What Was Gained and What Was Lost (3)
“You think you’ll get away with this—!”
“You’ve got roughly five days and twenty hours left before that stops being true. Enjoy your trip!”
Trip? To where?
Because of the tightly bound blindfold, Sezlak couldn’t make sense of his situation. The only thing he had managed to figure out was that he was trapped inside an empty beer barrel, thanks to the rancid stench of poorly stored ale.
When the barrel finally began to roll, Sezlak was drenched in terror. And when the jolting crashes against the ground that had been rattling him suddenly vanished, he finally understood exactly what the bastard had done.
“You crazy—”
Bwooong. Thud. Splash.
The beer barrel, kicked rolling into the waterway, set off on a long voyage carrying an uninvited passenger. The man who had once owned that barrel could not close his mouth. It wasn’t that he suddenly regretted discarding the cask he had tossed into the backyard. What worried him was the Eleim tied up inside it.
“Damn it, get me out! Save me! I was wrong—!”
“I’m not sure. Just as I couldn’t tell whether your ‘trophy’ was genuine until I cracked it open, whether you live or die might only become clear once we see the results, no?”
“What kind of insane bullshit is that—!”
Sezlak was right. It wasn’t logical. But logic could not protect Sezlak. What mattered in this moment was not logic, but Nathan’s catharsis.
Slipping the teeth he had pulled from Sezlak’s mouth into his pocket, Nathan offered a warm smile. The lisping, leaking voice of the now-gap-toothed Sezlak gradually faded into the distance, turning into a buzzing hum.
The tavern owner muttered.
“…What if he dies?”
Who knows. Nathan shrugged. If the man had been the sort who usually did favors for those around him, someone might pull him out before he starved.
The tavern owner, face drained of color, removed his hat and scratched at his smooth scalp. Beneath the fur cap that covered his ears were human ears.
Nathan flinched.
“They say an alligator lives at the end of the sewer.”
It’ll be fine. I’ve met that alligator personally. He could have said it, but Nathan refrained. It didn’t feel right to further upset a civilian who had already been through enough shock.
Even though four years had passed since he left the knight order of the Lower World.
“So… you were a human after all, innkeeper.”
“You’re the first person who starts speaking politely upon learning I’m not an Eleim but a Sapiens. And the first to look so troubled upon realizing the one who caused the damage was a Sapiens rather than an Eleim.”
The old man’s face as he looked at Nathan was dazed, as if he were dreaming.
“If it had been the opposite, I would have seen it so often it sickened me.”
Nathan glanced back awkwardly. The signboard at the entrance could no longer hold and dropped with a clatter. The joint hanging from the small chain had snapped.
The interior was an even greater disaster. If the mess had been left by eleven men brawling, it might have looked tidy. But for one person to have done this much damage—it was no different from the work of a villain.
As the heat of excitement cooled and his conscience began to ache, Nathan stood at a loss. The tavern owner pressed his ear-covering hat back down and spoke.
“You don’t need to ask.”
“No, I’ll compensate you somehow—even if I have to ask a connection—”
“My parents were from the Lower World.”
Now that he looked, the marks of age were clear in a way they never were on Eleim. The man with deeply wrinkled eyelids offered a faint smile.
“Every night he would return smelling of the docks and tell young me stories about the Lion Wing Knights. I thought it was the same as the old man in red clothes who delivered presents. It seems my father and mother truly never lied. Not even when they were putting their child to sleep.”
A strange emotion seeped from every word. Nathan could only nod, unsure how to respond. Yes. I see.
“I know who you are. Nathan Maia.”
Nathan removed his mask with an embarrassed expression.
“Yes. In truth, it would have been stranger if you didn’t know. If you’d like to ask anything, I’ll—”
“You spoke earlier about the greater will of humanity. That’s when I realized.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t know exactly what it is. But every time a trial came, you never cried out to the heavenly gods. You simply said, ‘For the greater will of humanity,’ and stood up again. You probably don’t realize what a comfort that was to all of us who were watching.”
Moisture glistened in the tavern owner’s eyes.
“Thank you. For the greater will of humanity.”
What was there to thank him for? He had attacked soldiers inside the man’s own tavern, destroyed his livelihood, and dragged him into danger. And why say the thanks in the Eleim tongue while speaking the words “greater will of humanity” in clumsy Federation speech?
Without realizing it, Nathan took a step back. Whatever emotion lay within the old man’s wet, smiling eyes, to Nathan it felt sudden and overwhelmingly burdensome.
Hoping not to appear rude, Nathan awkwardly echoed the words.
“Ah, yes. For the greater will of humanity…? Yes. For it.”
“For the greater will of humanity” was an idiomatic exclamation. There was no such thing as “for Mom” or “for goodness’ sake” in the same construction. Therefore, unless the speaker was a paladin or a pilgrim, the phrase sounded distinctly awkward.
Still, it wasn’t bad. There was no harm in lending a hand for the collective unconscious. Yes. For it.
Nathan bowed repeatedly to express his apologies, then hurriedly pulled the handcart and withdrew.
Among the items the tavern owner had cheerfully surrendered, claiming he had already thrown them away, was not only the beer barrel but also a rather serviceable-looking handcart. But the tavern owner did not know that both objects would be used to transport Eleim.
Averting his eyes from Kilika, who groaned each time the cart jolted, the tavern owner shook his head. Then he silently began clearing away the debris that had scattered from his tavern onto the street.
A few minutes after leaving the tavern behind, Nathan realized the true nature of the district. In this rotting, crumbling shantytown, humans lived.
“For the greater will of humanity.”
Those words stopped Nathan in his tracks. They carefully opened a door hanging crookedly on its hinges, stepped outside, and approached him. Then they hesitantly reached out with their filthy hands.
That’s him. That man. That person. The knight. It’s the knight.
That was how it began. Soon, from between the ridiculous plank houses lining the street, people began pouring out like ants.
Nathan instinctively retreated. From his very first day in the heavens, physical contact with unknown strangers had been something to guard against. The memory of the needle that had pierced his chest the moment he let his guard down was still vivid. It had been only the prelude to the countless unexpected blows that later struck him.
Yet whether Nathan showed reluctance or not, the people continued desperately trying to reach him. Sensing no killing intent from them, he eventually stopped and allowed them to touch him.
A child with round ears and skin flaking from poverty grabbed his trouser leg, tugging and leaving dirt behind. An old woman hesitantly stroked the cheek of a visibly tense Nathan, leaving a smudge of soot.
“For the greater will of humanity.”
He couldn’t bring himself to tell them that wasn’t how the phrase was used. Nathan simply tried to overcome his trauma and let the crowd be.
“Yes. For the greater will of humanity. It really is a fine phra—”
“Are you the one who brought down the executioners with a single longsword?”
“For the greater will of humanity.”
“Thank you for surviving. We couldn’t do anything for you.”
“For the greater will of humanity.”
“I prayed for you. Not to the heavenly gods of the Eleim who never look our way.”
“For the greater will of humanity.”
For the greater will. For the greater will.
In the incomprehensible situation, Nathan felt a crushing wave of exhaustion. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes for even thirty minutes—a thought he had never once had while warming himself by the hearth in the cozy, sturdy shelter Benny had built.
“What is this—yes, thank you. But I really must be going—”
The crowd parted. Those standing closest to Nathan weakly restrained their neighbors, whispering urgently. Soon the people opened a path.
Nathan passed through in a daze, offering awkward greetings. He could understand that they were welcoming him. What he could not understand was what exactly he had done for them. He had not slain any giant monster on their behalf, nor driven off bandits burning their fields. Being surrounded by an emotional crowd when he had done nothing felt awkward. Moreover, the joy they displayed bordered on worship.
Blatant praise had been burdensome even back on the ground. Finding it increasingly difficult to endure, Nathan quickened his steps just enough to leave the shantytown without looking as if he were fleeing. The people watched his receding back and continued to murmur until the very end.
“For the greater will of humanity.”
“Who is it.”
The man lying in the street with bandages wrapped around his eyes muttered. Nathan paused in front of the blanket the man’s body rested upon.
“I asked who you are.”
“Just a passerby. Nothing speci—”
“Lies. If you were truly no one, it wouldn’t be this noisy.”
Longing colored the blind homeless man’s voice. The same longing Nathan had seen in the eyes of the faceless crowd. It occurred to him that the man might have heard everything.
If he truly passed by claiming to be no one, what would the man think?
“I’m a knight. I don’t know what that means to them, but they welcomed me regardless.”
“There are no knights in the heavens. A knight on a white horse is like a fish. In fairy tales it can swim, but once you pull it onto land, it dies. That’s what happened to those who came up from the ground and claimed to be knights.”
Blood welled from the leper-split lips of the homeless man.
“They’re all dragged away by nobles or corporations, swung around like butcher knives on the battlefield, and then discarded. So who are you, claiming to be a knight?”
“I—”
“Give me your name.”
“Nathan Maia.”
Nathan felt wretched. He had known it would come to this.
The blind homeless man lifted a rotting hand, trying to touch him. But there was no way for him to know where Nathan stood. So Nathan extended his arm closer. The blind man gladly seized it, then pressed down hard, using every ounce of strength he possessed. It was as if he were checking whether a real person existed inside the hooded shirt’s sleeve.
“This is the arm of one who survived a hundred rounds. The sturdy arm of the man who stood on water with nothing but a plank and a longsword and slew the Kraken.”
Tears of blood bloomed beneath the closed bandages. Nathan recoiled in shock.
“Thank you for surviving.”
“The Kraken match was closed to the public—how did you…?”
“The young ones who work at the arena told me. So it really was true that you faced the Kraken.”
“I never thought I’d be subjected to leading questions about what I’ve fought in my life. Yes, it’s correct.”
“You said it that day as well. ‘For the greater will of humanity.’ Right before you stepped down from the plank and walked upon the water.”
The weight of it stole Nathan’s breath. He had never walked on water. He had simply abandoned the plank the jeering bastards had given him and dived. But he wasn’t sure he could confess the truth. In this man’s imagination, what manner of creature had Nathan Maia become?
“It was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my life. For the greater will of humanity.”
Nathan blinked, then slowly withdrew his forearm from between the blind man’s hands. The blind leper released him with a trace of regret. When Nathan lifted him into his arms, the man looked utterly bewildered.
“Yes. For the greater will of humanity.”
Kilika blinked dry, stinging eyes. Yellow light was spreading across the blue sky, and the dawn sunlight was slowly growing warmer. It was far too early for a drunkard’s morning.
There were two reasons he had been unable to fall asleep. The handcart’s miserable riding conditions, and the leper who had fallen asleep lying beside him. Kilika glared at the latter for a long time before growling at the person pulling the cart.
“You son of a bitch.”
The first words Kilika had managed to spit out since being loaded aboard. Nathan paused and glanced back.
“Leprosy isn’t contagious just by proximity. If it were, everyone in this alley would have the same symptoms just from the fleas.”
“…Not that. I told you to carry him. At least support him.”
Nathan made an expression of sudden understanding, then leaned the cart against a roadside fence. He hoisted only the leper onto his back and resumed pulling the cart. Kilika’s skull, left abandoned in the cart, rattled violently with every bump of the wheels.
“You blood-clot bastard who deserves to be chewed up and swallowed.”
“Can’t we take him to Benny? Leaving him behind makes me feel like too much of a villain.”
Kilika shut his mouth and let the cart shake his head for him. It took him quite a while to organize his next words.
“Are you playing at being a savior now?”
Nathan turned to look at Kilika and frowned.
“I admit the situation earlier was extremely embarrassing. I had no idea why everyone was acting that way, so I broke into a cold sweat. What the hell did I even do while I was locked up? Did a changeling with my face wander around? That should be impossible. It’s not as if I was inside a dream pouch.”
“You really don’t know what you did while you were imprisoned?”
The blind man, who had been leaning against Nathan’s shoulder, lifted his head.
“You gave us hope. Hope that cannot be exchanged for anything else.”