reasons.”
“I... I've heard that when water fills the city, the mermen ride it to move about and kill people, so it's to prevent that. Is that correct?”
“You know it well. That is correct.”
“Water's flowing even now. Mage, did mermen come through recently?”
“I believe that is from yesterday's rain.”
So that was it. Reflecting that nothing is ever made without reason, I crossed the upper path.
The bridge-like roads were of stone, so collapse was no concern. Considering most cities were dirt tracks, it even carried a faintly grand air.
Bemyurhen's entire city was paved in stone, after all.
“Anyway, restaurant first.”
Hmm. Solid underfoot without the least rustle. Feeling the reassuring firmness unique to stone, I turned in a direction different from the others.
“...Meet me at the Magic Tower right after lunch tomorrow. I'll also give you an estimate then of how long we will stay.”
Archmage's voice fell behind me. It was the rule established after the three cities we had already visited.
Upon entering a city, decide the departure date at once; if that proved impossible the same day, at least set a meeting for the midway point.
At such times personal schedules were never shared. Investigations into traces of demons or the hunting of demons, for instance—unless a meeting was required simply to fix a date, one neither asked nor told.
Outwardly it was a fairly decent arrangement.
“Um, Demon Knight! Please rest well!”
...Except for the Inquisitor, who still stubbornly addressed me even after that declaration.
“...Rest well.”
Deathbringer was not especially different. He grew more downcast with each passing day, yet... he too showed no sign of giving up.
Truly, they were persistent bastards.
“......”
But once I have set my mind to something, I do not abandon it easily either.
I am the man who, for no reason beyond concept, carried a garbage weapon all the way through a soulslike ending. When it comes to stubbornness, I will not lose. Absolutely not.
“Let's go! Hungry!”
“Yep. Let's go.”
I advanced through the city in unbroken silence.
Charging blindly forward in a city I had never visited. A perfect way to get lost, yet it hardly mattered. Wander long enough and a path would eventually appear.
“Do you even know how much this costs when you say that? Huh?!”
Well, right now something other than an exit came into view first.
Hiiing.
I soothed Frederick and checked the fight unfolding on the avenue. Several onlookers had already gathered to watch.
“I said, do you know how much?!”
Well, they say the most entertaining spectacles are a fire and a fight, so I could not claim to misunderstand the feeling... yet I glanced at the restaurant-cum-inn visible just across the way. I wanted to go there more than I wanted to watch the brawl.
But that would be difficult, wouldn't it? Alone I might manage, but with Frederick here as well.
“Even if you kneel and apologize, that price is beyond forgiveness...!”
Hiiing.
“Wait.”
I ended up watching the fight by chance—or rather, unavoidably. The green-looking troublemaker's remarks kept stabbing into my ears.
“Hah.”
Next came a sigh. It seemed to belong to the Slend who stood opposite the troublemaker. Hair mixed of brown and pink swayed lightly.
“What are you sighing for!”
In that instant I doubted my own eyes and looked at the opponent once more.
A beauty whose face was as plain and elegant as an ink-wash painting... was not the important part. Who in the world had given such a person a two-tone combination of brown and pink hair? And a long ponytail on top of that? The thoughts floated hazily through my mind.
Swish.
In the midst of it all he adjusted red-framed glasses, and the arms bared by his sleeveless top were packed solid with tattoos. At this point the sheer pile of features was enough to make one's head spin.
What an outrageous combination.
“Anyway, those poor bastards...”
“Strange.”
Yet if those excessive features somehow seemed familiar from some old memory, was that truly only imagination?
“If you were lucky enough to be born looking human, you ought to speak human language—so why are you spouting beast talk?”
If I had clearly seen that sort of temper that could insult someone to their face without ever using a curse?
“What? Trash? You finished talk—”
Thud.
I watched the one who smashed a fist into the face without the least hesitation and rummaged through my mind. Then, just barely, a single memory surfaced.
“They say awareness is proportional to intelligence... with intelligence that can't even manage this much awareness, you won't even get damages. Annoying.”
...No way. Did the new job that appeared in the second-anniversary patch also exist here?
“Whoa... never disappoints. Truly the Mad Dog of Bemyurhen.”
“You should pick your fights carefully. Where is that idiot even looking with his eyes? Is he an outsider?”
“Probably saw no mage robe or emblem and thought he looked easy.”
“...Doesn't that outfit look particularly easy either? It's obvious at a glance he's a craftsman.”
“If he had eyes to recognize that, he wouldn't have started with the hair color, would he? A Grandmaster Craftsman's name carries more weight than a mage's. There's only one Grandmaster Craftsman with two hair colors.”
“That's true... uh-oh. He's looking this way.”
I was dumbfounded. Having seen only five people in the trailer, I had unconsciously assumed that was the full roster.
But one more was coming? And the new job that had been the epitome of toxicity of toxicities, the one that completely shattered the balance? Never mind the balance—a job class that even clashed slightly with the worldbuilding itself?
Is this for real?
Clink-clink.
While I still reeled, the one who had finally found the opponent's wallet shook its contents thoroughly free.
A few copper coins and a single silver coin dropped into his palm.
“Ha, no money either.”
Dissatisfied with the spoils, he retrieved the luggage he had set aside and stomped hard on the unconscious man. Clear dirt footprints remained on the mantle that looked particularly new.
“As expected, the Mad Dog...”
“Shh. What if he hears you.”
Wow—more than that, the job must have left quite an impression on me. I had played that job only once, yet the memory of that single playthrough was rising fresh and vivid.
Mostly things like: is this character's personality really all right as it stands?
It's a game that sells characters, but even so, is it acceptable to pile this many traits onto one of them?
He isn't even a direct-combat type, so why does every script have him throwing punches, and so on.
Trivial memories, all of them.
“Let's go now; looks like it's over. And someone tell the guards to take that guy away. It'd be pitiful if even his clothes get stripped.”
“If they get stripped, that's the fault of the one who picked a fight with the wrong person.”
But even with those memories, I could not recall much about the game itself.
That was only natural. Past me had ground the existing job classes to death, and this one, though heavy on buffs, packed such raw damage—damage attached to the skill itself with no coefficient additions—that I had quit midway. Everything I did simply made monsters drop dead, so it was no fun.
“Ah, sorry. Hey, move.”
“Why the rush... ack. My apologies.”
Anyway, it no longer mattered. Whether he truly was that job class or not, it was not my place to involve myself.
If he joined, he joined; if it was a fleeting encounter, it would end as one.
With that thought I passed the people blocking my way. That they flinched and cleared a path was... well, not something I could explain from this side either.
As I have said repeatedly, looking like a complete mess cannot be fixed unless I recustomize.
“Wait.”
Ah—more importantly, I was getting hungry. Hopefully that restaurant ahead would prove decent.
“Wait, you.”
But why was that fellow calling me.
I flicked my gaze toward the resonant low voice. Violet eyes the color of violets entered my sight.
“You've got some interesting equipment there.”
“As I said earlier, I am the second Grandmaster Craftsman of Bemyurhen and a mage formally registered with the Magic Tower. Welcome to my workshop. Ah, since I invited you first, there's no need for thanks. When you address me, use ‘Meister’ rather than mage.”
The proposal had been startling, yet in the end it cost me nothing. I had been meaning to learn the nature of this equipment soon anyway.
“Fair warning: don't touch anything in the workshop carelessly. Some of the pieces may burn your hands or shred them outright.”
And the one who had offered the deal, this ‘Meister,’ was—setting aside the controversies of balance and worldbuilding—a thoroughly proven talent. The mere fact that he was the third-tier advancement of the new job Mech-Scholar already said enough.
Moreover, the advancement description for Mech-Scholar had spoken of becoming a craftsman at thirteen and inventing things that shook the world, or something of the sort.
My memory was hazy and only the flavor remained, but at least it was certain he was a genius.
So? I had to accept at once. How many chances would I get to have an item examined by a genius this thoroughly certified?
“Don't go into the back rooms either. There are a lot of dangerous chemicals.”
Even setting the meta-reasons aside, there was ample ground for trust.
After all, he had volunteered proof of his identity before I could even demand it. True, he had turned his clothes inside out in search of something, sighed, “Left the emblem again,” and then asked with an irritated face (directed at himself) whether showing the proof that he was a Meister later in the workshop would be acceptable.
Still, to my eyes it did not look like an act. The workshop's location, nestled among all manner of forges and magic-tool shops, also carried a certain reliability.
Decisively, he had attached the condition that I need only show him the gloves, not the entire set of equipment. He had not pried into how I had obtained them or why I did not know their properties.
And in exchange for examining the equipment free of charge, he would share whatever information he uncovered free of charge as well. At that point, refusing would have been the more foolish choice. Even if the worst happened and I lost them, gloves alone were a loss I could endure.
“That's all the warnings. Remember: any damage you take from breaking the rules is entirely your own, and I will not compensate you.”
Thus I had come here. To Meister's workshop, a place thick with the stink of oil and the scent of metal.
“If you've got those cautions fixed in your head, wait a moment; I need to prepare. Ah, and don't touch the papers on the workbench either—unless you're curious how a workshop owner torments people.”
Hmm. I had no intention of touching anything carelessly, so the warnings were none of my concern; and judging by the smell, I was glad I had eaten beforehand.
I congratulated my judgment of several dozen minutes earlier for rejecting part of Meister's suggestion—You haven't had lunch? The examination will take time, so why not eat here? Ah, and the horse will need stabling, so I suppose there's no choice.—
Meister had stared so obsessively at the food that I had ordered a portion for him as well out of a vague sense that he might not have eaten either, which cost a little extra... but spending a bit more was preferable to eating in a place that reeked of oil.
Along the way I had also confirmed that Meister truly went his own way to a brazen degree, and gained a small chance for reminiscence.
Rustle.
But why was he suddenly taking off his clothes?
“What are you...”
I was startled by the one who stripped off his upper garment without warning, then regained my composure only after seeing the flat chest.
“What, did you think I was a woman?”
...It was not entirely wrong, so I could not deny it.
Yet my mistake had nothing to do with his appearance. In the original he had been a female character, so I had simply assumed without thinking that this one would be female as well.
Every major figure I had met so far had never once diverged from the setting, after all.
“Since you agreed to show the equipment, I'll let it slide this once.”
No, what I mean is...
I grumbled inwardly, then realized that the more I tried to explain, the uglier it would look. It was galling.
“You strip too.”
In the meantime Meister, now changed into what I assumed were work clothes, held out a hand with a perfectly calm face.
Nothing special, yet somehow a sigh escaped me.
“I assume tearing it is off-limits?”
“Doesn't matter.”
I handed him the half-palm glove from my left hand and leaned against the workshop wall. That Meister's eyes lit up at my permission was merely a side note.
“Then I won't hold back.”
Meister snipped the glove open with scissors without the least hesitation. Snip-snip. The cut scraps of cloth dropped into some unknown liquid.
“The glasses I'm wearing have a magic that lets me see the essence of non-living things. A magic my grandfather placed on them.”
He produced still more scraps and dunked pieces of cloth into various other chemicals. Completely ignorant of such matters, I had no idea what any of it was for.
“It consumes a great deal of mana, so it doesn't react to common items. Only things never discovered before, things registered as rare, or when I actively will it does the magic activate.”
At least he was explaining; that was fortunate.
I watched everything he did while listening to his words. He was now using tools to burn the cloth, freeze it, and so on.
“Among those, your equipment falls into the first category—even though on the surface it looks like nothing more than cloth or leather clothing. Did you know that?”
“...Halfway.”
“Meaning you don't know it properly. Well, that's why you accepted my request, I suppose.”
Then, abruptly, the glove began to regenerate. The scraps he had cut earlier had vanished when one looked for them.
I had known it would restore itself if destroyed, but that the severed fragments disappeared was something I learned only now.
“...So that's why you said it was fine to tear. Interesting.”
Meister too seemed thoroughly intrigued. He turned the restored glove this way and that, then shifted his gaze to me.
“Those as well?”
“...If you mean the restoration ability, yes.”
“Amazing.”
He removed the gloves he himself wore and adjusted his glasses.
“And astonishing at the same time. This is not an item with magic cast on it... so how does it repair itself automatically?”
Now it was my turn to be surprised.
Archmage had never said anything of the sort. He would have said a high-ranking restoration magic was inscribed, nothing more.
“...The Great Sage never put it that way.”
“Unless you heard it from the Great Sage of Bemyurhen, forget it. No Great Sage, no matter who, can surpass mages who see essence when it comes to item analysis.”
Ah... so it was a difference of specialized knowledge, then. Like how even scientists divide into biology, physics, electrical engineering and the like, and answer poorly outside their own field.
“So what essence did you see?”
“...Well, these glasses aren't omnipotent. If it isn't a type I've analyzed before, they give no answer.”
“I did not ask about your glasses.”
Anyway, if these people were the specialists, then their word was the one to trust.
I focused on Meister's voice so as not to miss a thing. That was when he bit his lip lightly.
“...I don't know how to use magic.”
Huh? The sound escaped me on its own.