c15 12

Obviously, Merry had been trying to heal the Margrave. Haruhiro had no grudge against the man, and there were things he’d wanted to ask him about, too. Maybe they should save the Margrave, even if it meant taking out the general to do it.
“...Merry,” was all that Haruhiro said, then he shook his head, making her stop.
Merry nodded and backed down. There was nothing they could do. While Haruhiro was acting indecisive, the Margrave had taken his last breath and moved no more. The general must have pierced his heart. Judging from how fast he bled out, there would have been no saving him either way.
The general wiped the blood from the sword onto his black fur cloak, and then returned it to its scabbard.
“Anthony.”
“...Yes, sir!” Anthony replied, looking downward.
“I’ve heard that the Margrave was also called the king of the frontier,” said the general.
“Certainly...” Anthony strained to get the words out, “there were some who called him that...”
“Regrettably, the Margrave is no more,” the general said, glancing at the cage. “I will rule Alterna for the time being. In the Margrave’s place, as king of the frontier.”
Sensei, Haruhiro spoke to Barbara in his heart. General Mogis really is bad news. If we let him have his way, no good is going to come of it.
I wish I could have learned more from you, to let me stop him. I wish I could have borrowed your strength.
But this sleepy-eyed Old Cat will shed no tears.
It’s all just begun. It’s too soon for despair.


16. Another

Around the same time, there might have been a masked man, a fierce tempest of swords, creating a fine red mist and unleashing a torrent of screams as he continued, still, to slash, or perhaps there wasn’t.
No.
The masked man existed. He existed, all right?
Riverside Iron Fortress.
The hardened fortress along the Jet River which was now a den of kobolds was exposed to a violent assault before dawn. The unrelenting torrent of Blasts, Detonations, and even high level Arve Magic like Blaze Falls, as well as Thunderbolts, Thunderstorms, and Icicle Downs was highly effective. The kobolds’ earnest attempts to defend the fortress were meaningless before it, and they were broken in no time. But the battle was actually just getting started.
The kobolds had an especially strong pack instinct. When they were led by one of the high-ranking kobolds who lived in the depths of the Cyrene Mines, not just the countless worker kobolds, but even the elder kobolds who stood above them would fight without fear of death. In no time, the inside of the fortress turned into utter pandemonium. The kobolds piled up their own corpses to defend their positions, and while the attackers were busy removing them, more kobold reinforcements would arrive to launch a pincer attack.
But he had known this would be a fight to the death, and unlike those useless grunts in the Frontier Army, from the day he had become a volunteer soldier, he had risked his life to keep himself fed, and gained fame by relying only on himself and his comrades.
Any battle where you could maintain your composure didn’t even count as a battle at all. Anyone who hadn’t thought, Aw, crap, I’m dead, this is the end, at least a hundred times was just a scrub.
What did he have to hide? No, he had no intention of hiding it. Sinkor-swim, life-or-death, kill-or-be-killed situations were a daily event for volunteer soldiers.
In order to survive, the volunteer soldiers inside the fortress killed kobolds like crazy, then were nearly killed by kobolds. They ignored the wounds that didn’t keep them from moving, and had priests use light magic to heal the really dangerous ones. Then they went back to killing kobolds again, and almost being killed by kobolds. If that was your daily life, you would get sick of it. It would be unbearable. But even when they were put in a situation that would make you say, “No, no, no, I can’t take this anymore, I just want to die. Let it end already. Somebody, kill me, please! Somebody!” the volunteer soldiers didn’t let it get them down.
Well, no, not all of the volunteer soldiers were actually that tough. But most of the volunteer soldiers who were participating in the attack on Riverside Iron Fortress today were real badasses, and they had seen their share of battles.
It went without saying, the masked man was one of them.
There were a total of fourteen towers that made up Riverside Iron Fortress, connected by bridges so that they could move forces from one to another. Because of that, theoretically, it was possible to keep up a defensive line until all fourteen towers fell. They had to take the towers one by one until either the attackers’ or the defenders’ will to fight gave out.
The masked man was heading for the top floor of the seventh tower. If this were a mountain, he’d already be at the seventh station. No, maybe it would be the fifth, or the eighth, or even the ninth. The stairs were less than two meters wide, and were packed tight with lines of kobolds, thrusting weapons like spears and naginatas at him. It would be suicide to charge straight into that. That’s what anyone would think. But just throwing himself at it anyway, that was the masked man’s style, his philosophy, his way of life.
“Personal skill!”
The masked man took a swing with his katana and rushed up the stairs. The kobolds all barked at once, and tried to skewer him or cut him up with their pole arms. If he just charged in like a raging bull, even if he was the toughest of the tough guys, that was exactly what would happen to him.
“Holy Lightning Brahma-Deva Sovereign Strike...!”
So, before that could happen to him, the masked man jumped. He leapt to the left and kicked off the wall, springing back to the right.
The kobolds let out confused barks as they swung their pole arms. They reflexively tried to follow the masked man.
It was no use. The masked man moved with lightning reflexes. There was no way they could keep up. He kicked off the left wall, then the right, then the left again, before finally landing in the middle of the kobolds. He slashed, and slashed, and slashed them some more. The masked man had been soaked with kobold blood to begin with, but now it was even worse, and he didn’t stop slicing and dicing them as he whittled their numbers down. Every muscle in his body cried out in protest, and his lungs felt like they were ready to burst, but the masked man would not stop. For he was a fiend, a devil, a demon.
Whatever he was, whatever he wished to be, the masked man was not God, not one of God’s children, and not even a monster.
Once his katana had tasted the blood of 15, no, 17 or 18 kobolds, the masked man suddenly felt exhausted. Oh, crap! What is this? My body won’t do what I tell it. I can’t even talk. I’m running out of stamina here? Seriously? I mean, seriously?
The kobolds howled like they were going, Now, now’s our chance, get ’im! They stepped over the slashed-up corpses of their comrades, or kicked them out of the way, and swarmed towards the masked man. The man raised his head. He was aware of them, but there was nothing he could do.
The hell? What’s a guy as awesome as me doing, screwing up like this here? Damn it.
“Stupid Ranta!”
Then a hunter with her long hair tied in braids jumped out, firing an arrow towards the kobolds. She was carrying a bow. A short bow. She nocked another arrow and loosed it. Incredibly fast. And every shot she took hit a kobold in the eye or the mouth. Even at close range like this, no, especially at close range like this, because of the pressure her targets put on her, it was hard to pull off shots like that. The hunter had just done something incredibly difficult, and she did it easily, as if it were no trouble at all.
Just how many kobolds had she killed by the time her quiver was empty? Seven or eight, at least. “You’re a real armful, y’know that?!” Using an expression that was only part right, she grabbed the masked man by the scruff of his neck and dragged him down the stairs before the kobolds could reach them.
“...Hey, that hurts! You’re choking me! Yume! Damn it!”
“It’s your fault for bein’ reckless, stupid Ranta! Suffer more!”
“I’m suffering plenty already!”
“Everyone!” Yume gave the signal.
Volunteer soldiers kept running past the masked man, who some knew as Ranta, and Yume, but it was a narrow corridor. In no time, they were pressed against the wall together.
“Whoa?!”
“Meow?!”
Yume had the wall to her back and Ranta was covering her. He wasn’t on top of her or anything, but if he didn’t do this, it would be a little dangerous or something, y’know?
 
 

“G-Guys...!” Ranta protested, but no one was listening. The other volunteer soldiers were stepping into the gap that Ranta and, well, Yume had opened, and were trying to crush the enemy with one more push. They were all going to town on the kobolds.
“Y-Yume! Let me just say, this wasn’t intentional, okay?!”
“What wasn’t?!”
“What wasn’t? Now, listen...”
There were times when Ranta was really glad he wore a mask.
Their bodies were pressed together as much as they possibly could be, so, naturally, their faces were close, and it was kind of, uh, embarrassing.
It wasn’t bad, but still.
He felt like it had perked him up a little, so maybe it wasn’t just not bad, it was good?
Because Ranta still had to swing his katana.
The battle wasn’t over yet.


Afterword

Volume 15 came quickly. No, maybe not quickly at all. For me, it feels like it’s been a very long time, and I wrote the first volume a long, long time ago.
This is volume 15, but it’s not the 15th volume to come out. The preceding two volumes, 14+ and 14++, have stories about Ranta and Yume. Those might look like side stories based on the volume numbering, but the content isn’t really side material, so if you haven’t read them, I believe doing so will help you enjoy the series more.
Now we’ve entered the Endgame Chapter. Well, that’s just what I’m calling it myself, but it is, literally, the endgame. However, we haven’t decided on the exact number of volumes remaining, so I hope Haruhiro and the others’ journey can continue as long as possible. Please, continue to support me.
Now then, to my editor, Harada-san, to the illustrator, Eiri Shirai-san, to the designers of KOMEWORKS, among others, to everyone involved in production and sale of this book, and finally to all of you people now holding this book, I offer my heartfelt appreciation and all of my love. Now, I lay down my pen for today.
I hope we will meet again.
Jyumonji Ao


Bonus Short Stories

The Meaning of a Work Name
My teacher’s name was Ripper, and he was an old man now.
When I addressed him, “Hey, Old Man,” Ripper got upset.
“I’m not old,” he’d say.
Okay, sure, in terms of actual age, he wasn’t. He just looked it. His hair had all gone white, and he had grown thin and frail. I was shocked when I first heard his actual age. For a while I didn’t even believe it.
And he’d aged even more lately. I knew why, too. A little while back, when I dropped by the guild for the first time in a long time...
“You up for a drink?” he asked me.
“What, are you hitting on me?” I teased him.
“Don’t be stupid,” he replied with a troubled smile.
So we drank together for the first time in far too long. I thought to myself, Maybe I should sleep with him. If you ask me, everyone puts way too much significance in the act. If the mood is right, I say just go with the flow. I do it pretty often, and with just about anyone. I don’t feel bad when it ruins relationships. If I had fun, that’s all that matters. Ripper had been my teacher since I first awoke in Grimgar, but as we were drinking, I figured he’d make a good one-time lay. Ripper didn’t feel that way at all, though, so that wasn’t the groove we had going.
“I don’t have long,” Ripper said. I didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. I wasn’t dense. It clicked immediately.
“What are you gonna do?” I asked. Ripper didn’t answer, so, “What do you want to do?” I changed the question.
The implication was, of course, that I’d do whatever I could to help. I’d already forgotten about sleeping with Ripper, but instead I was filled with a desire to be as kind to him as I could.
“Nothing for me,” Ripped said. He took a drink. Then, after taking a breath, “Would you work for the guild?” he asked.
“You’re telling me to become a mentor?”
“Yeah, broadly, that’s what I’m asking.”
“Why me?”
“I’m gonna bite it before long. The priests can’t cure what I’ve got. But what can you do, huh? Still, I’ve got you, and all my other pupils.”
“And you want me to look after the others for you?”
“Listen, Barbara. The work name I gave you, it means ‘foreign woman.’”
“It fits; I seem out of place wherever I go. You’ve got quite an eye for people, Old Man.”
“It’s not that you don’t fit in. It’s that you don’t try to. You look at everything objectively, even setting yourself aside.”
“Do I?”
“You don’t get invested in your comrades, so you never continue with one party for long, because you know that the moment we’re in is just that, a moment, and no more. Quit being a volunteer soldier. It’s hard on you, isn’t it?”
“And guild work is going to suit me better?”
“You’ll make a good teacher. Far better than me.”
“I’m glad you were my teacher.”
“There’ll be people who think the same about you, too, in time.”
“Hey, Old Man.”
“What?”
“Sleep with me once before you die.”
“No,” Ripper said with a sad smile. “I can’t sleep with women anymore. And besides, you just shine too bright.”
I realized then that Ripper was afraid to die. He hadn’t lived long enough to really be an old man. It was too soon for him. But here in the frontier of Grimgar, men and women who were even younger kicked the bucket like it was going out of style. As a mentor in the thieves guild, Ripper needed to die with all his business wrapped up with a neat little bow. If he spent an unforgettable night with me, he’d start thinking he didn’t want to die again, and carry that regret to his grave.
Less than ten days later, Ripper was bedridden. Five days after that, he died.
I quit being a volunteer soldier, and took up a job with the guild.
Mentality
Eliza was a mentor in the thieves’ guild.
But she was intensely shy, and everyone, including her, knew it. She didn’t like showing herself to others. Especially her face. If she could avoid it, she didn’t even want people to hear her voice. When she had to speak with her colleagues or students, she hid as well as she could, and imitated the voices of others.
“I’ve got an interesting student,” Barbara said.
Eliza was standing between two shelves, putting her out of Barbara’s line of sight. Barbara was a mentor like her, and had been a senior pupil under the same teacher. Because they were both women, she had a relatively easier time talking to her.
“He has just the sleepiest eyes. I wonder what his deal is. He’s got no ambition, but it’s not like he’s completely unmotivated. If I had to say whether he’s serious or not, then he is, I guess.”
“There are a lot of kids who are serious,” Eliza said in a tone of voice that was so low it sounded forced.
“Is it generational?” Barbara asked. “They’re a bit different from us.”
“When you try to lump us together like that, I can’t help but feel like you’re a little off base.”
“Ohh, right. You’re a bit younger than me, huh? But we’re basically in the same generation, right?”
“I think I’m in the generation after yours.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. But, sure, fine.”
“So, what is it about this sleepy-eyed student?
“Oh, well, he’s on my mind a lot.”
“You like him? You always were lusty.”
“That’s not it. He seems so vulnerable. I just can’t see him surviving for long like that.”
“If that’s what you think, you’re probably right.”
“Don’t say anything that ominous,” Barbara said with a strained smile.
“But your hunches tend to come true, don’t they?”
“...Eliza, listen.”
“What is it, Barbara?”
“They say you’re shy, and you don’t talk to people, but that’s not exactly true, right? I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“I am shy. It’s a matter of fact that I hardly ever spoke to my mentor, or my fellow party members.”
“But you’re talking to me now, aren’t you?”
“Do you think you’re talking to me? Or that I’m even Eliza? Have you ever seen Eliza speak?”
“No, but I’ve known for a long time that you’re a pain in the tuckus when it comes to that stuff.”
“You’re about the only one who knows what I’m like, but still bothers to try chatting with me, Barbara.”
“Still, it’s a wonder that you managed to become a mentor.”
“It’s much easier than being a volunteer soldier. I don’t have to go out during the day like this.”
“...Right, I’d forgotten you were a shut-in.”
“So, were you done talking about your sleepy-eyed student?”
“You’re bringing him back up now?”
“Dying early isn’t exactly unusual.”
“...Well, no.”
“You’ll never last as a mentor if you let the death of a pupil get you down.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“That’s why I make a point of thinking of my students as rocks.”
“Rocks?”
“They’re rocks. I carve them into the shape of a human, a thief. But, ultimately, they’re just made of stone. They’re statues. When they break, I just have to carve more.”
“...That’s one way of thinking.”
“I couldn’t keep doing this without thinking that way, you know.”
“I like that about you, Eliza.”
“...You think I’m Eliza? Even though you’ve never seen Eliza speak?” “Okay, that’s enough of that.” Barbara laughed.
I don’t know if I’d go as far as saying I like that about you, but I certainly don’t hate it, thought Eliza.
 


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