Popcorn Is Troublesome
There is a small stream that flows gently not far from this village.
The water comes from the forest, so it is clear and clean—perfect even for drinking.
The villagers, who had worried about whether there would be water or if it would be too far before arriving here, sometimes bow deeply toward the stream.
When I asked why they were bowing to a stream, they told me they were not bowing to the stream itself but offering thanks to the spirits.
It was their way of saying, Thank you for giving us such clear, clean water so close to the village.
I can see spirits, yet there were none around this stream—or so I thought at first. But after carrying water dozens of times a day to the fields and for drinking, even I sometimes feel the urge to look at the stream and say thank you.
It really is fortunate the stream is nearby.
Yet as grateful as we are for that stream, the path to it was completely overgrown with weeds despite being short.
The ground nearby holds plenty of moisture, making it ideal for grass. And it grows so well.
Every time I go, I cut the weeds with a sickle, but the next day they rise back up to waist height.
This was originally a place where no one lived, and even with frequent traffic a proper path refuses to form.
If things continue like this, we might run into animals coming to drink, or unknowingly step on snakes or venomous insects hiding on the ground.
Because of the danger, all the villagers decided to work together starting today to build a proper road.
It would not be finished overnight, but after discussion we determined that road construction was just as important as sowing seeds when thinking about the future.
Ever since we held our first village meeting, we now talk about village affairs simply while eating dinner together every night.
Even before the village hall was built we had such gatherings, but meetings held inside a proper building carry a serious, entirely different atmosphere from the start.
Before we knew it, they had become real meetings.
The priests do not offer many agendas of their own, but they seem to have grown quite accustomed to the process.
They shine their eyes at every meeting like students encountering new knowledge for the first time.
They sometimes watch the children studying; they may soon step forward saying they want to learn to read and write.
The proposal to build a path to the stream passed unanimously—except among the children.
The kids wanted to build a secret base instead of a path.
It seems the children still believe meetings exist to grant their wishes.
In place of a secret base, each child received a light knuckle on the head.
Although we call it a road, the method is simple.
We clear the grass along the path to the stream and lay down stones gathered from the fields in their place.
That way, grass will grow more slowly on the stony sections and a proper path should form a little faster.
There are stones everywhere, so we can dump as many onto the road as we like.
Even from a patch of ground no larger than a palm, an entire cartload of stones emerges.
I was genuinely shocked at how many stones came out of land that looked like it would yield so few.
Farming without the help of modern machinery is truly difficult.
“You should rest, Chief. You’ll wear yourself out like that.”
The man cutting grass beside me spoke with a pitying look.
I cannot keep up with them when it comes to cutting grass, if nothing else.
Still, I thought I had grown fairly used to farm work and weeding, yet it seems I cannot even manage half of what the village men can do.
The pain is secondary; my back feels like it is going to snap.
“Chief, leave this part to us.”
“It’s strange for the chief to be doing this kind of labor. The chief is supposed to stand back, ahem, and supervise. Haha.”
Everyone offered a word or two.
All their faces were bright.
Do these people not suffer from back pain?
It seems I alone possess a glass back.
“Then I’ll rest for just a mome—”
That was as far as I got.
Pipi pipi pipi pipi pipi pipi pipit!
With a loud racket, Popcorn flew straight into my face.
Unlike usual, the impact was forceful enough to count as a body slam.
It does not hurt when a spirit collides with you, but I was still startled.
“Pipi pipi pi!”
Popcorn clung to the bridge of my nose and spread both arms wide.
It seemed terribly confused.
It waved its arms in every direction, trying to say something, but the gestures were frantic.
“The spirit has come out to greet you.”
“Please go inside and rest.”
The villagers laughed, but honestly, this did not feel like a greeting. It felt more like a wife cornering her wayward husband.
“Then I’ll rest here for a little while. My back feels like it’s going to break.”
At my words the villagers burst into loud laughter.
As I crouched in the corner, Popcorn suddenly seemed to launch into a one-man play.
It stood still in one spot, then—as if teleporting—appeared in another direction with a sullen expression, then moved to the opposite side and trembled pitifully.
And it kept stretching both arms toward me, appealing desperately.
All from the bridge of my nose.
“What on earth are you trying to tell me? I have no idea.”
At my words Popcorn pounded its own chest. Was that supposed to mean its heart was breaking?
“Where did you learn such strange behavior?”
I was laughing when two priests approached from the village with the children.
In the priests’ hands were snacks.
There is no word for “afternoon snack” in this world, but if you are eating while working outside of mealtime, then it is a snack.
“We brought meat!”
“It’s rice!”
When the children shouted, Popcorn fluttered into the air.
I thought it had given up on telling me anything and decided to play with the kids instead.
But Popcorn paid the children no attention whatsoever and flew straight above the priests’ heads.
“Pipi!”
It darted from one priest’s head to the other as if teleporting—another one-man play.
I truly cannot tell what it is trying to say.
“Spirit, do you need a priest?”
“The spirit is greedy. Looks like it wants both of them.”
The children tilted their heads.
I do not know what this fellow is trying to convey, but I doubt it is that.
When I laughed, Popcorn’s body drooped limply.
It seemed to fall into despair at my complete inability to understand.
It looked exactly like a cotton ball soaked in water.
“Pii… pi….”
With a pitiful expression it reached out both arms, pleading, but I still did not understand. Not at all.
“Pii….”
It appeared to have given up on trying to communicate anything to me.
Popcorn wobbled unsteadily through the air and this time began collecting my sweat droplets.
It crawled across my skin, and whenever it found sweat it peeled the droplets away with its tiny hands.
This was the first time I learned sweat could be peeled off like a physical substance.
Wait, but why is it collecting the stuff?
“You little rascal, that’s dirty.”
I grabbed Popcorn and wiped the round sweat droplet off its hands with my finger.
Really, why this of all things.
Spirits are strange creatures.
“Pi, pipipi, pipipipi!”
Popcorn’s eyes widened as if it had suffered an unbelievable injustice.
It stared at its now-empty hands, then collapsed into the air like a tragic actress.
I have seen it many times, but Popcorn truly possesses a wealth of talent.
How can it collapse like that, treating empty air as solid ground?
Its wings do not even move during the performance, yet it never falls.
Wait a moment—now that I think about it.
“Popcorn, where did you leave Orange?”
They got along so well, so why had it come alone? Had they fought?
When I asked because it seemed odd, Popcorn jolted in surprise.
Its eyes widened again as it looked frantically in every direction.
It seemed to have only just realized Orange was missing.
“Pipipi!”
Popcorn rushed to peel more sweat from my skin, then struck a pose as if about to fly off.
It looked torn between continuing to collect sweat or prioritizing the search for Orange.
“Find your friend first. No matter where you left that kid, it’s still a baby. It’ll be scared and start crying without you.”
“Pit!”
Popcorn let out a loud cry as if answering me, but we had not actually communicated.
With a speed incomparable to before, it gathered the sweat from my forehead into its hands and shot into the sky.
“That fellow… what on earth does he plan to do with my sweat droplets?”
It cannot be using them for anything strange, right?
I could not think of any good uses for sweat droplets at all.
Since it is a spirit, it probably would not do anything suspicious, but the thought still left me feeling uneasy.
After leaving the banquet hall, Marguerite was immediately dragged before a shabby carriage.
She was told she would be transported to the pioneer village as a priestess right away.
At the very least I thought they would lock me up somewhere for a day.
Marguerite was slightly flustered.
Even when a noblewoman committed a crime and received punishment, she was not treated like a common criminal.
Even if sentenced to death, she would be permitted to receive items from her family home or at least given time to compose herself.
There were even cases where borrowing goods or money from family was allowed.
She held no expectation that the marquis family would show such consideration, but she had assumed there would at least be time to hear news from her family.
Her father or second older brother would surely find some way to send her word.
Yet it seemed they would not even grant her that much time.
As soon as Marguerite entered the carriage, the soldier promptly closed the door.
The soldiers’ haste seemed a little strange.
After thinking for a moment, Marguerite nodded in understanding.
They were probably worried a spirit might come looking for her.
If anyone witnessed such a thing, they would certainly begin to doubt the crimes Marguerite had been charged with.
Therefore they were rushing to send her far from the capital.
Marguerite stared blankly at the ceiling inside the darkened carriage.
Had that small bird returned safely?
Even when she left, the bird had still been circling the ceiling.
Perhaps it did not know the way home.
Or maybe it was panicking because it did not know how to descend from the ceiling.
She felt a little worried about the small bird that had come with the spirit.
Of course, she hardly had the luxury to worry about anything else.
The carriage rattled along for some time before stopping.
It had not taken even an hour.
Time passed without the door opening.
She listened carefully but heard no sound from outside.
She tried pushing the shutter slightly, but it refused to budge.
She had not noticed any mechanism when boarding, but it seemed the shutter had been fixed in place.
What on earth are they doing?
Feeling anxious, Marguerite pulled out her hairpin and gripped it in her hand.
The comb-shaped pin was not sharp enough to serve as a proper weapon.
Still, it was better than having nothing.
After a moment’s thought, Marguerite removed her shoe and held it in her other hand.
Whoever comes in, she would show them the deadly technique she had honed through farm work.
Marguerite bit her lip tightly.
Just then, the faint sound of horse hooves reached her.
Someone was galloping toward the carriage.
The soldiers seemed to have been waiting for this.
Had the king sent a different order?
Could they be moving her elsewhere to make use of the spirit?
Her heart pounded violently.
Strength flowed into the hand gripping the shoe.
The sound of hooves stopped near the carriage, and the faint voices of a soldier conversing with someone slipped through the crack in the door.
She could not make out the words.
But that voice…
…No way…
All strength drained from Marguerite’s body.
Her heart trembled with anticipation.
The carriage door burst open and the soldier’s voice rang out.
“Only for a very short time. You cannot stay long.”
Having been in darkness, her eyes could not adjust to the sudden light.
After blinking several times, the figure of the man standing in the doorway came into focus.
It really was that voice.
“Brother!”
It was her second older brother.
Oh my goodness. Her brother was here.
Marguerite tumbled from the seat as if rolling and knelt at the entrance.