Chapter 43

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Translator: MadScientist

Chapter: 43

Chapter Title: Stepping Stones (2)

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……Elise and I were sitting on different benches in the same park.

Meaning, Elise was perched at the far end of the bench next to mine.

It was a distance that felt pretty far physically, and no one would ever guess we knew each other.

"……No obvious grammatical errors."

I'd familiarized myself with Elise's script on my smartphone. It was decent enough to read aloud.

"You can totally tell you wrote this."

It looked like a competently written piece, but the content was a bit brutal.

There was a man and a woman. The woman was a noble, and the man was her family's servant. The man steals a secret from the family he serves, flees, and causes massive damage to them before getting caught by the noblewoman. She tries to kill him but ultimately spares him, drawing on her superhuman, saintly, merciful patience.

A two-person play dramatizing their dialogue.

Anyone could tell Elise wrote this.

"It's fine."

I set my phone down. Elise scoffed. Dare to judge me? Of course it's good since I wrote it—what kind of evaluation is this?—something along those lines.

"Of course it's good since I wrote it. Don't even think about critiquing me."

Nailed it.

"……But there were a ton of words in the dialogue that needed swapping. For starters, change 'Dunae' here to 'Duare.' You know, the line about killing you?"

Elise furrowed her brow with a same difference look.

"Dunae is the high-class form of 'to kill.' And you don't even know that—"

"I know. But Duare is the plural form of Dunae."

Latynel has high, mid, and low registers, each splitting further into singular, plural, and neutral forms.

Singular for killing one person, plural for two or more, neutral for non-humans.

In that sense, 'Duare' was a high-class plural verb that nobles would use.

"……You're so stupid."

Elise smirked, twisting her lips.

"You gonna kill the same person twice? Though, if I could kill someone twice, I'd want to as well."

She shot me a sideways glare, full of sarcasm. With all the people in the park, she wouldn't even make direct eye contact. Worried about prying eyes, probably.

I fired back calmly.

"Nobles sometimes use the plural for emphasis. Forgot that?"

In emphatic colloquial speech, plurals pop up occasionally. I'm about to explode with rage right now—that's nobles' high-class way of saying it.

Commoners can't touch that verb conjugation.

"There's such a thing……."

Elise rolled her eyes in confusion, then swallowed lightly.

Late realization, apparently.

"Just like what you said: 'I want to kill you twice' for emphasis. You know that, so why act like this?"

Latynel was needlessly complex, but it wasn't hard for me.

Every bit of textbook content and usage from the Notebook bubbled up naturally, assembled, and applied like breathing.

The Latynel textbook worked as my intuition's 'database' too.

"Plenty of other words worth changing. I'll edit and send them over."

"……."

Elise stood up. Without a word, she hurried off into the park.

"What the hell's her deal."

Anyway, I picked out the words needing fixes in the script and sent them to Elise.

Sunday.

I'd been in great shape since morning. No growing pains, no drowsiness. A day not to waste.

I rushed to the lake for dantian deep-breathing training. Practiced the 'Five Initial Forms' swordsmanship homework. Checked the final version of Elise's two-person play from last night.

In the midst of all that hustle.

The mandragora appraisal finished. Darkweb level shot up in an instant.

EXP was precious right now—needed to stockpile as much as possible. Once Darkweb got famous, this stuff would be gold.

'Bark' was a pun distinguishing auction tiers.

Aark, Bark, Cark, Dark—from A to D, with Dark as top-tier.

Aark for under 10,000 ren, Bark 10k-100k, Cark 100k-1M, Dark for outliers beyond.

"……This'll fetch a nice sum."

Bellingham's gift card, Rae's plus 5-6 other [Will Call] payouts, and now mandragora proceeds—enough to start thinking reservations.

I sat on the stone bench by the lake I'd made, dialing a number etched in muscle memory.

Ring…… ring…….

A few rings, then an automated voice.

—Edshila National University Hospital. For appointments, press 1—

Pressed 1. A person picked up.

—Yes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how can I assist with your appointment? Have you been seen here before?

"No……."

I trailed off.

Pre-regression, I'd been treated at Edshila National University Hospital. They'd diagnosed my dantian cancer.

'At best, one year.'

Despair, but I couldn't quit treatment. Lived ten times that. Sure, the last three years—terminal stage—were as good as dead, but without that wolf pup, I'd have squeezed out another month or two.

—Hello?

"……."

Oh right, that wasn't the issue.

During my 7-8 years of outpatient visits, I'd seen a news article about a complete dantian cancer remission.

Unbelievable.

They called it the continent's top hospital.

Luckily or not, the remission wasn't human.

A pig.

Even so, I'd looked up the hospital and doctor, ending up with a hollow laugh.

The chill down my spine back then was still vivid.

Fate's prank? God's mischief? Nah.

No fancy description needed.

Just fucked.

"Sorry, wrong number."

I hung up. Gazed at the sky, deep breath. Then called another hospital.

Tu, tu, tu.

Short rings, then a human voice.

—Libra Medical Center, Aden Edshila Hospital.

Libra Medical Center.

The top-tier luxury hospital run by the family I despised most.

I bit my lip.

"……Professor Yuhains. Any openings?"

—Sorry, Professor Yuhains's outpatient is booked until late next year—

"Suspected dantian cancer. Pretty much confirmed."

—…….

Dead air.

Made sense—dantian cancer killed commoners, knights, mercs, supervisors, challengers, pros, Enders alike. Continent's worst incurable.

I said with a sigh.

"I hear Professor Yuhains takes a real interest in dantian cancer. Mind asking?"

—……Yes. I'll check and call back on this number.

"Alright…… I'll wait."

I set my phone down.

"Plates are here~!"

10 PM. Working the meat shop gig. Weekend crowds, but work was easy as ever.

Scrubbed plates and griddles with Perion detergent in seconds, scrubbed more, dumped food waste out back—

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"……?"

The alley with the food waste bin.

Unexpected visitor today. Train fare skipper's back of the head.

"What're you doing."

"!"

The loiterer whipped around.

Her standout red hair tucked under a beret like some detective's—Soliet Arkne, naturally.

Soliet glanced around, then crunch-crunch-crunch over. She worked her lips at me.

"What? Spit it out."

"……Can we talk a bit?"

"Sure."

I popped the bin lid. Stench wafted; Soliet's nostrils twitched.

"Gotta question."

Stuffy voice from the smell. Her face wrinkles quivered.

"Shoot."

I dumped the packed bag.

"That guy's alive, right—"

"Who's 'that guy'?"

Slam! Lid down. Soliet finally breathed through her nose.

"……Can you be sure Nightmare's alive?"

Sure.

Up close, her dark circles were heavy. Had she agonized sleeplessly?

"Yeah. Sure as hell."

I said it with conviction squared. Soliet whispered shakily.

"Evidence?"

"Got it."

Proof Nightmare lived existed for sure. Future Soliet herself unearthed it through near-maniacal legwork.

"That's……."

Visibly shaken, she steadied her breath.

"For real?"

Thick suspicion in her tone.

Made sense. Everyone probably treated her belief like insanity.

"Yeah. Definitely."

"……."

Soliet ground her molars. Like she'd seized some certainty, she pulled her whole wallet from her inner pocket.

"Then, I want to hire you."

I checked: ten 1,000-ren bills. 10,000 ren.

Chump change for Nightmare hunting.

"That's it?"

"Pardon?"

"Just this?"

"It's…… your salary."

Didn't sound like salary.

"……Hm."

Anyway, 10k ren a month. Big spend even for Soliet.

Sure, her personal account had millions, but using it risked family tails.

"Contract here."

Soliet added a sheet.

"Didn't know your full name, so Sion Askal."

"Right. That's all there is. Not a noble."

"Yes. Read it."

I skimmed.

Article 1.

Contractor shall assist with Client's Nightmare tracking mission.

Article 2.

Contractor and Client shall not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠acknowledge each other in public where eyes may see.

Article 3.

All conversation between Contractor and Client limited to official matters. Mission-related exchanges fine; no prying into pasts or unnecessary talk.

Article 4.

Contractor and Client shall meet weekly on set date for detailed mission exchange.

Article 5.

Client shall pay Contractor 10,000 ren as compensation.

Article 6.

Client and Contractor shall keep all info and materials confidential.

Article 7.

Client and Contractor swear not to betray trust for any reason during term.

I chuckled softly.

Hire but don't cross lines. Article 3 especially: no digging into Nightmare-related tragedies, i.e., his precious losses.

"What? Contract says just 10k ren?"

"Typo. 10k per month. I'll fix."

Soliet said confidently. I narrowed my eyes, flapping the paper.

"20k ren."

"……."

Soliet's mouth gaped slightly.

"And if I find Nightmare."

Pondered incentives.

Stroked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chin, nodded.

"Success fee: 10 million ren."

"You fucking psycho?"

Soliet jolted, cursing blank-faced breathless.

Her habit. Shock hits mouth first.

Flick. Fingered the contract.

"Why? Can't swing it? Sell one sword from your family vault and it's covered. 10 mil bounty on Nightmare's cheap."

"……Hah."

Soliet sighed, rubbing forehead like a migraine.

"You only after money?"

"Obviously."

"……Yes. Even better."

Her face cleared fast, nodding like she'd sought someone just like me.

"Then, proof first."

I held out my hand. Soliet blinked round-eyed.

"What."

"Need cash to fetch proof. Retainer. 10k-ish."

"……Count that as retainer. Salary on proof delivery."

"20k monthly, right?"

"……Yes."

Fuck.

Soliet muttered tiny, but 20k was fair.

I grinned.

"Deal. Contract sealed. Monday after College Board, midnight at the lake behind old building."