Ep.88 Dawn of Departure
The day of departure has dawned. I wake up early at dawn and am washing up amiably with Siron in the bathroom.
"Ahh... Ow, that hurts."
While shampooing my hair, I accidentally touch the bump from getting smacked by Sis Amelia yesterday, and before I know it, "ow" slips out of my mouth. I smack my lips while prodding the lump.
After my meeting with Lady Millia, I follow Siron to the guild.
Unlike the tense street vibe, the guild is buzzing as usual with adventurers and receptionists bickering loudly. Drawing stares from the other adventurers, we climb the stairs to the fourth floor and knock on the door of the guild master's office where Sis is.
—Come in.
Sis's voice, laced with fatigue, drifts from inside. We open the door and step into the office. Sis, scribbling away at her desk, glances our way, locks eyes on me right in the middle, and snaps her head up sharply.
She glares at me for a beat, then beckons to Siron and Giena on either side.
"Step out for a bit."
Giena quietly opens the door, and Siron, after gauging Sis's mood, follows her out. With the office door shut and just Sis and me left, cold sweat starts trickling down my back for some reason.
"...Smith."
"Yes, Sis."
I drop all playfulness and pack my response with pure seriousness. Sis lets out a short sigh.
"I try to cut you some slack, but hearing about crap like this makes me wonder if I should really let you off the hook..."
She taps the desk with her index finger as she says it. I just shut my mouth. Hell, I've got nothing to say.
After a few more taps, she looks back at me.
"You okay?"
"Ah, yes. Doesn't seem like anything's wrong."
"Good. That's a relief."
She gives me a quick, genuinely worried look, sighs again, and bows her head.
"Come here for a sec."
"Ah, yes."
I hurry to her desk. She looks up at me with a pout.
"Closer."
"Like this?"
I lean my arms on the desk and stick my head forward. Just a tad nearer, and our breaths would mingle. One move from either of us, and we could steal a kiss. We stare at each other in that charged distance.
The itchy tension builds, and just as I open my mouth—
"Sis—"
Sparks explode in my vision. My sight whites out, ears ring deafeningly—beeeeep—then scorching pain blooms on my crown, like it's on fire.
"Guhhh—!!"
I clutch my head and crumple to the floor. They say extreme pain sharpens the mind, and damn if it isn't true. My head's clearer than ever. Which just makes it hurt like hell. Tears are welling up.
"Hah... Part of me wants to smack you again."
Her voice, chilling me to the bone, whispers in my ear as I'm too pained to speak. Then my crouched body gets yanked upright—someone's grabbed my nape.
"Feeling wronged?"
"N-no."
Still dizzy, I answer her honestly. She's watching me with a complicated expression.
"...Way too damn nice for your own good."
Insulted, head bashed, then sudden praise. I'm just flustered. She releases my nape awkwardly and kneads my cheek like dough.
"Mmmphblrrgh."
"Big ol' kid like you."
Sometimes she treats me like a damn child. Like now. After manhandling my cheeks forever, she finally lets go, trudges back to her chair, and props her chin on her hand atop the desk.
"Smith."
"Yes."
I rub my crown awkwardly and reply; she glances at it. She stands briefly, reaches for my head, lays her hand gently on mine, and strokes it ever so softly.
"Let all the pain fly away."
"Pfft."
"..."
Her unexpected gesture makes me forget the pain and burst out laughing involuntarily. Her hand on mine twitches. She stands awkwardly for a sec, then returns to her seat and stares at me—her nape flushing pink.
Awkward silence. I debate what to do, then decide to break it.
"Sis, I—Guh?!"
Something flies at my face; I reflexively snatch it.
"...??"
I look down. In my palm: a round medal on a chain, blacker than the night sky.
I look up at Sis questioningly. She glares irritably.
"Wear that from now on. Got it?"
"No problem... but what's it for?"
"Want another smack?"
"Ugh, guess I'll wear it."
One more hit and I might turn into an idiot. Gotta protect my remaining brain cells. I quickly slip the chain around my neck. It flips, revealing an engraving: a pristine white gem, wolf-shaped, screaming luxury.
"...What if it gets stolen?"
"You die or find it yourself."
"Eek?! C-can't I just skip it?!"
It looks stupidly expensive. What kinda punishment is this?
"Idiot. Joke."
"...For real?"
"Yeah, dummy."
Her annoyed look softens into a smirk.
"Even if stolen, it's fine. Just wear it. Got it?"
"...Yes."
She smirks again, grabs her quill, bows her head. Waves her other hand lightly.
"Bring back some good booze."
"...I'm going?"
"Yeah. Said my piece. Take those earwigging bitches outside and scram."
Clunk— The door rattles as her words end. I stare at her scribbling away, bow, and turn.
"Smith."
"Yes?"
I turn back. She's still at her desk.
"...Be careful out there."
"Ah, yes. I'll be careful."
"Good."
She seems like she wants to say more, but I just grin slyly and bow again. She doesn't call me back. I leave the office.
"Let all the pain fly away..."
Still funny thinking about it. Never imagined Sis saying that. As I chuckle to myself, Siron calls from the tub.
"Moron. Why laugh mid-shampoo?"
"Nah, just hit me funny."
"Not hurt anywhere?"
"Ahem. As if. Look!!"
"...Ugh."
To her worried question, I stand tall, flashing my half-hard dick. She sighs and submerges fully.
"Hm."
Embarassed by her reaction, I scratch my head, sit back, finish washing, and think. Not sure, but Siron's been dodging me weirdly since yesterday. She used to cuddle in bed waiting for hugs, but last night she dodged with "too hot" excuses. Morning too—no usual cocksucking breakfast; just staring from afar.
"Pwah~!!"
No time to ponder—Siron erupts from the tub noisily. Her wet body is stunning.
"I'll head out first. Wash up quick."
She flinches at my gaze, plays it cool, and exits the tub.
"...What the hell?"
Did I screw up? Her period? Bemused, I rinse off and leave the bath as she said.
—Moron!! Get dressed and come down!!
Her shout greets me. Escort's here early. I don the fancy clothes Siron gifted—slick back my hair, head downstairs.
At the wide-open door: Giena hefting sacks of stockings for the soldiers; Siron with a pack of spare clothes and snacks. Behind them, a familiar silver-armored knight with visor down on a bayzer.
The knight spots me, turns, and walks. I catch Siron's twitching lips glaring at her, grab both their hands, and follow.
—Grrrrr.
"Oh..."
We arrive where I saw the carriage yesterday. But changes: First, a massive beast chained heavily to it—first time seeing one. Size rivals the carriage, sand-gray scaly skin shining. Bipedal giant: drake, probably. Wheels triple-sized too.
"My, dressed like that, you look like some noble young master."
"Ah, Administrator."
Distracted by drake and carriage, Millia sidles up.
She smiles kindly.
"Packed plenty of necessities—no discomfort on the way."
"Bit late to say, but... really okay just taking all this?"
"Of course. Don't worry—travel easy."
Just her warm nod and smile. Overwhelming gratitude.
"That on the driver's seat is Sir Beneo, your escort guide. Stoic type—don't take silences personally."
"Sure. No problem."
Not even asking—just shut up to avoid bugging her.
"Hop on. Gates cleared for immediate departure."
"Truly, thanks for everything."
"Haha, no worries."
She just smiles and nods. I climb in, stow my luggage in the back compartment where Siron and Giena are organizing. Floor's cushioned—hesitate dirtying it with my boots, but they already did, so I hop up. Door shuts auto—soundproofed. Amazing.
I bow shortly to Millia waving through the window, final thanks.
"Moron. Quit clowning—sit. Can't start till your ass is down."
"Oh, that?"
"Yeah."
Siron nods at driver's seat; Beneo peers through small window. I plop next to Siron. She flinches, scoots away a bit. As I turn—
Vrrr.
Body lurches back—like car or train starting. Scenery shifts outside.
"...I'll open window later—stay put now. Got it?"
"I a kid?"
"If you were, I wouldn't worry."
She tsks, shakes head. Awkward. I sit quietly, staring out. Carriage blasts past stables to streets, zips through open gates out of town. Pre-cleared crowds whip by.
Thud thud thud.
Turn at knock—Beneo pushes driver's window.
"Picking up speed. Hold on tight."
Clear, weighty voice. Hold on to what? Nothing to grab. And speeding already? As doubt hits—
Chain scrape from open window. Then—
"Gyaaaaah!!!"
I tumble off the seat.