To the North! (1) - I Am Human Trash
It's hard to understand if you just see this snippet with the context cut out, but yeah, I'm trash anyway.
For ten years, crushing on my little sister-figure, and when she finally confesses, I say there might be another woman? Wow! That's straight-up bastard material.
"Die!!!"
At the moment when Sylvia was pounding every grappling technique from the Holy Empire's martial arts arsenal into me, no one could argue against the fact that I was irredeemable human garbage.
My body shot up into the sky, then slammed back into the ground. It was like Daniel the trash was getting dumped on the earth, picked up, and dumped again.
Of course, littering isn't a major crime, but it's still a crime. Dumping non-biodegradable human trash in a grassy field feels kinda wrong. Sorry, nature, for making you deal with this garbage over and over...
Not that I was cursing Sylvia for it, of course. Why would I curse the person currently trying to scrape the "trash" part off this human garbage?
I was just rambling incoherently because my body hurt so damn much. Sylvia's fists hurt ten times worse than any black mage's spells.
After about ten minutes of rolling across the ground under Sylvia's tender mercies, I was one with the dirt—dirt was me, and I was dirt. Nature and I had become one. Is this how you become a mage or something?
Of course, becoming a mage this way would just make me some creepy "Earth Mage," so no thanks. I don't want to be called anything like that.
"Just man up and sign it, or do you wanna take another trip to see the sky?"
"I'll sign."
Right on the verge of freely job-changing into an Earth Mage, Sylvia shoved a cute little pledge document in my face. It was basically a jealousy-fueled contract outlining what happens if another woman shows up.
Refuse it, and I'd clearly end up sharing a cozy moment with the marriage registration papers tucked in her bosom, so I grabbed the lifeline called a "pledge"... but is this really okay?
Something about my life felt massively screwed up.
Fake engagement followed by this gaslighting poster child of a pledge— for a second-life regressor, this seems way too botched. Can't I get a do-over regression while I'm at it?
Of course, neither my wistful heart nor my dirt-covered body was going back in time. I'd flipped through ancient tomes and all sorts of mystical stuff, but regression magic was impossible.
And so, the fun event of beating down black mages and gods came to an end. Sure, there were still barely alive black mages and piles of weapons left as byproducts, but I wasn't in any shape to deal with them right now.
"Lianna, can you take this to Evangeline or something?"
"Pardon?"
Sorry to dump this on Lianna, but after invoking dragon words with a human body, my physical and mental state were shot. The world was spinning like crazy, and it felt like part of my blood had already been sacrificed as an offering.
So, borrowing Lianna's teleport, I ended up crashing in one spot in a single bound.
"...? Deputy Chief?"
"I'm a patient too."
Right next to the bed of our Execution Bureau's number one beast, 1st District Chief Alick. Seeing the bureau's top two beasts lying side by side, this really was a zoo. Two animals—no, two beasts, but hey, it's a zoo. Should we start charging admission?
"I'm tired, so I'm sleeping first."
"Huh? Wait, you barge in at the crack of dawn and now suddenly you're—."
With that, as 1st District Chief's words cut off, my consciousness winked out. I ended up sleeping a full day straight through.
The next morning, I woke feeling refreshed.
"…"
"…"
A disheveled blond pretty boy was staring at me.
What the hell? I swear I just woke up. Why is there a mangy golden retriever in front of me? Another black mage curse?
"Fuck?"
"…Hah. Nothing's changed since academy days. Cursing right in my face—."
"Oh, a dream. Back to sleep."
"Sigh... It's not a dream, you idiot!"
I'd killed black mages and gods, so why was something even more mangy showing up?
RPG games have something called level design.
Get it right, and you have a god-tier game where players progress through the story without grinding. Screw it up, and it becomes a trash game no one touches.
From that perspective, this world's level design was perfect. How else do you follow black mages and gods with nobility—and not just any, but the crown prince?
His name was Marian La Irisia of Pendragon. Must be that medieval fantasy romance vibe making his name so damn long. And that's without all the endless titles tacked on afterward—I won't even try describing those; it'd be over 50 characters.
Believe it or not, he was real royalty. The legitimate eldest son, no less.
Considering history's track record where legitimate heirs rarely inherit the throne, he was a rare case.
There was even one like that in Joseon-era Korea, but I'll stop there. Sad ending. ...Ending it like that feels kinda cursed.
"Knock it off and get up."
"I'm a patient."
Still, better than facing other royals.
We'd hung out for two years at St. Ekaterina Academy—not super close, but friends. If I had to describe it: fun times, but contact fizzled out?
Acquaintance? Too distant. Friend? Too loose. The kind you bump into on the street, say hi happily, but nothing more. Super ambiguous relationship. Why do I only end up tangled with people like this?
Before we three idiots banded together in that total shitshow of an academy, my first impression of him was textbook royalty. Etiquette, vocabulary, word choice—everything from one to ten screamed "remodeled for the emperor."
He looked like the type who'd only ever studied his ass off, a total bookworm. So, naturally, I couldn't help myself.
"Ahem. Teacher, alcohol isn't bad. Bluntly put, even your dad sneaks a sip, right?"
"It's commoner immersion. Stay up top too long, and you can't see the people below. How else will your voice reach them?"
"...Huh. Wait, I didn't tell you that?"
The quiet ones run wildest. He turned into a stellar partner in crime. "Follow a friend to Gangnam" ain't just a saying. Hell, he even taught himself to smoke. Bad boys got that different walk from the start. How do you rebel so spectacularly?
"So, what's up, Your Highness Marian?"
"You just swore again—. Sigh, whatever."
That pitiful look he gave me was straight out of academy days. Birds of a feather, huh? How'd we idiots even band together?
Marian roughly yanked at his golden locks. Way too hard.
Keep that up, and he'd go bald. Across all history, baldness was a massive flaw. The moment you start hiding it with wigs, you've said it all.
This is why crown princes can't have nice things.
Anyway, this guy didn't drop by casually. Despite appearances, as the Irisia Empire's top heir, every move was laced with political schemes.
That's why we hadn't met properly since academy. Publicly, a few times, but privately? Basically never. Not because I'm swamped every day of the week.
I shot him a suspicious glare, and after a fake cough, Marian got to the point.
"Black mage traces turned up between the palace and Baek families. Tracing it led to the Lerogent count house. So I came to investigate personally and stopped by you on the way. Also to hear about killing those black mages and the god."
Hmm. Not far off my guess. Unless he suddenly came out with "I'm actually gay," nothing too shocking.
I had my reasons for that joke. Like him, no lovers in sight... though not exactly the same boat.
At least he wasn't toying with people's hearts like some beast. Thinking it over, I realized I'd lived a dogshit life compared to him. This was bad.
I stared at him in shock, and he grinned, throwing a dagger.
"That's just the surface excuse."
"?"
"A situation came up where I need to meet you one-on-one."
The shock of living beastlier than my delinquent buddy vanished under that dagger. What the hell was he laying groundwork for?
"By any chance, marriage—."
"You fucking bastard."
I jumped, glancing around. No one heard, good. I whipped back to Marian.
"Pretend I didn't hear that, Your Highness."
This asshole just tried to assassinate me—with his tongue, not a knife.
The people around him were all nukes. Imperial half-sister or faction daughter? Minimum rank 10. I'm trash, sure, but not handcuffs-worthy.
If that's a talent, fine—I admit you're emperor material, so please don't kill me.
"Guess not. If you couldn't find one, my little si—."
"Your Highness, please shut up."
That flashy follow-up made me curse involuntarily.
His sister was sixteen. Straight-up murder talk. Thinks we're close enough for casual speech, huh?
My face soured, and he burst out laughing like it was hilarious.
"That was a joke too. Just messing since it's been ages."
"…"
"You taught me booze and smokes—don't make that face."
"You learned smokes on your own."
"Oh. Right. Want one?"
"Quit."
A fancy cigar popped from the crown prince's pocket. He lit it casually, inhaled like a pro, and said,
"Trouble in the Northern Region."
There it was—the headache-inducing main topic. Knew it. This is why I hate golden retrievers.
Irritated smoke puffed from Marian's mouth. Then one line.
"The magic beasts are gone."
"...?"
"Mostly the named ones."
The auto-respawning yearly ones at the top of the food chain—poof, gone. In other words, we're fucked. What now, North...!
"Numbers are down, precisely... but it reeks of sulfur no matter how you slice it."
Shittier than I thought up north. Only the Empire borders the mainland directly, so intel quality's inherently different.
"We're investigating, but can't trust the lackeys. Gotta ask someone reliable. You're the expert, right?"
Tap tap. Ash falls to the ground. Then Marian's line.
"So, can you check it out personally?"
No big issue with the request. Just some legwork. But,
"Teacher."
"If it's too much, say no. I already asked Michael—."
"Ash goes in an ashtray. Why torment innocent ground?"
"...?"
Nature was already saturated with Daniel Tristan-brand human trash. So ash belongs in an ashtray, duh.
"...Yeah. You're always like this."
The crown prince muttered lowly. Psycho.
True, so no rebuttal.
With that heartfelt curse, Marian vanished, leaving only smoke behind.
The Northern Region, huh.
Any reason I'd actually go?
As you see, getting from the Holy Empire to the north means airships or boats—moves that draw eyes. Teleport's out; mana flows are unstable up there. Issues galore.
Pick some Execution Bureau folks to send first. Gather intel, focus on highest-probability spots. Textbook.
Tactics are 3rd District Chief Vargas's domain, so table it for now. Worrying changes nothing.
No sudden reason to head north anyway, so chill and rest easy for a bit.
"Deputy Chief. Um... my parents said to bring a guardian north once."
"...?"
2nd District Chief Lianna whispered tiny, tossing work my way.
".........I'm an elf, you know. They're nagging about bringing a protector."
"Ah."
Lianna's twenty-four. Elf years? Eight.
Elf age math just created my reason to head north.