Fissure (2)
When I opened my eyes, a slanted ceiling loomed right in front of my nose. At first, I had no idea where I was. As I blinked dazedly, my mind cleared, and I pieced together the situation.
The attic room of the inn we'd checked into last night. The "bedding" on the floor was a single threadbare sheet that barely qualified as a blanket.
Still, curling up on top of it had been a hundred times better than sleeping on bare wood, so I had no complaints. It had been a while since I'd slept under a roof.
I propped myself up and stretched, my fingertips brushing the ceiling. Glancing sideways, I saw Adelaide was already awake. She sat leaning against the wall, staring blankly out the window.
“Up already?”
“……Been a while.”
“Why didn't you wake me?”
“You looked tired.”
“An NPC worrying about that?”
“Working tired leads to mistakes. Mistakes draw attention.”
“Ah, so it's all about efficiency in the end?”
“You can see it that way.”
……
There’s some logic to that.
I moved to the window and peered outside. Beyond the narrow alley, rooftops of the bustling district came into view.
Even at this early hour, a few NPCs hurried along now and then.
“Hauling cargo again today?”
“Yes. The overseer said we could come for a few more days.”
“Without asking my permission?”
“……Would you refuse?”
“Not refuse, exactly.”
“Exactly.”
What a brutally honest NPC.
“Food?”
“Temple first. We left earlier today, so the line should be shorter.”
“You're so damn organized.”
“……Life teaches you that.”
Adelaide stood first and opened the door. It felt like second nature now—who went out ahead.
We took the same route as yesterday, dodging patrols, and reached the temple. The line was indeed shorter, just as she'd said.
Same gruel. Same taste. Same priest's smile.
“May the gods' blessings be upon you.”
Adelaide's shoulders twitched again today. Less violently than yesterday, though.
“Doesn't that get old if it's every day?”
“……What?”
“That reaction. Flinching every time they say 'blessings' or whatever.”
“I didn't flinch.”
“Then what was it?”
“……Reflex.”
“Reflex? Looked pretty meaningful to me.”
“……Just eat.”
I polished off the gruel in no time and set down the bowl.
Back then, this time of day used to drag on endlessly, boring as hell. Lately? Honestly, hard to say. Maybe because I had the fun of observing Adelaide on the sly.
Time seemed to fly by pretty quick. Yeah, that tracked.
“Done?”
“……Yes.”
“Then let's go.”
We arrived at the warehouse via the same path. The overseer recognized us and handed over gloves. No paperwork today either. Didn't even ask our names.
“You two started yesterday, right? Head inside and move stuff directly today. Lots of wagons came in.”
Adelaide nodded and passed me the gloves. Maybe because it was early, there were even fewer laborers bustling around than yesterday.
“More stuff than yesterday?”
“More wagons.”
“Gonna be tiring.”
“Pay's better, though.”
“Really?”
“Overseer said so.”
“……Well, shit, might as well.”
Small sacks first, like I'd learned yesterday.
Adelaide was already hugging a large crate in both arms, striding off briskly.
Size that would've taken three laborers, and she handled it solo. Plus, with her cool-beauty looks, she drew twice the stares.
Of course, everyone was too busy to gawk long. As we shuttled back and forth side by side, talk flowed naturally.
“Adel.”
“……What.”
“In Istius, is hauling cargo the only legal way to make money?”
“……No travel permit narrows options. Day labor or begging.”
“Hate begging.”
“Me too.”
“Hmm, agreement at last.”
“……Everyone wants to eat.”
“True that.”
This time, after dropping off a crate, Adelaide offered the water jug. I took it without a word and drank.
“Adel.”
“……What now.”
“Knights ever do this stuff?”
“……This stuff?”
“Hauling.”
“During training. For stamina.”
“Training?”
“……Feels different.”
“Different how?”
“Had comrades back then.”
Adelaide's voice dipped, just a touch. She didn't seem to notice.
“……Sorry. Dumb thing to say.”
“Why bother?”
“So you hauled stuff with those comrades too?”
“Hauling was basic. Runs, sword spars, night marches… all together.”
“Night marches? Intense.”
“Royal Guard.”
“All around your age?”
“……Varied. Fresh recruits to older vets.”
I hauled another crate. Normally, convo would've died here, but today Adelaide kept it going—surprisingly.
“Adel. You're chattier today, huh?”
“……Am I?”
“Yesterday, I'd pry answers out of you. Today you're starting sentences.”
“……Mouth gets bored working.”
“Same.”
“……That's it.”
“Yeah, sure.”
By late afternoon, the pile had noticeably shrunk.
My arms shook less than yesterday. Body adapting, maybe.
“Break?”
“If…… master wants.”
“You not resting?”
“Fine like this.”
“Liar. Neck's soaked in sweat.”
“Sweaty, but not break-worthy.”
“Still, let's rest. Together.”
“Together?”
“Solo break feels awkward.”
“Whose eyes?”
“Yours.”
“……When'd I ever complain?”
“You bitched at me to stop before.”
“…….”
Adelaide eyed me a moment, then peeled off her gloves and sat in the shade.
We leaned back against the wall side by side. The gentle breeze cooling our sweat felt damn nice.
“Adel.”
“……What.”
“Nice breeze here.”
“Yeah.”
“What, that dry response.”
“You say it's nice—what more?”
“……Fair.”
I took another swig from the jug she passed back.
As I handed it over, her hand reached out—I offered the handle. Such a tiny thing, but smoother than yesterday.
Shoving the last sack into the warehouse, the sun was turning orange. The overseer handed over a thicker coin pouch than yesterday; Adelaide took it and placed it in my palm.
“More than yesterday.”
“Way more cargo. Now we got spare—can buy a blanket at least.”
“Not bad.”
“……Save more tomorrow, get other stuff too.”
“Like?”
“Underwear or whatever…… Used clothes feel gross.”
“Ah, yeah…… Later. Hungry now.”
“……Temple then.”
Evening relief had even fewer NPCs than morning, like she'd said.
One difference: chunks floating in it today. Just watery slop moments ago.
“What's this?”
“……Turnip, maybe.”
“Wasn't there earlier?”
“Ingredients vary.”
“Hmm, fancy.”
“……Turnip chunks make it fancy?”
“Relative. Better than bland slop.”
“……From that angle, yeah.”
I fished out a turnip chunk with the ladle. Plain taste. Your standard turnip.
Adelaide quietly slurped her gruel, then suddenly let out a soft chuckle.
“……What's funny?”
“……Just remembered something.”
“What?”
“Zenon would've snorted at this slop.”
Zenon.
“Zenon?”
“……My vice-officer. Rough mouth, but great cook.”
I paused with the ladle midway.
Zenon…… Right, the guy whose wrist I sliced off. Screamed pretty loud.
“……Yeah?”
“Hated skipping meals even in the field. Always first to light a fire after battle.”
“Good cook, huh?”
“……Had skill. Any ingredients, he'd whip up something decent. This slop? He'd make good soup from one turnip chunk.”
“Soup?”
“Zenon's special. He named it himself.”
“……Tasty?”
“……Decent.”
A faint smile touched Adelaide's lips. Face lost in memory.
Of the dead bastard.
……No, she doesn't know. Zenon's dead. I lied about the shadow tracker. Thinks he's alive.
“Don't hate me?”
“……What do you mean?”
“I killed your men.”
“……That……”
Adelaide's shoulders jerked once. Blood seeped from her lip.
But she let out a small sigh and murmured softly.
“In the end, I was weak. We were weak, so unavoidable.”
“That so.”
“Still…… master kept the promise. Spared the rest and sent them back.”
“……True.”
Ah.