The Nameless Traveler (1)
The moment the giant mushroom monster—the source of the miasma—collapsed, the changes became visible at once.
Even the faint miasma that still blanketed the forest after the creature had absorbed so much of it vanished with startling speed. Along with it, the mushroom golems that had shown unnatural aggression toward the subjugation party began scattering into the trees one by one.
The shifts did not stop there. Even those who could not sense mana felt the difference. The forest that had been drained of nutrients until dust rose from the ground began recovering the instant the source of its corruption was gone; the earth grew rich and dark before their very eyes.
Yet the death of the forest’s monster did not solve every problem. The Mana Supersaturation that still choked the woods remained. And even if that were resolved, the spawn of Akusare mushrooms already spread throughout the forest had twisted beyond repair, producing only mushroom golems.
Once the Mana Supersaturation lifted, the golems born of it would vanish—but the fact that they had been built upon mushrooms was the true trouble. Fungusby, a place that had once been so free of monsters and even wild beasts that its people might starve, now faced a double blow: a dungeon on its doorstep and the complete collapse of the industry that had sustained the village.
Adventurers hungry for golem cores would certainly come. Yet no matter how precious those cores were, they could never match the prestige of selling a delicacy the entire continent of Europa scrambled to obtain.
Catherine, however, had returned to the village inn with something far more pressing on her mind.
Arms crossed, she shook her head and glared down at Karem, who knelt before her and was trying, ever so casually, to lower his arms.
"Keep those arms up straight, kid. Why couldn't you guard your post properly?"
"I was guarding it properly! I really was!"
Karem felt deeply wronged. At the temple that served as their shelter he had fried hardtack, moved from place to place, even paused for a brief prayer—and every time he had checked on the seasoned chicken and carried the basket with him. Yet at some point the basket had grown strangely light. When he looked inside, only an empty plate remained. Not a single drop of sauce clung to it, as if an empty plate had been all that ever sat there.
"And you expect me to believe that? Doesn't that sound suspicious even to you?"
"Th-that's right! I only got one bite! He ate the whole thing by himself!"
"Lady Escarna, are you really talking about seasoned chicken while stuffing your face with fried chicken right now?"
"I-I only managed one bite back then!"
Narke sat at the table, ears drooping sulkily as she flapped them in protest. Every time her hands moved, the heap of fried chicken and cleanly stripped bones in front of her only grew taller. Catherine, who clearly preferred the seasoned variety, paid more attention to grilling Karem than to Narke's solitary feast.
Only after the ache in his shoulders finally faded was Karem allowed to lower his arms and take a seat at the table.
"Well, that's enough punishment."
"But neither I nor anyone else ate it. It just vanished all of a sudden."
"So the chicken cast a spell, is that it? Though I will admit this stuff does taste a bit like magic."
Catherine drew a deep breath of forest air, then tipped her chin toward the plate of fried chicken—already somewhat diminished. The meaning was obvious.
"Mmm. A flavor that sinks right into your bones."
After feeding her a wing stripped clean to the bone, Karem dusted his hands over the side plate and fixed his gaze on the slightly flattened wooden box resting beside the chicken. The box itself was nothing special—the sort of ordinary crate one could buy on any street for a few pence. What drew the eye were the things plastered across its lid: dense lines of scripture written in tiny, indecipherable letters, stuck on like talismans. Just looking at them inspired a sense of solemn reverence, which only made Karem more curious.
While serving his sentence for the (uncommitted) crime of losing the seasoned chicken, he had heard everything that had happened in the forest—and learned that the object inside the box was what the monster that overturned the woods had left behind.
"So what exactly is this thing the Akusare mushroom monster left?"
"A scale of the Death Dragon Naglfar."
"A scale?"
One single scale had caused all this chaos? The name Naglfar stirred memories of myths from his previous life. And a Death Dragon—meaning an actual dragon's scale? The pillar of miasma that had pierced the sky, the flood of mushroom golems that had swarmed the village—
"Ah. The monster was only the spark. The mushroom golems would have appeared even without it."
"Because they dumped Akusare mushroom oil into the forest for decades."
In other words, they had simply been unlucky enough to stumble into the perfect conditions.
"Why? Curious about what's inside the box?"
"With sealing papers that give off such a holy aura plastered all over it, it'd be stranger not to be curious. But… is it all right to open it?"
"Doesn't matter. First, though, we fill our stomachs."
"Ah."
Catherine was right. Three days had passed since the subjugation party set out for the forest. Despite being called a large-scale operation, the time spent had been surprisingly short—yet their return was awkwardly timed. Lunch was long over and the hour leaned more toward an early supper when they finally walked back into Fungusby.
The moment they arrived, Catherine and Narke demanded chicken. The gourmet lid covering the basket had kept everything from spoiling or even cooling, but the seasoned chicken was long gone. Karem had no choice but to fry plain chicken instead.
"Ha, honestly. Do you have any idea how much I suffered because of you, kid?"
"Because of me?"
"Yes. Your cooking is so good my tongue refuses ordinary travel rations now. It's entirely your fault."
"How is that my fault?"
"Quiet! From now on, whenever I have somewhere to go, you're coming with me. Remember that."
While they traded the declaration and idle chatter, the sun sank a little lower. The plate that had once been heaped with chicken held only crumbs of batter and bones. After the cleanup, Catherine and Narke wore the contented smiles of well-fed cats basking in warm sunlight. A moment later Catherine poked Narke and shifted her chair.
"All right. Time for a closer look. Back in the forest we were too busy cleaning the site and heading home to examine it properly."
Narke adjusted her grip on her staff and put on her second-most serious expression in front of Karem. The first had been reserved for her burning grudge against chicken drumsticks. Was simply looking at something really this grave? Karem tilted his head and pulled a chair closer.
Ossaahhh—!
The instant Catherine lifted the lid, Karem felt the kitchen temperature drop several degrees. Through the narrow crack, thin black miasma spilled across the table like dry-ice fog. When she removed the lid completely—
"…What is that?"
"As I said—the scale of the Death Dragon Naglfar. Or so Narke claims."
"Yes. I mean, I heard that. But that's not what I—"
A single hand, rotting in shades of gray and black, lay alone inside the box, shedding miasma. Yet he doubted it was truly rotting. Anything decaying should have flooded the kitchen with a terrible stench the moment the lid opened; instead only the faint savory aroma of chicken lingered. The nails of the hand curved long and sharp like beast claws, uncut for months. It looked like nothing more—and nothing less—than a hand left to dry and wither in an arid place for a very long time.
"Ha… According to the school's legends, Na-Naglfar, the first necromancer of Europa, became so obsessed with necromancy that he remodeled his own body into a magic catalyst."
"The first necromancer—wait, a catalyst?"
Everyone knew that a dragon's heart—the source of its vast mana—along with its scales, shells, horns, bones, organs, and even a single drop of blood made superb catalysts and materials for weapons, magic, and alchemy. The same clichés filled the subculture stories of Karem's previous life. But a dragon that must have stretched dozens of meters—
"He turned his entire body into a magic catalyst?"
"Yes. I always thought it was just another common legend every magic school has. Though some of those legends have turned out true."
"One rotten hand—no, one scale—turned an entire village upside down."
"If the legend is real, it's more surprising the damage was contained this much. This thing—"
Narke furrowed her brow and tapped the box with a fingertip.
"A-according to the legend, thousands of hands covered Naglfar's entire body like scales once the remodeling was finished."
"Human hands as scales… Wait a second."
"R-right. This is only my guess, but…" She trailed off, then continued. "The ma-mage—no, the necromancer—stuck on the head of the Akusare mushroom monster… wasn't he trying to do something with this scale?"
"Here? Half a day's travel from the capital of the duchy?"
"Ma-mages, when they fixate on one thing—"
"Everything else becomes invisible."
Coldon was right next door—how was that "everything else"? Karem's thoughts stayed private; Catherine, however, seemed to agree. She folded her arms and picked up where Narke left off.
"Anyway, back to the point. Thinking about it, that mushroom monster was structurally similar to the dragons recorded in the histories."
"He was trying to accomplish something with the sc-scale, but an unexpected variable caused a re-rebound…"
"In a forest supersaturated with mana he tried to use Naglfar's scale for some scheme, but—"
"That became the spark, and the mushroom golems went poof."
Karem brought his hands together and then flung them wide, miming an explosion or sudden expansion. Catherine and Narke had reached the same conclusion and nodded.
"Well, it ended up in my hands, so it doesn't matter now. Ha!"
"You're that happy about it?"
"Of course! Even looking like this, it's an item that could be called a treasure of an entire school! Look—Narke there can't take her eyes off it!"
True to Catherine's words, Narke had been stealing sidelong glances at the contents of the box while pretending not to. She jumped.
"N-no! I wasn't! I absolutely wasn't coveting it! A-a person should live within their means, and Lady Atanitas's possession—I would never—"
"Hmm. If you prove yourself valuable enough, I might even lend it to you."
"I-I pledge my loyalty! Absolute loyalty…!!!"
"I'm sure you'll manage. By the way, kid."
"Yes, yes?"
"This isn't enough. Fry a few more."
Yep. He had expected as much. Karem rose at once. Compared to her frame, Catherine ate a great deal, and Narke ate more than she looked capable of; of course the current amount was insufficient. It did not take long. He had already pre-fried several pieces in anticipation, so a second frying was all that was required.
Enduring the heat of the boiling oil and the stove, Karem focused on the chicken, then transferred the finished pieces into a large bowl and turned around—only to sense something wrong at once.
The season was clearly the middle ground between spring and summer. Yet the air was colder than before, as if winter had descended without warning. Catherine and Narke sat completely motionless, frozen mid-motion like a paused video—even the strands of their hair no longer stirred. He first thought someone was playing a prank, but the leaves drifting past the kitchen window hung motionless in midair, and he knew it was no joke.
Moreover, in a seat that had been empty moments earlier, a figure now sat deeply hooded in a black robe decorated with crow feathers.
Crunch—crunch—crunch—
With gloved hands the figure picked up the chicken bones Narke had left and Karem had stripped clean, and ate them with great enthusiasm.