chap 14 11

“Hold on...” Ranta said slowly. “Just wait. Humans are given blood? And they become undead?”
“To give their own blood, and create undead... is something that only the No-Life King, and the Five Princes... were said to do.”
“So, if the term’s Five Princes, that means there are four more of those guys?”
“The Grand Prince of Igor, Deres Pain,” Wezel said. “The double arm progenitor, Gyabigo the Dragon Hunter.”
“Double arm... Wait!”
The undead in Forgan, the four-armed Arnold. He’d been a double arm, too.
If Gyabigo was the progenitor, did that mean he’d been the first double arm? That Dragon Hunter nickname probably wasn’t just for show, either. He probably had killed a dragon.
“And the other two?” Ranta asked slowly.
“The wielder of the original magic, Architekra. And Ainrand Leslie. Leslie’s whereabouts are unknown.”
“Ainrand... Leslie... Hey, is that Ainrand Leslie of the Leslie Camp?”
“On our side, he is also called Kidnap Leslie... Leslie the Kidnapper. In forests and wastelands, his home suddenly appears. You must never approach. Those invited in... never return.”
“I’ve heard stories along those lines myself, too,” Ranta nodded. “So Ainrand Leslie is an undead big shot? Seriously...?” Ranta sighed. “We really don’t know anything, do we?”
“You people, humans, are... insects here in Grimgar. Poisonous insects. Vermin. You were exterminated, driven to the frontier... and yet you returned.”
Originally this land humans called the frontier had been the mainland of Grimgar.
The remnants of Arabakia’s forces and its people had been chased away by the forces of the Alliance of Kings, escaping to the south of the Tenryu Mountains.
That area had been undeveloped land, blocked off by the Tenryu Mountains and the dragons. That was the true frontier.
But humans didn’t want to acknowledge that they had been driven from the center of civilization. So they had started to call the wild lands that had been frontier land in the south “the mainland.”
Basically, the reason humans called this land “the frontier” was out of bruised pride.
Wezel kept walking in silence.
By the time the sky brightened, the effects of Mooncraft had faded.
The two of them stopped by a mountain village. There were about twenty or so shacks clustered together in between the mountains. It was an insignificant thorp.
One orc stood in their way. He had a curved blade hanging at his waist. His messy hair was not dyed. He was tall, and well-built, but his left leg was a prosthetic made with a mix of metal and wood. On top of that, he was blind in both eyes, as if they had been gouged out.
“Ahyeah! Wezelred!” The orc called out to Wezel without drawing his blade.
He was clearly blind, but apparently he could see them somehow.
Wezel approached the orc. “Mugoh Sugedd. Lontai nosee.”
They greeted one another by bumping fists. The orc’s name was Mugoh, and the two were apparently acquainted.
There was a flat rock in the middle of the village, and a well was dug next to it. Mugoh, Wezel, and Ranta sat down together on the rock.
For acquaintances, Mugoh and Wezel didn’t talk much. They seemed
to just be relaxing. Maybe they were closer than passing acquaintances, and they could feel at ease when they were together.
The villagers gradually gathered around, and they stared at Ranta from a distance. Many of them were orcs, but there were a number of undead, too. There were also a few gumows, not many. They were all dressed in shabby clothes.
The surprising thing was that the orcs, the undead, and the gumows were all equal in their poverty. As far as he could see, these gumows weren’t being treated as slaves.
“What kind of village is this?” Ranta asked.
After a short time, Wezel spoke. “Those who absolutely reject fighting... exist, too. But it is seen as... cowardice.”
“So this is a village of hermits, or something?”
“Tch, tch, tch...” Wezel’s shoulders heaved with laughter. “Mugoh, and his fellows... live here. That is all.”
“Well, we all have our own ways to live,” Ranta shrugged.
“And our own ways to die... Yes.”
One little orc who must have been a child hesitantly approached. He was asking Wezel something in Orcish.
Wezel stood up. It looked like they were going somewhere, and the orc kid was leading the way.
There wasn’t anything for Ranta to do, staying put here all alone. So he decided to tag along.
The two went to a hovel. It was a home made with pillars standing in the ground, surrounded by mud walls, and a simple thatch roof. Still, it had been constructed carefully, and the floor was covered in straw mats.
In a sleeping spot where straw had been piled on top of the mats, there was a single orc lying on his side. Unlike the orc that led them here, this one was no child. He was an adult.
He was constantly coughing, and seemed to be having an awfully rough time. He must have been weakened with sickness. He was emaciated.
Wezel knelt next to that orc.
The orc let out an intense cough, and hacked up something dark black. It wasn’t so much blood as bloody phlegm.
The kid was constantly rubbing the older orc’s back, but he wouldn’t stop coughing.
The orc finally shoved the kid away, as if to say, Enough. Stop it. Even that gesture was weak.
Wezel gave an order to the kid in Orcish.
The orc kid seemed to accept it, and he moved away from the adult orc, then sat down in the corner of the little house.
Making sure that he had, Wezel leaned in close to the adult orc’s ear to ask something.
The orc coughed, hacking up bloody phlegm, then nodded his head.
“Oh, I get it,” Ranta realized. “Wezel, you are a wandering shaman, after all. Lumiaris’s light magic isn’t that good against disease, though, from what I hear.”
“This is beyond me,” Wezel said. “No one can treat a deadly illness... not even the beings we call gods.”
“Huh? Then...”
Wezel took a little paper envelope from the leather bag which hung at his waist. Inside, there was a white powder. He put the powder into the leather water bottle which hung over his shoulder, then shook it.
Wezel turned his face towards Ranta. “Help me.”
“...Sure.”
Ranta had the orc sit up. Wezel passed the water bottle to the orc, but he was coughing badly. It looked like, in his weakened state, he didn’t even have the strength to lift the bottle.
“Make him drink it,” Wezel told him, so Ranta did as he was asked.
The orc took one sip from the bottle, but then immediately coughed it back up.
“No,” Wezel said. “Make him drink it. Every last drop.”
“Fine. If you say make him drink it, I’ll make him drink it...”
Now Ranta was feeling stubborn. He helped the orc to drink the contents of the bottle a little at a time. By the time he finished, the coughing had mostly stopped.
He lay the orc back down. Maybe he was at ease now, since his breathing was more relaxed. His eyes were opened only slightly, like he was half asleep.
The orc child approached, and sat next to the orc. The orc stared at him.
Wezel suddenly stood, then went outside, just like that.
“Ah! Hey!” Ranta hurried after him.
Wezel walked like he was going for a stroll.
Even when Ranta caught up, and walked alongside him, Wezel didn’t even look at him.
“Wezel, you... What did you make me give that orc?” Ranta asked.
He wasn’t expecting an answer. He thought Wezel would ignore him.
“A powerful drug.”
Wezel answered so easily, Ranta was actually surprised.
“So... poison, then,” he said.
“Anything... can be medicine or poison, depending how it is used.”
“And how did you use it?”
“He will... sleep soon. He will not wake. It is the eternal sleep.” “You killed him?” Ranta asked.
“Tch, tch tch...” Wezel’s shoulders heaved with laughter, and he came to a stop. “Yes. He will sleep... and soon after, die.”
“Is that... what the kid asked you to do?”
“No.”
“What?”
“The child only said, ‘My father is sick. He’s suffering. Do something, please.’”
“You’re telling me that you pretended to give him medicine, and then made him drink poison instead?” “He is not going to make it,” Wezel said simply.
The gray elf was likely telling the truth.
The orc probably had lung cancer, or something, and it was terminal. Every breath brought him pain too great to express in words. For that orc, every second was torture.
Of course, he wouldn’t want to leave his child behind. Still, that was what would inevitably happen.
Soon, that orc would be dead. He must have known his life was coming to an end.
The kid probably had known that, too.
“I saved him,” Wezel said. “That is all.”
“Man, just how many people have you... killed like that?” Ranta didn’t expect an answer.
Wezel gave none, just a faint smile.
 
7. Rain
Torrential rain, that was what this was.
The hardened earth of the path through the mountains had been turned into a quagmire by heavy rain.
When he’d looked at the four orcs collapsed in that quagmire, he never would have thought that could just as easily have been him.
“Hahh... Hahh... Hahh...! Hahh...!”
His shoulders heaving with each breath, clutching his bloody katana, Ranta looked in every direction. Nothing was moving.
Or at least I don’t think so. Not that I could tell in this rain. Nah, there’s nothing. I took out our pursuers. For now, at least.
“Wezel! You okay?!” he shouted.
“...Yeah.”
The voice he heard through the rain sounded awfully hoarse.
Looking over, Ranta saw that Wezel was down on one knee, grasping his left arm with his right hand.
Yeah, I thought so. Blood. He’s bleeding badly. That’s a lot of blood. Though, that said, it’s just a deep cut to his left arm. He’s not gonna die from it.
“Damn it!” Ranta sat down on a dead orc’s belly. “The four of them were all skilled. What were they screwing around with us like this for? No... They weren’t screwing around. These guys were serious. It was still easy, though. Because, hey, I’m just that great. But if I hadn’t been me, those guys would’ve been bad news. Seriously.”
Wezel was treating his wounds with his shaman powers. He’d be done soon.
“They’ve really got it out for you, huh, Wezel?” Ranta asked.
“I was asked, and without causing suffering, I saved them,” Wezel said. “Many times. Now... I do not even remember who requested it.”
“You liar,” Ranta snorted. “I’m sure you know, you’re just playing ignorant. Someone important out there ordered these goons to watch you. There were people in their way... political opponents, maybe? You finished them off. Am I wrong?”
“...Who knows.”
“I’ll bet I’m right. You’re hated by the families of the people you killed. This guy, the one pulling the strings, he wants to shut you up, too. For this set of pursuers, well, I’d give you nine out of ten odds that’s what they were.”
“You... are a talkative man.”
“I acknowledge that,” Ranta shrugged. “Keeping quiet when there’s something I want to say doesn’t suit me.”
Ranta thrust his katana into the ground nearby, and shifted his mask up to his forehead. His exposed face was doused with rain. He rubbed it hard with both hands.
“Oh!” He got up from on top of the orc corpse. “Sorry, man. You just happened to be in a good spot. No hard feelings, okay? You lost, I won. That means you don’t get to complain.”
While he was chatting with a corpse, Wezel went off somewhere else. When Ranta looked over, the elf was walking far off in the distance.
“Heeeey!” Ranta yelled.
If you’re going, say something! he thought indignantly. Actually, he had said as much a number of times, but it had always fallen on deaf ears.
Ranta returned his mask to its usual position, then chased after Wezel.
“Wezel. Wezelred!”
“...What?” the gray elf asked.
“It’s about time you told me,” Ranta said, catching up. “Where are you going, and what do you plan to do?”
“Once you know, what will you do?”
“I won’t do anything. I just want to know your heart. That’s why I’m asking.”
“My heart...” Wezel shook his head. For a moment, his feet wavered just the slightest bit, but that was all.
The silent treatment, huh?
Wezel kept walking. He was going down the mountain.
The intense rain didn’t let up. Was rain really a thing that could come down like this? Was it fine, falling so much? If too much fell, wouldn’t all the moisture be sucked out of the sky? What would they do if the sky ended up all dry?
“This is the point where I start wondering about stupid nonsense, huh?” Ranta muttered.
He was at his limit.
On the side of the path, which had turned into such muck that there was hardly any trace of it left, there was the opening to a cave.
“Wezel!” Ranta grabbed the elf by the arm, then pulled him towards the cave. “The rain’s awful. It’s not going to be letting up any time soon, either. Let’s take shelter here.”
Wezel sat down in silence. Seeing the way he sat down without resisting, this guy must have been exhausted, too.
 

Of course he was. How could he not be?
Ranta took off his cloak and wrung the water out of it. No matter how he squeezed, it kept dripping. Then, suddenly...
“It’s the Shadow Forest,” Wezel revealed.
“...Huh? The Shadow Forest—wait, you mean that place? The one where the elves live...”
“The forest city, Arnotu. Our homeland.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ranta said. “So, you gray elves moved out of Arnotu in the Shadow Forest, and migrated to the Broken Valley?”
“Of the elves, roughly half of them left the forest,” Wezel told him. “They sided with the No-Life King.”
“Then, to the elves of the Shadow Forest, wouldn’t that make a gray elf like you a traitor?”
“It was not exactly a betrayal. Those with a different opinion left the village.”
“But you fought in opposing camps, right? To say that’s just water under the bridge... well, it’s usually not that easy.” Ranta laid down his still-drenched cloak, and sat on top of it.
He was feeling weak. He’d taken a pummeling from the rain, then up and murdered four battle-hardened orcs that had been pursuing them. Even the great Ranta was gonna feel tired after all that.
That was why. No other reason. He tried to convince himself of that.
“I mean, even if there were circumstances, you guys did fight once,” Ranta went on.
“I was born in the Broken Valley,” said Wezel. “I did not choose to leave the forest myself.”
“Oh, yeah? That makes sense. You’re not like me, then.”
With a heh, Ranta removed his mask. He shook his head like a dog. The way that sent water droplets flying everywhere was a good way of helping him get into a new frame of mind.
“So?” he said. “You’re going to the Shadow Forest, and you’re going to do what? Do you have distant relatives there or something?”
Wezel hung his head. “I have an acquaintance.”
“A gray elf like you wouldn’t be welcome in the Shadow Forest, right? Did you meet them somewhere else?”
“Well, yes.”
“You met this acquaintance, then parted ways,” Ranta summarized for him. “They went back to the Shadow Forest. You’re going out of your way to meet them, so I take it you want more than to just see their face, yeah?”
“I must tell that person.”
“Tell them what?”
“Danger is coming.”
Ranta paused. “To the Shadow Forest?”
Wezel had been saying that the former capital of the Kingdom of Arabakia, Rhodekia, now known as Grozdendahl, was a stronghold for the forces of the alliance.
Could it be that the allied forces meant to march on the Shadow Forest?
“The undead and the orcs, they’re about to kick off another war,” Ranta surmised. “Is that what this is about?”
“Do not misunderstand. The ones who started the fire were the humans.”
“If the guys from the Kingdom of Arabakia, who fled to the other side of the Tenryu Mountains, hadn’t come back and built Alterna, it would have ended there.” Ranta nodded. “Fair enough. If we’re looking at it from your perspective, that’s how it is.”
“Humans... oppressed and exploited the orcs and goblins,” Wezel told him. “You were given your comeuppance once. Though... the races that built the Undying Empire, too... were unable to overcome their discord. Even within the same race, there was enmity, conflict. We gray elves could not become a monolith, either. Because there is more than one of us...”
“You’re unusually talkative,” Ranta commented.
“You are ignorant. I am teaching you.”
“Thanks, Wezelred. The truth is, there’s too much we don’t know.”
It wasn’t just Ranta. The vast majority of volunteer soldiers threw themselves into battle without sufficient information. They were led to believe they couldn’t live without fighting. Then, soon enough, they got used to the fighting, and couldn’t think properly about anything else.
“This acquaintance of yours, I bet she’s a woman,” Ranta smirked.
Wezel did not answer. But it was totally a woman.
“Do you have to tell her in a hurry?” Ranta asked.
“It should be done as soon as possible.” Things were starting to make sense.
Wezel hardly ever rested. Ranta had wondered if he was fine without rest, so he didn’t need to. But that wasn’t it.
Ranta donned the mask, wrapping himself in the still-wet cloak.
“Guess we’re going, then.”
8. Forest
The black forest spread out before them.
It was a forest, and the leaves were a verdant green if you looked closely, but the dense trees blocked out the light of the sun, leaving a darker impression.
The trees of the Shadow Forest were all so thick and tall that they seemed unreal.
The whole forest seemed like a giant monster that transcended human knowledge, and it felt like it might move at any moment.
“Is it safe to go in there?” Ranta asked cautiously.
“Tch, tch, tch...” Wezel’s shoulders shook with laughter. For as gloomy as the guy seemed, he could be pretty jolly. “How could it be? The Shadow Forest is a natural fortress.”
“Man, you’ve never been to Arnotu before, have you?”
“No.”
“You know the way there?”
Wezel shrugged. That could be either a denial, or a confirmation.
“Wait, which is it?” Ranta demanded.
Wezel entered the forest without ever clarifying.
What was with his personality?
It was still before noon, but the forest was pretty dark. The ground was covered in moss. The earth was barely exposed at all. Some of the mushrooms and ferns that grew everywhere were luminescent, and the place was pretty in its own way.
Winged centipedes, jellyfish-like creatures that floated in the air, butterflies or moths that scattered phosphorescent dust as they fluttered by, and apes with a spider-like number of arms jumping from branch to branch. There were many unique creatures that stood out.
Wezel would proceed one way, turn back, then proceed another way before turning back again. There were rifts they couldn’t possibly jump over here and there, and when they ran into one, all they could do was detour around it.
Still, it was dark.
It had been dark since they’d entered the forest, but this was way too dark.
He couldn’t tell the direction of the sun. There was no way to check, because the trees blocked it out, but sunset was clearly approaching.
Had they walked that long? They must have. If they were actually getting closer to their destination, he was willing to walk as much as it took.
“Hold on, are we lost?” Ranta burst out.
“Yeah.”
“No, not ‘Yeah’! What are we gonna do about it?”
“I have a way...” Wezel said. “It will require preparation.”
“Then do it without me having to bring it up!”
“It will take two days.”
“Yeah, whatever. —Wait, two days?! That’s quite a long time, y’know?!”
“I must focus. Protect me.”
“Sure, that’s fine... No, it’s not fine, but still. I don’t have much choice, do I?”
“No.” Wezel set his luggage down, and started on his preparations.
All he did was lay a woollen mat down on the moss, sit cross-legged on it, drink some kind of drink, close his eyes, and stop moving. He was just sitting there.
“Oh, come on,” Ranta protested. “Here I was expecting you to do something amazing, and it’s just meditation?” There was no response.
Ranta sighed, then leaned his back against a nearby tree and crossed his arms. “In a forest this big, you’d expect there to be some damn scary beasts around...”
They couldn’t afford to be careless. Ranta decided to focus, too.
He’d spent a long time having people after his life. He’d even would up in a situation where he couldn’t move, sitting put for over a day telling himself, I am a rock, while not moving so much as a finger. It went without saying that, during that time, he hadn’t slept a wink.
His eyes had been as wide as saucers, his ears constantly perked up.
He didn’t mean to boast—no, maybe this was boasting—but he could endure just about anything.
Ranta had experience, which gave support to his confidence that was never shaken by little things.
The secret to how Ranta endured, though this may seem paradoxical, was not enduring.
If he kept steeling himself, thinking, I have to endure, I have to endure, I have to endure, it only made it harder. He instead went, I’m not enduring, I’m not, no sirree, ho ho ho, I’m not enduring, this is no big deal.
At some point, Ranta felt someone’s breathing. It wasn’t a sound, to be precise. If he were to use an existing word to describe it, it was a presence.
The breathing had been approaching from somewhere for awhile, and it wasn’t entirely clear where it was. Still, the breather was there. Diagonally to the right behind Ranta, it was hiding in the shadow of a tree and watching them.
Ranta couldn’t make out the shape of whatever was breathing. It was completely hidden.
Wezel was totally engaged in meditating.
Ranta deliberately looked towards the tree where the breather ought to be.
He put a hand on the hilt of his katana, and the presence disappeared instantly.
Was he imagining it, maybe? No. That wasn’t it.
It hadn’t vanished. He could feel it, just slightly. That presence had simply thinned. It was still there.
Fine, then.
In a contest of wills, he wouldn’t lose. He couldn’t possibly.
Ranta didn’t look away from the tree where the presence was hiding. He kept his eyes fixed on it.
The forest brightened a little. The sun must have risen.
Ranta did not budge. Nor did the presence.
Wezel took a sip from his water bottle.
In that instant, there was a sound. The guy had left.
Ranta took his hand off the hilt of his katana, but if his tension was a string, it was still pulled taut. That presence could come back any time, so he kept searching for it.
Wezel was meditating.
He sure likes his meditation. Well, I guess he’s not doing it because he likes it. Yeah, of course not.
It got dark again.
In the darkness of the night, the presence appeared once more. This time, right behind Ranta. Was it trying to attack him from behind?
There was no doubt about it. Ranta was confident. It was the same presence.
Wezel’s breathing was labored. His breaths were awfully shallow. He groaned in discomfort from time to time, too. What was with that? Was it bad news?
Guess I’ll lure it in, Ranta decided. Deliberately show an opening, and have it attack.
Then he rethought it.
No, whoever loses their patience first loses. If it’s not coming, then fine. I’ll wait as long as it wants.
Wezel took a swig from his water bottle. He was gulping it down. It looked like he drank the very last drop.
Wezel threw the bottle away, and drew his knife. He was drawing something on the ground with it.
The presence had apparently moved. Ranta felt it in the shadow of a different tree from before.
Not satisfied with just using the ground, Wezel started carving wounds into his own body with the knife, too. What, was he suicidal? Well, there was probably some reason behind it.
Wezel slid the knife over the fingers of his left hand, its palm, and the back of it, and then the fingers of his right hand, the palm, and the back of that hand, too. Then he rolled back up his sleeves, wounding his left arm, right arm, and even his face. If it weren’t so dark, he’d have been a horrifying sight to behold with all the blood that must have been flowing. Ranta squinted and tried to make it out despite himself.
Suddenly, the presence was growing thicker. Was it finally coming?
It... wasn’t?
The presence vanished at dawn.
There was a rumbling in Ranta’s stomach, as if it had just remembered about food. He had been drinking water occasionally, but hadn’t eaten a thing since they’d entered the Shadow Forest.
Wezel sat in a position with his legs crossed, his back hunched, and both hands holding his head, rocking his body back and forth constantly.
Was he saying something? Ranta couldn’t hear it. His mouth was moving, though. It might be something ritualistic he was doing.
Ranta cautiously walked around the area, looking for anything that seemed edible. His stomach was empty, and he felt like he could eat anything now, but he couldn’t actually. He pressed his tongue against grasses, mushrooms, and fruits, but all of them caused intense numbing or tingling sensations. If he was going to hunt, he’d need to move away from Wezel. That was a bad idea.
“Guess there’s no choice,” Ranta muttered, resorting to his final option.
It wasn’t hard. They were everywhere. He found some in no time.
There was a line of ants marching across the mossy ground.
Ranta snatched one up, put it on his palm, and poked it with a finger. It was a large, green ant, about a centimeter long, but it didn’t fight back.
He stuck it in his mouth, used his tongue to keep it from getting away, then chewed it. The characteristic sour taste of the ant was refreshing, and it had a slight sweetness, too. It was pretty tasty.
He caught ants and searched for other foodstuffs while remaining alert to his surroundings until the sun set again.
When it got dark, Ranta crouched next to Wezel, his hand lightly on the hilt of his katana.
Wezel was continuing his ritual, as before.
Eventually, the presence returned. Though it didn’t show itself, of course. The presence was almost right behind Ranta and Wezel.
It wasn’t a wild beast. No matter how clever it was, no animal was this patient. It was a human, elf, orc, or some other highly intelligent creature.
Like he had up to this point, Ranta didn’t panic, didn’t make a fuss, and just waited. Not doing anything unnecessary.
It was harder than you might think. For ordinary people, that was. For a giant star like Ranta, it was a cinch.
Dawn was approaching.
“Phewwwwwwwwww...” Wezel let out a big, long breath. He finished exhaling.
The next moment, the guy’s presence moved.
“Personal skill...” From his crouched position, Ranta sprang backwards diagonally. He spun in midair, drawing his sword, and looked down at the guy.
The guy looked up at him in shock.
He was a logok tree man—or was he?
His trunk-like body had arm and leg-like branches growing out of it, and he reminded Ranta of the race of trees that had turned into people, or people who had turned into trees, that they had encountered in Darunggar.

Chapter end