Popcorn's Plea
Popcorn appealed to the Sprout for a solution.
Even though we had decided to prioritize canal construction, we didn't spend the entire day on it. There was a mountain of other work waiting: building houses, clearing stones from the fields, cutting firewood, and checking the traps for small animals.
If we neglected those tasks and focused only on the canal, daily life would become impossible. On Earth, everything was divided by specialization—you only had to do your own part. But in this barren village, one had to be a farmer, a builder, a hunter, and a jack-of-all-trades doctor all at once.
From now on, we would need to set more rabbit traps and diligently collect pelts. I had heard the fur could be used to make clothes. It seemed we already had to start preparing for winter in various ways.
The topic had come up during the village meeting. That was where I learned about the affairs of this world. Village meetings were beneficial to others, but they helped me tremendously as well. There were countless times when something everyone supposedly knew went unmentioned until it surfaced at a meeting.
The villagers said it was fortunate that I had become village chief, but from my perspective, meeting the captain by chance and ending up in this village had been pure luck. I could have easily joined a slave trader's caravan instead. I was truly fortunate.
While the others cut grass, I loaded stones onto the cart and scattered them along the road. This suited me better than cutting grass. Back on Earth, I had never considered physical labor a strength, but since coming here—whether my constitution had changed or it was because I had become a body that gave birth to spirits—I felt stronger. No, it wasn't so much that my strength itself had improved, but rather that the air itself seemed to be helping me. Thanks to that, life had become a little easier. If I had lacked strength on top of being unaccustomed to this lifestyle, it would have been truly difficult.
Once the scattered stones were spread evenly, the road was only just beginning, yet it already looked surprisingly presentable. It resembled a pretty walking path surrounded by grass and trees. The thought that we had made it from beginning to end with our own hands filled me with pride.
"You've all worked hard. Let's finish up for today and continue tomorrow."
At my words, the village men wiped the sweat from their brows and stood up.
"Aigoo, my back."
"Village chief, good work today."
People stretched or cracked their backs while offering a word or two. So they got sore backs too. I had assumed they never felt pain since they didn't even bother straightening their spines.
My expression must have shown on my face, because everyone burst into loud laughter. These people laughed often.
The two boys who had been running errands for the canal work trudged along, hunching their backs in exaggerated fatigue.
"Aigoo, my back."
"My back's so bent it won't straighten."
The adults erupted in laughter again at the children's antics.
"It's true!"
"I think my back's broken. It hurts so much."
When it seemed the adults didn't believe them, the boys whined.
"Well, you two certainly worked hard today."
Smiling, I pushed the empty cart toward them.
"Alright, climb on."
"Yes!"
"This is fun!"
The boys clambered aboard noisily. Every time the wheels rolled, their bodies swayed slightly. Finding it amusing, the boys who had been crouching suddenly stood up, raising their arms and chattering excitedly. One of them even started dancing on the cart.
"You'll fall."
At my warning, they giggled and plopped back down—only to pop up again moments later. This time both boys stretched their arms out to the sides like the scene from Titanic, letting the wind rush over them. A cool breeze happened to blow through, drying our sweat.
When we reached the village, two more children came running.
"Mister, I want a ride too!"
"Can I get on?"
Once I gave permission, two more children squeezed into the already narrow cart, making it cramped and lively.
"Don't push!"
"I'm dying!"
The children screamed and jostled for space, causing the cart to rock.
A village woman who had been watching waved her iron ladle in the air.
"You little rascals! What are you doing to tire out the village chief like that? What if you break the cart?"
Oh no. When I flinched, the men's laughter grew even louder.
"Aaaah! It's the demon hag!"
"Don't call her a demon hag! That's my mom!"
"Then what should we call her?"
"Call her a demon!"
The children shouted as they leapt off the cart. A demon was worse than a demon hag, wasn't it? Though a demon hag was plenty bad too.
Hearing the commotion, the village woman chased after the fleeing children, still brandishing her ladle.
"You brats! Who are you calling a demon hag?!"
The children scattered in every direction like baby grasshoppers. The woman stopped after a short chase, panting.
"Just you wait! You little troublemakers!"
The children vanished in an instant, leaving only the woman shouting like a pig being slaughtered.
"Our village is peaceful today as well," I muttered.
The village men clutched their stomachs and burst out laughing. Wait, I had been serious—why were they laughing?
There was still some time before dinner. Thinking I might clear a few more stones in the meantime, I headed toward the field, only to find Popcorn had returned. He had left earlier, seemingly determined about something.
"Ppi ppi ppi ppi ppi ppi ppi...."
He was pleading with the Sprout about something. What he held so preciously in his arms was probably one of my sweat droplets. He still hadn't thrown it away. The atmosphere, however, felt strangely serious. Their expressions were grave, as though the matter of a lifetime hung in the balance.
Beside Popcorn stood Pudding, of all things. Usually Pudding worked in a different field, but today it seemed to have returned early. Pudding, too, was staring at the Sprout with a solemn face.
"...."
I couldn't hear anything, but perhaps a conversation was passing between Popcorn, Pudding, and the Sprout. The mood was so serious that the thought suddenly occurred to me. Surely the three of them weren't gathered with such grave expressions while completely unable to communicate.
Popcorn's birth had been strange, and he looked rather insignificant, but he was still a spirit. So it was possible he could converse with the Sprout. After all, plants were living beings too.
While I watched quietly, Pudding began to shake its body with a ppuru ppuru sound. It looked exactly like a shaman possessed by a spirit.
"Ppi?"
Popcorn looked at Pudding expectantly. As if answering, Pudding stretched its body long and thin.
'Oh, it looks like it's about to do something.'
I was a little curious what kind of exchange it had with the Sprout. Pudding extended its body like a snail's eye and grabbed the Sprout. In an instant, its main body moved toward where its "hand" was. Pudding's body, now stuck to the Sprout, trembled with a ppuru ppuru before swelling up—and the next moment, it swallowed the Sprout whole.
Something felt off. Was this the result of their conversation? The moment I thought that, Popcorn let out a loud cry.
"Ppi ppi pit!"
It shot upward like lightning and kicked. Pudding, which had covered the Sprout with its body, was pushed off like a sausage casing being peeled and fell to the ground.
"... Kkur... kkur...."
Pudding wriggled as if wronged, but Popcorn mercilessly kicked it again. It seemed my assumption that a conversation had taken place had been a misunderstanding.
Only then did Popcorn notice me. Still clutching my sweat droplet preciously, it stretched both arms toward me.
"... Ppi... ppii...."
"Couldn't find Orange?"
At my words, Popcorn let out a sorrowful cry and flew over. It seemed to be imitating a tragic heroine again. Instead of flying straight, it staggered this way and that, wailing pitifully.
"There, there. You must be sad. Anyone would be when things don't go well."
"Ppi... ppi...."
Popcorn looked up at me with pitiful eyes, as if hoping for some kind of solution. Feeling like I ought to offer some advice, I said offhandedly, "In a book I read once, it said birds have a sense of smell. Why don't you try that? Follow Orange's scent."
"... Ppii?"
Popcorn tilted its head. Then, little by little, its head returned to its original position. It was like watching a flower slowly bloom—though of course, it was still shaped like Popcorn.
"Pit!"
As if it had understood something, Popcorn shot upward. Padak padak—its wings, now slightly visible, fluttered hard.
"Ppi pit!"
Popcorn spun around once more, as though making a fresh resolution, then shot off like an arrow.
"...."
Wait, it was already afternoon. Night would fall in just a few hours. Where did it think it was going at this hour?
'It might not come home tonight.'
Unlike before, I didn't feel particularly worried. If it left late, it would naturally return late.
"... Kkur... kkur...."
On the ground, Pudding lay in the exact same position it had fallen earlier, still crying. It seemed to be trying to catch my attention.
"You rascal, this time you're the one who did wrong."
It was only natural for Popcorn to be angry—Pudding had tried to eat the Sprout it cherished so much. Still, I couldn't just leave the whimpering Pudding alone. When I picked it up, it wrapped its entire body around my hand and continued to cry.
Kkur kkur. It must have been terribly sad that it hadn't been able to eat the Sprout.
The carriage barely stopped except when resting the horses. The soldiers occasionally took turns sitting in the driver's seat, and the horses were left to run on their own while tied to the carriage. An ordinary noble lady would have found it unbearable. Marguerite, however, had lived a life little different from a commoner's, so she could endure it. Still, spending nearly the entire day inside the carriage was exhausting. Unlike noble carriages, this one had no cushions, so her hips quickly grew sore. The interior and roof were packed with water, food, and other supplies for the journey, making it even more uncomfortable.
The bag her brother had given her contained a few raisins, which she occasionally popped into her mouth. They had stopped at a large village once, but since sunset was still far off, they hadn't stayed long. The soldiers had probably sold the dress there.
'They could have gotten a better price selling it in the city.'
Marguerite felt a twinge of regret as she watched the dress disappear from the soldiers' hands. Back at her family home, her mother had occasionally sold dresses or ornaments. On those occasions, to avoid revealing their noble status, they dressed like commoners and traveled together to a large city.
[When selling goods, never sell at the first shop. You must visit at least three or more.]
That was what her mother had told young Marguerite. When entering a shop, her mother behaved as though she were a noble's servant—probably to protect her father's honor. Her mother had also warned her to be wary of shopkeepers who approached with overly kind smiles. At the time, Marguerite hadn't understood what that meant, but there had likely been shopkeepers who demanded her body. Even with soot smeared on her face to hide her beauty, her mother had remained stunning.
Once, Marguerite had asked why her mother always brought her along to the shops. Her mother had stroked the young girl's hair and replied, [I want to send you to a household without money worries, but one never knows what the future holds.]
Just as her mother had said, one never knew what lay ahead. Marguerite let out a small sigh and pushed the shutter open a little wider. In places without cities or villages, it was safe to open the carriage shutters now. Perhaps thanks to the bribe her brother had given, the soldiers' attitudes had softened considerably.
Marguerite stared blankly out the window and blinked. A tiny dot was approaching from the sky.
'Could it be a spirit?'
No, it seemed different. Spirits were white and sparkling, but that was just an ordinary dot. Still, what if it was a spirit? If a spirit had followed her, it wouldn't be good for the soldiers to see it. A report might reach the king.
'Then they would definitely do something to capture the spirit.'
The royal family would do anything to obtain a spirit. Marguerite glanced around. The soldiers were facing forward and hadn't noticed. She opened the window a little wider. As she stared at the dot, her eyes widened.
'Ah... that's....'
A bird. The small bird that had come with the spirit. It was flying toward her at tremendous speed. Had the spirit followed her? Marguerite's heart pounded with joy.