Rumors (Part 2)
Rumble, clatter!
The carriage jolted violently as it rattled along the rutted dirt path.
Ow! My tailbone...
The road itself was undeniably atrocious, but having hastily flagged down the first available carriage back at the tavern, Eron was paying the price—the suspension offered absolutely zero shock absorption.
Traveling in the swaying carriage on the trail of rumors he had gathered at the tavern, Eron rubbed his aching rear and surveyed his fellow passengers. Excluding the coachman up front, there were five people crammed into the cabin. Neither too crowded nor particularly spacious.
The two men sitting across from him gave off the unmistakable aura of mercenaries, while the nervous fellow beside him appeared to be a traveling merchant. And as for the woman seated across from him...
"Whoa there! You all right? That delicate frame of yours must be taking quite a beating."
"Aye, a woman's body wasn't built for roads this rough."
"How about it, miss? I wouldn't mind serving as your personal cushion."
The two sellswords began pestering the woman under the guise of chivalrous concern, their voices dripping with greasy, lecherous intent.
A deep hood shadowed the woman's face, and a voluminous travel robe concealed her entire figure from head to toe, making it impossible to discern her features. Yet to the mercenaries, such details hardly mattered. So long as she was reasonably female, that was more than enough justification to leer.
"No, thank you. I am quite fine. There is no issue."
"Come now, leave it to us and you won't have a thing to worry about."
"Take a bad bounce and you could wrench your waist, you know?"
"That's right. A strong waist is vital—for a woman just as much as a man."
Despite her crisp refusal, their crude advances persisted without shame.
Watching the exchange unfold, the merchant seated beside Eron grew visibly pale, the color draining entirely from his cheeks.
Looks like this guy noticed.
The merchant's terror was well-founded. The woman these two ruffians were harassing was not someone who had to endure such indignities. Far from it—she held enough authority to have both of them executed on the spot for their insolence.
She was without question a noble, and a remarkably high-ranking one at that. At the very least, an upper-tier noble.
The hem of the garment peeking through the folds of her travel robe was undeniably crafted from the finest material. To an untrained eye, it might have passed for something modest and understated, but a closer examination revealed breathtaking embroidery and tailoring of extraordinary quality. Attire of that caliber required bespoke commissioning, signaling a household endowed not merely with mountains of gold, but with genuine political clout.
Anyone with an ounce of discernment could easily deduce what kind of pedigree was required to wear such threads.
"I'll have you know my thighs are softer than any luxury carriage bench."
"Like hell they are, you slab of muscle. She'd be far better off on my lap."
Naturally, the two sellswords remained blissfully oblivious.
Then again, their ignorance was understandable. It was hardly an everyday occurrence to find an aristocratic lady journeying alone aboard a battered, shared passenger carriage. For the daughter of an eminent house, life typically offered only one predetermined path: marriage. If she belonged to the high nobility, the familial pressure to wed would be all the more suffocating.
Of course, circumstances might differ if she possessed the kind of brilliant aptitude needed to distinguish herself as a grand mage. Yet even if she were a spellcaster, it was almost unthinkable that an aristocratic lady would travel unaccompanied in a rundown transport like this. A prodigy backed by a wealthy house would never be caught dead in such a rattletrap.
Though her disguise was somewhat clumsy, she clearly had pressing reasons to conceal her identity. What could her story be?
A flicker of curiosity stirred in Eron, and he stole a glance in her direction. Then he immediately checked himself.
No, leave it alone.
She undoubtedly carried her own complicated circumstances, but there was no reason for him to get entangled. Eron was of noble birth himself. While technically still not a commoner if one scrutinized official registers, various bothersome entanglements had led him to travel under the guise of a commoner for the time being. In his current position, meddling in aristocratic affairs would only invite needless headaches.
Severing his interest, Eron turned his eyes toward the carriage window.
Is the sun setting already?
They had been traveling for quite a while now, and twilight was gradually draping the landscape in shadow. Yet the scenery passing outside felt somewhat... off.
Clatter-slam!
"Heh, why not just leave it to—Guh!Aargh!"
The carriage pitched violently over a massive rut, causing the bald mercenary, who had been leaning into the woman's space, to bite his tongue with tremendous force.
"Whoa there! Apologies, folks! The road's a bit rough through here!"
Rattle! Crash!
True to the coachman's warning, the carriage began swaying and rolling even more violently.
"Are you quite all right? I am perfectly fine, so I suggest you tend to your own well-being first."
"What?! Why, you little—"
The woman delivered a sharp, biting counter. The mercenary's face flushed crimson with rage, but amidst the violent turbulence of the cabin, he couldn't even maintain his footing, forced to swallow his fury in silence.
Was this road always this bad?
Eron couldn't recall hearing anything of the sort. The highways connecting major cities were supposed to be reasonably maintained. There was no reason for the terrain to be this treacherous. Furthermore, the surrounding landscape didn't quite match the descriptions he had received—
"Urk!"
Hm? What was that sound?
Jolt!
"Urp!"
It hadn't come from the young lady across from him. Nor was it Eron, the mercenaries, or the merchant. Who else could possibly—
"Urrk! Ugh... why is it shaking so much?! Hic!"
Ah. Not a human.
Having knocked herself out cold after sneaking sips of alcohol back in town, Ifrit poked her tiny crimson head out from Eron's inner coat pocket.
Don't tell me she's hungover? Unbelievable. This girl really knows how to—wait. Hungover?!
"Ugh! Something's coming up! It won't stop bouncing—urp!"
"W-Wait, mister! Pull over for a second!"
"Pardon?"
"Stop the carriage right now!"
Seeing the desperate, green tint on Ifrit's tiny face, Eron urgently shouted at the coachman.
"Y-Yes... right away."
Completely baffled, the driver hauled on the reins and brought the horses to a halt. The instant the wheels stopped turning, Eron threw open the door and bolted into the roadside thicket. The coachman wore an expression thick with sour irritation, but Eron had neither the time nor the luxury to care.
"Hey! Hold it! Just bear with it a little longer!"
"Uwaagh! Running makes it worse—*blaaargh!*"
"Hey! Don't do it on me!!"
All the effort Eron spent sprinting into the woods was rendered completely moot as Ifrit emptied the contents of her drunken misery squarely onto the front of his coat.
So spirits can throw up too. Guess they really aren't that different from humans after all.
"Hey! I told you to hold it in!"
"I couldn't help it—*hurk!*"
Fine, whatever. Since it's already ruined, let it all out.
Still, could so much liquid really fit inside such a palm-sized body? The volume was surprisingly impressive. At the very least, it didn't look quite as repulsive as human vomit, lacking any grotesque solid chunks. Not that that made having it smeared down his chest feel any better.
"Ugh... Why does my head feel like this...? Hic!"
"That's what you get for guzzling my liquor without asking."
"Ugh! Alcohol?! Yours truly will never touch that poison again!"
Where have I heard that one before? Eron mused. He had never seen a single mortal keep that promise, though whether a spirit would prove any different remained to be seen.
"Let's find some water and get this washed off."
"Eek! Some of it splashed on me!"
"My clothes took the entire brunt of it, in case you didn't notice."
Perhaps because she was an elemental entity, the residue lacked any foul odor and didn't seem inherently filthy, but the psychological toll was undeniable. Vomit was still vomit.
"Is there a stream nearby? Or should I just use the canteen—"
"Excuse me?"
From behind the trees, the hooded woman from the carriage approached with tentative steps.
Why is she coming out here all of a sudden?
"Is something... the matter?" Eron asked, turning slightly to shield his pocket.
"Are you all right? You dashed off in such an urgent hurry."
"Yes, I'm quite fine. It was merely... an urgent call of nature."
Saying that much ought to send any well-bred lady scurrying away in embarrassment.
"A... call of nature...?"
"Yes, precisely. So if you come any closer, it might prove a bit..."
"Ah! Oh... I-I am so terribly sorry! I didn't realize..."
As expected, a bit too blunt for a sheltered noble lady? Still, it was the most effective deterrent. It wasn't as if she could perceive Ifrit anyway, but there was no reason to invite unnecessary questions.
"So if you wouldn't mind giving me some privacy—"
"Right! Yes! Forgive me for intruding!"
She bowed flusteredly and took several quick steps backward. Her reaction was far more innocent than he had anticipated, leaving Eron with a slight twinge of guilt.
"U-Um... We have decided to make camp here and rest until sunrise!" she called out before retreating.
"Understood. Thank you for letting me know."
Having delivered her message, the woman hurried back toward the carriage at a brisk pace.
Camping out tonight, huh?
"Who was that woman? Since when has she been trailing you?"
Having recovered slightly, Ifrit immediately puffed up into a prickly, defensive posture. Since ordinary mortals could neither see nor hear her, she was inherently distrustful of strangers—and for reasons known only to herself, especially wary of other women.
"She was riding in the same carriage with us the entire time."
"Huh? Since when?!"
She really was completely out cold, wasn't she?
"Never mind. Let's just get cleaned up."
After doing his best to rinse off the aftermath of Ifrit's debauchery, Eron made his way back toward the road.
"Damn it all! That stuck-up little bitch. I swear, I'm gonna—"
"Hey. Cool your head."
"Cool my head?! After what she just said to me, you expect me to calm down?!"
The moment the woman had walked off to check on Eron, the bald mercenary finally vented his simmering fury.
"Don't go making a mess over nothing. Didn't you see that guy? He's a mage."
"That pretty-boy bastard?"
"He had a staff strapped to his back."
"Tch!"
A mage's true combat capability was impossible to gauge until spells flew. More importantly, mages almost invariably possessed noble status. Even if he hailed from a minor lineage, crossing paths with the nobility rarely ended well for sellswords. The bald mercenary wasn't reckless enough to pick a fight with a noble without good reason.
"The bitch probably ran over to him knowing that, didn't she?"
"Sly little fox."
It was impossible to predict how far a mage would intervene if trouble broke out. But if she struck up a conversation and established even a shred of rapport, the odds of him stepping in to protect her skyrocketed. She had likely approached the young man with that exact calculation in mind.
At least, that was how the mercenaries reasoned it out.
"Or maybe she just fell for his face?"
"What?"
"Come on, compared to that ugly mug of yours, he's practically a prince."
The bald mercenary couldn't entirely dispute the claim. In their line of work, they had seen it happen countless times: haughty women who played hard to get suddenly throwing themselves at wealthy, handsome men of high birth.
"Just let it go. The timing's rotten. I'll treat you to a round of drinks and women once we hit the city, so just bear with it."
The lean mercenary offered some comforting words to his partner. Encountering a mage aboard a common passenger carriage was an extraordinary rarity. Swallowing their pride was the sensible choice rather than courting disaster.
"That little..."
Watching the woman return toward the carriage, the bald sellsword felt his simmering anger flare right back up.
"Hey, I told you to relax—"
"Pardon me, gentlemen. Might I have a word?"
The coachman's voice suddenly cut into their hushed conversation.
"Hm? What do you want?"
"I believe I might have something rather enticing to offer the two of you."
As the coachman stepped closer, a greasy, sinister smirk stretched across his face, dripping with malice and underhanded greed.