If It Exists
Cough.
Just as the first light of dawn was about to break, a cough wrenched me forcibly awake. Cough, cough. Instinctively I clamped a hand over my mouth, and a hot wetness flooded my palm.
It spilled between my fingers. Plip. Fresh bloodstains bloomed across the old quilt.
Ah. It had been lively for the first time in ages. I’d been enjoying it.
I gave a bitter smile at the damage-per-second that had climbed far beyond what my regeneration could handle.
It was time to leave.
“I’m sorry. I thought I might stay a few more days.”
I hoisted the decoy pack meant to hide my inventory, threw on my cloak, and managed a faint smile. In my other hand I still clutched the blood-soaked handkerchief that had been pressed to my mouth and nose only moments before.
The instant I announced my departure, Sir Walter and the knight candidates came clattering in. Their faces went dark as pitch.
“The time granted me isn’t that long.”
“…If you went to the temple—”
Ah, that would be an instant death sentence. Absolutely not.
I swallowed the words and simply smiled. Sir Walter trailed off, having obligingly misunderstood. The candidates who had overheard every scrap of my circumstances last night wore the same look.
Their expressions—unable to stop me yet reluctant to send me away—were strangely tender.
“Take a lunchbox.”
“Ah, thank you.”
While that exchange happened, Sir Walter’s wife pressed a carefully packed lunch into my hands, worry soft in her eyes. The bag grew warm. A warmth that would not last long, yet would remain in my memory forever.
“Where will you go now?”
“I don’t know how much time I have left… but I thought I might simply wander the world and see what there is to see. I’ve already reached the first place I set out for.”
The performance had to stay perfect until the very end.
I gazed past the window at Chechebator, loading the look with every ounce of lingering attachment I could muster. Thinking of Mother and Father made the moisture come easily.
Ah, please. I want to see you both so badly.
“…Or perhaps Munmunt would be good. It can’t compare to this place, but… it is still a city with a knight academy.”
I might have poured in too much emotion, but what else could I do?
I squeezed my eyes shut so I wouldn’t cry. Liquid already pooled above the lower lids, blurring the world, yet somehow I managed to keep it from spilling over.
The world wavered.
“…If only there had been a little more time.”
I needed to turn my thoughts elsewhere. To shake off the gloom I recalled the single day I had spent under Sir Walter’s roof.
A noisy, warm evening and a night full of snoring. Forced to part without even properly savoring any of it. Ah, damn. That only made me sadder.
“It’s a pity.”
I wrinkled my tingling nose and forced a smile. But when I looked back, Sir Walter and the candidates were in even worse shape than I was.
“Youuu….”
“You….”
“Huuuuh, it’s so saaaad….”
No—I’m the one holding back tears. Why are you people crying? Why are you sniffling and leaking snot?
Bewilderment dried my eyes on the spot—was that a good thing? Probably?—and I raised the handkerchief. Only then did I remember how thoroughly bloodstained it was.
The hand holding it dropped again.
“May the gods’ grace be with you….”
“The gods would never turn their backs on someone like you. There will surely be a miracle.”
“Huuuh. Stay healthy….”
Well, divine grace would actually be a problem. The second any priest slapped a blessing on me it would be –1,000! Critical! and I’d be coughing up blood again.
I twisted my lips, treating their farewell blessings like a private comedy. Even after all the deliberate side-tracking, sincerity still landed, and my eyes burned red once more.
“If I ever….”
Going to Munmunt wouldn’t suddenly open a road home. So if, in the near future, I found myself unable to return, if the loneliness grew too heavy… then….
Jingle-jingle-jingle.
And the bells rang.
“…Everyone, take your armor and draw your swords.”
It was a peal I had never heard before, yet I understood its meaning at once.
My empty hands—no longer holding longsword or zweihander—curled into fists of their own accord.
Before departing Bemyurhen, Deathbringer quietly surveyed the party.
Archmage, Deathbringer himself, that unlucky heretic inquisitor, Meister. And Inquisitor, who was briefly away at the moment.
Somehow the exact two empty spots had been filled by exactly two new people. The internal roster had changed, yet the total headcount remained frozen in place. Whether that was good or bad, he couldn’t tell.
“Can this even function?”
What was certain was that combat power had plummeted even while the numbers held steady. Worry gathered in Deathbringer’s eyes.
“Well… that is something we shall simply have to discover as we go, is it not?”
Archmage answered softly. The ambiguous phrasing—neither affirmation nor denial—only revealed that he, too, found the situation bleak.
“We don’t have anyone left who can kill demons.”
“Hmmmm.”
Until now the journey had largely followed a pattern: Inquisitor protected the people while Demon Knight and Berserk crushed the truly dangerous foes.
No single person could handle everything, so roles had been divided according to each member’s strengths.
But with both Demon Knight and Berserk gone at once, no one remained to take on the heavy hitters. It might be fine for now, yet later they would be howling in regret.
“Isn’t that the Hero’s job?”
“…A softie can’t handle both defense and offense at the same time, you know?”
Of course, if they truly had no one for offense they could force Inquisitor into the role. Her talents simply leaned defensive; it wasn’t as though she was incapable of attacking.
The problem then became the rear line. How long could the backline hold without the Hero’s protection?
“If only a single strong enemy showed up we’d be lucky….”
If another situation like the Bemyurhen disaster hit—enemies pouring in from every direction at once—how were they supposed to respond? Could the rest of them survive long enough for the Hero to pick the enemies off one by one? And what about the civilians who would get caught in the crossfire?
…If they could still win after taking losses, fine. But if they took losses and still failed, then what?
“…I’ll do my best as well.”
“If your best actually fixed things, that’d be great.”
“…….”
Daniel had joined, yet he was an ordinary inquisitor. He couldn’t even drop a lower demon in one hit and had no hope against giant beasts—essentially civilian-level combat ability.
His presence could never fill the two empty seats. As for Meister, a craftsman whose only asset was somewhat higher physical strength and who possessed zero talent for fighting, there was even less to say.
“We just recruit new people. That’s why we’re heading where we’re heading in the first place, isn’t it?”
“That’s true, but… finding someone that strong isn’t exactly easy….”
In the end they needed real powerhouses. At minimum, someone who could cover half of what the Hero could do.
“If people like that were common we would have wiped the demons out ages ago….”
And how common were they, really?
In Deathbringer’s estimation, the softie and Archmage meeting Demon Knight, and later managing to bring Berserk aboard, had been once-in-a-lifetime strokes of luck. Fighters of that caliber were vanishingly rare.
“The temple really needs to get its head out of its ass….”
At that point he launched into another round of cursing the temple’s shortsighted behavior. Did they even grasp how much damage Demon Knight’s continued presence in the party would have prevented? Did they actually want the demons dead or not? That sort of rant.
“Those people were always idiots.”
“Damn it….”
“…I’m still standing right here, you know.”
“So what.”
“…….”
Daniel, who had suddenly become the target of temple-bashing, wore an awkward face. “Is keeping their secrets really the right call?” His private thoughts practically floated above his head.
“…It’s fortunate the Proxy is not present.”
“I’d have insulted her even if she were.”
“…….”
This time both Daniel and Deathbringer ended up wearing the same sour expression. How the hell is that guy a Grandmaster Craftsman? He’s just a thug, isn’t he? Even amid the misery, Daniel and Deathbringer found themselves in perfect agreement for one rare moment.
“Have the preparations been completed?”
In that interval Inquisitor returned, her face as barren as winter ground. Eyes that once shone now looked like rotting autumn leaves; the light had gone out of them completely.
“Yes. Everything is ready.”
“And the others?”
“…I have finished as well.”
He had never imagined the softie of all people would wear eyes like those. Deathbringer’s mouth went dry; he wanted to dump a whole waterskin into it on the spot. Into those eyes, too, if he could.
If he could only wash the despair out of them and bring back the dumb, earnest softie of before, he would gladly stay up all night gathering dawn dew as a gift.
“…Yeah. Me too.”
But he already knew feelings that deep would never wash away so easily.
Deathbringer quietly agreed. Inquisitor glanced at him once, then turned her head again.
“Then we depart.”
Their destination lay to the north.
“You should leave.”
“…Pardon?”
“Three peals means the demons are massing, not that they’re already charging the walls.”
Because they were not yet attacking, escape was still possible. Given the long walls that encircled Maryeok and the terrain that made flanking difficult, that was doubly true.
“In cases like this, merchants who don’t want to get dragged into a fight often gather and attempt to break out. It’s dangerous enough that we normally discourage it… but you have no time left, so there’s no choice.”
A group formed by several merchants together usually managed to get out. Past cases proved as much.
Sir Walter’s expression grew grave.
“So if you mean to go, move now. The moment the demons show signs of advancing, the gates will slam shut completely. Time is short.”
“But….”
Clank.
Even while giving the young man advice, he was already strapping on armor with his wife’s help and buckling on his sword. The other knight candidates had nearly finished their own preparations as well.
The only ones not arming themselves were his wife and this frail youth.
“What are you dawdling for? Did you plan to bury your bones here?”
“No, that isn’t it….”
“Then go. No one knows how long the lockdown will last once it begins.”
If his heart had its way he would drag the boy somewhere safe, wring every secret out of him, and shove him straight into the academy… and if the youth had merely been unable to use mana without also coughing blood, he would have done exactly that.
But he could not hold back a man whose very act of breathing was carving away his remaining lifespan second by second. The fact that even wealth enough to buy magic items had failed to cure the illness—or perhaps the constitution—only made it clearer.
The kindest thing was to let the young man live however he wished. With that thought Walter took up his own helm.
“And realistically, even if you stayed there is nothing you could do. Our main enemies are ghouls and skeletons that claw up through the sand, and you are a swordsman poorly suited to humanoid combat.”
Clack. With the helm settled on his head, every preparation for sortie was complete. Now it was time to race for the walls.
“I’d like to say more, but… time is gone. You’re an adult; you can choose the rest yourself, can’t you?”
“…….”
“Go well. I hope we meet again.”
Walter gave the young man’s shoulder a couple of firm pats, then looked at the fully equipped knight candidates. “We move!” Young men who had endured every brutal training session for days exactly like this one met his gaze with hardened eyes. Eyes that might be extinguished today, or tomorrow, or within a few days at most.
“I’ll be back, dear.”
“Come back safely.”
Still, he hoped as many of them as possible would survive. Every young thing still breathing in this city—including the youth who wanted to throw himself into the fight despite coughing up blood at the slightest strain.
“…If reasonless luck should ever find its way to us,”
And then the wind rose.
“it will surely have been drawn by your kindness, Sir.”
Wheat-colored hair swayed gently, like a field ready for harvest.