"Ghost, Sleep On My Chest!" V3 Chapter 3 - Fool's Gathering
It's hopeless, Orphen thought — as he took another look around the room he'd blasted. The wardrobe was twisted into the shape of a hunched-over witch, the candlesticks with old wax pooled at the bottom were lying on the floor, and their tin bases bent (come to think of it, he kind of remembered stepping on something when he got out of bed.) The wallpaper carried a burnt smell, not to mention the door that Vulcan had kicked in.
At the very least, the bill was going to be a shit load — he didn't want to think about the exact amount, not wanting to know. If push came to shove, he'd have no choice but to leave this place, even if it meant becoming a fugitive. That was all he could think of.
So, when he was summoned by the dispatcher's officer the next morning, the first thing the old dispatcher said to him left him puzzled.
"I'm sorry to hear about the disaster."
He said.
"How much would you like for compensation?"
"Huh?"
Orphen mumbled back in a dumbfounded tone. Incredible — the words he heard so completely betrayed his expectations that he thought it was a load of bullshit.
(You're not charging me? I don't have to pay?)
Orphen asked back, wondering if it was just in his own head. He answered as naturally as possible.
"No, umm — I'm not used to this kind of situation. What's your estimate?"
"Esti...mate?"
The old officer's dry mouth mumbled from beneath his white beard. At first glance, he looked like a good-natured old man in a brown vest. A wide-brimmed hat hung from a hanger in the corner of the cramped room. He rested his skinny elbows on the wooden desk, the only piece of furniture in the room, and had been looking at him with a vacant stare for some time. The old dispatcher — a retired policeman sent out from the center of the country to take charge of suburban security (or so Orphen had guessed), replied, thinking for a moment.
"That's right. Three years ago, a woman was awoken by that sorcerer's ghost in the same inn, and fled to the church in the middle of the night, if I remember correctly—"
The amount wasn't much, but the information meant more than that.
(So, that ghost has been appearing every now and again, huh?)
He folded his arms and suddenly remembered...
(The man called me Phonogolos...)
He had to find out more details, but who should he ask?
As he stared back at the dispatcher, who was about to start questioning him about the assassin killed by the hand last night, Orphen thought about how he needed to see Hirietta anyway.
When he walked out of the station, Majic was waiting for him. He was sitting on the side of the road, and when he spotted him, his face lit up.
"Master!"
Orphen raised a hand in response to the student rushing over to him.
"What is it? I told you to wait for me at the inn. Did something happen?"
"No, no, that's not why I'm here."
Majic blinked his green eyes hesitantly.
"It's just... It's... not a very comfortable atmosphere."
"............?"
Orphen silently turned his gaze. Majic answered with a sigh.
"That Hirietta or whatever her name is came to see you, Master. She's downstairs in the dining room... In other words—"
"This is getting annoying. What is it? Spit it out."
"That means, Cleao is with her. I don't know how it happened, but they ended up at the same table, silently glaring at each other."
"I see."
Orphen let out a sigh at the same time as Majic.
Despite all the commotion in the room last night, the inn was perfectly calm. As he stood there looking up at the room he'd stayed in the night before, he could see something like a large piece of cardboard covering the broken window. Other than that, nothing had changed since he'd arrived yesterday afternoon.
The deserted air of the inn greeted him as he pushed through the door past the entryway. There were only two people in the cafeteria, both sitting at a table in the middle of the room: Hirietta, still in her body suit, and Cleao, who was sitting right in front of her. Noticing that Cleao's face was slightly swollen, and that the top of her blouse was nearly slipping down, and that the chair at the next table had been toppled over — Orphen clicked his tongue and thought to himself. Oh no, they've already gotten into a fight.
When Orphen entered, Hirietta didn't even flinch with that same wan smile on her face, but Cleao quickly turned around. Her blonde hair fluffed up to hide the scuff marks on her face.
"Hey, you—"
Orphen muttered in a nervous tone, but Cleao was quicker, kicking her chair as she stood up. She glared and shouted at him furiously. Just one word.
"Idiot!"
She spun around and walked up the stairs. As Orphen looked on in a daze, her sneakers faded from sight and he heard Majic following behind him.
"She shouldn't be so angry. Right, Master?"
"I wonder?"
Hirietta spoke up — She smirked wryly as she ran her fingers over the pitch-black sheath that was hidden and attached to the right thigh of her suit.
"What do you mean?"
Orphen asked back, slowly walking over to her table.
Hirietta answered as she cast a sideways glance at him.
"I mean, she has a right to be angry with you. You didn't tell her the truth, did you?"
Orphen silently picked up the chair that Cleao had kicked over and sat down in it. He and Hirietta spoke in tandem.
"When I told her that I was an expert sorcerer-killer hired to assassinate you, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head."
The moment he heard it — Majic backed up and slammed his hip against the table behind him. Orphen let out a slight chuckle as he raised his hand in that direction to stop him.
"But I'm guessing she did more than that, right?"
"Yeah. She jumped at me right on the spot — so I hit her in the spur of the moment, but maybe that was the wrong choice."
"Geez, even if I were mad at her for that, I can't really scold you for it, since she's the one who attacked a killer and got hit back—"
As Orphen said it, Hirietta laughed. How ludicrous, she said.
"Don't be mad at her for that, that young lady — she's worried about you. A girl with no training is protecting you, one of the top-most black-magic sorcerers on the continent. She thinks she can help you. Isn't that cute?"
"... I don't deny it."
Orphen mumbled, then turned to Majic, who seemed to be frightened by the words "Sorcerer-killing."
"Go upstairs and keep Cleao happy."
Majic raised his hands in the air, as if in shock.
"Don't be absurd!"
"Just go."
Orphen added, narrowing his eyes.
"If the ghost is still after us, it's dangerous to leave her alone, isn't it?"
"... What about my personal safety, when I have to stay with said girl while she's in a bad mood?"
Nevertheless, Majic went upstairs to their room. Now, only Orphen and Hirietta remained in the dining room. It was just before noon in the dimly lit dining room, and the kitchen hadn't even been lit yet. Orphen stared at the female assassin sitting in front of him.
"I'd like to confirm one thing."
"What is it?"
She asked back with her characteristic flirtatious smile, which in the end made her seem unapproachable. Orphen leaned his weight back in his chair.
"Are you... an enemy, or an ally? Or are you a friend?"
"By what criteria do you classify friend or foe?"
She teased. Orphen hated that kind of wordplay, but he didn't hate it so much that he ignored it.
"I'm just wondering if you're a big enough enemy to warrant blowing you away right here, right now."
"Well, I don't want to get blown up."
With a chuckle deep in her throat, she continued.
"Okay. I'm on your side. At least I won't go behind your back, and I can provide the information you need."
"Then give me all the information I need. Now."
"You're impatient. Don't you want to talk longer?"
"Sorry, but no."
"You hate me... Last night's kiss, wasn't it wonderful?"
"Shut up."
Orphen mumbled as his eyes narrowed, but Hirietta smiled and ran a hand through her dark hair, wondering what was so funny. She leaned back slightly, resting her elbows on the old stained table, and spoke up again.
"To be honest... I don't think you'll believe me until you meet my sponsor in person. You seem very skeptical."
"So you're telling me that you don't have a believable story."
"... I guess that's right. And actually, I don't mind if you feel that way."
Hearing her agreement, Orphen, who'd meant it as a sarcastic remark, was taken by surprise. As he stared back at the face of the assassin, which almost seemed shadowed over, he found himself recalling the gossip about the "Fool's Dog" Hirietta, which he hadn't been inclined to believe until now.
She parted her lips, colored in bright red rouge, and began to speak.
"My sponsor is already dead. I killed him. But he still... exists, in this village."
"Really, that idiot!"
Cleao sobbed in exasperation as soon as she entered the room. She snatched her pillow up from the bed and threw it into the air. As it lingered there she did a swift spin kick and sent it flying. The pillow hit the wall with an utterly unsatisfying puff, then fell to the floor. The girl had been taken to another room since Orphen had torn up the previous one so badly, but this one wasn't intended to be used as a guest room, and looked more like it was just a regular bedroom. Perhaps that was because the wallpaper wasn't even marred.
Cleao picked the pillow up from the floor and threw it forward. She ran in its path, again performing a flying kick with a beautiful center of gravity. The pillow fell to the floor with a thud and bounced. Cleao leapt, falling right on top of it, and a moment later, dropped her butt right on top of it.
Whatever it was she was trying to do, it wasn't really something within the realm of ordinary athleticism.
Sitting on her pillow, staring at the wall in front of her, Cleao mumbled.
"You idiot... You just think that you can do everything by yourself."
Then — a voice came from outside the open window.
"Okay, now that we're all here!"
It was Vulcan's voice. Cleao's eyebrows twitched, suddenly curious, and she got up from her pillow and walked over to the window. She placed her hands on the frame and leaned forward a little to see Vulcan standing in the open clearing just below the window. From Cleao's point of view, all she could see was the back of his head, but from the sound of his voice, he seemed to be in a good mood. Dortin, who was standing in a daze just a step away from Vulcan, looked strangely tired, and was slumping his shoulders.
(Well, those two have known Orphen longer than I have.)
Cleao didn't know anything about the dwarf brothers. At best, she knew that they owed Orphen some money.
(But... come to think of it, I'm not sure if I know much more about Orphen than I do about those dwarves.)
Swoo... the breeze suddenly took her soft blonde hair with it, and Cleao held it back with her hand. Still and silent, she looked down from the window.
Five small children were lined up carefully in front of Vulcan and Dortin. All of them were about ten years old or so. On the far right was the young boy from the inn who'd shown them to their room.
Vulcan raised his voice again. He folded his arms, looking rather pompous.
"Okay! I'm delighted to be able to welcome a new volunteer to the Vulcan Company, which has been operating with a relatively small group of people until now!"
('Delighted' is a word you'd typically expect to see in a letter, and in this case, it's semantically inappropriate —) Dortin muttered behind him, but Vulcan continued, hitting Dortin with the scabbard of his sword without so much as glancing back.
"Well! My new friends, who have sympathized and resonated with our activities so far! We've been operating and serving under the company motto of "To love the Vulcan Company, is to be loved by the Vulcan Company!" but as was mentioned at the previous convention, the current situation is such that we can no longer maintain that motto."
Pffft! Cleao put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. The children were staring blankly as they listened to Vulcan's speech, which didn't make much sense, even to them. Vulcan, who seemed completely oblivious to this fact, continued his speech with great enthusiasm, while Dortin let out an exasperated sigh in the background.
"What I mean is! All members should be careful to eliminate obstacles clogging the chimney, even if it means death, to avoid the spread of such plagues! Now, let's move on to our future plans..."
Cleao closed the window. As she stood there, she turned her back to the outside and let the weight of her hips rest on the window frame. Leaning against the window, she sighed.
It was so easy, for those people.
(Come to think of it, I must've seemed just like them a while ago...)
Such thoughts crossed her mind.
When did it stop being that way? — No, in the end it probably hadn't changed much, even now. Though, she was clearly aware of a sense of relief that she'd never had the chance to experience at her parents' home in Totokanta.
(I... wonder if we're just baggage...)
She looked up to think.
(It's not that I don't understand why Orphen feels so protective. He's traveling with two minors, so it's only natural that he should be aware of his responsibilities as the oldest. Even still—)
She mumbled aloud.
"I could work as Orphen's partner if only he'd let me."
She was proud to say that even though she grew up as a proper young lady, she'd gone to school downtown and had plenty of friends there, so she hadn't grown up to be naive. She could make decisions at a moment's notice — whether or not her course of action was correct or not was a different matter — but at least she could make a decision quickly. She could use a sword, and above all, she knew that no matter how much money was offered to her, or how desperate the situation might be, she would never betray him.
(If all of these conditions are met... Well, even if we're not equals, there should be no reason not to call us partners. I'm positive. So there must be something else that I'm still missing—)
There was a knock at the door. Without waiting for Cleao's reply, a thin, timid voice continued.
"Cleao, it's me... I'm coming in."
Cleao stared at the door with a disgruntled look on her face.
It opened slowly, and there stood Majic.
(If there's one thing I'm still missing...)
Cleao repeated in her mind, glaring at the boy with a distinctly jealous look in her eyes. If anyone was lacking, it was this guy.
(The reason why that block head Orphen doesn't approve of me must be because I can't use magic.)
The blond boy, seeming startled by her stare, stood at the entrance of the room for a long time, as if puzzled about why.
"...We're in for a world of trouble, aren't we?"
A man muttered, his sleepy eyes hidden by his shaggy black hair. He was standing in the woods a few kilometers from the village, and looked a lot older than he was. Though his actual age was a little under 30, his appearance was closer to 40. Perhaps because of his stubble and mournful face. He wore a lead-colored battle suit — a sorcerer's suit with chains attached to it — and a slim, one-handed military sword at his waist. His rough hand touched the handle, wriggling the scars on the back of it.
As he gazed at the movement of his scars, which almost looked like another creature entirely, his men gathered round — a mishmash of assassins of all varying ages and appearances. One such assassin with that kind of look asked him.
"So, what do you mean, Kozen?"
The man called 'Kozen' raised his sleepy eyes and answered.
"I mean we failed to assassinate him. He'll be on high alert for quite a while, so we'll have to wait for our next opportunity. Only, it's impossible for us to hide ourselves without being suspected in a suburban village like this."
"Still... The idea of dealing with a sorcerer of the Tower of Fang is..."
As the other assassin fearfully spoke, Kozen responded with a sarcastic look.
"Are you saying I'm stupid?"
"No... But still, even if you're not—"
"I admit that the man's a good black-magic sorcerer."
Kozen took his hand off the hilt of his sword, placed it on his chin, and pulled a hair from his stubble.
"The rumors that he's a sorcerer from the Tower of Fang may not be far off the mark. It's hard to believe that a man of such power is so completely unknown. Or perhaps the name Orphen is an alias — Actually, it's a ridiculous name. I can only assume it's a joke. I'm also curious about his background, though, which wasn't mentioned in the documents."
"Then turning him into an enemy would be..."
"Not really. No matter how powerful he is, he's still a young man. His skills are crude and he lacks the courage and experience to do anything with them. He's the kind of guy that gets upset when an enemy dies in front of him, and lets one of his precious prisoners escape. Right?"
Then — He looked at the long-haired man standing to his right, whose arm was hanging in a bandage. He was the assassin who'd dropped from the tree by Orphen, and nearly got interrogated. However, he only murmured, more perplexed than in agreement.
"You can say that because you're a sorcerer. Immature or not, for us, it's just—"
Just as he was about to say it, the long-haired man twitched.
"—?"
All the men around him gave him a furtive glance. Right in the middle of them, the long-haired man opened his eyes wide, and began to speak in a tone like some ventriloquist's dummy.
"I—I—"
He put his hand to his throat and continued.
"I—Found—You—"
The assassin's reactions to the anomaly were swift. They backed away from the long-haired man in one swift motion and put their hands on their weapons. Among them, only Kozen remained empty-handed, pointing his finger at the long-haired man before shouting.
"Open!"
Most likely, no one there understood what the result of uttering such a common word would be at the time that they heard it. It was an oddly pointless thing to think, but it flashed through Kozen's mind nevertheless. The next instant, his sorcery activated.
There was a sound like the crunching of fresh powdery snow beneath a large boot, and as it echoed through the air, a huge gash opened from the long-haired man's left shoulder to the right side of his body. A single, fresh stream of blood gushed from the area near his heart with the force of a bucket of water being emptied onto the ground. His arm dangled from the hanging bandage, and the long-haired corpse slumped back down.
Then... a thick, black, fog-like mist drifted out from the wound. It almost blew away in the wind of the forest, but changed into a human form.
"What the hell?"
One of the assassins, a lanky long-limbed man screamed. The knife fell from his empty hand as he trembled.
The misty figure was of a thin young man wearing a white robe, his eyes fixed only on Kozen.
"I've found you — You — The Sorcerer — Phonogolos!"
"Ph-Phono?"
Kozen asked back, his tone revealing that he had no idea what the apparition was talking about.
"Phonogolos — what you — did to me — I will never forget!"
"Blow them away!'
Kozen ignored him and uttered an incantation. A flash of electric light flashed from his outstretched hands. The lightning struck the misty figure in a straight line, but the mist was only blown away for a moment, and after a few seconds, it was back to its human form.
"Damn—"
Kozen groaned, slumping slightly. The other assassins were slashing at the fog with the weapons in their hands for no real reason. It was literally just pointless; knife or no knife, it'd only pass through the black fog.
"It's a ghost—"
Someone or another said. At that moment—
"Huh...?"
The lanky man let out an inarticulate groan. He stopped moving and looked down at the blood stain slowly spreading across his chest.
Then, from another direction.
"Argh—!"
There was another scream that made some sense given the situation, but it somehow had its own meaning. It was another assassin, falling to the ground, stiffening at the sight of the wound, where his ankle had been sliced clean through. For just a moment, he could see a bladed hand sinking into the ground.
"Eeeeeeeeeiiiiiiii!"
This time, a high-pitched sound broke the wind. The other man's head fell to the ground without a fight as trails of blood seeped down to his chest.
"What the hell is going on?
Kozen just looked around, mumbling in a daze of confusion. Magic was useless at this point — he couldn't even identify the enemy — he couldn't see them — he had no idea how to fight them."
"These guys, they're not ghosts—"
Kozen turned around as he muttered, glancing at the face of his last-remaining companion.
"These guys are monsters!"
He called out.
But — that friend he'd thought had only been quiet for some time, had long since passed. More than half of his head was melted away, as though he'd been exposed to strong acid without even trying to move away.
"Fuck—"
Kozen frantically fled for his life. Behind him, the broken screams of his comrade who had lost a foot echoed through the forest.
Table of Contents
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| (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) |
Fool's Gathering Fool's Trap Fool's Rumor Fool's Confession Fool's Showdown Fools Never Stop |
- Notes
- "Sacrificial Arrow" For this one I couldn't quite come to a decision on how to translate the saying "白羽の矢が立つ". It's a saying in Japanese that denotes a chosen sacrifice. In Japanese mythology, a white-feathered arrow would strike the roof of a chosen victim, indicating that they, among all others in the village, had been chosen as a sacrifice. Some of you may recall similar themes to Clover Studio's famous game, Okami, where a white-feathered arrow was used to mark Kushi as the next sacrifice to the evil serpent, Orochi. Although this saying has more positive connotations in modern-day usage, in Orphen's case, he was saying that Sammy inadvertently became Phonogolos' first step into human modification — and ultimately, a sacrifice.