No Goddess, But There's Still a Merchant
Three days had passed since I took in Yellow, Black, and White.
Nothing much had happened in the meantime. Yellow spent the whole day swinging his sword like a true Black Knight, and Black was still wary of me, though noticeably quieter than before.
White was too timid for me to even strike up a conversation with her. The moment I took so much as a step closer, she would let out a squeak of alarm, bury her head, and hide.
Unfortunately, hiding was all she managed to do with her head—her rear stayed firmly in the air the entire time, tail swaying back and forth. It was pitiful and adorable at once, but White was the Beast King Yuri.
The apex of all monsters, the strongest warrior alive, versed in every martial art and fighting technique ever devised. In sheer combat skill, no one on the continent could touch her.
If White ever properly unsheathed those claws of hers, someone like me would be shredded into confetti before I could blink.
Since real communication with her simply wasn't possible, any business I had with her went through Yellow instead. He may have been expressionless, but he caught on to every word—easily the most manageable of the three kids.
And then, on the fourth day, trouble arrived.
"We're out of money."
I announced it over breakfast.
"What do you mean, out of money?"
"I've already skipped adventurer work for three days straight. We've had a lot of expenses lately too. If this keeps up, we starve to death in a week."
"Hik. Hiiik."
White looked ready to burst into tears, so I threw both hands up at once.
"No, no, nobody's dying. It was a figure of speech. If things get truly desperate, we can roast a Wild Boar. Anyway, I need to stop by the guild to pick up requests, so I'll be gone during the day from now on."
I turned to Yellow.
"While I'm out, you look after the other two. Got it?"
"Knight. Understood."
Yellow made his resolve clear.
"Feel free to take baths while I'm gone."
"A... a bath? What's that?"
It was the first time White had shown any interest in anything.
I fished a stone out from my belt.
"It's a Hot Spring Stone. Drop it in water and it warms everything up to just the right, pleasant temperature. Fill a big tub, add this, and soak in it—it feels incredible."
"Ooooh..."
White's ears perked up.
Wait—she's basically a puppy beastkin, wouldn't she hate baths? Come to think of it, this could actually make things worse between us, and that was the last thing I wanted.
Yellow and Black would surely love it, though. Maybe they could talk her into it.
"You've probably been too nervous to wash up while I've been around, so take this chance. Yellow's a boy, but he's younger than you three, so it should be fine to bring him in with you."
"How do you know our ages?"
"Different races age at different rates, don't they? You can tell a lot from how someone's appearance has developed."
"You really do know everything... Why don't you have money? Don't you save any?"
"A D-rank adventurer earns just enough for one day's living from one day's work. That's why I used to clear several requests a day. From C-rank and up, saving actually becomes possible. I want to pile up money fast myself—buy a noble patent, a mansion, that sort of thing."
That part was heartfelt.
The earlier you retire, the better.
"If money was that tight, couldn't you have just taken it from the slave merchants back then?"
"I'd rather not spend money made off selling slaves. It feels filthy."
At my answer, for some reason, Black's expression stiffened slightly.
"Behave yourselves while I'm out. And don't wreck the house."
All three of them nodded slowly. Praying they'd actually understood, I stepped out the door.
After Wicker left the house, Black let out a long breath.
"This is annoying."
"Why?"
"That man. I can't tell if he's an adventurer or a slave merchant."
"...It says slave merchant right there on his nametag."
White spoke up, her voice trembling with fear.
Black could understand her point. No one would wear such a dishonorable label unless it was their actual profession.
"Tia... do you want that man not to be a slave merchant?"
"That's..."
White's words were precise, but Black couldn't answer right away. She had built up her hopes and been betrayed far too many times before.
"All slave merchants were like demons."
White said it in a heavy voice, and neither Yellow nor Black argued.
"They killed our parents. They kidnapped me and sold me. And in the end, they brought us here..."
"I don't fully trust him yet either. But... maybe he's a little different..."
"And if he is a slave merchant, what will you do?"
"That's..."
Black fell silent. She hadn't thought that far. And deep down, she wasn't sure they could ever escape him anyway.
White reached into a corner of the room and pulled something out. Shaking uncontrollably, her hand clutched a kitchen knife meant for cooking.
"Yuri, that's—"
"...I'll handle it. Somehow."
If he turned out to be no different from the other slave merchants, then she would kill him herself, somehow, and sever the contract.
That was what White was saying.
Understanding her intent, Black gave a slow nod.
"Lucas, no objections? Haven't you gotten close to him learning swordplay?"
"Nothing matters more than Tia and Yuri. I'll protect you."
Yellow held up his wooden sword.
The three locked eyes for a moment—then slipped quickly out of the house.
...Ah.
At the very last moment, one small thing nagged at White: the stone the slave merchant had left behind.
"He said if we concentrate, we can find his position, so we have to keep his direction fixed. And stay as far back as we can."
The three of them followed the forest path Wicker had taken, heading for the city they'd first arrived at days before.
Before long, the city's outer wall came into view in the distance. The three hid behind a tree and waited for him.
The city looked alive with bustle. Crowds streamed back and forth through the main gate, every one of them wearing a nametag floating above their head.
They didn't have to wait long before Wicker appeared at the gate. He studied the writing on several sheets of parchment with care, rolled them up, tucked them into his bag, and hurried on his way.
"Let's follow him."
The three moved out.
Wicker's first stop was a rocky hill, where he spent a long while repeating the simple labor of digging up herb roots. Next came the western plains, where he cut down the slimes littering the roadside with practiced ease and collected their spoils, bottling the sap they left behind.
"Is he actually a real adventurer?"
"He's good with a sword."
"...Let's follow him a little further."
Before long, Wicker turned down a secluded path between the trees, and something about him struck White as off.
"That path... something's strange about it."
"What do you mean?"
"There's an anti-perception barrier. Couldn't you two see it?"
"Nope. Old man just vanished."
"Huh. Now that you mention it, so he did."
"It might be a special barrier. It's suspicious. Maybe there really is slave trading going on in there—"
"Yuri?"
"I'm going to check it out. Wait here."
White darted off before either of the others could so much as grab her. Thanks to the anti-perception barrier, she vanished from their sight in an instant.
She sprinted down the narrow path and pushed through—forcing her way along a wild, untouched stretch of forest where no human hand had ever reached. Then, all at once, her view opened wide.
Sunlight poured down from above.
"What is this place?"
White paused, taken aback by the scene spread out before her. In the space carved out between cliffs bloomed a garden of flowers in every color imaginable—something no one could have dreamed up from the world outside.
"Ah—!"
White flinched and crouched low. In the distance, she could see Wicker's back.
Standing before him was an old man.
As a beastkin, a race naturally attuned to the living world, White knew at a glance what the old man was.
A spirit...?
She crept closer bit by bit, keeping her body low, then slipped behind a large boulder to watch the two of them in secret.
★ 2-Star — Dryad Spirit Elder
A dryad. The old man was a spirit born from an ancient withered tree.
She'd heard they were a fastidious folk who rarely mingled with humans—so what was this about? Her curiosity got the better of her.
"Here's the sap and the nutrients you ordered. Oh, and the flower shop owner was throwing in some insect repellent as a freebie, but you won't be needing that, right?"
"Quite right. Chasing off every little bug would only end up shaving away my own flesh, so to speak. The young dryads these days don't seem to grasp that."
Wicker gave a friendly laugh.
"You've done well, Wicker my boy. My thanks, as always."
"Don't mention it. It's not like it's free, and it's a personal request on top of that—I should be thanking you."
"I can't trust ordinary adventurers, you see. Dryads are rare, which makes them popular as magical ingredients."
"Aren't I dangerous to you, then? I'm a slave merchant, after all."
"Heh heh. Spirits can see how clean a soul is, my boy. Your nametag may say one thing, but you've never once traded a slave in all this time, have you?"
"You can even tell that much? Your insight is remarkable."
Hearing that, White froze in surprise.
Coming from anyone else it might have been doubtful—but a spirit was saying it. A dryad, no less. There could be no mistake.
That slave merchant was no slave merchant at all.
He had helped them for exactly one reason: because he was, genuinely, a good and honest man.
She remembered the taste of the bread he'd given them.
Their previous master—the slave merchant—had treated them as nothing more than merchandise, leaving them without food for days on end.
If there'd been poison in that bread, she had fully intended to die right there. That was the spirit in which she'd put it in her mouth. Her suffering had been so deep and so bitter that death seemed like the better option.
But that bread had been nothing but sweet, and soft, and warm and nutty.
And at some point, a water bottle—placed within reach so they wouldn't choke—had appeared nearby.
"...Ah."
Even now that she understood his kindness, the trembling in her hands would not stop.
What was frightening was still frightening.
People—the race called human—were frightening.
She found herself hating the girl she was, unable even to properly thank him for everything he'd done.
...I have to. I have to at least greet him.
Just as White steeled herself, clenching her fists so hard her long nails bit into her palms—
"Whoa, a dryad!"
"Talk about a bad day for it. A pity it's a wrinkled old granny, though."
Rough male voices came from behind her.
Three of them.
The moment White confirmed their nametags, her mind went as white as her hair.
"Told you, didn't I? Some snot-nosed brat came sprinting this way and then suddenly vanished—there had to be a hidden path."
White clamped both hands over her mouth.
These bandits had followed her in. She had led them straight into this hidden place.
"There's another one besides the dryad?"
"It's a slave merchant! Nothing worth worrying about—just kill him. No point splitting the money, is there?"
No. No, no.
White hid behind the boulder, unable to move.
He was the good man who had shown them unconditional kindness—who had given them nothing but goodwill. The first slave merchant she'd ever met who wasn't bad, and now he was in danger because of her. But terror swallowed her whole, locking every muscle in place.
"...Hhk. Hnn."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
Why? Why was I so weak? Why does it always end like this?
Please.
Please just run. Get away and save your own life, at least.
O Goddess—I've never seen you, never once prayed to you, but I'm begging you now.
Please save that slave merchant—no, save that kind man.
—Needless to say, no goddess answered White's prayer.
Thud. Thud.
Instead, the slave merchant stepped forward, wearing a satisfied smile.
"What a lucky day. Bounty heads, walking right up to me on their own two feet."