Picked Up #2
The undead come in many kinds.
There are the lowest-grade ones you can find on almost any map—the shambling, shameless zombies. Then there are the burly mid-grade undead, and beyond them the ones twisted into grotesque new shapes. A lot of the designs still wore the fingerprints of whatever other games they had been lifted from.
“Hah… hah…!”
It must have been around the time we were facing one of the Three Knights of the Withered Tree. The Saintess’s healing had cut out, and the curse had started stacking in earnest. I was the walking inventory, so whenever a potion was needed I dug one out and handed it over. When we needed time, I tossed them the little bombs that locked enemies into a rigid state—stuns, in other words. My body was weak as wet paper, but I could still call the dodge windows and the damage windows. Luckily Megus and the rest of the party listened to my warnings. Even then I was already dull from the curse eating through me, and they mistook that sluggishness for laziness…
Up until not long before, things had still been bearable.
“If you’re just the pack mule in the back, then quietly carry the packs. Stop whining and slacking off!”
After we brought the knight down and took a rest, Riel the magic swordsman finally spat out every scrap of resentment she had been storing up. I could only let myself be swept along by that rough current, too drained to fight it.
“I’m sor— cough! I’m… sorry.”
“Hah!”
Riel let out a sharp sigh, face twisted with irritation, and immediately turned her back. The contempt in her eyes stuck to me like tar and refused to peel away; she clearly still believed I was faking it.
“Can’t we just swap the pack mule already? All he does is whine—it’s infuriating!”
The voices drifted over. Voices from within the party, cutting me down. It stung, but because I understood them it hurt even more.
“Who else is going to carry loads on a road this dangerous? We just have to put up with him until the end.”
“This is why people say you have to get the first button right. Does he think he’s the only one suffering?”
“Still… he has helped a lot.”
One half-hearted defense, ten answers of blame. They say a single word of malice lands heavier than a hundred of praise. I was getting ten. It was unfair. Unfair enough that I wanted to scream myself raw and die on the spot. It’s the curse. I wasn’t slacking the way you all think. If I could just pour every word rotting inside me and then drop dead, maybe my chest would finally feel clean. But the anger born from that injustice knelt before a greater injustice still: the injustice of wanting to live, and the thin, desperate hope that we were almost done.
“Good heavens…! How vicious a curse must it have been…?”
This made the fifth time. Iris could not hide her shock as she stared once more at the medicinal bath, now black as ink. The bath was superb at purging curses; a single soak was usually enough to clear any ordinary one. Yet they had changed the water five times already and still saw no sign of improvement.
“Is this… actually working?”
Freesia peered at the black water with wide eyes, making no attempt to hide her surprise. Her voice climbed high with it.
“Even I have never seen a case like this. Seasoned warriors who took heavy curses never turned out this bad…”
“Right? Did this kid maybe get himself skewered by the King of the Dark Withered Tree or something?”
“You—! The way you talk is far too vulgar!”
Iris lightly scolded her daughter for the sudden coarseness. She understood Freesia was trying to lighten the heavy air, but the method was simply too crude. Freesia only snorted, unbothered.
“I’m already filtering myself, so stop fretting. Anyway, we’ll have to change it again, right?”
“Ahem.” Iris cleared her throat, settled her nerves, and answered, “We will.”
She flicked her hand. The maids waiting behind her moved at once. One pulled the plug at the back of the bath and drained it; others conjured fresh water with magic and filled the tub. At the same time a hand wreathed in small flames slipped into the water to heat it, and measured handfuls of herbs spilled from a thick brown sack. In the blink of an eye the sixth medicinal bath was ready.
Six. Seven. Eight. And finally nine.
At last the water no longer stained black; it held only a clear, clean light. Iris turned her gaze to the maids.
“You have all worked hard.”
“It was nothing, Great Chief.”
The maids bowed, pretending composure even though sweat beaded every forehead. Magic had helped, but making the bath nine times had still been grueling work.
“Go rest properly. If anyone complains, tell them it is by my order.”
“…We are grateful for your consideration.”
They bowed deeply and withdrew. Only the mother and daughter remained before the faintly steaming bath.
“I suppose… we will have to ask him the whole story.”
“Of course we will. We used nine whole baths.”
Being forced to pay for an unwanted kindness could feel unfair. Still, for the cost of the herbs and the maids’ labor they had every right to hear an explanation. Freesia believed that sincerely, so she felt no hesitation. Iris felt the same.
“But… who’s going to dress him?”
“…How about we call it a draw?”
If only Freesia had not let that one careless line slip out.
Avalon’s curse has been completely lifted.
While the two of them bickered, a message no one else could hear slipped into Edgar’s ear.
“Nngh…”
When Edgar finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a ceiling that was both strange and familiar.
I’ve seen this somewhere before…
With a foggy head he fished hard through half-asleep memories until he recognized the roof: it was built in the distinctive architectural style of the Yo clan. The Yo were a race that barely appeared in the main story and only became central in the DLC. Even though Avalon had been defeated, their sudden appearance felt far too early. As far as he knew, the DLC storyline began a full year after Avalon’s death.
Still dazed, Edgar slowly pushed himself upright. The mattress was incomparably softer than any wooden inn bed he had ever known, and that alone felt wonderful. And yet—
Huh…?
He was too light. Even the slightest movement used to leave him gasping; his arms and legs had weighed a thousand pounds. Now they were feather-light. The ragged clothes he had worn were gone as well. In their place he wore plain white garments that vaguely resembled a hanbok.
Edgar steadied his swirling thoughts and walked carefully toward the door. After all the storms he had weathered, he could rein himself in quickly.
“You have awakened?”
The moment he stepped into the corridor, a servant standing there bowed with perfect formality. Edgar pressed a hand over his startled heart.
“Yes. But… where is this?”
The servant straightened and answered, “The royal palace. In human terms… the palace of the Yo clan.”
He had already guessed he was in Yo territory, but the royal palace? Edgar reeled at the fact that he had opened his eyes not in some back alley but inside the Yo royal palace after a single night. He had only just managed to calm himself.
“The Yo royal palace? I distinctly remember collapsing in a back alley…”
“The young mistress brought you here herself.”
The servant gave that brief reply, told him to wait, and left. He did not show it openly, but he clearly found Edgar distasteful—more precisely, he found the entire human race distasteful. The Yo, as a rule, did not think highly of humans.
Hmm…
Edgar stood alone in the corridor for a moment, then returned to the room, sat at the table, and began turning the pieces over in his mind. The Yo royal palace. Maids. A young mistress. If the DLC story he remembered had not changed…
The “young mistress” the servant mentioned had to be the princess of the Yo clan. And that princess had personally brought him here. That was the present situation; the reason remained unknown. Conversation would reveal it. As for his body feeling so light—either the curse had thinned dramatically, or it had vanished entirely. Humans used holy power to treat curses; the Yo had their own methods. Chewing herbs to suppress the curse had been Edgar’s own attempt based on that lore. The curse had simply been too dense and fast-stacking for the herbs to matter much. Even so, without them he might already have been dead. They had only reduced the curse by a speck compared to what had accumulated, but they had reduced it.
“You’re finally awake.”
While he was absently tapping the table with thin fingers, Freesia threw the door open without hesitation. So she really was the princess. Edgar recalled the face he had once seen on a computer screen and rose slowly from the chair. Small horns. Light pink hair. Clothing that looked like a hanbok. Everything matched the image exactly.
“I have heard of you. Thank you truly for saving me.”
He bowed with careful courtesy. Whatever her reasons, she had helped him; that deserved proper respect.
“Ah… ahem…”
Freesia made a small, flustered sound. The simple act of a beneficiary showing manners felt strangely foreign. Humans usually treated the Yo with arrogance, which was why the Yo had come to avoid them in return. For a human to bow so politely the moment he saw a Yo was simply awkward.
“At least you seem to be a human who understands basic manners. Sit.”
“Thank you.”
Edgar sat; Freesia took the seat across from him. She glanced at the maid who was about to close the door.
“Bring two cups of something to drink.”
“Yes, Princess.”
The maid answered shortly and shut the door. Footsteps faded down the corridor.
“I am going to ask you several questions now. Answer without hiding anything.”
“Ask whatever you wish. I will answer with complete sincerity.”
What would she ask? Edgar closed his hands into loose fists on his thighs and opened his ears, determined not to miss a single word. A brief silence passed. Then Freesia’s firmly closed lips parted.
“First, explain how you ended up with a curse like that.”
How much should he tell? Edgar hesitated a moment, then slowly opened his mouth.
“I received the curse of the King of the Dark Withered Tree. From the very beginning.”