"Demon King, Tell Them My Dying Wish" V7 - Prologue
Restless, he shifted in his chair — he'd been repeating this action for some time now. As a matter of fact, it wasn't a very comfortable room. After all, it was more of a barn. The kind of room where people shoved all the furniture they didn't need anymore, without any concern for how to organize it. He chose something that was wedged diagonally between the chest and the dressing table and pulled it out to sit on.
The gas lamp on the ceiling flickered unreliably. The fact that there was even gas in the house, in spite of not being in the city, was surprising, but also worrisome. Equipment that wasn't maintained would always break. When talking about a gas lamp, though, wouldn't that mean there could be an explosion, or that it could become impossible to breath?
But that didn't matter...
Dortin stirred again. He wore the fur cloak that he never took off, even indoors, and his usual thick glasses. He was a boy from the dwarf tribes that occupied an autonomous territory in the southern regions of the continent. He was about 130 cm tall — with a stocky face and umkempt black hair. Along with his traditional garb, the cloak, his appearance was pretty typical for a dwarf.
For the past while he'd been feeling timid, and was sneaking glances off to the side.
Towards his brother, who was also sitting in a chair, looking dazed. He had the same sort of tattered fur cloak, but he didn't wear glasses, carrying a long sword in a scabbard instead. He yawned a few times, which meant that his brother was unaware of this most unusual situation.
B—bam! There was a violent knock on the door.
Startled, Dortin turned towards the door — He felt like he'd been accused of something — but there were only two knocks on the door, followed by an exasperated voice, in a tone that conveyed that they felt this was a waste of breath.
"Hey, we're leaving! Can't you get up without me having to come get you!?"
Of course not.
But, even though he thought this, Dortin slowly stood up without saying a word.
Then his brother, who hadn't seemed to be thinking much of anything at the time, jumped off his chair, like he'd suddenly just had a brilliant idea, as usual.
This was a common occurrence.
"... But I somehow doubt that."
He sarcastically commented to himself. Even so, he wasn't sure who in particular his sarcasm was directed at. He hadn't even been aware of it.
In any case, Dortin sighed. His brother was nodding in agreement next to him.
"I know, Dortin."
"... What?"
Dortin asked without hesitation, while Vulcan tightly clenched his fist.
"Your arms roar with all their might at the immense task at hand, and your fighting spirit is so powerful that you must suppresses it with a sigh! Your brother understands all too well."
"... In what world would someone do things in such a roundabout way?"
Dortin groaned, but Vulcan didn't seem to listen — Well, that was the first common occurrence.
Dortin looked around, sighing again.
This was the second common occurrence. Suburban inns were never a safe place.
(... That is, inns that makes it easy for even us to sneak into the barn.)
He thought to himself once again.
The inn itself was home to so-called thieves, who extorted travel expenses from guests. If you thought about it, it was a common business that anyone could think of. In that case, the inn they were staying at now was just another hideout for ordinary people coming up with ordinary ideas. They'd gone out of their way to step foot in such an inn, which weren't all that common these days. Speaking of things that happened often, this was probably one of them. Common occurrence number three.
Then there was number four: For some reason, his brother ended up hitting it off with the kinds of people who roosted in these places.
Number five. Of course they'd see eye to eye.
Number six. Being in the middle of such mysterious murderers, there was no chance of escape.
... Though, if even three of these things overlapped, it was no longer a common occurrence. Dortin sighed again.
"Are you ready!?"
Someone shouted. However, it wasn't like he was talking to Dortin specifically, but rather to everyone — in response, voices rose up all over the place, all at once.
"Yeah!"
"Let your arms roar!"
(... Arms don't roar!)
He got angry and looked around.
The first floor of most inns were used as a dining room or a bar, but when it came to the thieves' inn, he wondered if it would be called a meeting place. It seemed like it played that sort of role. All in all, there were fifteen people gathered in the messy dining room, including Dortin and Vulcan. Each one of them (with the exception of Dortin) was armed. Their weapons varied. Some were armed with swords, others with knives or other unwieldy equipment. There were even some who were clinking chains with weights on them, perhaps not knowing what they were doing.
The only thing he could know for sure was that if they happened to be discovered by the police, this group wouldn't have any excuses. For example it wasn't like they could say "Oh, we're sorry, this is just our regular meeting of hardware enthusiasts."
Still, Dortin wanted the police to find them. Even though he knew they weren't supposed to be patrolling these suburbs.
He glanced at his brother — Vulcan was happy, and had been nodding his head for no reason for a while now. He had the strangest expression for someone who had, last night, been busted scarfing down the raw vegetables in the barn, and had kicked his younger brother aside before trying to make his escape. He held his sword, still in its scabbard, and shouted proudly.
"Well — in the hands of Volcano Vulcan, the Fighting Dog of Mazmaturia, any task can be like treading thin ice!"
"... Obviously that's not what he meant to say, but it's actually true."
Dortin mumbled from the side, but he didn't even seem to notice as he continued, nor did the people around him.
"With your help, for example, if I were to bring up a hypothetical enemy, such as an enemy blocking our path, let's just say a worthless sorcerer, it'd be easy as pie to kill him with dried seaweed."
"Oh, uh, sure."
"You just keep stuffing them with seaweed until they're overflowing!"
Vulcan snorted in satisfaction as he watched the men around him repeat their vague agreement.
"Well, whatever."
Said a stern man, carrying a sword over his shoulder as he shouted to confirm if everyone was ready.
"We're going to need all the help we can get. You'll have to work off all the food you've eaten."
(... In other words, we're going to work for free?)
Dortin asked back without actually speaking out loud, but he'd already answered himself. The answer was obvious.
And, incidentally, it was obvious that what they were about to do wasn't a legitimate job, at least if the weapons they were all holding said anything about it.
Then...
Suddenly, there was a silence in the room. Dortin looked around, wondering if they'd heard his mumbling, but that didn't seem to be the case. The bandits were beginning to line up toward the door at the back of the inn, seemingly alert.
The door casually swung open.
A woman walked in — but she wasn't particularly distinctive. She was just that kind of woman. Her eyes were listless, or rather, clearly troubled, and she wouldn't attract much attention if you passed her on the street. Unless, of course, she was armed.
She was somewhere between 24 and 25 years old. Her hair was cut short and hidden in a bonnet. She yawned widely as she stroked her obviously umkempt face. She was wearing a large (men's) leather suit of armor and had a sword at her waist. She looked around at the men all lined up in a row, still half-asleep, and asked them a question with an annoyed tone to her voice.
"Are you ready?"
"Of course, boss!"
One of the bandits bowed his head. Ignoring his enthusiasm, the woman lightly nodded. She walked swiftly among them.
She pulled a cloth from her pocket and dexterously wrapped it around her head. It was a sky-blue and properly-cleaned cloth. He wondered for a moment if it was organdy, but he decided to quickly forget that, thinking he was just imagining it.
Then the woman left the inn. The thieves' eyes followed her back.
"Let's go, then!"
Someone's voice rang out.
"Where are we going...?"
Dortin asked the closest man, anxious to know where they were heading. The man who was carrying a hatchet-like weapon — though he didn't dare to ponder what he was going to use it for — answered in two words.
"Kamisunda Theater."
