And Then, I Met a Child
"Hah! So you've finally figured out how lucky you were to meet me, kyu?"
"It really does seem that way. Thank you. I have a feeling I'll be needing your help quite a bit from now on. Your abilities are outstanding, after all."
"Phuh... pffhhink... nnh-kyu!"
The insect princess was simpler than he'd expected. A slightly theatrical show of being impressed, and she folded on the spot.
"F-fine, kyu. I suppose my abilities are outstanding, so I'll have to help you, kyu."
"That's right. We're friends, after all. Right?"
"That's right, kyu!"
Easy. With that, he had completely recruited himself a translator.
He was beginning to understand, if only a little, why the woodcutters had fleeced the ants so relentlessly. A priest, fleecing a mother and daughter across two generations — and he didn't feel the slightest pang of guilt.
"Friend. Would you read these pages for me? With that outstanding talent of yours, it should be more than enough."
"M-my throat's a little dry, kyu! A single piece of sweet jerky ought to do it, kyu!!"
If her throat was dry, why did she need jerky?
Sometimes a situation called for a little illogic. This was one of those times.
"Nomnomnomnomnom~kyu!"
She seemed to make that sound whenever she ate something delicious. Messi had never imagined the jerky he'd received from the village chief would prove so useful.
I should get more of this when I go back. Did the village chief always have a talent for this sort of thing?
He ought to suggest they consider it as a village specialty.
"Ahem. Ahem. There, my throat's loosened up a bit, kyu. I'll read it for you, then, kyu."
Messi leaned all the way back in his chair, the way you do when you've tuned an FM station and settled in to listen to the radio. He was the only one in the audience.
It was the princess doing the reading, but Messi reconstructed every word in his master's voice as best he could. He also made a point of stripping out that damned kyu.
Winter, Year 567 of the Asiris Kingdom. Forty-three woodcutters, myself included, arrived in this forest. More than twenty of them were newcomers on their first assignment, and they were bursting with spirit. I remember being just like that when I started out. What worries me is my little sister, Madri.
She was one of the newcomers too. Her first job. Our family had all but forgotten us, so I'd raised her myself since we were children — and maybe that's why she'd grown a little arrogant.
The girl was already bossing the other newcomers around as she pleased. She was going to be someone, that one. Everyone said that if she'd only been born a man, she'd have the makings of a woodcutter commander. As for her looks... objectively speaking, not bad. It was her personality that was the problem. Her personality.
...She never married, and perhaps that was why her temper grew worse with every year. The worse it got, the uglier the rumors became, until she couldn't even show her face in society... A vicious cycle. I told her, half in jest, that she might as well become a woodcutter like me. Looking back on it now, I regret it more than I can say. The fault was mine, and it was a great one.
His master's diary, Messi had to admit, began with his little sister and ended with his little sister. He didn't want to, but he was going to have to concede that the young version of his master had been a man with a sister complex.
Madri was a tomboy with a considerable gap in age between them. Of course his master would have felt compelled to look after her.
Of course Master wasn't a pervert.
He couldn't have been. He mustn't have been.
Messi listened to the diary and let himself imagine. His master's youth and daily life, the story of his only family, the training and the effort and the adventure. All of it was fascinating. A life his master had never told him about lived inside these pages.
And then, in the middle of listening with real enjoyment, he would remember that these pages were the only place he could still meet the man — and a quiet sadness would settle over him.
The diary had begun when his master was assigned as team leader to the Forest of Resentment pioneering project. Forty-three woodcutters, his master among them, had come to this place, and the pages told the story of how they had built Benuda Village as well.
The people of Benuda Village had been forcibly conscripted from the various kingdoms, and so the early entries were full of clashes with the villagers.
The most memorable figure among them was a man described as the representative of the village. In his master's telling, he was a strapping, handsome, open-hearted middle-aged man — the sort who looked after those who were struggling, and would share his own food when provisions ran short. The problem was that the diary went on to record that this same man would later rise to the office of village chief.
...There's no way. The current chief must have killed that man, or else he died in some accident and the present one climbed into his place.
The same person couldn't have turned into that after a few decades. Of course not.
There was mention of Leto as well. He was described as nothing more than a young, bottom-tier mercenary — but he'd taken an interest in herbs, so his master would occasionally take him along through the Outer Forest and teach him herbology. Apparently his character had been rather rotten in those days: always spitting, no respect for his elders, and a selfish streak besides.
This is completely backwards. He's got the village chief and Uncle Leto swapped...
"Are you sure you're translating that right?"
"I am, kyu!"
At this point, he was starting to suspect the village chief had gotten here first and rewritten the whole thing. He kept listening anyway.
This forest is thick with Black Wood trees, some of them thousands of years old. I've never seen Black Wood grow this densely anywhere. It's expensive timber — once the ecological report is finished and sent up to the Alliance, there will be an uproar. They'll probably send us the extra hands we're short on, too.
The problem is that the monsters are stronger than we expected. They're also hypersensitive to the scent of blood, which makes a proper hunt all but impossible. Madri came up with a trick later on: we'd bring deer blood from the Outer Forest and splash it across the monsters' territory. Fighting monsters with monsters, you could call it. A good idea. They don't normally turn on each other, but the moment they smell blood they lose all reason — so it was effective.
But there was one creature for whom none of this meant a thing. "That thing" is a mutant troll with violet skin, and it carries a rusted greatsword the size of a man.
We named it Enzo Muete. In the Fairy tongue, it means "Drifting Death." It wanders this stretch of forest at random, and whenever it looked as though we might cross its path, we made a point of avoiding it.
I don't believe we'd lose to a creature that can't even use mana — but the fact that it can perform at that level on raw physical ability alone is enough to send a chill down your spine now and then.
It's the least cost-effective fight you could possibly pick. We decided to simply stay out of its way. Where did those things even come from? They must have wandered in from somewhere deeper in the forest. Makes you wonder if there's a whole wood out there crawling with them.
The diary never said so outright, but it seemed his master — or someone among the woodcutters — had already crossed blades with Enzo Muete. Calling a fight cost-ineffective meant you'd fought it.
From there the diary went on looping through the same three threads — his sister, the villagers, the work of pioneering — until, at a certain point, the atmosphere changed all at once.
Ah... So the thing that would break his master's heart was coming. The thought alone made his own chest ache.
We went into emergency session. Everyone was in a state of alarm over the ruins found at the edge of the Black Wood forest. Ancient ruins. History has made it abundantly clear how much blood gets spilled every time something like this comes to light.
I think it best we not get involved if we can help it, but the new woodcutters are shouting themselves hoarse to go explore. As team leader, I had a duty to lead them safely. I sent a report to the upper ranks at once. The Lumberjack Alliance is where every nation pools its strength to fulfill a sacred duty. Surely they will send us a sound solution.
The order came down from above. Occupy and excavate the ruins before the rumors can spread. Not a word about reinforcements. The way they're acting, you'd think the Alliance had simply gotten greedy for the ruins. It was not the answer I had hoped for. I was disappointed.
The reinforcements arrived. Ten of them. Better than nothing, at least. These new faces had a fair bit of resourcefulness — they threw up a Woodsman's Fortress near the ruins in no time at all. When I asked how they'd built it, they said they'd struck a deal with the ants. I felt sorry for the ants. These men have no intention of keeping any promise they made them.
I've been clashing with Madri more and more lately. The men who came as reinforcements have been filling her head with ideas. She keeps insisting we explore the ruins. Every time the subject comes up, her eyes light up. I never knew that child could be so greedy.
Madri has been spending a great deal of time with those men. The way she looks at me has gone cold. Is it because I haven't tried to understand her? Am I wrong to hold back the excavation — for her sake, and for everyone's safety? I was never taught what to do at a time like this. I never learned it from our parents. Is it enough to simply give her love and attention, and trust her, and wait? This is a sad night.
From that point on, fully half the diary was lamentation over Madri, and the other half was slander and curses aimed at the new faces and the newcomers — to the point that the princess kept having to ask Messi what the words even meant. His master, it turned out, had a far more colorful command of profanity than anyone would have guessed.
The problem was what came next. A considerable stretch of time seemed to have passed before he wrote again.
I couldn't believe it.
I still can't believe it, even as I write this. Why did this happen... why did Madri have to die in a place like that. It is my fault for failing to look after her properly. I am sorry to every one of the forty-five woodcutters who died. I should never have left my post.
Why... why did this happen? I'm garbage. I don't even deserve to call myself her brother. A woodcutter fulfilling a sacred duty? What a load of horseshit.
The letters of self-loathing and self-recrimination ran on and on without end. It was as though his master's scream had been pressed into the page. Messi buried his face in both hands and forced himself to listen to every word.
I was drinking when the thought struck me. Why did those bastards come back alive... Look at the seven who survived, and they're all men who arrived with the reinforcements. They say they only lived because they were at the rear, but I can't believe them.
We're pulling out. The woodcutters have all decided to retreat. The people of Benuda Village fought it. I had been telling them all along that once the pioneering was done, they would live in a great and splendid city. That I would make it so. Now it's nothing but empty bullshit. I cannot look them in the face.
I will not write in this diary for a while. I expect I will be busy. I will go up to headquarters and formally request an investigation into this affair. There will be a truth to find. As for the diary I kept in the forest... I intend to leave it here. I haven't the courage to carry up a diary that says Madri is dead.
"Stop... stop reading for a moment."
Messi dragged a trembling hand down his face. The thought of his master suffering like that turned his stomach. It wasn't even his own tragedy, and still the tears came welling up. It felt as though the rage that had burned in his master's chest had leapt into his own.
"You okay, kyu?"
"I'm fine... Let's start."
He had to endure it.
His master had survived facing that horror in the flesh. Messi could hardly claim he couldn't bear to hear it written down.
But every time the image of the man who had picked him up in this forest and raised him as his own flashed before his eyes, the tears came whether he wanted them or not.
I'm back. I didn't think it would take ten years.
I read the old diary again. I smiled at the memories of Madri, and the incidents with my comrades came back so vividly I lost track of the time. But they are gone now. I still have not laid their wronged souls to rest. Astonishingly, nothing has changed from the diary of ten years ago. I have not come close to the truth. I have failed completely.
Every woodcutter who survived besides me is dead. Sudden death. Accidents. Suicide, even. To say nothing of the disappearances. With each one, my suspicion hardened into certainty, and I clawed for clues, but I achieved nothing.
The Alliance's investigation was cancelled as well. Men I had thought of as comrades all turned their backs on me. My family did the same. And then I was attacked. I nearly died while investigating Count Vaskas. There is something there. There has to be.
But my body is ruined. I was poisoned with Salgaras's Deadly Poison, the stuff they spread. Fortunately I had Pidokju, and I've been using my mana circulation method to slow the toxin's spread — but it is not a true cure.
I am dying, little by little. I am no longer in any condition to continue the investigation. I am tired, too. If I am to die, I wanted to die at Madri's side. In the end, I came back to this forest. It has a new name now. The Forest of Resentment. A fitting name, if there ever was one.
The handwriting of a man who had given up on living was feeble, the letters a mess, as though his hands had been shaking too badly to hold the pen. And then the diary broke off once more.
When his master returned to the page at last, something about him was different. Some change had found him.
The Great Magic Barrier that stood over the ruins has been released. It had been running like a curtain ever since that day — and the fact that it has vanished means something has changed. What? What has that dreadful ruin done?
I went to find the Ant Queen. In a manner of speaking, she holds the widest territory in this forest. With her power, she would know of any change that had occurred in the woods, and know it quickly. She found me tiresome, but the moment I put a weapon in her face, she went quiet. I still had that much strength left.
Messi had a feeling he already knew what came next. His heart was pounding.
No. It couldn't be. He waited for the princess's next translation, and then, foolishly, he couldn't wait at all — his eyes went to the page on their own.
Fortunately, that line needed no translation.
That single sentence had been written in the Central Tongue, clear as day. His master's voice rose in his mind.