"Ghost, Sleep On My Chest!" V3 Chapter 4 - Fool's Confession
Everyone has a past. Or rather, one cannot truly be a person without a past. A sane man would say it was merely the passing of time, and that it was sentimentality to drove us to force greater meaning onto it.
But, how is that, Orphen thought — We've all forgotten parts of ourselves. Granted, there are also parts of us that would like to be forgotten.
He sighed as he looked around the dark, empty hall. Thin beams of light shined through the cracks of the wooden planks that blocked the windows. The air was stagnant and dusty. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, without a trace of footprints. In the center of the entry hall of the mansion, a statue stood majestically, tall enough to be seen from above. They were statues of the Wyrd Sisters, which were worshipped here and there across the continent. The statue of a slender woman with an impassive smile.
"—The Goddess of the Present—"
Orphen mumbled to no one in particular. He unfolded his arms and quickly shook off his trousers, which were covered in dust.
Hmm? Surprised to hear this, Hirietta, who was standing next to him, turned to him and asked.
"What?"
"No, it's... I was just impressed by the personality of the owner of this mansion."
Orphen said with a grin. The statue of the goddess had a scar in the middle of her face, as if she'd been struck with a chisel. Because of that, she appeared to have three eyes. A snarling third eye, pierced right between her two gentler eyes.
Nothing else in the hall stood out. When Hirietta closed the entrance door behind her, the inside of the mansion was plunged into darkness. With a click, she turned on the portable gas light.
The dim light brought the statues to life once more.
Everyone has a past, Orphen reiterated in his heart, and perhaps it's the same for the gods and goddesses. The eldest, the Goddess of the Past, the second, the Goddess of the Present, and the youngest, the Goddess of the Future.
It seemed that the three goddesses, the Fates, also had a future. For humans, there was no telling what the future would behold. It was possible they'd die suddenly, maybe today, maybe tomorrow.
Orphen smiled almost in mockery of himself, having become so sentimental. He turned to Hirietta, who was a floating face in the white of the gas light.
"Damn... I really have become a softy, coming all the way down here without asking any of the important questions."
"I've told you the most important part, though, haven't I? I told you that unless you meet my sponsor in person, you'll never understand this matter. And now I'm taking you to meet him."
"What I wanted to hear more of was—"
Orphen looked up at the ceiling, where the gas light couldn't reach. It was just blackness, a ramshackle blackness. Like the surface of water, silent and dark, just a mass of shadows. Looking up at the ceiling, he continued.
"What I wanted to ask is why me? If you just want a good sorcerer, there are plenty of powerful sorcerers out there."
"Like... Krylancelo, from the Tower of Fang?"
The name suddenly leaked out from Hirietta's lips, and Orphen felt himself wince. When he threw a glance at her, he saw her eyes sparkle with a teasing gaze.
"Don't think of me the same way as Ostwald. The person I wanted to contact was a man named Krylancelo. A black-magic sorcerer taught all the assassination techniques by Childman, the most powerful black-magic sorcerer on the continent. Krylancelo, Childman's treasured son. At only fifteen years old, his fame had almost reached the edge of the continent—"
"Stop!"
Orphen tried to stop her with a firm tone, but Hirietta continued without a care.
"But five years ago, he disappeared from the Tower. There were many whispers in the underworld as to the reason for his disappearance. It was said that he had a falling out with his mentor, Childman, or that he was shunned by the elders of the Tower, who considered his power too dangerous, or that he went to assassinate Pluto, the Strongest Demon of the Royal Capital, and head of the "13 Apostles", while also being the only man on the continent with as much power as Childman. Well, it doesn't matter why, if you ask me."
She winked.
"On the western part of the continent there's no greater sorcerer than you. Aside from Childman, who also disappeared, and is now missing. The only other person that fits the bill from the same Childman Class as you is the Demon Witch, who suddenly died a few years ago."
"I said stop!"
Orphen shouted briefly and grabbed her wrist as she held up the gas lamp. He managed to spit out a few more words as he struggled to hold back her temper.
"I'm not Krylancelo. I've been calling myself Orphen for five years. I left the Tower for my own reasons. Besides, the name has no—"
He was trying his best to be threatening, but Hirietta was undaunted, looking back at him with a calm smile on her face. Orphen continued, feeling dejected.
"I think that name has meaning. As long as I call myself Orphen, then I'm still dead as Krylancelo. No one... can force me to evoke that part of myself."
He said spitefully, and tried to let go of her hand — but Hirietta's other hand came to rest on his own before he could do so.
"A killer who can't kill people... A bird that can't chirp. Is that what you've been told and scorned for?"
"It doesn't matter."
Orphen growled in frustration.
"What about you, if you're going to run your mouth about other people? You're just the Fool's Dog, Hirietta, who never turns down a request. But she can never pull off what she's asked to do! It's not that you're so bad at your job that you can't accomplish the task — you just straight up betray your client. Ninety percent of all requests. You're asked to kill a man, only to have him suddenly flee to another city, and even help him get a new job. Sometimes you neglect your duties as a guard and suddenly disappear. The only job you do is to kill sorcerers."
"... That's right."
Hirietta agreed. The overlapping hands fell away as if they'd lost their power.
"I'll explain it to you as we walk. We have to get through this mansion... to the underground."
"Failure... Outcast."
"............?"
When he turned a dubious glane at her, Hirietta returned a shy smile. She relied on the light of the gas lamp as they navigated through the dusty, deserted mansion.
"I'm talking about myself. That's what I am, after all."
According to the story, the house had been abandoned ten years ago. At that time, it was a clean and chic mansion that had been waxed from corner to corner by servants. The owner of the house had no family and lived in the house with a few overnight servants and an assistant.
But whatever — there was no trace of those days now. In the darkness, a group of what appeared to be rats ran by, trailing a high-pitched squeal and the scurrying of their footsteps. Orphen, brushing away ten or twenty layers of cobwebs, silently urging her to speak.
Hirietta continued in a lighter tone.
"There's a small village a little west of here that doesn't even have a name on the map. The locals call it Raindust, the wreckage of our era. That is, some decades ago, people were driven from their burning homes as a minor war was spreading throughout the area. They managed to survive in that location with no help from the outside world... and after some time, before they'd known it, a village had formed around them. That place was my home."
Hearing that, Orphen mumbled.
"... I'm pretty sure that's where I was born."
"You have a home? But you call yourself Orphan."
Hirietta asked, a little surprised. Orphen took in a breath.
"You're telling me your story, aren't you? Go on."
"Well, fine... There are people who are quick to pass the baton on to others when it comes to topics they don't want to touch on."
She shrugged her shoulders and resumed her story.
"I was fifteen when I left the village. Back then everything became so uninteresting to me. So, I packed a few simple belongings, and set out, with my first destination being this very village along the road."
"Fifteen, huh..."
Orphen took a quick look at Hirietta as she walked by his side, from head to waist, and guessed her age.
"So, that was about ten years ago?"
"Too bad. It was nine."
"Either or is fine."
Orphen said, and Hirietta chuckled—
"Still, it doesn't matter."
She answered, but her expression darkened. Orphen scratched his head, looking back at her, watching as her gaze fell. An insect fell from the ceiling.
"If I had left the village a year later... I would never have met him."
"Him?"
Orphen asked, picking up a spider that was flailing around in his hair.
Hirietta's voice sounded muffled, as if she was dealing with some painful cavity.
"Yes. I fell ill in this village, and he took care of me... Sammy. My boyfriend."
Boyfriend.
As if she could tell him everything about the man with just that one word, she abruptly ended her story. Orphen didn't dare to say anything, but he remembered the name clearly. Sammy.
At the same time, he threw the spider he'd picked up over his shoulder. As it was flung behind him, a flurry of mice and rats began to clamor as they pounced on their prey.
They proceeded through the mansion for some time, passing through the passage at the back of the hall, through another room that looked somewhat like a kitchen, and facing the stairs leading to the underground cellar, when Orphen casually asked.
"Why wouldn't you have met Sammy if you'd arrived in the village a year later?"
Hirietta's reply was short and to the point.
"Because he died. A year after we met."
(... You know. Some people get suddenly quiet when it comes to topics they don't want to touch on.)
Orphen mumbled to himself as some minor bit of revenge, then slowly followed behind Hirietta, who began descending the stairs without any notice.
Perhaps because the rainy season had just passed, the stairs were strangely damp — and it wasn't just the dampness, it was also hot and humid. Orphen felt the wall, feeling the dampened surface, then wiped his hands on his leather trousers. It seemed as if the humidity increased with each step down the stone staircase.
Orphen suddenly realized that his patience was wearing thin.
"So what's the deal with this Sammy guy?"
Hirietta answered without looking back — so he couldn't get a read on her expression.
"He was an assistant hired by the master of this house, Phonogolos, a black-magic sorcerer who'd been banished from the Tower of Fang and drifted until he reached this village."
The staircase ended abruptly with her reply.
At the bottom was the small landing, an iron door stood directly in front of them. There wasn't a plate or anything on it, it was just a plain, unassuming door. Hirietta turned off the gas light.
The area was completely dark.
"... What are you doing?"
Orphen asked, not really paying any attention. He could feel Hirietta shrug her shoulders.
She groped around until she found the door, then gave it a push. The creaking of the heavy door was accompanied by a rush of air coming out from the basement, where the pressure had been rising.
The air that came out smelled like water. More than that — it smelled like stagnant water.
It wasn't just air that flowed out, either. A faint light was leaking through from inside the room. When he looked into it, he saw a gigantic firefly-like ball of light floating in the air, right in the middle of the room with seemingly no support or suspension.
On the right side of the room, three large wooden boxes were neatly stacked up — about a meter high, and looking rather sturdy. All of them were tightly sealed, with a warning that opening the crates was strictly prohibited. In addition...
"Manufacturing date? Imperial Redlight 38... Ten years ago?"
Orphen read it out suspiciously, but Hirietta stiffened her expression, and didn't say a word. The corners of her bright red lips twitched, as if she were biting down on an enemy.
There was something in her expression that caught Orphen's attention, but he dared to ignore it and looked around the room from where he stood. The basement, which had once been spacious, was now cramped with rows of crates. At the far end of the room, there was a particularly large one.
Orphen was puzzled. It wasn't a crate, but was instead a huge glass aquarium.
Pressed up against the wall, this huge tank was about two meters high. The glass surface was evenly stained with moss, but in some places it looked as if it'd been wiped clean several times. The tank was so large that even a shark could fit in it, but it seemed to be filled to the brim with water.
"This is—"
Hirietta spoke up in a theatrical tone as she strode into the room. She held her hand over the orb of light and continued.
"This is Phonogolos's... morgue."
"Morgue?"
He asked back. Then—
"That's right."
The response seemed to echo from within the tank.
"I'm glad you're here. I've been waiting for you... I am Ramon Phonogolos — The one who succeeded... Kief Phonogolos, who was banished from the Tower of Fang."
[The first memorable convention of the Vulcan Company — Let's get rich by collecting dropped change!]
The text was written on the banner in large blue lettering, with the banner itself being a white cloth that looked like it had probably been a bed sheet at one point. It was tied to the end of a clothesline and fluttered in the wind. The man holding the pole aloft was Vulcan, in the lead, followed by five children who were staring at the side of the road with bloodshot eyes. Dortin was walking at a leisurely pace at the end of the line.
This was the new business model that Vulcan came up with after cleaning up all the leftovers from the inn guests on one sunny afternoon — an idea that Dortin had thought was too stupid to bother explaining. They would collect all of the scrap metal that they could find on the road, and ask the local peddler to buy it for a certain amount.
(Well, it's better than the 'Hair-raising Snake Man!'...)
He looked at the procession in front of him. His big brother was shouting and swinging the banner around, as if he was trying to inspire the members — that is, the children — to do something. After him, two of the children were walking with the wooden box they'd picked up. The next three children and, incidentally, Dortin, were responsible for picking things up and tossing them into the crate, including trash like small pieces of wire and bent nails. Dortin, however, knew how much such scrap metal was worth, so he was in no mood to actively participate — although he wasn't sure that he'd be able to leave the ranks and return to his lodgings, either, considering the days of bullying from Vulcan that'd likely follow.
So, he did nothing in particular, and for now, just tried to do his duty. If he were discovered, he'd be beaten to a pulp, but at least at the moment he was in his brother's blind spot since he was walking at the front of the line.
He noticed two similar faces walking side by side from across the street: Cleao, dressed in her usual jeans with a faded blue men's shirt pulled over her T-shirt, and a boy dressed in black, whose face he'd only seen a few times before. Dortin managed to recall the name that'd faded from the depths of his memory. Majic. Yes — Majic, the apprentice of that loan shark sorcerer, or something like that.
When they noticed him, they ran across the road to them. Cleao, looking somewhat sulky, raised her slender right hand.
"Hi."
"... Hello."
Dortin stopped and returned the greeting. Vulcan and the rest of the "Company" plodded on, leaving him behind.
As he looked off to the side, Dortin asked Cleao, adjusting his glasses.
"Are you going for a walk?"
"No... I'm looking for Orphen. He just disappeared."
Cleao sighed as she spoke. Behind her, Majic looked uncomfortable.
He didn't know what was going on, but it seemed like it might be a complicated situation.
"I haven't seen him today. He went to see the dispatcher this morning, though, didn't he?"
"He came back before noon. It looks like he went out again, though. With that assassin."
The last word was strangely powerful. Dortin didn't think that it'd be a good idea to continue the conversation, but he asked anyway.
"Assassin?"
Majic was the one who answered.
"Ahh — Umm — No, it was a tall woman with long hair, you see. She was staying at the same inn that night."
"I remember her, but..."
Or rather, meeting someone who stood out that much wasn't something he'd easily forget.
Cleao glanced back at Majic and growled.
"If we don't find him soon, Orphen will be in danger — She's an assassin sent to kill him. You saw that she had a knife, didn't you?"
(No matter how you look at it, I think that sorcerer's scarier than any assassin...)
Dortin thought to himself, but refrained from speaking it out loud. In any case, he wouldn't be able to go against this human woman, even if she was standing right in front of him.
"Well, be careful then—"
Dortin said. Then—
"Aaaaaaahhhh!"
There was a scream.
When Dortin looked, he saw that Vulcan had just been knocked down with the flag in his arms — and after shoving the dwarf out of the way, the person responsible kicked the children aside and rushed towards them — a man whose age was hard to tell at a glance. He had a sword at his waist. His face was drawn back, and he realized that the screams he'd heard earlier weren't from Vulcan, but were from this man.
"Get out of my way!"
The man shouted in their direction. Dortin swung to the side of the road, watching the man with renewed composure. His beard made him look older than he was, but if he were tucked away in the darkness behind a bar, he'd probably look a lot more ominous. His eyes were sharp, and that much was similar to the loan shark sorcerer. His nose was pointed, and he had a shoe in the middle of his face.
(A shoe?)
Dortin heard a resounding thud! the moment he noticed the shoe, which was quickly followed by a Fssshhhh! At the same time, the man was stopped mid stride and went crashing to the ground, sprawled out on his back. He looked at him, and it seemed that Cleao had landed a backwards kick from right in front of him. Cleao, who'd raised her leg, sniffed as she quickly brought it back to the ground.
Next to her, Majic was holding his head in his hands.
"Whaaa? Bright red blood!"
The man screamed while holding his bleeding nose.
"What are you doing!?"
"Shut up!"
Cleao pointed her finger at the man, who was still on the ground.
"Now, what the hell are you doing!? You suddenly ran up out of nowhere and started shoving children out of the way!"
"No matter how you slice it, I can't help but feel like you just lashed out at some poor passerby who happened to wander by..."
Majic, who was rambling behind them, immediately shut his mouth and turned away when Cleao glared at him.
Dortin, who had deliberately remained silent and only watched was, if anything, in favor of Majic's viewpoint.
"Hey, little girl — I'm trying to tell you, this isn't the time!"
The man stood up and swung his arms out, pointing back in the direction he had come.
The children were working hard to pick up the scrap metal that'd been spilled from the overturned box. Vulcan was waving the flag and performing some meaningless cheer.
In any case, nobody seemed injured. Then — he heard Cleao start shouting.
"Yeah well, same here! We have to protect Orphen from that lascivious assassin!"
"Lascivious...?"
Majic blurted out, his eyes half-lidded in doubt, just like his master.
But no one was listening. The man suddenly grabbed Cleao's wrist with a jerk and brought his face close to hers, which was decidedly more wary now.
"What assassin!? I don't have time to play your childish games!"
Then, as if in a flash of realization—
"Wait, do you mean Orphen?"
That moment proved fatal. Cleao yelled as she tried to jerk her wrist out of his grip.
"Don't touch me, bloody nose!"
Bam! Cleao's head bashed into the man's face.
"AAAHH!?"
Mr. Stubble fell down again.
"Ah — Oh, no. Did I get blood in my hair?"
He glanced at Cleao when she asked, seeing that she was showing her head to Majic.
Dortin ran over to the fallen man. Somehow, he seemed more like the victim in this situation.
"Are you all right?"
The man was holding his nose and moaning.
"Damn you, you little bitch, twice in a row you've pulled one over on Kozen!"
Apparently, the man's name was Kozen. Dortin approached the man and repeated himself.
"Are you okay?"
"U-Ummm — A tissue, or something?"
"I'm sorry, I don't have any."
"Mmm."
Kozen groaned, got up, and drew his sword. Cleao grumbled, and as expected, retreated back.
"H-Hey — What are you doing, pulling out that thing?"
"It's not my intention to kill women and children, but some things I can't let go."
Then, while looking back in the direction he came from, he continued.
"Though, it seems like my pursuers have also withdrawn, so that's just fine—"
"W-what can't be ignored, nosebleed man? Err, I mean. That's a serious question."
"What kind of guy just pulls out a sword like that!?"
Kozen waved his single-edged sword in the air.
"You said it yourself, Orphen! If you guys are friends with that black-magic sorcerer, that's fine. I'll take you hostage!"
"What—"
Dortin looked up at Kozen and muttered.
"Is it okay to shout such things in broad daylight?"
"Guh..."
Kozen's cheeks twitched as if he'd been jabbed in a sore spot, but that was all. Apparently, he'd already given up on that idea.
When he looked around, he saw a crowd of villagers beginning to gather around the area. Some of them seemed to be the parents of the children that Vulcan had been dragging around, all screaming in distress. Vulcan, somehow in a safe place — among them, could be heard yelling something along the lines of 'Its okay! The Chamber of Commerce guarantees the safety of its members!'
(Hey, what about me...)
Well, either way, as far as he could see, the kids were a ways away from them, carrying the crate, so unless this Kozen guy went berserk and ran wild there wasn't really any danger.
Cleao screamed, while trying to hide behind Majic.
"Y-You're — Orphen said there were a bunch of other assassins, you must be the one and only!"
"Master said "Multiple assassins are after me"..."
Majic threw an annoyed glance at Cleao, who stepped behind him.
Kozen shouted, growing angrier.
"Don't you dare treat me like I'm a minor player! I'm a well known figure on the street—"
"We only know a little bit about you."
"Shut up! My name is Kozen Waisetsu, the Mercenary of the Ashes, the Feared Shadow on the Beach!"
"Um..."
Dortin interrupted, tugging at the waist of Kozen's uniform.
"When you're about to kidnap someone, you don't just go telling them your name..."
"Shut up! It makes no difference if they've already seen your face!"
"Uhh..."
Majic mumbled tiredly.
"I've had enough of this. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six..."
"............?"
The assassin looked at Majic, a puzzled expression on his face. In the meantime, Majic closed his eyes, and continued the rather slow countdown.
"Five, four, three, two, one..."
After the countdown passed three, the boy's bond hair fluttered, as if caught in the wind. At that moment, Kozen let out a scream.
"Magic! That wasn't in the documents—"
"I release, the Sword of Light!"
Flash!
A pure white radiance burst forth from the tip of the boy's out-stretched hand. The band of light raced through the air, piercing right into Kozen's front — and then through him.
But nothing happened.
"... Huh?"
Kozen, who'd raised his arms in front of his face protectively, just let out a stupid utterance. There was nothing. It was just a dazzling light.
"What the?"
Majic looked into his right hand, as if he had been handed some defective item to examine.
"It's not working. I thought if I took my time and concentrated, I could get it right."
"You're useless!"
He heard Cleao say as she clung to the boy's shoulder. Majic countered her point.
"I'm not useless. At least there was a light, so that's a passing score for the day."
"Are you guys kidding me?"
Dortin shrugged next to Kozen as the assassin yelled out. It seemed he'd finally snapped. With his sword in one hand, he slashed at Cleao and Majic who now stood before him.
As he watched from behind, Dortin asked himself what he could do — there wasn't much time. In a matter of seconds, the assassin would get to them and slay one or the other. He seemed to have lost control of himself, so a single blow might not be fatal. He remembered reading in a book that killing a man with a sword was more difficult than stabbing him with a knife. What a disturbing book — Who wrote it? — No, that didn't matter.
He'd seen Cleao use a sword before — with some skill. Now she was unarmed, though, and in any case, he was sure she wasn't good enough to go head-to-head with a decent assassin. So, there was little chance that she'd be able to get herself out of this situation. Then there was that boy, Majic, who didn't look like he could dodge the blade that was coming at him. In a word, this situation was hopeless.
But what could he do? The assassin was rushing forward at such a high rate of speed that he didn't think he could keep up with him if he chased after him — Should he throw a rock at him? It wasn't like he was going to hit anything, but he'd just pick up a pebble and try so that he could say he made an effort anyway, and those people would surely understand...
(Huh?)
Dortin crouched down on the road, picking up a stone, and looked at the assassin. A few seconds had already passed. It was about time to hear the screams of Cleao and Majic as they were slain.
When he looked up, the assassin's back was no longer in sight. Or, to be more precise, the moment he looked up, a black shadow had passed through the space where the assassin had been, and knocked him sideways. He was flung through the air like he'd been kicked by a horse. The assassin, Kozen, fell to the roadside. After he bounced, the assassin screamed out.
"Damn — They chased me down after all!"
"What...?"
Dortin threw a glance in the direction of the assassin's glare — the direction from which he'd originally fled. The children had long since escaped, but the crate was lying on its side, and right next to it — standing there was some unidentifiable creature.
"W-What is that?"
Cleao groaned. No one answered. There was no way to answer.
It looked like armor. The kind of armor that was often displayed in some nobleman's parlor. However, the man standing there wore armor painted a matte jet black, with no shield, sword, or spear in his hands. His arms dangled at his sides, and he stared at them from behind his mask with an eyeless face.
Kerchak — The armor raised its right arm. At the same time, something black and thin, like a whip, ran through the cracks in the armor—
It gouged the ground where the assassin had fallen. The shadow, which looked like a simple string, seemed to have extraordinary power. When it cracked with the sound of an explosion, the assassin jumped sideways, and the string gouged dozens of centimeters out of the ground.
"Eat shit!"
Kozen called out. A lightning bolt burst from the killer's right hand. It shot straight through the armor. Vibrations coursed through the metal as it took the impact, causing a loud noise, and after a moment, the armor toppled to the ground. However — immediately, it stood back up as if nothing had happened.
And this time, without raising its arms, it shook its body a little.
Sheen — The sound echoed, and this time, even though he couldn't see anything, a gash suddenly opened up on Kozen's shoulder. It didn't seem like a deep wound, but the assassin jerked back, and the force of it sent blood splattering all around.
A scream rose up from everyone around.
Then...
The air shook with a shuddering sound.
In the midst of the stunned crowd, right in front of Majic and Cleao, it appeared — the same specter that they'd seen yesterday. The black mist slowly took shape, and... transformed into a human form.
He heard one of the men call out.
"There it is again! The curse of Phonogolos!"
With that signal, the bullies fled like scattering spiderlings. In the midst of all the screaming, Dortin clearly heard the ghost's mutterings.
"You — Yess...ter...day... — I — Didn't notice — You — Are also... A Sorcerer—"
The ghost continued to address Majic in the form of the nervous-looking young man.
"When — Will I find you! Phonogolos!"
"I-I'm not Phonogolos!"
Majic rebuked. However, the ghost didn't seem to hear him. He continued to mumble something, then opened his arms and exclaimed.
"You had better remember — What you have done!"
Thoom!
The wind picked up — into a tornado-shaped air current that whipped up a cloud of dust. Dortin shielded his eyes with his arms. He could hear screams, and curses — whether they came from the villagers or from Cleao and the others, he wasn't sure.
When the wind died down, Dortin was the only one left standing there.
Blink... He looked around as the rowdy villagers fled. The villagers who had had failed to escape, along with Vulcan, who seemed to have been trampled by the fleeing crowd, were lying on the ground, but the assassin, Cleao, and Majic were nowhere to be seen. Neither was the black armor, or the ghost.
"What should I do?"
Dortin sat flat on the ground and groaned. As he adjusted the position of his slipping glasses, he pondered.
"An assassin appeared in the middle of the day, and then a ghost appeared. Something's wrong here."
It didn't seem like that was the problem, but for the time being, that was all Dortin had in mind.
He stumbled closer to Vulcan. His brother, with footprints covering his body, seemed to be cursing something or another while laying on his stomach.
"Damn... suddenly treating me like a railroad crossing like that... I'll curse you to die by the sound of a baby crying all night!"
"B... Brother, brother!"
Dortin shook Vulcan awake.
"What are we going to do? Cleao and Majic are gone..."
Vulcan groaned as he sat up and rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands.
"Mmm... Looks like they were kidnapped by that ghost."
"Yeah..."
Dortin said, looking around. Then he stopped his gaze at a suitable point.
"... Anyway, we'll have to tell the loan shark—but—"
He clammed up. Vulcan seemed to understand, and gave him a look of disgust.
"That loan shark will just decide that it was our fault, just like he always does."
"Actually, its always been you who started these things, brother..."
But Vulcan ignored him and held up one stocky finger.
"How about bowing your head, writing 'I'm sorry' across your forehead in black ink, then licking his shoes while you apologize?"
"Being eaten by a serpent sounds better than that..."
"That wasn't my fault."
"Well it wasn't because of me."
"Don't be absurd."
"Right?"
Both mumbled the final word at the same time. Then the dwarf brothers turned their sights to the sky.
"Ramon... Phonogolos?"
Orphen put his hand on his chin and asked back. He stared at the water-filled tank, which was covered in moss, so you couldn't really see inside.
"You've heard of my father — Kief Phonogolos, haven't you?"
The voice didn't come from inside the tank, but from a thin tube protruding from the top of the tank. Orphen stared at it with a fixed gaze.
He turned around and looked at Hirietta.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Why?"
Though, she looked like she'd expected him to say that, even as she'd asked him to explain — watching him with her narrow eyes and her typical mischievous smile.
Orphen slowly sighed.
"From here on out, this is a discussion between the sorcerers of the Tower of Fang."
"Okay."
She agreed and walked out of the room. The heavy door slammed shut with a squeak.
Orphen turned to the tank.
"I've only heard of Phonogolos. The elders of the Tower considered his practices to be highly taboo. Most importantly, however..."
He continued, toying with the pendant on his chest, the dragon emblem that marked the Tower's sorcerers.
"My teacher was interested in Phonogolos' research for a short period of time. I've seen some of his materials too."
"Just a short period?"
Ramon Phonogolos' voice echoed with surprise.
"Yeah. He lost interest pretty quickly. The materials were incomplete, and... he didn't need them in the first place."
"Hmm... What do you mean, it wasn't needed?"
Orphen scratched his head in frustration.
"Phonogolos' research was apparently about making humans into something more than human beings. Master Childman—"
He cut his words short and searched for a suitable way to express them.
"He was already more than human when he was born. He was a genius, a one of a kind prodigy born in hundreds of years."
"I see..."
Ramon — No, the voice, chuckled, amused by the statement.
"If that were the case, my father's work may have been unnecessary. However, you are mistaken. My father's work was never about creating anything greater than human beings."
"What?"
"That's exactly why the Tower wouldn't recognize Kief Phonogolos' research — My father used to complain to me about it every night, asking me why they didn't understand him. He..."
The voice told him rather matter-of-factly.
"He was trying to create soldiers, creatures that could surpass the dragon race."
"A creature that could surpass the dragons...?"
Orphen asked.
"Dragons—"
Ramon continued, as if he were reciting a poem.
"Once upon a time, in the age of legends — six kinds of beasts stole the mysteries of 'magic' from the gods in Jötunheimr, and turned it into their own power, 'Sorcery.' By interbreeding with one of these species, the Celestials, more gained these magical powers — their descendants, human sorcerers, like you and my father."
"Like me... and your father?"
Orphen questioned his unnatural mannerisms.
Ramon answered with a smile in his voice.
"That's right. I'm not a sorcerer... I'm my father's son, so I must have some background in sorcery. However, my father couldn't train me. He had his hands full with his own research."
Then his voice turned to one of self-mockery.
"So I couldn't... I couldn't handle the creatures."
(Creatures...)
The word conjured the images of the so-called 'ghost' of that nervous-looking young man, the silhouette of the strong snake-man, and — the horrifying hand clutching the assassin's head.
But if those were the creatures, then...
"Ha!"
Orphen snorted.
"That's absurd — It's true that they've all got some surprising talent wrapped up in those forms, but those sorts of abilities are no use against the sorcery used by the dragon tribes. Their fighting abilities are beyond anything a human can hope to guess. I've had to contend with their sorcery a few times—"
"And yet, you've survived?"
Orphen stopped speaking at hearing Ramon's calm voice. The room was quiet for a moment, with only the lights flickering. Ramon slowly continued.
"Those creatures are prototypes... It seems that may father intended to build stronger creatures step by step. He said that he was going to artificially evolve them. Do you know this story? In the old days, when man first gained the power of sorcery, it wasn't so powerful, but as time went on, its power gradually increased... So, what do you think? Now it has even surpassed some of the dragon races, hasn't it?"
"But there are limits to what can be done. These days, the number of powerful sorcerers is actually decreasing."
"I think it's the process of elimination."
Ramon was as calm as if he were talking in a quiet library. Orphen glanced irritably at the sound tube — and suddenly realized that there was a hole in the ceiling above it, above the water tank. A square hole, just like a dust chute, gaping open above the tank.
But before he could wonder about that, Ramon continued.
"The way humans progress is not by trying to preserve the past... Rather, the moment something more efficient is obtained in the present, something from the past is soon sacrificed. If we were to set a baseline in the level of ability of sorcerers, the second a sorcerer of higher caliber was born, even if it was only a single level higher, the lower level sorcerers would die out. If the pace of evolution accelerates, this could be a terrible tragedy..."
"Was that your father's view, as well?"
When Orphen folded his arms and asked the question, Ramon's tone showed a hint of agreement.
"Oh, yes. My father dared to challenge that tragedy, to try to speed up the pace of evolution."
"... I have to say, I don't find it very interesting. If that's why he marred the statue of the Goddess of the Present in the hall, well, I just think that's a waste. It's an antique in its own right, isn't it?"
"... That had another meaning."
"Like what?"
Orphen was amused by the tone-deaf answer to his sarcastic remark, which hadn't carried any greater meaning. Ramon, on the other hand, wasn't going to give that explanation at the moment. Without outright refusing to answer, however, he returned to the previous topic.
"After all, my father failed. Well, trying to create beings that could surpass humans with human hands is useless nonsense in the first place. At best, we could only create monsters that wouldn't even obey or submit to our control. My father called them 'Creatures', but I secretly called them fools. My father's research, to put it bluntly, was utterly irrelevant."
"... What was the worst that could happen?"
"Foolishness."
Ramon's voice rang clear.
"Or, a crime. He killed several people and took his own life."
Orphen remembered the famous man who'd built the innkeeper's house — a famous man who died a strange death on the outskirts of the village, or something like that. He dared to ask, even if he thought it irrelevant.
"The victims... How many were there?"
"You can count the number of crates there."
Orphen turned around and looked up at the crates stacked around the room. He took a quick look — A dozen or so. No more than twenty.
"Each crate contains an animal — In one box, a snake, or a rabbit, or something like that. Their bodies are imbued with up to three elements. In layman's terms, two or three monster eggs are wrapped in the corpse of a living creature. I don't even know how the elements are created, but my father apparently wanted to find out what the creature's fighting abilities were, and seems to have even conducted top-secret human experiments. As soon as the box is opened, the 'element' grows and consume the corpse that it was parasitizing, growing into adulthood. The only way to keep the uncontrollable monsters in check was to store them."
"H-Hang on a second—"
Orphen had a sudden thought and raised his hand in panic.
"I don't think so but — Did you just say they'd grow? Didn't that snake or whatever it was grow to be huge?"
"... It would, but what does that matter?"
"Aaaaargh!"
Orphen ranted, remembering that yesterday Dortin had dragged an identical crate to their room, along with an extraordinarily large snake skin.
When he mentioned this, Ramon responded matter-of-factly.
"I see... I heard from Hirietta that the number of creates appearing in the village had been increasing..."
"So in other words—"
"The crates — Creatures Pandora, my father called them — they aren't all here. Some went missing in the commotion of my father's death, or were taken by bandits who mistakenly thought they'd be worth money... I can't stop them, even if they try to take them from right here in this very room, right in front of me. One of them must have been left in the woods. I don't know if your friend opened it or just found a box that was already opened..."
"Aaaah!"
Orphen held his head in his hands as he crouched in place. He groaned, half-crying.
"Damn it... I was just going to listen to you then refuse to cooperate... But now that's irrelevant."
After I collect on their loan, of course.
After his brief swearing, he pointed and spoke up.
"... The creatures I saw, or whatever they're called, were three in all. A ghostly one, a snake-man, and a hand."
"The first one is Sammy."
"... What?"
"And the snake man, you're probably referring to Kikuiem. The hand was... Kenkrim. If so, Axel should've been in the same Pandora."
"That... I don't care what their names are!"
Orphen felt a tingling in his temples as he ranted. The words ran through his mind — Sammy — He took care of me — I'm a failure —
He was Phonogolos' assistant—
So his father was trying — unsuccessfully, I might add — to create something greater than humans. A misguided effort—
So many people fell victim. Were sacrificed. How many, I have no idea. Sacrificed. As human experiments!
I remember — I remember the nervous-looking guy in the lab coat. "Phonogolos — what you — did to me — I will never forget!"
"Phonogolos even turned his own assistant into a creature!"
Unaware of it, Orphen raised his voice, nearly screaming the words.
Ramon did not answer — and he slammed into the moss-covered tank, smashing the glass with his fist.
"Answer me! You turned human beings into creatures for battle, didn't you!?"
"My father—"
"Cut the bullshit, Phonogolos!"
Orphen punched the tank with such force that he really could've broken it. The skin of his knuckles split open, and a small trickle of blood oozed out.
"What's this bullshit about Ramon? It's Phonogolos! You're Phonogolos himself!"
It was a wild guess, but the Phonogolos in the tank did not object. Orphen continued.
"Phonogolos didn't have any family! You hated humans so much that you studied them, turned them into something else! You turned Sammy into a creature of war!"
"... Then, are you not a sorcerer trained purely for combat, Krylancelo?"
Orphen stopped his hand as if he was cringing at the sound of the tank's voice, which remained terribly calm. Horrified, he took a step back. The voice continued, as if to challenge him.
"I had Hirietta read your file, to see if you were really the right person for the role that I've prepared for you — creature handling. If you've been thoroughly trained in the art of combat, and as an assassin of the Tower of Fang, then you're trained to kill with any weapon... or even your bare hands. You may think you've forgotten your skills, but your body clearly remember the talent. Isn't that the same thing as my creatures?"
"My Master was..."
Orphen gripped the pendant at his chest, speaking clearly, though with some degree of confusion.
"My Master was a genius, a monstrous genius. Even if all of us in the Childman class joined together, we'd never come close to his power. It was impossible for any one person to inherit all of his skills..."
He swallowed back his saliva and continued.
"So he taught each student differently. I happened to learn his fighting skills. But still, he raised me. He didn't create me. Besides—"
Orphen mumbled the last words, as if chewing on them.
"I'm not Krylancelo anymore. I'm Orphen."
Just as he said that, sounds started coming from the ceiling.
............aaaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHH............
(A scream?)
He thought in the next moment.
Ka-sploosh!
Something slid down from the hole in the ceiling, which he'd thought had been a dust chute, and fell into the tank. He saw the mass-covered water bounce up to the ceiling, and begin swirling around behind the glass as if something was kicking up the sediment. Orphen suddenly screamed.
"I release, the Sword of Light!"
The photothermal wave exploded, hitting the front of the tank. The dirty water came flooding out, engulfing the shattered glass. Among the water that poured out into the room, there was also a familiar figure, and one strange streamlined object.
But first, the familiar one. Orphen rushed over.
"Majic!"
Orphen took the arm of his apprentice, whose blond hair was stained with moss, and pulled him out of the water. Majic coughed for a moment, then his twin eyes filled with tears.
"Master! Why weren't you there when I needed you!?"
He screamed. Orphen had no idea what was going on, but knew he should apologize anyway. Almost as if he was being pressured to do so by the spirit of his apprentice, Orphen bowed his head.
"O-oh. My bad—"
"Not 'My bad'! Cleao's dead!"
"... Huh?"
Answering too abruptly, Orphen's brain refused to comprehend his words. He pretended that he hadn't heard anything — and looked down at his feet.
Majic, too, seemed to be caught in his gaze — then heard a gasp.
At their feet rested a huge fish, perhaps two meters long. In shape, it looked something like a tuna. It was hard for Orphen, who'd grown up in the city, to distinguish the difference between fish that weren't in a can. Its bright red gills bulged out, then it suddenly went limp and stopped moving, probably because it couldn't breath. However, that wasn't the reason he stared.
It was the belly of the fish — a belly covered in pure white, or rather silver scales, with a person attached to it. Or, more precisely, he seemed to be under the scales of the fish. It was like a beast that had been swallowed by a snake, leaving the snake's stomach full and bulging. As if a thin rubber film had been stretched across them, the human was attached to the fish in a careful posture, with only the flat outlines of their eyes and nose pressing out. Only, there was a hole that opened slightly, and from the mouth protruded a thin tube. That tube — if you followed it — seemed to be connected to the sound tube at the top of the tank, as he expected.
By the time he'd gotten that far, the fish had stopped moving.
"W-what is this...?"
Majic asked as he pulled the moss from his face. Orphen mumbled, feeling like this was some kind of torture. It had nothing to do with the question, however.
"I don't get it, man. You converted even your own body into a creature, you idiot."
"... What?"
"All I can say is... I don't know if this is Kief or Ramon, but this is the end of them."
And...
Orphen turned around, feeling a prescience, or rather, an intuition that he was probably there. The sound of muddy water rumbled beneath his feet. He turned to see a black mist coming from the hole in the ceiling.
It slowly descended, and as promised, the mist took a human form, glaring at them with trembling eyes.
"There's no way out now — Phonogolos—"
It looked at Majic, but the boy was horrified.
"I'm the only one who made it out. I found some kind of dust chute, so I took a chance, as fast as I could. Cleao—"
At that, he couldn't continue. Orphen slowly pointed to the limp fish at his feet as he watched Majic shudder, his eyes filling with tears once again.
"If it's Phonogolos you want, he's the guy. He's already dead."
But the ghost Sammy stubbornly shook his head.
"That's a creature — it's not Phonogolos."
"Guh..."
(No way... Phonogolos didn't modify himself to get away from Sammy, did he?)
Orphen leaned back quietly. He had no idea what kind of magic could work against a ghost...
Just then, he heard the door open behind him. Orphen didn't look back, but he heard Hirietta, who'd opened the door, say once and for all.
"Welcome, Orphen. I must introduce you — This is my real sponsor. Sammy."
Table of Contents
|
| (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) |
Fool's Gathering Fool's Trap Fool's Rumor Fool's Confession Fool's Showdown Fools Never Stop |