Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Homeward Journey and the Staring Contest
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Rumble. Rattle.
In the silence, the carriage wheels rolled on.
"Heh heh heh... Fine weather we're having. Would be perfect if we don't run into any bandits. So, what's your business in Weasel Hollow Village?"
"......"
"......"
"...Hmm, fine weather indeed. Not many folks head to a remote mountain village like that. Last time, I carried some adventurers. You two adventurers as well?"
"......"
"......"
"Heh, heh heh..."
No matter how much the coachman chattered to escape the awkwardness, I kept my eyes locked in a battle of wills with Pingbalrez. We hadn't exchanged a single word, just glaring at each other.
I had to break her spirit. Twisting an established dynamic was incredibly tough. I needed to come out on top, or at least even the score. Only then could I fend off the clutches of that wicked lesbian.
I had to protect my small, precious Magic Tower Master. Seize control of the mood, win the bout, make her not even dream of flirting with the Tower Master.
"......"
"......"
This was a contest where whoever spoke first lost.
Even as my eyes grew dry and sore, I endured. The dryness of my corneas didn't matter. Victory was what counted, and I was inching toward it. I could bear the pain.
Then, Pingbalrez slowly leaned forward.
"...?!"
Her face drew closer. Closer... and she didn't stop!
What was this? What did it mean? At this rate... she'd touch.
Our lips would touch!
A butterfly fluttering nearby flapped its wings dramatically.
...No, it had to be a bluff. Sacrificing the purity of her lips just to win a staring contest made no sense. It was definitely a feint. A bluff, for sure.
Our nose tips touched.
In Pingbalrez's eyes, my reflection trembled like there was an earthquake. This wouldn't do. I had to steel myself. Showing any fluster meant defeat.
To win.
...To win, I had to lean forward too. Assert that whether we kissed or not meant nothing, that I was the real player here. Shout that she was the one backing down.
But... what if we collided?
If we actually crashed, what would happen to me...?
Should I pull back? If I advanced, would Pingbalrez retreat? What if she didn't...? No, no, this hesitation, this agonizing—that was her trap. I couldn't fall for it. I needed courage.
The courage to step forward even if pushed off a cliff!
I advanced too. With resolve, shoving my face forward. Our noses grazed past each other,
and
Rattle!
The carriage jolted hard.
"......"
"......"
A different silence flowed. If the previous one had been the tension between two swordsmen in a footwork duel...
This silence was the pain and regret of two idiots who'd lost something precious in a moronic battle of wills. We spoke at the same time.
"Pingbalrez."
"Crazy Wizard."
"Let's call it even."
"A graze doesn't count."
"......"
"......"
I clutched my lips and curled up in agony. Pingbalrez yanked at her hair and banged her forehead against the carriage wall. We'd gained nothing and lost so much.
All that echoed was the indignant flapping of that butterfly...
Only after time to nurse our emotional wounds could we resume talking. Though unspoken, we'd agreed with glances and hearts to sign a ceasefire treaty.
"Crazy Wizard, heading home?"
"Yeah, Pingbalrez. No memories of my hometown, so I'm off to recover them."
My sudden hometown trip (memories foggy) had three main reasons.
1. As someone born in the Land of Eastern Courtesy, neglecting my parents would be improper.
2. Restoring memories might unlock my metamorphosis potential.
3. It's national custom to list three reasons.
As I ticked off on my fingers, Pingbalrez called me out.
"You didn't need number three."
"It's called style. So why were you dispatched?"
"My boss ordered it. Said they needed someone slightly off-kilter. Seemed like a hassle, and I'm too normal for that, so I refused..."
"And?"
"Fell for her honey trap."
"...?"
"Said she'd let me grope her boobs..."
"Ah."
Made perfect sense. Somehow, our rapport surged with that exchange. Reminded me of close friends from my past life, the kind you could banter about all cultures with.
I had friends now too, but... they were all girls, so no deep guy talk. The Tower Master was all girly, and Scarface Senior's dreams were dark and hardboiled, but definitely a woman.
And to me, the Pingbal in front of me seemed like a guy who'd glitched on gender at birth. I asked cautiously.
"By any chance..."
"Yes."
"What do you think of panties?"
"All of them...?"
My heart raced.
"Care to share your thoughts on the panties you're wearing now and their interpretation?"
"......"
Pingbalrez pondered calmly, then gave her answer.
"White."
"Reason?"
"So they show through black stockings."
Shivers ran down my spine.
In an instant, Pingbalrez and I bonded souls, engaging in a noble, reverent, even academic discussion on panties all the way to our destination. We shared spirits and felt brotherhood.
I could see staying close with Pingbalrez from now on...
"Wouldn't pink lingerie suit the Tower Master?"
"What the hell, man?"
I charged into battle to refute that heresy. I couldn't forgive myself for briefly feeling friendship with a panty illiterate who didn't grasp the value of owning none.
A fierce debate ensued. The crux: was the formless sword true swordsmanship?
When we dismounted, the coachman's expression lingered. He looked torn on whether to report us to the guards.
"So this is my hometown soil..."
I'd hoped stepping on it would trigger a panoramic flood of lost memories. But reality is reality—nothing surfaced.
The village fence was wooden, chest-high on me. No defenses against outsiders.
The scenery was a typical rural hamlet. Scattered houses, folks digging potatoes in fields. Decent size with an adventurers' guild, general store—full fantasy staples.
Rural backwaters lumped all amenities at the village head's place, it seemed.
Where was my house? Still standing? As I scanned, Pingbalrez adjusted her glasses with a wary glance.
"Something's off."
"...Where?"
"Look at their stares."
"Ah, yeah..."
No natural reactions to strangers: wariness, curiosity, etc.
Passersby just glanced and moved on.
If this were a bustling trade hub, fine—but an isolated spot like this, everyone knows everyone. Outsiders stick out.
Plus, we were a hooded mage and a woman in pricey suit. Amid rough peasant garb, we screamed otherworldly.
Hypotheses abounded, but intel agent Pingbalrez would be more accurate. I asked.
"Thoughts?"
"Worst case: black mage trap."
"Bit extreme...?"
"Mild take: outsiders frequent lately. Likely includes mages."
"Meaning...?"
"Goblin nest nearby? Village-wide guild quest. Explains the traffic."
Made sense. Most logical scenario. If this were a story, sans wild twists...
"For protagonists to gather intel: village head's house high odds. Or village hall second."
"Agreed. Accounting for absences, head's place most efficient."
The butterfly circled in agreement.
"My goal's finding my lost registry, but better ask the head than wander asking 'Do you know me?' Village head's house it is."
"Yes."
"Yo! u! pi! d! If we took the money, shouldn't we move?!"
"Our contract's 'village protection,' not 'goblin nest assault.' Read it! Fancy academy brats can't read?"
"Tricking illiterates into signing makes you happy?!"
"Signed and stamped—done deal. We're fulfilling terms. Why can't you get that?"
"Have some shame! Hogging the head's house for days, scarfing food—how's that 'protection'?!"
"Shut your trap—this is why dames..."
Chaos.
Left: girl in bright red hood yelling. Crimson Magic Tower mage by colors and emblem.
Right: five sleazy-looking guys snickering. Low-rent mercenaries by gear.
Positive mindset's key to life. Reframe troubles, feel better.
Checking hometown, stumble on village-merc contract scam? (X)
Come home, plot hook rolls in? (O)
That mindset boosted my confidence and mood. Who am I? Luck magnet, plot hooks everywhere. Dice goddess's fave. TRPG'd with princess and prince.
Pingbalrez eyed my smug crossed arms.
"Want the ruckus quelled? Say the word."
"How?"
"Punch one to the ceiling. Usually shuts 'em up."
"Martial badassery."
"Pardon?"
"Nah, I got a more peaceful way."
What're illusions for? Fire or ice mages? Fireball or icicle—messy, destructive.
Even as threat, floors crack, clocks shatter.
Illusions? Simple, elegant, quiet.
"Sensory Reproduction: Overflow."
⟨ Illusion Magic ⟩
"...?!"
"...!!"
Both sides froze mid-yell, bodies trembling. Then stood and bolted outside in unison.
Pingbalrez watched, intrigued.
"What illusion?"
"Not illusion—imparted a... sensation."
"What kind? Fear? Helplessness?"
"Well..."
Step.
I spread arms, blocking the Crimson Tower mage heading out. She twisted, thighs clenched, fidgeting desperately.
Pingbalrez got it from the sight. Her gaze cooled ten degrees.
"Wh-what?! M-move! Emergency..."
"It's an illusion, Crimson mage."
"No, fu-get outta the way...!!"
"Illusion, I said. That urge is mere phantasm... Let's talk. What's going on? Who're they?"
"Move, da-gah... ugh..."
"......"
Ah.
I recalled the spell's flaw. Thought phantom urge would hold at mere arousal level.
But if bladder's already full...
Hm.
"...I'll wipe traces with illusion—"
"You bastard!!"
Smack!
Stars burst; jaw snapped. Crimson mage packed a punch.
To Pingbalrez eyeing retaliation ('deserved hit, but guard duty'), I signaled hold off. Fair hit.
I quietly reflected...