Journey (1)
“Was that too obvious?”
“No. It wasn’t a bad choice. If you’re a mercenary, you carry a plate that can prove your identity anywhere on the continent.”
It was convenient, Lenard went on.
“Mercenaries are ranked according to the plate the guild issues them.”
He took up a twig and drew in the dirt.
“You start with a Wood Plate. It’s the basic rank you can get by bringing in something that proves your identity, along with a small registration fee.”
Beside the Wood Plate, he sketched Bronze, Silver, Gold, and Platinum.
“Your rank rises one step at a time, depending on your mercenary work and what you’ve contributed to the guild. Most people, though, never get past Wood or Bronze.”
“May I ask why?”
“No grand reason. Usually, they’re dead before they get that far.”
“……”
So mercenaries really did risk their lives in the literal sense.
“That’s why even a Silver Plate is proof of real skill. The higher your rank, the more kinds of requests you can take. As for pay, I don’t even need to mention it. If you’re going to aim to be a mercenary anyway, at least set Silver Plate as your target.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll wait without expecting much.”
With that, the conversation came to an end.
A small sleeping place was made near the campfire.
There was no warm blanket or sleeping bag.
They simply spread the leaves they’d gathered from around the area on the ground.
Maybe because it was the middle of the night, the air felt especially cold.
As Lawrence warmed himself by the fire, Lenard took something from inside his robes.
“We take turns on watch. Two hours each.”
It was an hourglass.
Set down beside the fire, it let the sand trickle through at a steady pace.
“Go to sleep. I’ll take the first watch.”
“No. I’ll take it first.”
“If you fall asleep on watch, both of us die, not just you.”
“I’m used to training like this, so it won’t be a problem.”
“…Suit yourself.”
As if he had no intention of saying it twice, Lenard returned to the sleeping place.
Before long, the steady rhythm of his breathing could be heard.
Lawrence pulled his collar tight and fed another log into the fire.
It would be a lie to say he wasn’t tired.
But it was also true that sleep wouldn’t come.
So many things had happened today.
Lawrence had brought out his crossbow and adjusted the groove and rest.
He kept a quarrel close at hand in case something unexpected happened.
His usual magic practice was on hold.
There was always the chance that Lenard might still be awake, no matter how unlikely.
Or that he might suddenly wake up partway through.
There were too many things to be wary of if Lawrence wanted to practice with a clear mind.
If he made a mistake and showed Lenard he was using magic, there’d be no end of it.
Even if it wasn’t magic practice, there was plenty to study.
Everything Lenard had taught him today was experience earned through blood and sweat.
He had hunted a monster for the first time today.
Not just any monster, either, but an Under Wolf from the hills outside the village.
The crossbow was an astonishingly powerful weapon.
He’d become familiar with it in only a few hours.
All he had to do was load the quarrel and fire.
That Under Wolf had dropped without even being able to put up a real fight.
He learned that monsters were not enemies to fear blindly.
Skinning and butchering were skills he would likely use often in the future.
Once he set out on the road, money would matter above all else.
Choosing mercenary work as a means of earning a living had not been a mistake.
When you were traveling the world, you couldn’t count on a stable job.
In other words, his first priority was a profession that could make money in any village he reached.
No matter how hard he thought about it, Lawrence couldn’t come up with anything besides mercenary work.
Was it arrogance to think he’d taken one step toward standing on his own?
He didn’t know.
But one thing was certain.
What had happened today was worth a fortune in experience.
The pounding in his chest showed no sign of settling.
It would surely be a sleepless night.
Lawrence lifted his head and looked up at the sky.
The night sky, full of stars, was still painted in beautiful colors tonight.
* * *
After packing his things, Lawrence looked around the room.
The lodging he’d relied on for several months looked smaller than usual today.
Since coming to the monastery, he hadn’t acquired many new possessions.
Just the sack with his Bible and the fragment of the goddess statue, off the top of his head.
He knew he wasn’t especially attached to objects.
He could say he wanted tasty food, or that it would be nice to have lots of money, but if someone asked him to name a specific thing he wanted, he’d have trouble answering.
If he had to mention something he needed right now…
He wanted something that would help him on the road.
No. Even that wasn’t quite the same as wanting one specific thing, was it?
Laughing softly at himself for no reason, the boy left the lodging behind.
In the corridor, he could see three of the laborers huddled together.
They had all put off their cleaning duties just to come out and see Lawrence off as he left the monastery.
Sister Abeline and Deacon Blackwell were nowhere to be seen.
There was nothing to be done about that.
It was morning Mass.
There were no exceptions when it came to the time for praying to the goddess.
It was no exaggeration to say he’d been glad he’d already said his goodbyes last night.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“You didn’t forget anything, did you? If you have to turn back after leaving the village, it’ll just make things more troublesome.”
“No. I’ve got everything.”
Joan let out a breath of relief and went on, “That’s good then. Be careful, Lawrence. The outside world is dangerous. Especially the pilgrimage road… I don’t know much about it myself, but I heard there’s no way to ask for help out there. So you need to keep your wits about you.”
“I’ll always be careful. You’ve never been wrong, Sister Joan.”
“That’s only because this is the monastery. Do your best, all right? I’ll be praying that the goddess’s protection is always with you, even from far away.”
“I’ll pray that the goddess’s blessing is with you too, Sister.”
Joan pressed her forehead lightly to his.
A pleasant warmth came with it, along with a good smell.
Edith shoved something into his hands without a word.
“What is this?”
It was thick cloth. He’d thought it might be a towel, but it was clothing.
To be precise, it was a long gray robe that would cover him from head to toe.
“I had to rush, so I couldn’t make a hood. It may be summer, but nights in the mountains and the forest get cold. You weren’t going to carry a blanket with you too, were you? Wear it when you sleep. Or lay it on the ground if you want.”
He’d thought it would be nice if he had something useful for the road.
He had never imagined someone would give him a gift like this.
“Thank you so much. This is exactly why I like you, Sister Edith.”
“Only when it suits you?”
Perhaps sensing the sincerity in his words, Edith looked away.
At first, he’d thought she was the type to use rough language and that he’d never be able to get close to her, but once he’d actually spent time around her, he’d learned she was the kind of person who cared deeply for others, if anything to a fault.
She was just clumsy and easily misunderstood because of her prickly attitude.
If they’d had enough time, maybe they could have grown even closer.
“But now I’m worried about what will happen after I leave.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure you’ll meet a good man.”
“What are you talking about? You know there are plenty of men who like me, even if I don’t look like it.”
With that, she gave the top of his head a light knock.
“I’ll be going now.”
“Yeah. Take care of yourself. Come back anytime if it gets hard.”
“You take care too, Sister Edith.”
Edith turned away, as if she couldn’t bear to face him any longer.
Joan soothed her as her shoulders trembled faintly.
The last to say goodbye was his friend of the same age.
Marjorie hadn’t even spoken yet, but tears were already gathering in her eyes.
“Be careful, Lawrence.”
“Yeah. You too. You’re the youngest again now, so you’ve got to hang in there.”
“If you were thinking that, you should’ve stayed a little longer.”
“Sorry. I don’t really know what to say.”
She laughed through her tears and hugged him.
“Let’s meet again.”
“Meet again? Like you know when that’ll be. By the time you finish the pilgrimage road, I probably won’t even be here anymore.”
“I’ll come find you in the village. It was Brighton Village, right? You said all of you sisters were from there.”
“You sure are good at talking for someone who doesn’t even know where it is.”
Lawrence looked from one to the next.
It was a bond that was short in some ways and long in others.
Like the friends he’d once run through the back alleys with as a child, these were faces he must never forget.
Carrying their images deep in his heart, Lawrence bowed deeply.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
After saying his farewells, he headed for the door.
“Take care, Lawrence! Be careful out there!”
Marjorie’s tearful voice followed after him.
He made sure not to look back. If he did, he felt as though the three of them would keep waving forever, and the corners of his eyes would have grown hot for no reason.
“You took your time.”
The voice that steadied his wavering heart was a cold one.
A man leaning against the monastery door, smoking.
Lenard was watching Lawrence with clear irritation.
“I’ll be in your care for a while.”
“Great. A sack of baggage is tagging along now.”
His grumbling voice was somehow reassuring.
Over the past week, this was the man who had taught him what to do once he stepped outside, and how to live once he got there.
Maybe that was why Lawrence’s gaze had begun to shift a little whenever he looked at the cynical pilgrim.
“I’ll say this now. If I decide you’re a burden, I’m leaving you behind.”
“If that happens, I’ll light the way on my own.”
“You’ve got a mouth on you. If you’re so impressive, why don’t you go alone? Why are you hanging onto someone else’s pant leg?”
“Now that you mention it, that’s fair.”
Lenard clicked his tongue, as if to say if he couldn’t at least stop talking…
Looking thoroughly displeased, he started walking first.
Lawrence picked up the sack Lenard had left behind.
Inside were the tools he’d grown familiar with over the past few days.
What that meant was that, for all his sharp tongue, Lenard had allowed him to come along.
“If you understand me, then keep up. I don’t have a hobby of looking after other people.”
It was a cold attitude, as if to say he could follow if he wanted, or stay behind if he didn’t.
But Lawrence, having read the meaning beneath those words, took a far lighter step.
“I’ll be counting on you from here on.”
“Words aren’t needed. Show it with your actions.”
As if it were a nuisance, Lenard waved a hand dismissively.
* * *
They moved toward a sight Lawrence had never seen before.
Saint Charmant Monastery quickly disappeared from view.
Lawrence felt both a faint reluctance and, in one corner of his heart, the rise of a small but unmistakable thrill.
It was a journey he had never even dared to imagine.
When he was a child, the thought of leaving the village had always remained nothing more than a dream.
The world beyond was full of unknown dangers.
Even that leader, who knew more than most people, had once insisted on stopping the other children from going outside.
There was no need to bring up the even younger years he could barely remember.
In short, today was a monumental day.
“Is the pilgrimage road near Redantus Village?”
“If it were that convenient, I wouldn’t have had to think twice about taking you on.”
It sounded like he was blaming Lawrence, and he felt awkward for no reason.
“What kind of village is Redantus?”
“A village that has everything.”
“What do you mean by ‘everything’?”
“Exactly what I said. If you can think of it, it’s there.”
After a moment of thought, Lawrence opened his mouth again.
“Then is there maybe a building related to magic?”
“…You mean a magic shop?”
There was a brief pause.
His blunt tone shifted, seeming mildly surprised.
“So you’re curious about magic.”
“Have you ever seen a mage, Lenard?”
“Magic isn’t something you can just see whenever you want. And it’s not as amazing as you’re probably imagining.”
“So you have seen one.”
“Yeah. More than enough to get tired of it.”
Lawrence could feel his heart beating faster.
So far, the only magic he knew was the Shadow and Fire he himself had learned to use.
He was genuinely curious what magic other people used, especially other mages.
“Do you know the Great Mage Leano?”
“Leano?”
“A famous legend. They say when the Great Mage Leano used magic, typhoons raged and sparks fell from the sky. According to the old tales, the Anabram Desert in the Sultaniya Kingdom was made that way.”
Lawrence’s mouth dropped open.
He didn’t know what the Anabram Desert was exactly, but he couldn’t help being impressed by the thought of typhoons and falling fire bursting across the sky.
“C-can magic really do that?”
“You believe all that?”
“Huh?”
“I asked if you actually believe it. If magic could do that, the whole world would be a desert by now. A legend is a legend. What, are you an idiot? Who goes around believing nonsense like that outright? Be careful you don’t get scammed somewhere. I’m giving you sincere advice.”
“……”
Lenard’s mouth twisted in an amused sneer.
“Well, if a lord’s war or a kingdom war breaks out, you can see a smaller version of it. Fireballs really do fly out of staves, just like you’re imagining. The problem is what comes after. If fireballs start falling from the sky, how many people do you think would die?”
“Well… a tremendous number, I guess.”
“Right. Magic isn’t the noble discipline you’re picturing. Great power always brings hatred and fear with it. Love and mercy? Those stand on the exact opposite side of the road we walk. If I were you, I wouldn’t let yourself get seduced by magic.”
The last part sounded almost like advice.
It was unusually serious for Lenard, and Lawrence could only nod, not knowing how else to respond.
Now that he thought about it, it made sense.
Lawrence had been clinging to the possibilities magic might offer.
But in truth, he already knew the world wasn’t so kind.
It was a technique specialized for killing people.
The mages in stories had used magic to bring down armies or defeat demon kings, after all.
Yes. He knew that.
He must have known it.
And yet…
Lenard’s cold tone sank deep into him.
“From here on out, save your breath. At minimum, we’ll be walking for twenty days.”
“Twenty days… that’s far.”
“Not close, no. Or it could be cut down to five if we happen to catch a ride on a wagon midway.”
“A wagon would be a merchant traveling between villages, I suppose.”
“You run into them from time to time on the road, if not often.”
Lenard wasn’t wrong.
On the third day since setting out on the road, the two of them came across a merchant surrounded by a band of goblins.