Midnight Cuckoo (16)
The sound came from the edge of the forest. The rustling of several people trampling and parting the underbrush, the clanking of metal gear. My ears, keen enough to catch even the faintest noises, picked up the low whispers mixed in among them.
"This the place...? We heard it's around here, but damn if I can tell."
"There's a path right here. Must lead there if we follow it."
"Looks like just some animal trail no matter how you slice it..."
"That's 'cause those mongrel bitches are small."
I planted myself squarely in the middle of the path leading to the village. After a while, the humans emerged. About twenty of them, all shapes and sizes, different outfits—but they shared one thing. Their eyes gleamed with a killer's glint, making them look brutally vicious, like they'd murdered before. The gleaming axes and lumberman's saws in their hands, the nets on their backs, the rope coils and whips studded with broken pottery shards at their waists—they said it all.
Definitely not hunters or woodcutters. They didn't know the path to the village, so not villagers. Called us "mongrels," so not half-elves themselves. That left slavers. The rough, merciless types who hunted anything worth selling into slavery.
Coming here in broad daylight while the sun was still up? They must figure grabbing half-elves wouldn't be much trouble.
Half-elves know magic? Got strength and fight well? Nah, they probably think they can just roll up, intimidate, and snag a few tasty-looking, hardworking ones.
The sudden appearance of a human made the slavers flinch and reach for their weapons.
"What're you doing here?"
"I'm a Lenditofte citizen."
The one who looked like the leader stepped forward a bit, glaring fiercely.
"So what're you doing out here alone in these woods?"
"Gathering herbs. Teinybig Valley's got tons of good ones... And who might you gentlemen be?"
"Heard there are half-elves around here, so we came to hunt some."
Surprisingly, the slavers spilled their purpose honestly. Hunting beasts isn't wrong—why hide it? Unless the prey's human... That's how normal folk see half-elves.
But letting them into the village right now? Problematic. It's mealtime. They say even dogs don't mess with you when you're eating.
"Ah, got it. Perfect timing—we were just annoyed about those filthy things living near the city."
My words eased the slavers' guarded expressions a bit. The leader asked in a slightly softer tone.
"Hoping to bag 'em before sundown, but can't find the damn place. You know the way?"
"Of course. Been in and out of here dozens of times. Passed near there just earlier."
Their faces lit up, and they relaxed their grip on their weapons.
"Lucky us—meeting a fine fellow like you means we'll wrap this up quick."
"Can't wait to wipe out those stinking mongrels. Feels good already."
The slavers laughed heartily, boasting they'd take every last one. I led the way—in completely the wrong direction.
After a bit of walking, the slavers' faces started hardening. They exchanged glances, scanning around. I did the same, then stopped at a spot that seemed perfect. No one would find the bodies here.
"H-Hey, you sure we're going the right way?"
"Nope. Dead wrong direction."
I said it straight, and they nodded like "oh, right," then jolted in realization. Dumbasses...
"You fuckin' liar! Said you knew the path!"
"Said I knew it, not that I'd guide you. Why'd you follow me anyway?"
Our brazen attitude turned their faces red, then purple, then some weird shade. One scratched his head.
"W-Well... now that we're here, pick one. Walk away, or never walk again."
"Crazy bastard...!"
"Nah. Thought about it—letting you go means you'll come back someday. Tough break, but oh well."
"What the hell's this punk babbling alone?!"
Furious at wasting time on the wrong path, the slavers drew weapons. Vicious blades glinted coldly, all aimed at me in an instant.
"Your turn to choose. Nicely guide us to the half-elves, or die here!"
"You'd kill me even if I did. And if I don't, you'll threaten till I do... So yeah."
I stroked my chin, grinning slyly.
"To not die, better not guide you."
"Don't kill the bastard—capture him!"
Heads boiling over, the slavers charged with roars. I smashed the lead one's axe blade with my hand chop, snapping it, thinking as I did.
Coincidences can feel so contrived sometimes, like someone's prank. Right when I'm at the half-elf village, slavers "happen" by. Seasoned slavers follow a stranger's words without suspicion all the way here. What kinda luck is that?
If I'm right, Marim shows up right after I drop these guys.
"Gaaah! Fuck!"
The slaver whose axe shattered screamed, wrist twisted, collapsing. I crushed his face with my knee, recalling the holy sword on the inn wall.
You're staging me heroically fighting slavers to save the village, opening Marim's heart, right?
Thanks for the help, but this setup's straight out of some third-rate novel. You could do better.
Anyway... if you enjoy meddling in the world like this, I'm thrilled. You watch over me always—happy to play along.
I snatched a whip from one's belt, cracking it threateningly. The monstrous whoosh froze their faces pale.
"Dinner prep time—let's wrap this up."
The deadly whip, glued thick with broken pottery shards, lashed mercilessly. A graze tore flesh to bone, faces smeared red as features vanished.
One tried blocking—his wrists severed in a blink. He screamed, fleeing madly. The whip ripped another's gut, spilling innards; snapped another's spine as he turned.
I spun it overhead, advancing—close ones burst in sprays of blood. Fine red mist hazed the air, stench choking.
Glanced around—done. Dropped the whip; it flew into the woods from spin.
Ground churned like plowed field. Trees, bushes shredded; dirt flung. Meat lumps that were slavers soaked earth red.
"Gotta wash hands first thing."
I rubbed mine on my pants. Gasping from behind—yep, Marim, hands over mouth.
"All done? Let's go."
But Marim stared in horror at the hellscape, speechless.
"Slavers. Headed to your village—lured 'em here."
"Slavers...? For real...?"
"Why else kill randoms? Check their gear if you doubt."
Marim peeked sidelong at corpses, averting eyes.
"C'mon. Gotta make dinner."
"A-Ah... y-yes...!"
Heading back to the hell horse, Marim kept glancing behind. That scene must've shocked her bad.
"Siblings eat well?"
"Huh? Oh... they're stuffed, complaining. Other half-elves said thank you, boss."
"Good they ate. Come again next month."
"Next month...?"
She stopped; I went ahead, turned.
"What? No next month's pay?"
"Ah... yeah... right..."
"Hurry up."
Walked on—no footsteps, no brush rustle. What now?
Stopped, turned—panicked a bit. Marim clutched her face, shoulders shaking.
"What're you doing?"
"Sorry... just a sec..."
Sobs leaked through fingers; couldn't push her.
Her drooped ears, sunset-glowing red hair. Tiny shoulders—thought how desperately she'd fought in a world scorning her for mixed blood.
Blessed by goddess with my build, I can't fully get it. But one thing: she'd do illegal, dangerous shit for siblings without hesitation. I liked that.
Love folks who take responsibility, even dirty, over starving.
"Okay now."
She rubbed eyes, voice shaky.
"Thought I'd never come back... never see siblings again."
"Why? Jail?"
Her tear-glossed face beamed smile.
"Thought it was jail. Wasn't."
"Heh, ridiculous..."
I chuckled; she laughed bright.
"Let's go, boss."
"Yeah, hurry."
Marim leaped lightly onto hell horse—taller than her, yet effortless. Insane skill.
Time for delivery flyers everywhere. Bulk cheap paper bowls, Rosens map from Hildeva. Heh... exciting. Real delivery—hopping roofs tireless, no horse hassle.
With Marim up front, galloping to inn, I grinned nonstop.
Hell horse's mad speed got us back before peak rush. Dinner guests scattered screaming at it.
"Sorry, not a monster."
Hopped off, heading in—turned to Marim. She faceplanted into my back.
"Ow."
"You start tomorrow, so straight to dorm today."
"Can work now."
"Promise is promise. Room with Pelle on third floor."
Left hesitant Marim, crossed hall to kitchen. Della sweated over stove. Took over, cooking proper.
"Back quick. All good?"
"Yeah. Get Pelle."
Explained tomorrow's delivery to Pelle.
"Know what to prep? Go get 'em."
She left without a word. Trust her—Maou Castle logistics vet. Cash gets anything.
Food done; Della, Idi plated fast. No Pelle, so I headed to help hall—bumped Marim with tray at door.
"What're you doing?"
"Working. Too many guests for two."
"...Fine."
Serving's no big skill. But Marim's half-elf—city not prepped, could spark backlash.
Pondering, spotted Celereja trotting from temple.
Good idea hit.
"Saintess. Over here a sec."
Grabbed her arm mid-hug, pulled to kitchen.