Old Soldier (2)
The vines I'd seen earlier were blocking the entrance.
This made it tricky to interfere. As Allen searched for a decent spot to wait, a voice brimming with mischief rang out.
"Idiot! Moron! Scatterbrain!"
All words far from describing Allen. But regardless of how he felt, the fairy seemed thrilled just by her own antics.
Satisfied after thoroughly teasing him, the fairy tossed him a small bamboo tube and fled. Inside were strangleflower seeds.
"Now, time to head baaack..."
Allen trailed off. Following Taylor's focused gaze, he spotted silky black hair at the end.
Many found beauty in flowers. Yohwa, the flower fairy, was much the same. Even glimpsed through the vines.
No response after calling her several times, so Allen uttered the word Taylor hated most.
"Grandpa. Time to go home."
"Just call me 'sir.' No kids, so what grandpa?"
"Heehee!"
As Taylor grimaced in exasperation, laughter exploded from the fairies atop a large tree.
"What do you call those things?"
"Conscience runaways!"
"Not on a trip?"
"Who knows!"
Taylor glared, but they giggled among themselves and vanished into the dense underbrush, leaving one parting shot.
"Must like sleazy bosses."
Appearance-wise, it was criminal, sure. Over there, taut young skin; here, wrinkled old man.
But reality was the opposite.
Taylor was in his sixties, talking about pensions, and Yohwa had once called a seventy-something granny her "big sis."
Allen watched Taylor shuffle awkwardly, then switched his wheelchair to manual and pushed from behind.
On the way home, they set the table with purchased groceries and sat down to eat. Taylor spoke up.
"Not going into the Labyrinth?"
"..."
Allen silently alternated glances between Taylor and the wheelchair. How do you expect me to take a patient down there?
"Stuck between home and workshop, must be boring, right?"
"Repairing magitech is fun every moment. Each time feels fresh. Figuring out how it works is a joy."
"...Never mind. Looks-wise, I'm a doddering geezer, but the Labyrinth? Piece of cake. Check these biceps—pure muscle."
What powered that first-meeting wheelchair drift? Obviously those massive guns.
Allen's mind ran the calculations: Labyrinth feasible, even caves doable. But he shook his head firmly.
"Maybe your Labyrinth memories have been romanticized over time. Or is it because of Boss Yohwa?"
"Ridiculous."
"Full-body makeover's pricey, sure. Gotta replace everything with synthetic skin—no quick doctor consult from a day or two in the Labyrinth."
"No, that's not it."
"Pension advance could cut costs, though."
"..."
"Kidding."
"Deadpan like that, sounds serious. Not skimping 'cause of fancy meals, right? Whew, almost hurt my feelings."
During the meal, Taylor explained the perks of him tagging along: shortcuts, enemy weaknesses, hidden spots—plenty to tempt Allen.
"Why risk it? Just tell me."
"Gotta shove your head in to make it stick. Whispering in your ear? Forgotten by tomorrow."
"You're off today. Still tons left on mana training methods, right?"
"True..."
Taylor kept elaborating, but it fell on deaf ears.
Flaw in the mana training verse? No. Nothing needs patching.
Allen's brain concluded he knew the full method.
Something's off.
Maybe too analytical, but humans forget favors easily—better dole them out in bits. Like revealing the final mana training verse the day before pension payout.
Yet Taylor spilled it all in under a week. Framed as "too quick a learner, but fun to teach."
He said the key part later, but...
Allen channeled mana into his left eye. Post-training, his x-ray vision and soul stone interference sharpened.
He avoided using it on acquaintances, but this was an exception.
"Hey, what the hell?!"
A faint circle formed on Allen's forehead; Taylor clutched his lap blanket over his chest. Internally, though, he marveled.
Thought light control was ages away—already?
Too late. The scene etched into Allen's brain.
Unlike the mind's image, the heart sat slightly left of center.
His Mana Heart, however, was fully left-sided—artificial one too.
Taylor's artificial Mana Heart looked unstable. Naturally, the linked mana circuits were wrecked.
Messed-up circuits meant embedded magitechwear was trashed: EBI, reflex axle for reflexes, pain modulator—all junk.
To Allen, it was like carrying lit dynamite. The hale facade? Pure acting.
The brief silence shattered.
"Planning to make the Labyrinth your grave?"
Taylor said nothing.
In the Warehouse, the only lit spot was the table. Allen and Taylor sat, staring each other down.
Allen's impassive eyes felt colder than usual. Even under the lamp, shadows clung heavier around him.
"Those meals we ate—funeral rice before heading to the afterlife?"
"Harsh words..."
First meeting, Taylor would've cursed back or guilted a wallet open. Now, he trailed off.
Spotting weakness, Allen dipped his head slightly.
"Too harsh. Sorry."
Taylor still felt awkward. Deaths in Maze City? A dime a dozen. Just a week acquainted?
A vicious sort hearing his "last words" would've said die topside for easy recycling.
Even the nice ones secretly wish it? Or am I too cynical?
Illness gnawing body and soul alike. Definitely. Body and mind influence vast.
Taylor mulled Allen's tone—harsh, rough.
A week together, and he first noticed Allen's voice had highs and lows. The shift hit harder.
"You're pissed."
"Hearing your roommate plans to drop dead? Naturally."
"Never said that. You assumed..."
Taylor halted at Allen's hollowing gaze. Light joke backfired.
"Death's familiar to Labyrinth explorers. But I refuse to get used to it."
Why load that stranger rabbit-kin onto the cart during the anomaly?
Why solo the wasp swarm while Dennis and Karkda faced the gatekeeper?
Allen wasn't a god. But ignoring the desperate—even strangers? Never.
Taylor wasn't a grovel-worthy master, but a teacher. Suicidal plans? Unsettling.
Arms crossed, Allen prompted excuses.
"Planned to teach my know-how on the way. You're sharp—tell once, sticks forever."
"Stop. You meant to vanish while I slept down there, right?"
"...Guilty."
Taylor knew it was shitty. But illness dredges ugly delusions, pushes extremes.
"When'd you plan this ugly end?"
"Ugly? Never intended, but teaching my prized mana method... it hit me. Body's trash anyway—as you saw. Better relive old sensations than limp on."
Taylor clammed up, scratching his head roughly. Allen refilled his cup, waited quietly.
"Lucky to retire alive from exploring. Still dream of delving below."
Handing all knowledge to Allen? Felt like a peaceful exit. Down there, ideally.
"And?"
"Honestly, scared my brain'd snap anytime. Still me, but not. At least mana tweaks delay dementia—getting harder."
Allen's loaded retorts paused at the frail old man. Finger off trigger.
"Hospital? Any hope?"
Taylor shook his head silently.
"Why so tough?"
"Cash. Rough calc: 5 mil a day start. Worse now—skyrockets."
"Jake Marshall's entry peer and agent—can't sweet-talk funds?"
"Agent? Back then, vanguard or test squad vibe. Post-retire greed wrecked me—no favors owed. Explorers' Guild ain't family park; it's corporate."
Society's cold cash logic. Allen got it.
"Still, Francois..."
"Drop it. Taught as instructor briefly, but skill gap huge. They..."
Taylor's jaw clenched, as if pressed shut. Breaker secret? Or just tight-lipped.
"Skip that. Check this."
While talking, Allen sketched a body, coloring problem spots.
"No healthy bits. Even I see it's bad."
"Easy death's valid."
"Hey, raged at mere guess earlier..."
"Focus. Two options."
"Ready. Shoot."
Taylor's concentration was rare earnestness. Hope's death changes folks profoundly.
Allen wrote "hospital" on paper.
"One: hospital. Money says no."
"Buy a lotto? Jackpot, half mine—rest yours. First time anyone's fretted this much over me. Touching."
"Serious talk—no jokes."
Allen scolded the reverting Taylor, wrote "Magitechwear."
"Two: replace body entirely with magitechwear."
"Magitechwear wrecked me once—again?"
"Then question if insufficient magitechwear caused it. Irreparable? Substitute.
"Not engineer—mad engineer."
Plan unfazed Taylor's freakout; Allen continued methodically.
"Freeze replaced parts; save up, regenerate later."
"Poison kills poison... insane. How much overhaul?"
"Kiki-level from that video call suffices."
"That's full robot."
"Hack-job reached art. Performance sucks, though."
Taylor's voice dropped anxiously at Kiki mention.
"Hit a Seven Stars or Hextech clinic?"
"Money? Pension dump still short. No guarantees."
"Actually, pension..."
"Guessed since trash-bin race tickets."