"Assassin, Erase My Past" V5 Chapter 4 - The Persistent Visitor
"Oh, you really didn't have front teeth."
Cleao said. For the time being she'd borrowed a short-sleeved blouse and a flared skirt, and was looking at an album.
They were in the spare living room of the mansion, which had an unused fireplace (as, after all, there was no chimney, either) and strange-looking coat hangers, hand figurines, and other furniture that had been bought and then never used. Cleao was sitting lightly on the sofa, with the album laying out on a table covered in imitation tiger fur, and was chattering away noisely. Orphen was sitting next to her, answering every now and again. Majic was looking at the same album with some interest from the other side of the table. Leki was sitting at Cleao's feet, playing with the now-freed black cat. Nora, who was smaller than Leki in spite of being a full-grown adult by now, ran around the room looking somewhat annoyed.
Orphen gave Cleao a sideways glance, feeling a desperate urge to tell her that these clothes didn't suit her at all just to get even.
"I was seven years old. According to the date, that is."
"Heh... That's around the time that your teeth should be growing back, isn't it?"
In the photo a middle-aged man with a neutral expression, neither frowning nor smiling was holding his hand. The picture was centered on himself, with the man cloaked in black out of frame from the mouth up, so his face wasn't in the picture. Looking at it from a distance, Orphen could still remember the moment, and smiled.
"I can't recall exactly, but I think those teeth got broken in combat training."
"Combat...!?"
Cleao seemed absolutely stunned. She looked at him in surprise.
"Isn't it disgusting for such young children to be fighting?"
"I don't know about disgusting... but even if it's technically combat training, it's still just the basics. Both hands are tied behind your back and they just keep hitting you with a stick rolled up in cloth. The goal is to not close your eyes if something flies at your face."
"And that's — the basics?"
She raised her tone suspiciously. And—
"... But, do all black-magic sorcerers, even kids like Pat train that seriously as children?"
Majic asked with a somewhat serious look on his face. He'd become a student just two months ago, so it made sense that he was curious. Orphen shrugged his shoulders and answered.
"The Tower of Fang is sort of a special place. The teachers there certainly like to train their students from a young age. More than a few of the children are born in the Tower facilities to begin with..."
"? What do you mean?"
Cleao asked.
"In other words, giving birth is a job — Generally for women. They pay a certain amount of money to have children born from sorcerers of the Tower. Even if only one parent is a sorcerer, the odds of having a child who's genetically predisposed to being a sorcerer aren't that small."
"W—what the hell's with that?"
Cleao shouted in surprised. Orphen laughed.
"Well, they haven't done anything like that for the last ten years or so. People from both inside and outside of the organization have started pointing out the ethical issues, and besides, it's just not very efficient."
"Really?"
Cleao breathed a sigh of relief.
But Orphen grinned.
"—So you see, they came up with a more efficient way to do things."
"Ugh..."
She was about to say something with that disgusted look on her face, but he lightly restrained her.
"It's nothing as bad as what you're worried about. Whether or not it's ethical, I can't really say. They have contacts with orphanages, both public and private, and ask them for a list of children with as much positive identification as possible, most important of which is if one parent, or both had any background in sorcery, since it's a purely hereditary trait. Then, they pull the children that they think are the best out of the orphanages. This is done on a continental scale through the Damsel's Orisons, so the number of children brought to the Tower each year is quite large. I'm one of them, as a matter of fact."
"Come to think of it, you don't have a family either, do you, Master?"
"Not that I know of. Both of my parents were sorcerers though, according to the records."
"Huh..."
Then the conversation came to an abrupt halt—
Cleao flipped through the album and cheerfully spoke up, as if she was trying to cover up the sudden pause in the conversation.
"But Orphen — I've been wondering, why are your photos in Tish's album?"
Orphen sank deep into the sofa and scratched at his hair.
"Hmm? ... Well, she's kind of like family."
"... Because she was in the same class?"
"No. I entered the Childman classroom when I was ten years old. This old man — my first teacher — brought me to the Tower."
He said while pointing to the man whose face was hidden in the photo.
"When I was six. However, the three of us have been a group since we were in the orphanage."
"... The three of you?"
Orphen silently flipped through the pages of the album when Cleao asked, to show her. Time seemed to advance throughout the book, and the people in the photographs grew — before long, Orphen found a photo of himself when he was fourteen or fifteen, then stopped.
"Here we go."
He pointed to a specific one. Cleao and Majic looked down at it, their heads pressed together.
The picture showed three people against a row of trees somewhere — one of them, the one in the center, was Orphen. It seemed to be a commemorative photo of the first time he'd put on the black robe. He was staring at the camera with a somewhat nervous look on his face — his eyes so honest that they couldn't help but fall silent as they stared at him. The other person standing slightly off to the left, with her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, was Leticia. She was also wearing a black robe, but she looked more used to it than Orphen did in the photo. Her hair had been long even back then. She was young — having just turned 20 or so. Rolling at her feet was a kitten.
"Then this must be you, right?"
Cleao shouted excitedly, picking up the black cat who'd just jumped up on the sofa to escape the chasing Leki.
The last person stood alone, distanced from the other two — though still within the camera frame, so you could tell it wasn't that far. She was also a woman with black robes and black hair. Her soft brown eyes flashed defiantly in a somewhat amused manner as she lightly folded her arms against her belly. She was quite tall, about the same height as Leticia. Actually, about the same height that Orphen was now, which was rather different from the boy in the picture.
Orphen looked at her in the picture, and gave a vague explanation.
"Tish and Azalie — Strangely enough, they were the ones who took care of me as a toddler in the orphanage. They were distant relatives, and both of them had inherited a background in sorcery. They're not related to me, though. Even so, all three of us were brought to the Tower and placed in the same classroom—"
And that's when he came to his senses. Cleao and Majic hadn't been listening for some time, they were both staring at something other than the picture. Below it — underneath of the kitten — was the date on the label, and further down, a caption. "Thirty-seventh day of spring, Imperial Redlight 42. The three of us. Me, Azalie, and Krylancelo."
He thought for a moment about taking the album and closing it, but stopped. Without any outward sign of distress — or rather, with no stress of any type crossing his mind — Orphen repeated the words, slowly, quietly, and without concern.
"Strangely enough... our family can't seem to cut ties."
It was a big house, but the layout wasn't complicated — Orphen wandered down the hallway, admiring the oddities. He'd left the living room under the guise of having a small errand to run, and left Cleao and Majic behind. He didn't feel like he had to lie, necessarily, but he'd done it anyway.
The truth was, he wanted to talk to Leticia. Just the two of them.
(There's a lot to talk about... About me, about Tish...)
Since they hadn't seen each other for five years, it seemed somewhat obligatory to report about all that'd happened during that time.
(And about Azalie, about Childman, and about Hartia. I have to tell her everything. I have to ask a few things about the Tower, too. Like her students — she's a teacher now? She lost two kilos just from the stress of litter training the cat.)
For some reason, he looked up at the ceiling — at the gas lamps and the wallpaper on the wall. Things like that. He saw the green leaves of a planter in the corner of the hallway. They were sprouting from a white ceramic plant pot with gold trim. As he got closer, he saw that there wasn't a speck of dust on the leaves, as if it were dusted every single day.
(... And its been that way for a long time. She's a germaphobe. She doesn't clean up after herself, but she gets pretty grumpy if things aren't under her exact control. She wouldn't even discuss it — if I didn't make curfew, she wouldn't talk to me until I made it home on time the next day...)
Orphen's expression changed to a bitter smile.
(Why is it... that all I want to talk about is the past...)
When he closed his eyes, which he did without even realizing, he could still see the photo in his mind. It was only five years ago. Five years ago, I was Krylancelo—
I wasn't "orphan." I had a family. I had two beloved sisters, even if it wasn't by blood. And now...
(One of them is no longer with us...)
He scolded himself for remembering. Don't think about it — never again. It's over now. It was over two months ago.
But still, it had only been two months...
"... Tish."
He put his hand on the top of the tall potted plant and whispered to himself.
"I wonder if she'll cry. No, she'll be furious. More than that..."
Orphen forced his expression to remain calm, as if he were digging deep and borrowing strength from the strongest part of his psyche — the mind set methods that his master, Childman, had thoroughly trained him in, along with his combat techniques.
He'd said that to counteract such turmoil, one must dare to turn their attention to the most difficult of situations they were facing.
"... If you're able to do that, your mind will naturally settle into a state of calm. If you can't afford to do so in a situation that requires it, then so be it. At least you won't have to worry about the future."
It wasn't the best logic — or rather, it wasn't logic at all, but rather a theory.
"Spirit is a generalized term that applies to non-tangible matters. You, who are not a white-magic sorcerer, are going to try to control it. What you need here isn't logic."
— He'd said.
(In this case, it looks like I've still got some time... So I win, Childman.)
Even though he thought the words, his inner turmoil hadn't completely disappeared. Without meaning to, he spoke up, intent on confirming his words in his own heart.
"More importantly, I need to talk to Tish... because she seems to have some information about that Stabber."
Orphen randomly began to walk down the hallway again.
The corridor led directly to the courtyard. As he walked out onto the straight corridor leading away from the house, he took in the view of the courtyard. The man-made pond and the white bench — it's really something, Orphen whistled to himself. Though, if you were considered the most elite of the Tower of Fang, it was really no surprise...
Leticia — his sister, she'd always wanted this house, and she finally got it—
Orphen suddenly mumbled, though not aloud.
(I could... get this too, if I wanted — all of this.)
"... But not without certain conditions."
"—!"
Orphen whipped around, startled by the answer to his soliloquy. The voice wasn't in a teasing tone, but rather, the serious tone of an advisor.
"First, you'd have to return to the Tower of Fang with your old strength. The elders aren't stupid, and when they see that you're not as strong as you used to be, they'll immediately realize that they don't want you. Even if you regain your old level of power..."
Around that point, Orphen finally caught sight of the speaker — from across the corridor where he was standing now — but with no distinct presence. He was dressed in a very ordinary way, and if you passed him on the street, you'd have thought he was just some student and not paid him any mind. He pulled down the brim of his red hat with the logo of the annual all-star game, pulling it to the side of his face. Even if he'd meant to hide his face with it, however — which Orphen didn't think he did — there'd be no point.
Orphen knew the boy's face well.
Despite his misgivings, the boy continued.
"Even if you get all of that back, it doesn't erase the fact that you fled the Tower five years ago. That'll always remain a stain. Now... I wonder how many years it'll take for you to get the Elders' approval and be able to qualify as a citizen of this city."
"Why are you here?"
Orphen asked quietly. He narrowed his eyes and crouched down — his left shoulder slightly forward with his right side slanted slightly back, as if preparing for something. His legs made the same motion. It was a fighting posture that anyone could understand at a glance.
But the boy casually took off his hat and spread his arms in an open gesture, as if he didn't even care.
"Why? Because I'm here — in this city. I'm the assassin of this city. Of nothing else than this city."
Orphen finally snapped and yelled at the boy — at the boy who was watching him, with the same eyes that he'd seen in the album earlier.
Five years ago, he'd been Krylancelo, an assassin who looked just like this boy.
"So you mean to tell me that it's all because you're Krylancelo of the Tower of Fang!?"
"That's right."
The boy nodded with ease. Orphen quickly pointed at his chest.
"But I'm here now! So who are you really?"
"I'm Krylancelo. Who else do you think I am?"
"I don't think so! And I have no intention of playing word games with you—"
"Neither do I, but look at me."
Krylancelo gracefully gestured at himself. Orphen gazed coldly at his five-years-younger self, and involuntarily gulped.
For all intents and purposes, this boy was Krylancelo — there was no doubt about that. Orphen wondered why he didn't look much like him anymore. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, or the slight change in his physique.
This boy, Krylancelo, he was just a boy. There was nothing special to say about his appearance. He was just a kid from the Tower of Fang who'd possessed a kind of genius intuition for sorcery. He was the only one of Childman's students to be taught all of his combat and assassination techniques, the techniques of the strongest black-magic sorcerer on the continent. Krylancelo, Childman's treasured child. His reputation reached as far as the Royal Capital of Mebrenst, on the other side of the continent. He'd even been recruited as one of the Thirteen Apostles, the youngest ever. The world around him had been abuzz with excitement, and at the center of it all, was just a boy, fifteen years of age.
Orphen lightly bit his lip. He had to admit it.
(If anyone were asked who the real Krylancelo was, they'd certainly think it was him...)
I've changed. I'm not as powerful as I used to be—
"That's right."
The boy beamed.
"I'm Krylancelo. You are... well, you've called yourself Orphen. Maybe now that you've left town, you're not me anymore."
"So what... you're a ghost from my past?"
Orphen, somehow forgetting his fighting posture, leaned back. He gripped the handrail of the corridor when his back bumped against it.
He saw the boy look up, as if he'd only just noticed.
"Yeah. More or less. Though that doesn't sound very realistic..."
"Realistic?"
Orphen spoke, then suddenly blurted out.
"Realistic!? What part about that word fits this situation? I find myself suddenly looking at my former self from five years ago, and he's trying to kill me — not only that, you've already killed someone who had nothing to do with any of that. What need was there to kill that ranger?"
"He noticed my intrusion. I was only trying to warn you, but he'd seen my face."
Krylancelo looked unconcerned.
"You were sleeping soundly — even as I stood by your bedside and took the pendant from around your neck. Of course, I was oblivious, too. The old man had noticed. He was dozing in his chair, but then he woke up and saw me — so I had to kill him. Though... I suppose it was in bad taste for me to send you a warning in blood."
After saying that, his gaze turned to one of pity—
"Don't you understand? You never even realized. You're now no better at these things than that old ranger was."
"............!"
Orphen's body stiffened as if he were being choked. Still, he weakly opened his mouth.
"... You're not Krylancelo. Five years ago, I couldn't have killed that man."
"Don't talk like you could do it now. You could be misunderstood."
"... And who the hell is listening?"
Orphen growled through gritted teeth. Krylancelo sighed.
"You haven't noticed? Oh well. Going back to the topic, all you're saying is that I'm not the same person you were five years ago — and you're right, I'm not. I'm Krylancelo."
"Until five years ago, Krylancelo is what I called myself—"
"Yes, you were the Krylancelo that no one wanted, right?"
That line made Orphen's body stiffen even more, like he'd taken a direct hit to the heart. Hundreds of counter arguments came to mind, including simply bursting into tears — but no matter what he thought of, he couldn't manage anything else but to stare at the boy's face, frozen.
The boy gave a satisfactory smile, as if he'd gotten what he wanted.
"I am exactly what she wanted me to be. I exist for her..."
"She...?"
Orphen asked, curious, but Krylancelo's smile froze, and he didn't answer.
"She as in her. There's only one. You should know that, right?"
"............"
"Bye... If I stick around any longer, Tish will find me."
"—! Wait!"
Orphen immediately leaned forward and lunged — but the moment his outstretched right hand grazed him, Krylancelo's body suddenly disappeared—
"Spatial transitioning!?"
He clicked his tongue and frowned. Only — Krylancelo hadn't uttered anything that could be an incantation right before he disappeared.
"Was it... not voice magic...?"
With a furrowed brow, Orphen looked at the space where the boy had vanished. In that space, all that remained was a trail of white wispy light. It was only a small trace, about the size of a fingertip. The trail blinked as if it was drawing on something, and then shimmered... and disappeared, accompanied by a sound like the wick of a lamp snuffing out.
The trajectory drawn by the light was somewhat familiar.
(Wyrd Graphs...)
Magical characters used by the Wyrd Dragons — the Nornir, one of the dragon races of the continent. This type of sorcery should've disappeared with the fall of the Nornir, but traces of the dragon race could be found almost anywhere on the continent. And, on rare occasions, these legacies could be obtained as well.
The Nornir's legacies could usually be handled by humans as long as they could decipher the wyrd graphs inscribed on them. Even in those cases, however, the effects were said to be several orders of magnitude less than if the Nornir had used it directly.
(Is that what he used...? By any chance, is the fact that he took a direct hit from Leki's sorcery this morning without suffering a single scratch because of the use of some other wyrd graph's power? The dark magic of Deep Dragons can't be blocked by human power...)
Orphen dropped his shoulders and sighed.
"Whatever—"
He lifted his head and muttered to himself.
"It looks like you're gonna be a little different from the opponents I've been facing up until now..."
Orphen hadn't seemed to notice — of course, there was a roof over the crossing that created a blind spot, so he couldn't really be blamed.
(But...)
She muttered under her breath, but caught herself mid-sentence. She'd listened to their conversation the whole time, not recalling anything about it in particular, but simply letting it pass.
It wasn't that she wasn't interested. Rather, she'd even thought of joining in on the discussion from above them. The reason she'd decided not to is because when she was inevitably asked about why she was there, she didn't want to have to say "I've been looking for you because I wanted to talk to you, Orphen."
Or maybe it was the gentle breeze, which felt so good as it brushed lightly against her blonde hair while she leaned out the window, that could be to blame for her absent-mindedness — something like that. She wasn't sure.
She patted Leki on the back as he sat on top of her head. Grmmm, Grmmm, the baby Deep Dragon answered with a quiet rumble. Though Orphen had insisted that Deep Dragons never made any noise, much less barked, Leki would sometimes make this subtle sound when it was just the two of them alone.
"............"
She lightly put her finger to her lips as if she was thinking about something.
"... Okay."
She mumbled decisively and quietly closed the window.
"You're the one who's been keeping me here, I'll kill you and your carefree mother!"
His curses could be heard from quite a ways away.
His expression suddenly changed and he turned to look in that direction, scratching his head as if she couldn't help it — Orphen was walking away from the connecting corridor where he'd been standing stationary for a while.
A small home was detached from the house, probably built by Leticia after she'd bought the mansion, as the white walls still weren't very dirty. As he stepped from the corridor to the front door, Orphen peeked into a nearby window.
It had been left open, and he heard more abusive comments booming from within.
"You may bind me with these commandments, but you'll never be able to stop my fighting spirit! I haven't once tasted defeat since the day I was christened Vulcan, the Fighting Dog of Mazmaturia—"
"Oh shut up already!"
— But it wasn't Orphen who'd shouted.
The detached house was a small three-room apartment, and from where Orphen was peering in, he could only see the entrance, the corridor, and the room at the very front. The door to the room was left open so he could look in, but about half of it was a blind spot. As far as he could see, the room looked like a children's room or maybe a study. From the titles on the spines of the bookshelves, he guessed that it was probably the room of the boy named Tifis. In the room was the boy himself and the girl named Pat, as well as Vulcan and Dortin, who were stuffed into a large pot from the neck down.
Either way, Tifis was the one shouting. The boy continued in an irritated tone, holding back his long black hair.
"I don't know what you think you're doing, but I don't think you appreciate the position I'm in because of you and your friend doing whatever you want!"
"It's just like big brother said!"
Pat continued from behind Tifis, licking a piece of candy. Vulcan answered shamelessly, still stuck in the jar.
"If you keep blaming others for your failures, you'll never become a great man like me, who'll go down in the history books."
"What kind of history do you have, brother...?"
Dortin asked. Vulcan turned his head in his direction.
"You! Even though you're my younger brother, do you seriously mean to say that you've forgotten the prestige of your elder brother, whose shadow is feared throughout the history of this town!?"
"Are you talking about the five-meter-tall face of yourself that you carved into the rock wall behind Rengokin's house...?"
"Yes, that's the one! It was a great accomplishment."
"The whole village wondered how you carved your own statue into the rock wall, all in a single night, but in the end they couldn't come up with an answer..."
"Aaaaahhh!"
Tifis shouted again, holding his head in his hands.
"You don't regret it at all! You said you had nowhere to go, so I thought I'd at least lend you a place to stay, and I brought you here! I'm not trying to say that you owe me anything, but—"
"I don't intend to be indebted to you, so let's just take this opportunity to become friends."
"You're kidding, right? Ahh, Master's scary when she gets angry. What kind of punishment is waiting for me now..."
As he muttered, Tifis suddenly turned to him.
"Huh? You're—"
"Yeah."
Orphen raised his hand when he noticed him.
"Can I come in?"
"Oh... Yes, come in."
In a clattering hurry, Tifis came down to the front door.
The door wasn't locked — but Tifis opened the door for him anyway, and Orphen entered the detached house.
Pat looked up at him curiously with a piece of candy in her mouth, and the two shaggy heads sticking out of the jar just behind her growled.
"There you are, you loan sharking sorcerer... I'm here to settle things with you."
"... I mean, the first thing that comes to mind is that it's time to actually settle things for real, for the sake of your brother..."
Orphen sighed after giving Vulcan and Dortin an unimpressed glance.
"I have a favor to ask of you."
"That's right, if you're up for it, then I'm—huh?"
Vulcan asked back with a blank look on his face. After pondering for a while, Orphen spoke up.
"I'll go talk to Tish and get her back in a good mood. I'll set you free, and in return, you'll work for me."
"............"
Dortin mumbled, somewhat surprised.
"Us? You want us to do you a favor?"
"That's right."
Orphen answered, looking sideways at Tifis.
"Is that all right with you?"
"Y-yes..."
Orphen quickly turned his gaze away from Tifis, who was looking somewhat nervous as he agreed, and turned it back to the two dwarves. He put his hands on his hips and quietly continued.
"What are you guys usually up to at night?"
"Uhh?"
"Usually... we're sleeping on the streets, and it's hard to find money that's on the ground during the night, so we go to bed pretty early."
Since Dortin had been the one to answer, Orphen continued to question him.
"Could I ask you to look for someone during the night?"
"Look for... someone? I'm sorry, I don't understand. Wouldn't that be hard to do at night? Even just exploring the city would require specialized knowledge."
"No. He'll stand out. So—"
Orphen let out a long, faint sigh.
"I want you to find the assassin, and report back to me with his location."
Table of Contents
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| (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) |
The Usual Victim The Sudden Assassin The Melancholy Homecomer The Persistent Visitor The Night Walker The Seeker Confronted The Successor of Steel |
- Notes
- I realize the switch between interpreting thoughts as italics and as being placed inside of () is obnoxious to some readers, but I felt this best interpreted the way it's presented in the original source material.