Guidepost (2)
When Lawrence finished his business at the mercenary guild and stepped back out, the bright moon was already hanging high in the sky.
Unfortunately, there was no magic shop in Remington.
Horos Village and Redantus were the same, but it seemed that unless a town was fairly large, magic shops were hard to come by.
Once things in the Ulbazar Swamp were settled, it might be better to head for the capital next—or perhaps some other, larger city.
Now that he was a Bronze Plate mercenary, the number of requests available to him had increased as well.
He should be able to save up the money he needed for a spellbook without much trouble.
Or maybe he could set his sights on Alligator hide. That, too, was an option, wasn’t it?
In the end, traveling deep into the swamp in search of the Lost Sanctuary was already a settled decision.
That didn’t mean he could afford to be careless today, though.
Now that he had finished the request for Ulbaniero and had a little money in his pocket, he couldn’t afford to waste even a single coin if it meant improving his chances of surviving the swamp.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
It was the old woman who had told him about Kaizle and Lamael.
She was standing in the same place they had first met, and when she saw Lawrence, the corners of her mouth lifted into a grin.
“Hm? Well now, who’s this… Why, it’s that country-bumpkin mage from before. So. You didn’t buy a thing last time. Planning to take something home today?”
Yellow teeth showed between her lips. With several missing besides, her smile was a long way from charming.
“I asked the guild, and they said you also sell potions.”
“Took you long enough to figure that out.”
The old woman pulled a wooden board up from by her feet.
On the crude board sat several grimy bottles.
“That’s all I’ve got left today. From the left: one silver, ten silver, and twenty-five silver.”
“The potions are all different prices, then. What’s the difference?”
Lawrence looked over the three bottles. The glass was so dirty he couldn’t make out the contents clearly, but the more expensive potions seemed to hold a richer, sharper red glow.
“The one for one silver is for a little wound. The ten-silver one’s for a bad wound. The twenty-five-silver one can even stitch back on a hand or a foot that’s been cleanly cut off. Maybe. Or maybe it won’t.”
“Are there any side effects? Like itching where you pour it, or pain? Or do you end up suffering for days after using it?”
“Aren’t you a mercenary? Never used a potion before?”
“I’ve made other people use them. I’ve never used one myself.”
That answer made the old woman frown slightly.
“Usually you just pour it on the wounded area. Or you can drink it if you want. Depending on how bad the wound is, you might die while it’s healing.”
“Potions are supposed to keep you alive. Are you saying they can kill you instead?”
“What, you think potion is some kind of miracle? It’s a sort of drug that forcibly boosts your recovery. You’re tricking the body. If you trick it well, you live. If you don’t, you just die. Think of it as fate. If you’re going to die anyway, might as well try something first and die after.”
“……”
They weren’t exactly cheap, either.
And on top of that, their effectiveness seemed to depend on prayers to the goddess.
He found himself appreciating, all over again, why the miracles of the church were considered the best there was.
“And there’s a saying that if you use too many potions, you’ll die early.”
“Didn’t you just say they were like drugs? If that’s the case, I suppose a person might get so drugged up they shorten their own life.”
“It’s a bit different from that.”
The old woman’s tone turned dull as she went on.
“It’s nothing strange for mercenaries or soldiers who’ve spent their whole lives on the battlefield to die young. How long do you think a man’s going to live once he’s missing an arm and a leg? But there are people who look perfectly fine and still die early. Rumor says that’s all the side effect of potions.”
“Hmm… But if they used potions, doesn’t that mean they lived because of them?”
Otherwise, they would’ve died on the spot.
Even if potions weren’t all-powerful, it was clear they could still save someone who was on the brink of death.
“True enough. So how long do you want to live?”
“I’ll take all three.”
“All of them? You really are a mage, aren’t you. Spending money like it’s nothing.”
The total came to thirty-six silver.
It was definitely an uncomfortable price, but if he was going to the depths of the swamp, no amount of preparation would be too much.
Even so, his purse still wasn’t empty.
The byproducts from the Bugbear that had appeared near the end of the request had given Lawrence an unexpected bonus, after all.
“That was a fine transaction. Come again sometime. I’ll give you a discount.”
“I’ll do that, ma’am.”
The next place Lawrence visited was the smithy.
When he reached the forge, nearly open on all sides, the boy called out to the owner.
“Is anyone here?”
The fire in the furnace wasn’t visible.
Only heat drifted out. A moment later, the owner emerged from inside, looking as though he’d just washed the sweat from his body.
“What’s a church rat doing here?”
He glanced at Lawrence’s robe and spoke with a sharp, dismissive edge.
“I came to look at some wares.”
“If it’s a vegetable knife you’re after, it’s over there.”
“Huh? No, I’m not here to buy a vegetable knife.”
“Then a cleaver? The cleavers are on top of the display case.”
“……”
It was not the reaction he’d expected.
The coldness in the man’s voice made it clear he might not bother selling to him at all.
“I’m here to buy a spear and armor I can actually use.”
The owner frowned, as if he couldn’t make sense of what he’d just heard.
“Why’s a church rat who can’t even kill a man looking for weapons? Did you mean a staff, not a spear?”
“I think you’ve mistaken me for some other cleric. I need weapons and gear for mercenary work.”
“Ha! I’ve lived a long time, and that’s the first time I’ve ever heard of a church rat doing mercenary work. Don’t kill people. Don’t carry blades. Those were the conditions under which you lot ordered a custom staff in the first place.”
His voice had teeth.
There was no mistaking the hostility. The owner’s attitude carried a clear resentment that Lawrence hadn’t felt when speaking to Ulbaniero.
He understood now why complaints against the monastery never seemed to stop.
There was no way a proper conversation could happen with this sort of person.
Come to think of it, the gatekeeper had been a little strange too.
Maybe he hadn’t simply let Lawrence pass because of the church robe, but had instead been making a point of brushing him off because he didn’t want anything to do with them.
“Come on, just show me a spear and some armor I can use.”
“They’re there. Pick whatever you like. Not like you’ll ever need it anyway.”
The icy reply made it plain that the man had no real intention of doing business.
...Should he use magic after all?
He didn’t want to draw attention over something like this.
Still, unless he took a harder line, this conversation didn’t seem likely to go anywhere.
“You must have ten lives to spare, Uncle Ryle.”
But then, an unexpected ally appeared.
The voice belonged to Isolde, a Bronze Plate mercenary.
“Isolde?”
“Long time no see, Lawrence.”
She took a piece of fruit from her bag and tossed it to him.
“What’s this, Isolde? You know a church rat?”
“Didn’t everyone already know? I told you, didn’t I? About the incredible mage who killed a Bugbear in one shot.”
“That brat was the one…?”
“Brat?” Lawrence gave a wry smile.
Apparently the owner was so shocked his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He’d never dreamed the person behind that rumor would be a member of the church.
“If you had business in town, you should’ve come looking for me.”
“Wouldn’t it be a little much to run around personally asking about something like this?”
“Would it? I’d think that was pretty normal between comrades.”
Comrades.
The word was still strange to him, and Lawrence’s expression shifted faintly at the sound of it.
He had never once thought of himself as someone who owed a debt to mercenaries.
With Isolde’s help, Lawrence bought his equipment for a bargain price.
As if all her earlier attitude had been a lie, the owner treated him courteously now.
“Thank you. I got a good deal because of you.”
“What’s there to thank me for? Even after everything I talked him down, it still doesn’t add up to what you dragged in for us.”
As though she were telling him not to say anything unnecessary, Isolde waved a hand.
“You could’ve just passed by. The kindness itself still counts, doesn’t it? That alone is reason enough for me to thank you, Isolde.”
“Would you look at that. You really are a church cleric. Even the way you talk sounds different. Forget it. I didn’t do it to hear thanks.”
“Is that so? Then I’ll accept it more comfortably.”
“Yeah. That’s what’s easier for both of us.”
The church had its own ways, just as mercenaries had theirs.
And Lawrence found that he didn’t dislike the mercenaries’ way very much.
“I don’t see the others.”
“Huh? At this hour, they’re all out on requests.”
“They’re all diligent. There should still be plenty of reward money left from the last request.”
“What are you talking about? If it was pocket change like that, they spent it ages ago. On women and drink.”
Then Isolde added, “Men really are idiots.”
“Already?”
“There was a pretty decent extra payout for the Bugbear, too.”
“That’s what kept me going this long.”
Was it drink that had cost him so much?
Or women?
Lawrence suspected it was probably the latter.
“What were you doing, wandering around here?” he asked. “Is there some reason you came this way?”
“Me? I came out to buy ingredients. And while I was at it, I figured I’d pick up some snacks too.”
Then she broke off, as if thinking of something.
“Oh, and if you’ve got time, why don’t you come by my place?”
“Your place, Isolde?”
“Yeah. There’s someone there I want you to look at.”
“The person you mentioned last time.”
“You remembered that?”
“It wasn’t a difficult thing to remember.”
In fact, he couldn’t have forgotten if he’d wanted to, not with how insistently someone had kept changing the subject.
Lawrence looked up at the sky for a moment. The deep darkness overhead made it hard to tell the time, so he estimated it by instinct. Morning still seemed some way off.
“A little while is fine.”
He’d already been helped out at the smithy.
Since they had met like this after so long, asking her about the guidepost matter didn’t seem like a bad idea either.
If it came to it, he’d planned to go ask Ulbaniero, but a fellow mercenary like Isolde would be easier to talk to.
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
Lawrence set off with Isolde, who was carrying the bag of fruit.
* * *
Isolde’s house stood on the outskirts of the village.
Unlike the mercenary guild, the house touched the ground directly and seemed to be built in the traditional style.
“Big sister’s home!”
“You’re back?”
The one who came trotting out from inside the door was a little girl.
Compared with Isolde’s healthy tan, the girl’s skin was pale, as though she hardly ever got outside.
Still, she seemed to keep herself clean, and she was nowhere near the shabby, bedraggled sort.
“Say hello. This is my comrade, Lawrence. Lawrence, this is my little sister, Doris.”
“Hello. Nice to meet you. I’m Doris, Isolde’s little sister.”
“I’m Lawrence. I’m a mercenary, for now.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you from my sister. She said you’re a mage and a cleric of the church.”
Doris bowed politely.
The way she spoke, so neatly and carefully, made Lawrence glance at Isolde without thinking.
“You’re really sisters? You don’t look anything alike…”
“How rude. Where else would you find sisters who look exactly the same?”
“……”
“Could you maybe say something?”
After a brief squabble, the two of them entered the house with Doris.
Isolde’s home was much roomier inside than it had looked from the outside.
The living room, which included a kitchen, was far larger than was necessary for two sisters.
On one side, dolls that looked like Doris’s toys and Isolde’s equipment had been neatly arranged.
“You don’t have any food you avoid, right?”
“None. If I did, I wouldn’t be making a living as a mercenary.”
Being picky about food? Ridiculous.
There had been times when there was nothing to eat, but never times when he refused to eat what was there.
Doris set out the dishes on the central table.
Three place settings, including Lawrence’s.
For some reason, the sight felt familiar.
It seemed they always ate together.
“So why did you buy a spear at the smithy? You’re not planning to use it yourself, are you?”
“Just because I’m a mage doesn’t mean I only use magic.”
“Really? But no matter how good Uncle Ryle’s spear is, it still won’t be stronger than your magic.”
“Do you think magic just shoots out the instant you clap your hands? It depends on what spell you’re using, and how you handle it. If you slip even a little in aim or control, you’re looking at a disaster.”
“Hmm… Come to think of it, if that spell had fallen on us instead of the Bugbear, it would’ve been terrifying.”
Lawrence had no doubt they would all have been badly hurt.
At worst, they wouldn’t just have died—they might never have found the bodies.
“Magic is a trump card, yes, but it must never become your only tool. What enemy is easier to deal with than a mage who can only use magic? The reason I carry a spear is exactly because of that.”
With a weapon in hand, he could threaten an opponent.
And when necessary, he could use it for self-defense.
But more than that, the real advantage was in making the enemy let down their guard.
If he could hide the fact that he was a mage by using only a spear, there was no better bargain than that.
Lawrence was a mage.
But if he showed himself using a spear instead of magic, ten out of ten would simply take him for a somewhat green mercenary.
Then, at the decisive moment, he would finish them off with magic.
She seemed to agree with his explanation.
“That makes sense. Not a bad idea. Just going by appearances, you do look like a naïve mercenary.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment for now.”
The boy wasn’t petty enough to react to every little thing like that.
“It is a compliment. What matters isn’t the outside, but the value inside. What do they say? Sometimes there’s a magic stone buried in the mud.”
“A magic stone? Really?”
“It’s just a figure of speech. You think there’d really be one buried in mud?”
Isolde laughed as if to tell him to say something sensible.
“Still, I’m surprised. I never would’ve thought a mage would carry a spear.”
“Everyone’s different. I’ve only recently picked one up again, so it’ll take a while before I get my feel for it back. Lately I’ve been so busy learning magic that I’ve hardly had the chance to use my body at all.”
“Then you’re undertrained. You can come by now and then when you don’t have requests. If it’s just something simple to loosen up, I can spar with you.”
“Is that so? Then I’ll take you up on it when I have time.”
There was no reason to refuse a kindness offered freely.
More importantly, Lawrence had learned to use the spear on his own.
He hadn’t asked anyone to teach him, and no one had ever taught him through direct practice against another person.
In fact, he had only ever used it a few times against monsters like goblins.
By then, the meal was being prepared one dish at a time.
A dish made by cooking boiled fruit together with meat.
It was the same traditional food he had eaten with the Ulbaniero group.
Watching Doris carry the bowls, Isolde asked, “So? Can your magic tell you anything?”
“So the person you mentioned back then was your little sister.”
It was an easy deduction.
There were only two people in the house.
Naturally, the person Isolde wanted him to see could only be Doris.
Suddenly, he felt he understood why Isolde had been so reluctant to speak clearly and kept changing the subject during the request.
When it came to family, people tended to be careful.
“Like I said before, magic and miracles are not the same thing. Even if I’m a cleric of the church, my studies aren’t deep.”
“Don’t say that. You know a lot more than the rest of us who are basically illiterate.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Considering how many mercenaries couldn’t read at all, Lawrence, who had received the church’s teachings, probably did know quite a bit more.
“Could you tell me the symptoms in more detail?”
“You can tell just by looking, can’t you? She hardly ever goes outside.”
That much was obvious from her face alone.
Skin that hadn’t seen the sun in a long time gave itself away in color.
“That’s not the kind of thing I mean. For example, does she have a fever? Does any specific part of her body hurt? Does she cough without warning? Something that concrete.”
“Hmm… Just a moment. It’d be faster to ask the patient herself. Doris, could you come here for a second?”
“Yes, big sister. I’m coming.”
Doris trotted over and sat beside Isolde.
“Lawrence wants to hear about your symptoms. Can you tell him where it hurts and how?”
“Yes. Don’t worry about it, just say what you need to.”
Doris nodded as if she understood.
“Well… when I go outside, I get dizzy, and I can’t do much physical work. My head hurts like it’s about to split open. Sometimes, if it gets really bad, I even lose consciousness. Even when I take medicine, I only feel better while it’s working; once it wears off, the pain starts again.”
“……”
At the mention of headaches, an insect flashed through his mind for an instant.
But he immediately shook his head.
That couldn’t be right. This child wasn’t a mage.
It had nothing to do with the headaches that came from using too much mana.
“Do you remember when the symptoms first started?”
“Not clearly, but I think I’ve been like this since I was born. When my memories begin, my head already hurt.”
Lawrence hadn’t studied medicine in any real depth.
Recently, Ignatius had given him various lessons so he could stand on his own as a pilgrim, but those teachings were still too shallow to call true expertise.
In other words, he listened to the symptoms not to determine what illness it was, but to explain it to someone else.
“What do you think? Can it be treated?”
Unaware of that, Isolde’s eyes shone with hope.
“From what I hear, she’s already been prescribed medicine. And it isn’t completely ineffective either. Seeing as it does have some effect, I’d guess the doctor probably has a rough idea of what the illness is…”
“No way. Uncle Neil just gave me medicine that’s supposed to be good for headaches. Isn’t that how it should be? You take medicine, the illness gets better. But it’s been years already, and there’s still no sign of it going away.”
“Then you don’t even know the name of the disease?”
“No. That’s why I asked you about miracles.”
She added, “I was hoping to grab at a straw, if I could.”
For now, the most prominent symptom was the headache.
Since the pain was severe enough to make her lose consciousness, the condition was clearly serious—serious enough that it interfered with basic daily life.
It was undoubtedly close to severe.
“I think it’d be faster if we went straight to the monastery.”
“You mean the monastery from your church? The one outside the village?”
“Saint Dominic Monastery. Chief Priest Ignatius might be able to help.”