"Ghost, Sleep On My Chest!" V3 Chapter 1 - Fool's Gathering
When the incident occurred — Majic had just taken a dozen canned goods out of the wagon. He sat down near the bonfire which was dancing and swaying across the firewood. For the time being, he tapped the edges of the cans with a can opener. Not for any particular reason, it was just a habit.
The words on the label were apparently just culinary jargon, which Majic didn't understand, but he guessed it was probably canned meat dissolved in sauce. Of course, he'd thought that before, too, but when he opened it, he found women's panties instead.
As he placed the can opener on the lid of the can, Majic looked around at the evening shadows that were beginning to fall — their horse-drawn carriage was parked a few meters away from the road, facing it. There was also the fire, which was hidden in the shadows, and Majic was about to enjoy having a leisurely early supper by himself.
"I guess I won't get hit with a mallet."
He chuckled to himself. He turned his charming chin upwards.
"The food Cleao made isn't edible — Maybe if she used decent ingredients and proper equipment it'd be good food — and Master, since he hasn't come back from gathering firewood, I can be the first to eat, as long as I'm quick."
If anything he had a womanly face, a charming boy with a beautiful aesthetic. His short blond hair fluttered in the wind, even if it was a different color, and looked golden because of how fine it was. His clear blue eyes were gentle. He wasn't the type of person who'd typically look good in black sorcerer attire, but he wore it well. It was fairly hot, though, so he kept his black cloak inside the carriage.
The lid of the can opened. Inside it contained a sloppy green bean soup. Well, that's okay, he thought, and gently pushed the can into the fire. It would warm up in a few minutes.
Then — suddenly he heard footsteps behind him, and a high-pitched scream.
"Ah—!"
Majic jumped — He turned around to see a pale girl with waist-length blonde hair pointing indignantly at him.
"Cleao—"
When he called out to her, she ignored him and continued.
"What are you doing! I told you that I'd be in charge of the meal today! What, do you not want to eat the food that I made!?"
Majic thought with some envy in his heart that his master could just reply with a simple "No, I don't." He hated home-cooked meals, so he always disappeared on the days that Cleao was on meal duty — just like today.
But Majic's answer was more of a bland excuse.
"O-oh, I just couldn't wait to—"
He held up his hands as he made his excuse, observing her. She was wearing jeans that were a little dirty from walking around in the woods, and a butterfly yellow sleeveless blouse on top, probably because of the heat. Both of these clothes seemed to be her own (though it was his Master who had paid for them), but for some reason, this girl had a bad habit of borrowing Majic's clothes without his permission.
"Couldn't wait? Right! Are you trying to make me feel guilty for being late?"
"Well, no, that's not what I mean..."
"Then what did you mean?"
"I-I uhh..."
Mumbling back, he sat back down on the ground, but Majic looked back at Cleao's clearly angry face — a woman who always seemed to have straight forward emotions — which Majic, for some reason, didn't like. If she was sulking, she wouldn't so much as talk for several days, and if she got angry, she'd attack him mercilessly. He wondered how his master was able to deal with her on equal footing. Maybe it was because they were just like each other.
"So? — What — did — you — mean?"
Majic hopelessly looked up to the heavens as he raised his hand, as if to catch Cleao's anger, while she came right at him.
When the incident occurred, Orphen was in the forest. He was a few hundred meters away from the area where he'd parked the carriage.
His reason for being in the woods wasn't to escape Cleao's cooking — In fact, he didn't find her food prep quite as bad as Majic made it out to be. When he'd cooked for himself, he often ate way worse.
So he was in the woods for a different reason.
He was a young man with a cynical look and dark, slanted eyes. His black hair was tied back with a bandana. He was dressed in all-black clothes for combat, but was unarmed. For a skilled black-magic sorcerer, arming himself with weapons wasn't really necessary — his magic was his greatest weapon, and armor. However, if he was a skilled and thorough sorcerer, he'd still usually carry a concealed weapon or two somewhere on his body.
His attire was quite different from the combat suits of ordinary sorcerers. He wore what looked like a tanned leather jacket. Normally, sorcerers preferred to wear a full-body covering. This meant they could wear protective chains under their clothing, and also avoid being preyed upon by parasites in the forest. Orphen wasn't a mercenary, however, and he didn't use his combat skills as a tool for business. The only connection he had with the other sorcerers of the continent was the one-legged dragon pendant that hung from his chest, which signified that he was from the Tower of Fang, the pinnacle of black magic on the entire continent.
Yet—
Orphen stopped and spoke, not even bothering to look around.
"Here they come."
"I knew as soon as I saw you."
Crack — He heard a noise to his left, in a thicket. A woman stepped out from the undergrowth in a full-body leather suit that perfectly formed to the curves of her body.
"Are you Orphen?"
"You knew as soon as you saw me, right?"
Orphen remarked, and looked the woman up and down. Her shiny black hair loosely and naturally wrapped around her suit as if it were a separate life form all its own. Her red lips, which looked as if they were shrinking between her scrawny cheeks, parted, showing the slightest hint of her tongue.
"I'm Hirietta. Did you get my invitation?"
"The one that kid gave me at the village a few kilometers back?"
Orphen replied, withdrawing his hand from his trouser pocket.
The woman — Hirietta nodded in amusement.
"Yes."
"I received it. I read it. That's why I'm here."
"Oh, dear. That's not a very nice answer."
"What do you want?"
"You know what I want, don't you?"
At the moment Hirietta said that, Orphen jumped back. A flash of silver rushed right after him!
He braced himself, looking away from the large knife that had appeared in her hand in a flash.
(This woman—)
With a click of his tongue, he slid past Hirietta's side as she lunged, avoiding her attack. She didn't seem too shaken by the two failed attacks, and turned to face him again. The knife in her right hand, held backwards, was stained with the color of blood, reflected in the setting sun that was threading through the trees.
Orphen took a sharp breath and groaned. He had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
(So, Ostwald hired a clean-up crew?)
It was a good guess, even if it wasn't confirmed.
(Whatever, I of all people am being targeted by an assassin — Damn if that's not a tabloid headliner!)
He pointed his right arm carelessly at the woman and shouted.
"At my fingertips, a shield of amber!"
In an instant, the air compressed in the space where he aimed his hand — a wall of air that pushed Hirietta back several steps as she hit it. A mere human with no special abilities would've never been able to land a hit on a sorcerer, even if they were attacking with a weapon. However—
(It's a different story when it comes to professional assassins. You never know what kind of method they'll use.)
Or, to be more precise, such professional assassins wouldn't go forward with a job unless they had a good chance of winning. Therefore, when targeted by one, you should always be cautious of incoming traps.
And that trap would be something that, if set properly, would most certainly lead you into it, and if triggered, would almost certainly end in death. That was why Orphen feared assassins more than anything else — even more than the dragon races with their superior magic — and he was always careful.
(Even still... I didn't expect her to get the drop on me... Maybe it was a mistake to come here alone.)
Orphen held his tongue and stayed where he was. As he looked at Hirietta, who was repelled by the air wall and thrown onto her back, his instincts urged him to get out of there, but it would be dangerous to make a hasty decision.
(A tip to avoid getting caught in a trap — avoid moving for as long as you can.)
He told himself, and without moving, he pointed at the fallen female assassin.
"Guide me, Deathcry Starling!"
Fwoosh... The sound waves whipped through the atmosphere and enveloped the assassin's supple body along with the surrounding ground. The ground itself shook as if shaken by fine vibrations, and Hirietta's body, just when she was about to get up, received as shock as if she'd been electrified, and jolted upwards.
And, just like that, she stopped moving.
The forest was quiet and still... but Orphen was still poised, watching the fallen assassin. She was lying on the ground, her eyes blank, not even twitching.
"Hey, you didn't really pass out, did you?"
Orphen called out, his eyes blinking.
"Or maybe, you really are bad at this, and took me for a fool?"
Sure enough, after a few seconds, she woke with a jolt. Wiping the trickling blood with the sleeve of her leather suit, she picked up the knife that had fallen out of her hand.
"You didn't fall for it... But I think I really did pass out for a few seconds there."
"I held back on that one, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a serious attack. You're not going to be moving around for a while."
"I wonder?"
Hirietta said without fear, jumpeding to her feet — while he stood there stunned, she raised her knife and attacked. Sheen — he already felt the steel knife slicing through the air as he heard the sound.
Orphen screamed as he leaned back to avoid it.
"N-no way—!"
(Even a horse would pass out if it took a direct hit from a spell. How can a human being still be moving?)
In reality, however, the woman was delivering a series of sharp blows. Orphen quickly avoided her attacks and dove right into her. He shoved his right hand against her stomach and shouted.
"I tear open, the walls of the sky!"
Fwoom—! The air around his hand turned into a sharp vacuum — causing a shock that blew the assassin back. Normally, it would be sharp enough to slice through a slightly thick tree branch. However...
Her leather suit wasn't even scratched, even after she was blown back several meters and slammed against the trunk of a tree. However, she herself, after having the back of her head slammed into the tree, seemed to have suffered a mild concussion. She was stumbling around, shaking her head.
(Perhaps...)
Orphen thought, and murmured.
"No hard feelings if you die, okay?"
He thrust his right hand forward.
"I release you, Sword of Light!"
A stream of pure-white light shot from his right hand. The photothermal wave, with its reduced power, pierced into Hirietta's lower abdomen like a spear, exploding with a roar and bursting into flames. Fwoom... The heated air soared up, blowing the dust away. However — Just like he'd thought, the assassin was still standing with that blackened wound. She was clutching her stomach in pain, perhaps from the shock of the explosion, but there wasn't a scratch, not even a scorch mark, on her suit itself.
"Damn, I knew it..."
Orphen muttered bitterly.
"There's something about that suit."
"That's the thing — It's no substitute for such extraordinary attacks."
The assassin replied, wobbly from the heat and shock. She stepped forward, carelessly cutting off the ends of her black hair, which had been scorched by the flames.
Orphen thought, half-heartedly, that it was about time Majic and the others heard the noise and rushed over to him.
"But it's still a flesh-and-blood human inside. So all I have to do is blow your head off."
"Then why don't you just do it? It's self-defense, right?"
Hirietta answered while calmly holding up her knife. There was even a smile on her face.
"The laws these days make everything out to be excessive force. Especially if the jury sees a picture of your headless corpse."
"Well, I've got a nice news flash for you then..."
With a flick of her dark hair she said,
"The man who asked me to assassinate you is named Xanadu Ostwald."
"The infamous loan shark of Totokanta. I did some business in his territory. Anyway, are you sure you don't mind giving me your client's name so easily?"
"It's fine."
Orphen decided that her smirk probably fell more into the charming category.
She continued in a terribly easy-going tone.
"It's fine. I have more than one client. Ostwald's request was just an incidental opportunity."
She added.
"So he's not the only one... Was there another man who asked you to assassinate me?"
"So awful. Do you really think that everyone in the world wants to kill you?"
Without changing her expression, Hirietta slung the large knife at him.
"—Shit—!"
Orphen made a slight movement (perhaps just a twitch, given there was no way he could make more than a slight movement in a split second) to dodge the knife, but the knife would've missed its original target even if he hadn't avoided it. When Orphen realized this, he heard a scream from behind him.
When he turned around, he saw a middle-aged, blocky man coughing up blood as if the knife had jammed up under his throat. He held a small bow gun in his hand, with an arrow already loaded.
Orphen stood there stunned by the man's sudden death, while Hirietta casually shrugged her shoulders and revealed the truth.
"Ostwald is a cautious man — I hear he's hired several assassins aside from myself."
"... Then why would you kill your friends?"
"Didn't I tell you? Ostwald's request was an afterthought."
She said nonchalantly, walking by Orphen's side, perhaps to retrieve her knife. Orphen asked her from behind.
"I don't understand what you mean."
"Basically, what my real sponsor, not Ostwald, wants me to do, is to bring him one of the best sorcerers."
Orphen scratched his head, feeling a little confused.
"Then why did you attack me?"
"I wanted to test your skills. If by some chance you died, I'd still be paid for fulfilling Ostwald's request, right? So his request was incidental. After all, if you're really a good sorcerer, how could I compete with you?"
She repeated that last word with a questioning tone, so Orphen felt obliged to respond. Instead, however, he asked a suspicious question.
"Who is your real sponsor?"
"Oh, come on...!"
Hirietta muttered as she pulled the knife from the dead man's body. The blood was no longer spurting from his wound, but Hirietta's suit was already covered in blood just from lifting his corpse.
With blood on her cheeks, she turned around.
"I can't reveal my client's name that easily, right?"
"You're right."
Orphen sniffed and looked at her. To be honest, he'd never had the slightest intention of going along with such a bad idea — working with an assassin? — but as he watched her wipe the blood from her face, Orphen remembered that the name Hirietta had a certain familiar ring to it.
The "Fool's Dog" Hirietta. If the rumors were true...
She was an expert at killing sorcerers.
Dortin was surprisingly close to where it happened, when it happened — but that didn't matter. Rather—
"Come one, come all! Please stop by and take a look! This is the Vulcan Company's most precious treasure! Behold the horror of the Snake Man! You'll be happy you paid the fee one you lay eyes on what I have here. Hold on a minute there, brother! If you miss this, it'll be a loss spanning seven generations! A six-generation curse is simply insufficient..."
He could only hear his big brother's voice outside the box. Whatever the case, inside, it was a small, dark space. The wooden box, which his brother probably just picked up from somewhere, smelled odd, leading him to believe it'd originally been filled with something.
"Six generations means the grandchildren of your great-grandchildren, and since that's not enough, you'd have to wait for yet another generation. How many nights must these poor couples be left, waiting, and waiting, over such a long span of time...?"
He had no idea what he was talking about, but from the sound of his voice, he was in a good mood, still shouting to the passerby's. After a while, it seemed that the crowd of spectators was steadily growing. All that remained was for his brother to open the lid of the crate with a flourish, and this stupid show would be over.
"Geez."
Dortin sighed to himself.
(What is this? Why do I have to go through this?)
He'd been against the idea of this freak show from the start — there was no way anyone would pay for such a childish show, no matter how far from the city they were, in this remote village.
Sighing again, he took off his thick glasses, wiped them off with the fringe of the fur cloak he always wore, and put them back on.
It was two years ago that he'd been forced to leave his parents' house, and he was amazed at how their life had continued since then. For the past two years, he'd been dragged along for his older brother's shady business deals, over and over again, and he always had to deal with the aftermath. This was all due to the fact that his brother owed a ton of money to that snake of a persistent loan shark.
And just when he was mulling over that point, his brother yelled from outside the box.
"And now! Take a look at this — The most pitiful Snake Man in the world!"
Dortin shuddered, but it was too late. His brother removed the front of the box. The box, which until now had been pitch-black, was filled with the light of the sun.
There were far more onlookers in the village square than Dortin had expected — and as expected for early summer, there were no working men, but there were middle-aged women who looked like housewives with free time on their lands during the late afternoon, as well as small children that accompanied them. There were people who'd left the church during their lunch break (in these types of remote areas, the church often doubled as a school.) In front of the open box, Vulcan stood still with the lid in his hand, waiting for the audience's reaction. He was a dwarf of about 130 cm tall with shaggy hair, a fur cloak, and a sword in his belt. They were rarely seen in human territory, as they never set foot outside of Mazmaturia, the southern tip of the continent. Unlike the people who had settled on this continent hundreds of years ago, they were a completely indigenous race. However, before long, they were regarded as a nuisance by the humans.
Dortin, well, was dressed similarly to his brother. On top of that, though, he was wearing the skin of a giant snake that his brother had picked up from somewhere. It sat on top of his head like a hat. As he endured the audience's stares, Dortin blushed, yelling absent-mindedly.
"Guh.... Grraaarrr—"
............
The square, which had remained dead silent until now, suddenly filled with shouts—
"Wooooooooowwwww!'
The cheers erupted!
"Nailed it!"
Dortin, looking sideways at his fist-pumping older brother, was stunned, and stood there listening to the cheers.
"It's amazing, mama! This is what dad used to call a 'drop out'!"
"I thought freak shows died out a century ago!"
"Oh, come now, Michael. Don't stare too hard or it might fly into your mouth."
(... I don't know, it seems like they're taking this in a different way than was intended...)
Vulcan, however, seemed completely oblivious. He was opening the leather bag.
"Come on, everybody! This poor snake man has been wandering around the area to earn money for the surgery he needs to become a real human being again. If you feel sorrow or pity, I'd like to ask for your kindness to fill this bag—"
When his brother opened the bag with a smile, most of the onlookers had already turned their backs to them. They all dispersed on their way home.
"Oh man, I just laughed and laughed."
"Sometimes it's nice to laugh at other people's expense though, isn't it?"
"I never thought there'd be someone who'd act so shamelessly these days."
"These sorts of things have to be preserved."
"I'd rather preserve some bug spray!"
"............"
Dortin remained alone in the deserted square, watching his brothers back, and sighed three times. He dropped the old snake skin that he was wearing to the side.
"I told you we shouldn't have done this."
But his brother, looking back at him with a completely unconcerned expression, simply said—
"Yeah. We should've gone with the "Man who sticks knives into his heart but doesn't die" act that I originally planned on."
"Well who would do that one?"
"You would, of course, but... then again, it might be better to keep with "Gleaming eyes! The evil spirit, Dortin, disappears into the fires of karma!"
"... Why are you using my name?"
"What are you talking about? Don't you know the tragedy of the Trial Medicine Man? You should be grateful that I'm using your name! I'll melt you down with Nessler reagent!"
Vulcan shouted at him and knocked him down. Dortin wiped the blood from his nose with a resigned look on his face.
Shaking his head, he got up and looked around. The square was located almost at the center of the village, directly in front of the old church. The village wasn't so big, but it wasn't particularly small either. From the square, narrow paths stretched out sparsely like spider webs, leading to houses scattered all over the place. If it were this large, it might be more appropriate to call it a town rather than a village. However, according to the human government, a town is not considered a "town" unless it exists within city walls, no matter how large it may be.
Villages were often scattered along highways. Because of the need for travelers to come and go, each village usually had at least one family that ran an inn. The villagers noticed this and introduced them to the only inn in the village, saying that they could stay there for free if they helped with the household chores. So, while staying there, they decided to start the sideshow business as a way to earn a living for the time being. Today was their first day...
Dortin looked down at the giant snake skin he'd just dropped at his feet. The head alone was tremendous, as big as a man's arm. If this were a real thing, it would be ten meters long, maybe even 12.
"...Where'd you get such a big snake skin, brother? There aren't any snakes this big around here.
"Oh."
His brother answered proudly, while fidgeting with the empty leather bag, which he turned upside down.
"I found it lying in the woods nearby, along with the empty crate."
"Umm..."
Dortin mumbled and looked at the crate his brother was pointing at. It was a cube about a meter long and wide, big enough to hold a human being. It was so solidly built that it was difficult to modify the lid so that it could be easily removed.
But be that as it may, Dortin couldn't help but feel a vague sense of danger—
"What's the matter, Dortin? We've got to rethink our plans for tomorrow's show based on your failure today."
"No, it's nothing, but..."
Dortin replied and glanced at the crate again. The surface was slightly weathered and stained, but there was something handwritten on it in red paint. The number, which appeared to be a manufacturing number, consisted of five zeros in a row, followed by a one. The date next to it - the manufacturing date? was about ten years ago. There was also a warning below the date. Caution: Beware the top and bottom of the crate, beware of cracks, placing on side is strictly prohibited, beware of corners, etc...."
And finally, "DANGER — DO NOT OPEN" was written at the end.
The incident happened quietly in that village without anyone noticing. Kinkhall Village. A mere frontier village where no one has any cares.
And when the incident occurred, the original parties involved had long since died.
Table of Contents
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Fool's Gathering Fool's Trap Fool's Rumor Fool's Confession Fool's Showdown Fools Never Stop |