The Hero's Party
The shadows cast by the afternoon sun ran deep. Backlit at the tavern counter, we sat facing each other, our gazes smoldering. The woman who'd fallen for my sweet talk wiped a cup with trembling hands and asked, bright with anticipation,
"So, what is it you do, sir?"
I launched into a story that wasn't exactly a lie, delivered with absolute confidence.
"Well, you see, I play a very important role in the Hero's Party. You could say they can't do without me."
"My goodness! How wonderful…"
Admiring eyes and a full, soft bosom. Plump thighs and a narrow waist. The widow who'd lost her husband looked at me with damp eyes and breathed out hotly. I nodded and piled on the swagger.
"To be specific, you could say I handle the party's finances. The brains of the operation, if you will. The brains."
"How impressive. I took you for a fighter, but you're an intellectual…"
In a way, a smooth-talking rake and a merchant belonged to the same trade. If a merchant inflated a product's virtues and sold people dreams, I simply sold women a little fantasy.
This woman, who'd lost her husband in the Demon War and now ran an inn alone, had long since worn herself thin on loneliness and discourtesy. Comforting a woman like her, as a member of the Hero's Party, was both my duty and my right.
Besides, wasn't it only natural for lonely, cast-aside people to press their bodies together? I offered my hand with a sly smile, and the widow shook her head as if to refuse—even as she reached out of her own accord.
Just as our hands were about to meet—
"Porter Ahjussi! There you are. Get out here, now!"
A woman with short orange hair kicked the door open and swaggered in. I wiped the leisurely look off my face and immediately started bowing and scraping in front of her.
"Ah—aigoo! Lady Lena! W-what seems to be the matter?"
"Demon King's forces showed up near the border. They want us moving, fast."
"A… a porter?"
A look of pure bafflement crossed the widow's face. Without so much as an excuse, I was dragged outside by Lena. I scratched my head and said,
"Lady Lena. Couldn't I have just a little longer? It would've been over soon. Five minutes. Just give me five minutes."
"Five minutes and I'd feel too sorry for that ajumma. No."
Lena clicked her tongue as she said it. Sudden muster orders were never welcome in any unit. Even for someone who'd done her time in an organization, this kind of departure clearly didn't sit well.
"So we're leaving right away? Where to this time?"
"The Hero'll know. All I heard was to round everyone up because we have to move. Man, and here I thought we might actually get a break."
Lena stretched as she spoke. The vivid spider tattoo on her neck writhed as if it were alive. She kneaded her neck, yawned, and said to me,
"Let's hit the church first. Ashuria'll be there."
"Ah, yes. Understood."
The widow from a moment ago kept flickering before my eyes. If not for the deployment order, I could have spent a hot night tonight—could have lain in bed with a cigarette and soothed the loneliness. Maybe my face was broadcasting that sense of loss, because Lena clapped me on the shoulder.
"Don't droop like that, Ahjussi. Next village, there'll be a widow even more incredible than that one. Chest twice as big, ass twice as big. Built as big as you, even."
"That would be a monster."
"Would it?"
Lena snickered. Clearly she had no real intention of cheering me up. While she was laughing and glancing my way, a man with his hat pulled low came walking toward us. He looked us over once, bumped shoulders with Lena, and said,
"Whoops—sorry about that."
Then he bolted for the alley faster than he'd approached.
I looked at Lena and asked,
"Shall I chase him?"
"Nah. My wallet's right here."
Lena grinned and held up her wallet. I said to her,
"As expected of a first-rate thief of the underworld. To recover your wallet before I even noticed."
"Got his fingers too."
As she said it, Lena spun a dagger idly in one hand. It had a ring on the hilt, easy to twirl on a finger, and the edge was so keen a passing grasshopper would have been sliced clean through. She spun it until it whistled, then sheathed it at her waist and held out a handful of blunt finger joints.
"…Whoa."
One, two, three, four, five. All five fingers had been severed; they looked like little sausages.
"GYAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
From deep in the alley, the pickpocket finally registered the problem with his hand and screamed. Lena cackled and scattered the fingers across the ground. A dog that had been begging with its tail wagging snapped them up as if it had been waiting.
"Wasn't that a bit much?"
"What's too much? He saw this tattoo and still touched me. He should be dead. I let him live."
Lena pointed at the vivid spider tattoo and laughed again. The black spider mark carried a warning: do not touch. As the church drew near, she roughly wiped the blood off her palm.
"Aaaah…! I—I'm sorry…! Forgive me…!"
Perhaps because we were close to the church, a voice of repentance grew clearer with every step. Lena smiled at the prayer that sounded like a plea for life.
"Nothing settles the heart like the sound of repentance, you know? I think the technical term for that is catharsis?"
"Something like that. Tartar sauce, or whatever it is."
"Is that even close?"
Lena burst out laughing. Whether it was Qatar race or whatever, I neither knew nor cared. Getting close with a widow didn't require difficult vocabulary. What I needed now was to reach the next destination as soon as possible and find that village's widow.
That was all.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
"Ah…! Aaaah…! P-please stop…! I beg of you…! Hic…! It hurts so much…!"
But when we reached the church's doorstep, what greeted us was not the beautiful prayers of a pastor and a nun—it was the heavy impact of flesh being beaten off bone. Punch after punch, each one carrying a clear intent to kill, pounded a human body so hard the wall itself rang with it.
"Oh, there she is. Ashuria!"
In the church alley, we found the source of the noise. A nun had a man by the collar and was turning his face into a bloody pulp. The form-fitting habit, the blood-smeared knuckles on her hands, and the long black hair all announced who she was.
Ashuria. The woman who served as the priest of our Hero's Party. She was striking for her straight black hair and black eyes; being a nun hadn't originally been her true calling, but the Church had specially dispatched her as talent for this Hero's Party.
"Lena. What is it?"
She wiped the blood from her hands as she asked. Lena showed not the slightest interest in the man collapsed at her feet.
"We're leaving now, so pack your stuff and come on."
"A pity. It feels like we only just arrived in this village."
Ashuria said it as she stripped off her knuckles. Blood and scraps of flesh dripped from them; it looked like we'd walked into a slaughterhouse. I asked,
"Sister. Why, exactly, have you left a man in this state?"
"He harassed a nun of the Church. I had no choice but to deliver a sermon."
"Urgh…! C-call a doctor…! It hurts so much…! I'm cold…!"
A faint smell of liquor clung to him; he'd clearly wandered into the church drunk and met with disaster. I said to Ashuria,
"E-even so, isn't that punishment a little severe?"
"One does not lightly overlook the harassment of a servant of God. How could I possibly forgive him? I offered to absolve his sins for a donation of one silver, but the faithful would not listen."
"Ah…! Aaaah…!"
The man wept and trembled. Ashuria tilted her head, studied his condition, then said to me,
"I said one silver. He gave me five copper. So I warned him that for every copper that came out when I searched his pockets, he would receive one blow."
It takes one hundred copper to make a silver. Ashuria held up a bloodstained wallet.
"There were two silver in the wallet. A regrettable matter."
Ashuria stretched out a hand and cast light over the man's body. His face knit a little under the glow, and the blood running from it stopped. She dusted off her hands.
"He should have enough strength to reach a doctor now. Go and reflect on your sins."
"A—AAAAAAAH!"
The man fled without so much as a thank-you. Ashuria's face twisted—but Lena slung an arm around her neck and said,
"Come on, let's go meet the Hero already, yeah?"
At the word Hero, Ashuria nodded and turned. I took her luggage, stowed it in the pack, and followed the two of them with a bag that had grown somewhat bulkier.
"Where is the Hero?"
"Supposedly waiting outside the village. Mille should be in the forest, so the two of them have probably already met up."
"Isn't that them over there?"
In the direction I pointed, a still-living deer thrashed on the ground in a snare, and beside it stood the Hero. Next to him, a small elf who barely came up to the Hero's chest was sniffling as she stared at the deer.
"That's Mille and the Hero."
The Hero—blonde hair, blue eyes—saw us, smiled brightly, and waved. Lena waved back without a care and ran over; Ashuria handed me the wallet she'd just torn free and said,
"Take the money out and dump the wallet somewhere suitable."
"Ah, yes."
Lena high-fived the Hero and beamed.
"Hero! What were you up to?"
"Waiting for you all."
The Hero said it in a gentle voice. From the vantage of someone my age, it really was a pleasant sight—young people like that sticking close together.
"Hic…! Sniff…. Hiiing…!"
But in the middle of the happy reunion, the elf was crying. The young elf with pale blonde hair and a small frame wiped her tears as she watched the thrashing deer. Lena turned to look.
"Mille. Why are you crying like that?"
"B-because the deer is so pitiful…!"
Lena thought for a second, then nodded.
"Ahh, so you're sad the deer got caught like this and is going to get eaten by us? But don't wor—"
Thuk!
Before Lena could finish, Mille drew a short blade from her waist and drove it into the deer's throat. The thrashing animal's eyes lost focus and its limbs went slack. Still crying, Mille said,
"Sniff…! Hic…! I'll end your suffering…! You poor thing…!"
As she spoke, she pulled out a metal bowl and set it on the ground. Then she opened the wound at the deer's neck, caught the blood, and wiped her tears. It poured like a stream; before long the bucket was full of crimson.
"Sniff…. Hic…! A-anyone want some blood? It's good for you…"
"…I-I'm good."
Lena shook her head with an awkward look. I asked Ashuria,
"Are all elves normally like that?"
"…I have heard that elves are cold-blooded lunatics with no sensitivity whatsoever."
"But Mille seems rather emotional."
Ashuria only shrugged. While we talked, Mille had already skinned the deer and folded the hide, then portioned the edible cuts and packed them separately. The sight of her fussing over the deer with a blood-smeared face and hands was distinctly unsettling.
"Hic…! Little deer, we'll eat you up nice and tasty…!"
When Mille finished speaking, silence fell. No one knew how to respond; we all eyed one another. At last Lena forced a laugh and echoed her.
"Little deer, we'll eat well—."
The nun and the Hero followed after her.
"W-we'll eat well, little deer."
"We shall eat well. Deer."
Then every gaze turned to me. I shuffled backward, barely caught myself, bowed my head toward the venison, and said,
"Aigoo, right. Little deer, we'll eat well—."
"Hehehe…"
Only then did Mille nod, satisfied, and hand me all the packed meat and hide. I gathered the greatly increased load and stood; Mille took up her bow and fell in at the rear with me.
The Hero rested a hand on his sword hilt and said to us,
"Shall we head out, then?"
And so.
It was the moment another grand adventure of our Hero's Party began.