Chapter 128
Chapter 128
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 127
Chapter Title: Beggar Gritz (3) - Bizarre Q&A
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"Over there, it's over there! Hurry and tell the shrine maiden!"
"You idiot, keep your voice down...! What if we get caught... Ah, damn it! It's running away!!"
"Quiet, we're just supposed to watch quietly. I'll go get the shrine maiden, so don't get spotted and keep an eye on it."
"W-Wait a sec, it's heading somewhere else?"
"It senses us from afar like a ghost and vanishes!?"
"Is that even human? Isn't it some kind of monster?"
"At this rate, it's do or die!! Just grab it!!"
"Get the rope, the rope!!"
Crash, bang, clatter. Shouts and clamor. Shattering glass.
In various corners of the city, people searching for the oak barrel faced all sorts of mishaps, but not a single one succeeded in their goal.
The barrel's movements were so elusive that even if they somehow tracked it down, it would vanish to somewhere else before they could fetch Grace.
Furious at its infuriating elusiveness, some even tried to capture the barrel themselves, but all they gained were severe muscle aches and utter exhaustion.
And so, those who failed the commission returned to Grace to pour out their woes.
"We really gave it our all. But the thing was just too quick and sharp..."
"We pushed ourselves to catch it and ended up bruised and battered all over. And now I have to head out for work again tomorrow..."
Their stories varied, but the message was the same.
Though the commission had failed, they hoped for at least a small reward in recognition of their efforts.
It could be seen as brazen, but Grace neither got angry nor brushed them off coldly.
To the people of this city, the 'shrine maiden' was a noble figure, but one they preferred to avoid getting tangled with if possible.
Yet these folks had eagerly taken on her commission and run around diligently, which meant they were desperate or short on cash.
Thus, she smiled gently and said,
"I see. Could you tell me more about what happened?"
Already frustrated from repeatedly being outwitted by the barrel's bizarre antics, they were eager to vent to someone, so they answered Grace's question with great enthusiasm.
On the flip side, those who had slacked off during the search and just tried to snag a reward amid the crowd had flimsy stories full of gaps, making it easy to spot them.
She could have rewarded only those who brought useful info if she wanted, but Grace didn't bother distinguishing and gave compensation to everyone.
Not everyone feels shame or guilt when caught lying or called out.
Some even harbor grudges against the truth-tellers and gang up to badmouth them.
No one would dare confront the 'shrine maiden' directly, but it was best not to risk them taking it out on the orphanage or something. Better to avoid building resentment.
Besides, the money slipping away like this came from the Carnelian family's 'upkeep funds,' so there was no need to skimp.
Once the people left, Grace began analyzing their testimonies.
How fast the barrel rolled at top speed, the extent of its aerial jumps, the spots it frequented—info that might have taken her months to gather firsthand if she'd gone out herself.
One day wasn't enough to sort it all, so she spent several more days racking her brains in the mansion.
Finally, a smile bloomed on Grace's face.
Far from the calm, demure smile she showed in public, it was the mischievous grin of a kid plotting fun mischief.
The next holiday.
People who heard Grace was once again throwing money around to hunt the barrel hoped for a repeat spectacle, but disappointingly, she didn't show.
Some thought, 'Let's catch the barrel first and then go to the shrine maiden,' and jumped into the capture op, but with even more people organizing this time, half-hearted efforts like that were doomed to fail.
As most left empty-handed, regretting their wasted time, and sunset approached.
The alley, once buzzing with tension and noise, now silent, echoed with the rumble of the oak barrel rolling through.
Near the rolling barrel.
Under a pile of roadside junk, Grace held her breath quietly.
"......"
Cold. Damp.
Her skin, muscles, bones—everything screamed in agony without hierarchy.
She'd slipped into this spot while the barrel was off securing breakfast, lying flat on the filthy ground without shifting once until sunset. No wonder her body was wrecked.
To be blunt, if it were just ambushing from hiding, she didn't need to go this far.
She could've thrown on some rags and hidden, or laid down a mat.
Moreover, this was already the fourth time the barrel passed right by her—she could've attacked any of those times.
But Grace resisted all those temptations.
Using external items to hide might tip off the barrel's wariness.
To use only on-site stuff with minimal rearrangement, this messy pile was the only way.
Holding back despite multiple chances fit the same logic.
For a higher ambush success rate.
It wouldn't suspect she'd been lying in wait on a path it'd passed multiple times.
Third parties might call it ridiculous overkill, but true foolishness is fun precisely because it's sincere.
And finally. The moment she'd waited for.
Launching her entire body like a missile, Grace pounced on the oak barrel.
"Gotcha...!"
Grace's claim was a bit off.
Her stiff limbs barely cooperated, so it was more like 'latched on' than 'grabbed.'
But she ignored the nitpick. The tactile feedback of her prize gripped in both hands was real enough.
And at last, a response came.
"─What a fool of a wench. So desperate for what? Tsk tsk."
A voice rough as gravel—'thuggish' was the word.
Grace, expecting some inhuman screech from the barrel, blinked in startled surprise.
Undeterred, the barrel pressed on with its biting sarcasm.
"So you grabbed it. Now what? Ever think if I start spinning, your arms'll snap off? Nah, no need to limit it to arms. One jump and I land on you? Splat."
Faced with the grim threat, Grace replied,
"Oh, really?"
"......?"
"Whatever. If that happens, it happens."
A nonchalant tone.
Not devoid of thought or feeling, but laced with a resigned 'that'd be that.'
Grace brushed off the dust and grime from her clothes (no deeper meaning) and bowed her head to the barrel.
"Hello, Mr. Oak Barrel. Got a moment?"
"No whores. Can't afford 'em."
"I'm not a whore."
"In that getup?"
"Ha, sexual harassment on first meet?"
"Bitches expecting gentlemen from street trash are the empty-headed ones."
"Fair point."
Ahem, Grace nodded.
Then asked again.
"So, got time? I have tons of questions for you, Mr. Oak Barrel."
"......"
The barrel fell silent briefly.
At her height, peeking inside was impossible, but somehow Grace felt stared at intently.
No—given the conversation so far, it was definitely watching somehow.
Suddenly, a staff poked out from inside, pointing one way.
"Head straight that way to the bluish rock. Know it?"
"Of course. Local girl."
"Come when its shadow's shortest. Bring a meal, and I'll chat a bit."
Grace nearly asked, 'What about now?' but held back.
Even from a few exchanges, the guy seemed prickly; better to accept the concession than haggle.
Plus, waiting like this was decent time-killer.
Another week later.
Grace packed heaps of bread, vinegar-herb drinks, and such, heading to the rendezvous.
"Mr. Oak Barrel! I'm here!"
She called out brightly to the barrel sprawled atop the bluish rock like a napping dog—as if on a date.
Her face and eyes brimmed with playful teasing, yet so charming it was hard to resist even knowing it.
But the barrel's response was utterly tepid.
"Food?"
"Right here!"
Eying the hefty basket Grace brought—enough for days for an ordinary person—the barrel said,
"Can't count, huh?"
"What outta nowhere?"
"You strike me as the type to say 1+1=10."
"Thought more food means more earnest answers."
"Earnester? Stomach's finite; cram too much, it just bursts."
The barrel sneered, then hooked out a loaf and a drink with its staff tip.
They soared high before dropping inside; the bread whatever, but the drink in its wooden bowl didn't spill a drop—eerie skill.
As if no more, it went quiet. Grace set the rest aside and started chatting.
"Why live inside an oak barrel?"
"It's my house, clothes, ride."
"Can one thing be all that?"
"What's stopping it?"
"Seems uncomfortable."
"So palaces with fancy shoes and horse-riding comfy?"
"Ho."
Grace was mildly impressed.
Coming from someone living extravagantly in the city's grandest mansion, it hit home. Though she didn't ride horses.
"Doesn't all that speedy rolling make you dizzy?"
"Your legs tire from walking?"
"Can I peek inside?"
"You'd nod if I stripped you to check?"
"Why so snide?"
"Dogs see only dogs."
The bizarre, rude banter—what bystanders would deem nonsense—continued awhile.
But all things end.
Last revelation: the freak inside was named Gritz. Then Grace realized she had no more questions.
Disappointing.
She'd been thoroughly enjoying this odd man's company.
As she wracked her brains for new ones, Gritz asked,
"Chat over?"
"......"
Yes, and it'd end.
Maybe their odd rapport too.
Back to stifling days of unwelcome thoughts. For who-knows-how-long. Probably not long.
"No. ──Could you hear my story?"
Gritz shrugged indifferently, as if to say suit yourself.
And Grace's new tale began.