Only I Am Human (2)
I stuck to the protagonist's side the entire day. In the process, I reaped some modest gains. Even amid the growing suspicion hanging in the air, the NPCs didn't treat us warily. If I had to pin down why, it'd be the protagonist's upstanding reputation and my convenient memory loss.
Plus, I'm a beautiful girl.
Beautiful girls get a free pass everywhere they go. Couldn't be helped. That's just how the world works.
“Getting hungry yet, Ailin?”
“......Dunno.”
“Want some bread?”
“Mm...... Yeah.”
“Hang on, I'll grab some.”
The protagonist fidgeted anxiously at my response, but the moment I agreed, he bolted toward the bakery. I'd killed the owner, so his wife was running the place now. The widow NPC's face looked gaunt, like she hadn't slept a wink.
Time slipped by unnoticed, and the sun began to dip toward the horizon. The protagonist walked me all the way home.
“Mind if I come in—”
“Thanks for seeing me back.”
“......Yeah. Lock the door tight.”
“Got it. See you tomorrow.”
“I'll come get you in the morning, Ailin.”
“Yeah.”
I watched his retreating back for a moment before shutting the door and stepping inside. Honestly, the house was in rough shape. I glanced at the half-smashed table and headed to my room.
Today, too, the mirror reflected a cluster of blank-faced girls staring back at me. Damn, she's gorgeous. As I inwardly admired her—myself—a sudden curiosity bubbled up.
How do NPCs even judge beauty?
I groaned over the pointless musing and flopped onto the floor.
“Who the hell is it.”
Staring up at the weathered ceiling, I muttered to myself. An NPC mimicking me. Whoever it was, copying my methods—no forgiveness. NPCs killing NPCs wasn't my problem, but imitating me? That's crossing a line. Fakes can never become real; they have to stay fake. I'm the only real one. Only I am human. I'm the only one truly alive.
The sky visible through the window. The sun hadn't fully set yet. A little time before curfew kicked in.
I fished out the black cloak I'd tossed aside. A fishy tang of blood tickled my nose—it was one of original Ailin's things. No idea why she had it, but it was useful, so whatever.
Probably tied to whatever assassin talent she had.
I decided to leave it at that.
Night deepened. I lay prone on a rooftop, gazing down at the village. Suppressing my presence came as naturally as breathing, and slipping through shadows was effortless.
Literally.
With a flick of my hand, the shadow trailing from me vanished in an instant. Something alien coursed through my body. This must be the mana the protagonist mentioned.
The village's every movement flowed to me through the shadows. The culprit would show tonight. Why so sure? Because I would. At least if they were copying me, they'd strike again today—that was my conclusion.
Time dragged on. When the two moons hung midway in the sky, I spotted movement. The shopping district.
A small shadow darted through the alleys. Its clumsy, unnatural motions made me frown despite myself.
The shadow reached the fabric shop. Lights still on inside. Diligent worker, huh, I thought idly as I watched. It peered through the window, then jimmied the door and slipped in.
Moments later, the door creaked open again. In the shadow's hand gleamed a bloodied kitchen knife. It glanced around before pulling off its hood. Moonlight revealed an unexpectedly ordinary face.
A middle-aged woman—the herb shop owner. The one rumored to be the kindest soul in the village. And there she was, grinning like a maniac.
Irritating.
"Having fun?"
“Wh-who—”
The woman froze at my voice. She whipped her head around, but I was already behind her. Realizing death loomed, she clamped her mouth shut. An invisible shadow sliced a crimson line across her throat.
“P-please... spare me.”
“Bark for me.”
“......Please.”
“Too cliché. Boring.”
“Spa—”
Before she could finish, the shadow severed her head. Her body staggered, then crumpled to the ground. The head rolled across the dirt road with a wet thud. Blood spurted in fountains, pooling into dark puddles that gleamed eerily under the moonlight.
“Hmmm.”
I nodded, feeling that alien presence swell inside me. Sure enough—like a game—killing NPCs boosted the mana I could wield. Wonder if there's levels or something? Kinda curious.
I peeked inside the fabric shop. A man lay sprawled in a messy heap of gore. I frowned at the sloppy work. If a fake's gonna impersonate the real deal, at least show some skill.
With a sigh, I wedged the bloody knife into her hand. Come morning, the village NPCs would peg her as the killer. Fine by me if they didn't.
Amateur-hour planning. NPCs might be fakes, but they're not that stupid. Didn't matter to me, though.
Thud thud thud. The knocking rattled the house—loud enough to wake the dead. Rude as hell.
“Ailin! Ailin, you in there?!”
The culprit? The protagonist, of course.
Annoyance surged, but I couldn't ignore him. Still had to play the NPC for now. Shaking off the mental fog, I dragged myself up from the floor.
Creak. I opened the door, and his eyes raked me from head to toe. Then his face flushed crimson, and he jerked his gaze away. I glanced down—oh, right. Light sleepwear.
“Why.”
My voice came out icy despite myself as I tugged my clothes into place. Maybe the chill in the air, or perhaps he sensed my unconscious killing intent. Does killing intent even exist for real? Question for later.
“Uh, did anything... happen last night?”
“Nah, slept fine.”
“......Phew.”
His face was pale like yesterday's, but the dark circles under his eyes were even heavier. Obvious he'd tossed and turned all night.
“So, why're you here.”
“Ah...... First, uh, could you change clothes?”
“Yeah.”
I nodded and shut the door. Took my time swapping into day clothes before stepping out. He grabbed my arm and led me forward with exaggerated caution.
“......You'll see when we get there.”
I let him drag me along without protest. Our destination? The fabric shop, as expected.
“Ugh......! Two of 'em... two people, dead......!”
“Knife in her hand. Was the herb lady the killer?”
“Idiot! Then who killed her? And the neck...... Means there's another one.”
The village NPCs' confusion was only natural. If she was the killer, who killed her? Only I had the answer.
“It's okay.”
“Yeah.”
“I'll protect you.”
The protagonist murmured it softly. A vow to himself, maybe. Pathetic. The childhood friend in his memories was long gone. I didn't voice it.
As dawn broke, more NPCs gathered in the square. But none stepped up—just furtive glances and whispers. In the end, the one dubbed Village Chief volunteered to handle the bodies.
Seizing the chaotic moment, I scanned the surroundings. Whispers drifted to my ears from all sides.
“What if the killer's one of us?”
“No way! We've known each other since we were kids!”
“But there haven't been any outsiders......”
“Then who the hell......?”
Suspicion's seeds were sprouting. The NPCs eyed one another, then looked away. Fakes suspecting fakes—what a ridiculous sight.