Chapter 107
Chapter 107
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 107
>Chapter Title: Shall I Send You Off Too?
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Can't they see the totems in front of the door? Or are the totems somehow drawing in these drunken mutts instead?
It started with Picker, the captain under Abiott, chief of the First Base Camp.
“Today, huh? I mean, take off that mask already! Let's be honest and have a drink! Right? Huh?”
He's done for, or so you'd think. The guy looked ready to die, yet somehow he'd survived.
And he'd chugged so much rotgut that every breath reeked of booze.
“You're older than me, right? By two years! Whatever, it's the vibe! Big bro! Pour your little bro a drink... Gah!”
Thwack. Thwack thwack.
Three solid hits right to the solar plexus.
Maybe it was because my body wasn't in top shape, or nah— this bastard was just built tough.
“Wh-what the...”
His eyes overflowed with betrayal, like he'd been backstabbed by a trusted comrade.
“Guh, urk!”
Two more punches to the solar plexus.
Thud.
“...Damn it.”
Picker hit the floor with a heavy crash. A curse slipped out on its own.
Looks like one totem wasn't enough.
I dragged his massive bulk over and propped him up next to Plen, then wiped the sweat dripping down my forehead.
‘Sweating this much from just that.’
Age catches up to you, no denying it.
Anyway, I'd just reclaimed some peace with my fists and was stepping back inside when another shadow approached.
“Senior, hic. Is Death Knight resting peacefully...”
“Shall I send you off too? Wanna go check yourself?”
“...I'll pass.”
Obern, who'd come in pleasantly buzzed, slunk away demurely.
He wasn't in his right mind anymore either.
Who the hell gave booze to that greenhorn whose blood hasn't even dried on his scalp? Damn...
Blowing straight from the bottle without a glass— I could guess what his master was like without even looking.
‘Kid's quick on the uptake, at least.’
Of course, I couldn't make Obern the third totem.
Senior Rihaym. Even if he's usually composed, he'd flip out over his disciple.
If I turned Obern into a totem, I might end up as the ornament on Rihaym's staff.
Back inside the room once more.
“Phew, what a mess.”
If I'd just bashed their heads in, I'd feel better, but these were comrades who'd fought alongside me.
Couldn't exactly draw blood.
“Alright, then...”
I settled into a relaxed seated position and began my breathing technique. ...Or tried to.
Bang!
“Uahaha! Did you beat Picker? You're tougher than you look! Try handling my glass too!”
A giant burst into the room, nearly splintering the door.
It was Kallion, chief of the Third Base Camp. And he wasn't alone.
“Ahem. The winner of those two can face me next. I can drink the most, after all.”
Name... unknown.
I'd been introduced once before, but only his position stuck in my mind.
Chief of the Fourth Base Camp.
He'd seemed refined for a mercenary back then... but booze apparently brought out his wild side.
“Here, take it.”
“I'll take mine first?”
“Oho, pretty eager, eh... Ack!”
Crack!
“One shot first.”
Kallion extended his glass as he sat, only to take one to the nose and stagger.
Thwack! Thwack!
“Two shots, three shots.”
The glass tipped over. Kallion tumbled backward with it, but my fists didn't stop.
And finally.
“Four... shots.”
Shudder.
Kallion convulsed, eyes rolled back.
I'd finished off the first intruder. I looked up at his entourage.
“...”
“...”
Trembling eyes. A brief silence. Trembling fingertips and toes on the quivering Kallion.
Swoosh.
Clack!
“My spoils of war.”
“...”
The chief of the Fourth Base Camp hesitated, reaching cautiously for Kallion, then froze at my words.
“...”
“...”
Another thin silence.
“...I'll just take the booze.”
“Do what you want.”
He grabbed the booze bottle instead of his comrade and left the room.
And just like that.
Left of the door: Picker. Right: Plen. Next to Plen: Kallion.
“Hmm.”
Now the chiefs of the First, Second, and Third Camps were lined up together.
For a moment, I regretted letting the Fourth Base Camp chief go...
“Mr. Mage! Juuuust now! It's me, Railly! Your right-hand man Railly!”
A frivolous voice.
Sure enough, he had a bottle tucked under his arm.
“I brought the best booze for my lord... but...”
But his sharp instincts slowed his steps as he approached.
“...May I go now?”
Railly stopped at what he deemed a safe distance and politely asked my permission.
“Of course, no...”
Railly was one step faster.
Whoosh, clack.
“...I'll just sit here.”
He scooted over and sat next to Picker, balancing it out: two on the left, two on the right.
Quick instincts to move before getting hit. And still thinking about symmetry— impressive.
Even I was speechless.
“...Get lost.”
“...For real?”
“...Yeah.”
Pathetic.
Normally, I'd have hammered his solar plexus equally with the other totems...
‘...Not this guy.’
Think about it.
From Railly's perspective—the guy who'd tried to scam one naive mage— coming back to Hamern Great Forest already felt off. But what could he do?
They dragged him all the way to the ancient ruins. Sure, the risk was low, but to him, it must've been thunder from a clear sky.
Then, just when he thought he'd finally escaped the forest...
‘Some crazy bitch nabbed him.’
At the ancient ruins campsite, Railly got hauled in, and his state was...
Shackles on both arms and legs.
Not just called a ‘criminal’— treated like one for real.
And he'd only been freed a few hours ago!
How could I bully him? No one with a heart could.
But.
“...For real?”
“For real.”
“By any chance... have you been drinking?”
This bastard.
Railly testing my patience. My fist trembled as I recalled his pitiful state and mustered every ounce of restraint.
“Hit you with the bottle, it'd hurt.”
“...Yes, sir.”
Only then did Railly believe me and bolt upright.
But why?
“Um, by the way, Mr. Mage.”
“What now.”
“Could I borrow a pen and paper for a sec? Just a moment. Ah, there they are. One sec...”
Instead of leaving, he slipped into my room, grabbed three sheets of parchment, scribbled something quick, and tied them into message cards with string.
Then...
Scribble, scribble, scribble.
Before I could even peek, he hung them on Totems 1, 2, and 3.
“Then... stay safe!”
I watched him sprint off, then glanced curiously at the message.
“...You little shit.”
The message cards around the totems' necks were short and sweet.
Beware of Dogs
Mad Dog Inside
Get Caught, You're Dead
That's why he'd bolted.
* * *
The mercenaries' drinking session dragged on.
No idea how much booze they'd stockpiled, but the party that started at lunch was still going strong near 8 p.m.
Aster sat alone in his room, quietly taking in the view outside the window.
“...Tch.”
Not sitting right.
Over two hours since Railly left. Not a single uninvited guest.
You'd think that's good... but human nature isn't that simple.
The effect was working too well, stirring up some mischievous urges from deep inside.
‘Grab him now?’
Inner conflict.
I couldn't beat Railly today because he's human, but how much of my life had I actually lived like one?
Pretty much none.
Not that I'd been treated like a dog— I'd just lived like one, mostly.
So...
‘One day won't hurt, right?’
One more stain on a life already full of blemishes? No big deal.
But.
“...Forget it, tch.”
Aster smacked his lips and shelved the deep internal debate.
He wanted to unleash all the totems and nail Railly to the wall, but he wasn't in the mood.
The reason was outside the window.
In the mercenaries' drinking party.
“Uahaha! What, huh? Already drunk?”
“Today, urp. We gotta drink more. Urp, already gone?”
No clue what was so fun, but they poured and chugged amid the raucous noise. Listening closely, it wasn't even real conversation.
Just laughing, laughing, laughing. Spouting meaningless drivel while laughing.
Drunk on the joy of victory? Could be.
But Aster saw it clearly.
Groups huddled at tables. Every so often, a chill silence fell over each one.
“...”
“...”
Like they'd rehearsed it, conversations cut off abruptly, then laughter erupted again as if nothing happened.
The silences were eerie.
Just for a split second, mercenaries' gazes converged on one spot. Lingering on the table before flicking away.
There sat a full glass of booze.
Untouched throughout the long party.
A glass without an owner.
No, it had an owner.
They just couldn't come.
The ones sacrificed in battle, who couldn't join this gathering—they were the owners.
“...Last drinking party, huh.”
Aster recalled the mercenaries' chatter before it started.
The last drinking party.
A farewell bash by the survivors for those who'd left.
The final gathering for the living and the dead who'd faded away.
That's why the mercenaries laughed and shouted.
Like clowns, laughing harder than usual. Big gestures to make each other crack up. Even as their lips split wide...
Farewell.
That's what they wanted to say.
Just then, Aster's eyes caught the booze bottle left by one of the uninvited guests.
“...”
The bottle Plen had brought while making a fuss.
Ting.
Flicking it with his finger, it was still plenty full.
Next to it sat two unused glasses. Aster pulled one toward himself.
Pour.
Booze filled the glass. Two glasses total. One for the guy who couldn't make it.
“What... he couldn't drink anyway if he came.”
How's a dead guy gonna drink? Ridiculous.
But did the mercenaries really think their comrades could drink it? Nah... It was just. Yeah. Just a ritual to send someone off.
“Cigarettes... did that guy smoke ‘em?”
No idea.
Shine von Leman. Aster knew next to nothing about him.
What little he had was secondhand, overheard from drunks at a tavern.
“...Booze'll have to do.”
Aster said that and removed the Token of Sobriety.
He avoided drinking with this body as much as possible, but for the last party, one glass couldn't hurt.
No, right before removing the Token of Sobriety.
“Beware of Dogs. Mad Dog Inside. Get Caught, You're Dead... Perfect fit for you.”
“...?”
The door stood open. A stranger lurked there.
Pale skin. Clothes like scraps of night itself. Eyes gleaming blood-red.
“Mind if I come in?”
A woman baring her fangs in a grin.
Aster stared blankly, then slowly nodded.
“Be my guest if you wanna die.”
“...”
“You'll be the fourth totem.”
“...”
“...”
Thin silence. The woman spoke first.
“You little shit... Well, whatever. A dimwit like you wouldn't recognize me anyway. I get it.”
Shine shrugged as she said it. Truth be told, no one could instantly spot her as the Death Knight turned vampire, but her nature was twisted from the start.
“It's me, me.”
“Fourth totem?”
Choppy phrasing, breaking the flow.
“...You rotten piece of—”
Shine swallowed rising irritation and calmly continued her introduction. Or tried to.
“I mean me. Shine von Leman. The one who saved your worthless life... Hng!”
“You motherfucking—”
Killing intent spread through the room like wildfire.
“Couldn't impersonate anyone else, so you pick a parasite?”
Aster's eyes boiled with fury as he kicked off and lunged.