The Salvation Ninja (1)
Ninja power concealed, the commission secured, the Flowing Sword Lord spied upon, Muka handled—every last one a success.
I had dug the ditch, caught the crayfish, soaked my feet, and watched the water. Every box checked.
“Are you truly certain? Going out alone on reconnaissance like this…”
“You’ve seen what I can do. I’m every bit as skilled at stealth as I am with a blade.”
The matter with the Flowing Sword Lord was more or less settled. Time to hunt down those Wildfolk.
The Crimson Flame Dragon Knights were stuck guarding the village and couldn’t move freely, so if the common folk were going to have any peace, I had to step up myself.
I told them I would quietly locate the hidden Wildfolk and report back, and just like that the commission was mine.
“All we can offer is a few gold coins… We spent so much hiring the Crimson Flame Dragon Knights…”
Amy, chosen as village representative in place of the ailing chief, let her words trail off.
Even with the Flowing Sword Lord’s deliberate bargain-bin rates, a single village would have struggled to cover the knights’ protection fees. They had probably scraped together every last coin they had just to show some sincerity.
“Doesn’t matter. Night’s falling—I’ll get ready to head out.”
“We’ll take excellent care of your companions. Thank you.”
I finished the hurried goodbyes and returned to the inn.
“While I’m gone, Orphe’s in charge. Don’t do anything weird that’ll make people suspicious.”
“Come back safe.”
“Yes.”
[Understood.]
Come to think of it, Tribo didn’t have a weapon.
“Here, borrow this. Use it as a weapon.”
I handed him the axe I’d picked up in Goldon.
An axe suited a tin woodcutter just fine.
[…Thank you.]
He accepted it and began examining the thing.
“Can you use mana?”
[I am not a being that possesses a soul. Impossible.]
So it was just a plain axe, then.
He’d figure it out. I left without another word.
Fussing over everyone like a mother hen was never my style.
Thud, thud, thud.
Outside the village the knights were on duty as always, looking even more exhausted than yesterday.
Muka. She had finally done it.
I summoned superhuman patience, swallowed the urge to belt out “Wahaha fanfare~!”, and offered a light greeting instead.
“Enjoy the songs, did you?”
“Oh, we heard them loud and clear. Must be nice being an adventurer—getting serenaded like that all the time.”
The one who answered was Kate, the knight who had gone out to the fields with Orphe yesterday and come back having done nothing but clear boar-lusa corpses. That snide tone sealed it: certified lunatic of the district.
“I was thinking of heading out soon. Did Amy explain?”
“Heard. Go on, then.”
Kate and the other knights didn’t even check my pack; they simply stepped aside.
Just in case, I had worn the ninja suit underneath like the other heroes, but it turned out to be a complete waste of effort.
“Hope you’re half as decent as the captain thinks you are. Good luck.”
“That’s funny. You take care too.”
I wasn’t decent. I was goddamn amazing.
Once the village was a safe distance behind me, I changed fully into the ninja suit, buried the pack in the dirt, and took off running.
I had no choice but to trust Orphe’s word that there were no mole yokai around.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh—!
It had been a while since I last cut through the wind like this.
That cool rush told me it was time to return to being a Runaway Ninja.
Firing the radar while running would have been perfect, but unfortunately the cooldown still wasn’t up.
For some reason it always glitched out at the most critical moments.
- Kirr-rrr…
- Kkugegege…
Mating season, maybe? Yokai cries rose from every direction.
I had seen plenty on the way to Evergreen Village, but their numbers seemed even higher now.
Was there a festival going on or something?
Carving every last one of them into pieces would take forever, so I held back.
Primary objective: the Wildfolk. Those bastards first.
After roughly an hour of running I spotted a place wreathed in fog.
Strangely, no yokai were anywhere near it.
I walked in slowly to figure out what it was and took a careful breath of the air.
“Sniff.”
As long as I shielded my body with mana, I could handle even poison mist.
Perfect protection only lasted around ten seconds, but for someone who had sampled every poison under the sun back at the Snake’s Tail camp, that was more than enough time to analyze it.
“Hah.”
Not poison mist, at least.
Closer to… homekifana or epukilra?
A little fatigue, a little drowsiness—there was even something in the mix that seemed to help with anger management.
Ssshk—
I activated Floating Shadow and walked toward the heart of the fog.
The mist was thin enough that I could see my surroundings clearly.
Thinking of the Snake’s Tail brought the other candidates to mind for the first time in ages.
Forty of them had survived. Odds were I’d run into one or two eventually.
They’d learned a good technique; I hoped they were using it for the people.
If they were up to any bullshit, though, I’d simply reclaim it—via death service.
- Zzz…
The sound of a human snoring. At this point it was a hundred percent confirmation.
I hadn’t expected them to be clever enough to sleep with mosquito incense burning.
- Kuuuul…
Men and women with coppery skin and tattoos, wrapped in what looked like beast hides, slept atop leaves the size of their own torsos.
The group was sizable—at least a hundred of them.
The fog came from yellow branches that burned with open flame; apparently that was the Wildfolk’s version of mosquito incense.
Those branches were piled thick in the center of the camp.
Every last one of them, male and female, was big and burly. Looking at them felt like staring at a whole clone army of blocky-faced big brothers.
They weren’t yakuza… right?
I had my suspicions, but so far there were no victims of the Wildfolk. Mass slaughter would have to wait.
There was only one tent standing like a boss room, surrounded by strange totems that looked like baby dolls.
They reminded me of the ones on Doll Island, a place I had briefly visited while wandering in search of a ninja village.
I checked with my sixth sense for any magical wards, then slipped inside the tent.
Ssshk—
“…?”
Only one person slept inside: a young woman wearing bizarre ornaments around her neck.
Didn’t these savage tribes usually make some muscle-bound man or wise elder their chief?
I searched the tent for evidence of Wildfolk atrocities and found a square cauldron.
Lifting the lid released a metallic stench and revealed a red liquid.
No way…
“…!”
The child totems that recorded tragic truths. A young chief monopolizing a tent alone in the forest. The grotesque ornaments. The blood stew in the hearth.
Every piece of the picture snapped into place.
The Wildfolk chief was a witch who kept herself young on the blood of children—a baby-slayer.
Rage surged.
Thwack!
I flicked her forehead hard.
“Yattae!”
With that weird cry she shot upright. I seized her by the scruff and dragged her outside the tent.
“Danda mussa! Bulka!”
At the witch’s scream her worshippers scrambled to their feet.
“Idanda mussa! Bulka-no!”
“Mandaria! Mandaria!”
“Chinja hano! Hano-a!”
Fuck. I hadn’t counted on a language barrier.
Anyone dumped into another world should at least get a free translation package as standard equipment.
I bellowed at the now-chaotic crowd.
“For the crime of stealing the lives of innocent children!”
I grabbed her by the scruff and one leg and hoisted her high.
“Yattae~! Yattae~!”
Wriggle, wriggle.
Her feeble thrashing couldn’t stop my strength.
“The sentence is death.”
Just as I was about to slam her down, the witch spoke.
“S-stop the execution~!”
The inn where Robin’s party was staying.
[Orphe.]
Tribo spoke to Orphe, who had been reading a book borrowed from the village.
“Yes?”
[I heard from Diana about the massacre that took place in Maple Leaf Village.]
Orphe, who had been shifting her gaze toward the sleeping Diana, froze at the word “massacre.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
[I was told you have been at Robin’s side the longest. Do you not think he is excessively violent?]
With no rise or fall in his voice, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
Orphe considered it slowly, then shook her head.
“Not at all. Every last person in that village was a man-eating monster. They got what they deserved.”
[Did you personally witness them eating people?]
“I heard it from Lamina. It wasn’t a lie. The dragonfolk went berserk at the mere sight of blood.”
[You confirmed it after the deed was done. That is how it sounds to me.]
“Are you saying I should have just stood there and watched until someone got eaten?”
[That is not what I meant.]
“I don’t understand why you’re asking me this. Do you have a problem with Robin? If so, it would be better to speak to him directly.”
Orphe’s blunt tone seemed to leave Tribo at a loss for words; he fell silent for a moment.
[I have only recently awakened, so my speech is still clumsy. I ask for your understanding.]
“…It’s fine.”
[I want to make him a better person.]
The statement came completely out of nowhere.
“What do you mean by that?”
[He does not belong to this world. You must have some idea.]
“…”
This time even Orphe could not answer easily.
Robin’s way of speaking, his common sense, his entire thought process—everything about him was alien.
[The only ones who can bring people from another world are the Watchmen. They summoned the heroes as well.]
That much Orphe already knew.
[Robin’s case is somewhat different from other otherworlders. It was not his body that crossed over, but his soul.]
“His soul… crossed over.”
Sharp as ever, Orphe recalled how Candidate 567’s behavior had suddenly changed one day.
[The Watchmen we believed we had banished in our era are plotting something. And they are doing it in a very cunning fashion.]
“…What does any of that have to do with wanting to make Robin a better person?”
[He has already absorbed two Watchmen.]
“…Body snatchers.”
The things Robin had claimed to defeat were the Watchmen that had only ever appeared in fairy tales.
The shocking revelation made Orphe’s lips tremble.
[I believe he has the power to resolve this situation.]
“So you intend to use Robin to pit him against the Watchmen.”
As she said it, Orphe’s expression darkened.
She herself had been harboring the hope that Robin would help her when the time came to reveal the truth.
If she devoted herself selflessly without asking for anything in return, someday she might receive help in turn—that was the excuse she had crafted for herself, insisting their relationship was not one of mutual exploitation.
[Orphe. You are no ordinary person either. You must have some idea about this as well.]
Tribo pointed at her with a black finger whose tip was split.
[You are a hybrid of two worlds. And your blood is the purest of all.]