Magenta.

 

That is the color of… of what came out of my body.

 

After innumerous days of living I believe that I got used to all the details of my body, and all the natural processes that came with it… Or so I had thought. There isn't anything natural about the color of the whatever… that is.

To say the least I had a very embarrassing moment where I freaked out amidst the bushes. Thankfully it isn't like anyone was watching.

 

After a very justified bout of panic. I circled around to address the glaring connotations.

 

The fluid is most likely the remnant residue from the metabolized drug I had been tricked into ingesting.

 

'...I say drug, but I haven't the slightest clue if it was a toxin, venom, psychoactive hallucinogenic, opioid, or something else. It didn't do anything… at least I think so.' I can infer that it was most likely something that is supposed to be addicting, or else they wouldn't go through all the trouble of sneaking it into my drink—Though it is strange how it is only showing signs of being expelled from my system after so much time passed without intake. Whether that is a peculiarity belonging to the nature of the drug itself or my own weird metabolism I can't tell.

 

My memories of… whatever happened during the periods where I went off to snack on the Army's Leader foodstuffs whenever he invited me, were hazy at best. Nebulous things that feel slippery in the same way dreams are when waking up. So maybe it had affected me in some form, just not in the way they intended, as I would be fine in the same afternoon.

I have some vague recollection of thinking that it was some sort of sweetener. Then asking for more of it. I can't recall if the face of that man was stupified by the cheer audacity of someone who is supposed to be drugged asking for more of the supposedly dangerous chemical, or if their face was happy that the plan was seemingly working.

 

Then… well. The rest happened.

 

And right now I am feeling as if I just ate a kilo of beetroots.

 

On one hand, considering that I was affected by it, as minor as the effects have been, I'm worried that there may be lingering side-effects I simply overlooked. On the other hand… I don't feel like anything is wrong.

No symptoms whatsoever.

 

Well, I had a nervous breakdown and felt depressed these past few days… but that's par the course with me.

 

'Considering that it looks like the drug went through my body without doing anything, since I expelled it safely and— Oh god what the fuck.'

It's with a perplexed expression of horror that I watch the grass around where I did my private business begin to wither and turn purple.

 

'Just what the hell did they put in my drink?!'

 

——— –– –– -- - -

 

。。。

 

After heading towards a vaguely west-ish direction for a while the road gradually became more well-maintained. The dirt slowly became more packed as I walked. Some areas had long forgotten embankments of dry stack stone walls that rose up to my waist. The thick clusters of trees and forested areas grew less frequent and opened to wider plains and green hills.

Civilization, actual, proper civilization.

In the distance, I saw the trademark rows of tilled land, fences, greenery, and large barns characteristic of farms. And further away, tall walls of stone and towers.

Not very large, at most one story tall at the tallest section, but tall enough that someone wouldn't be able to go over it without a very big ladder. Squinting my eyes, it seems to also have walking space on top for archers and foot traffic.

 

'Were those walls built to protect against monsters… or people?'

 

'Now that I think about it, I haven't met any of those big wolves for a while now… have I left their territory? Actually, are there even monsters in this world? All the things I've met all boil down to super aggressive and mutated fauna and flora, not… actual magical beings.'

 

Strange and exotic predators, abnormally large insects, preying flora with poison and teeth, beings with comparatively supercharged strength, durability and speed. All dangerous, but still in the realm that they appear outwardly "natural" if a little on the hyper-lethal side of things.

 

'Hm… What makes a monster?'

 

Do they have magic inside them? A condensed crystal of… stuff, like that behemoth that chased me through the forest all the way back then? Something more abstract or spiritual? A special gene, or blood? Aliens?

They do exist, and there's extensive documentation I read back in the village about the many types and species… but those were stories. Tales and cautioning fairy tales— fairy tales that are very real but still tales in the end.

There's manuals and recipes of what one can do with their extracts and bodies, history of great weapons forged from mystical beasts and miracle potions brewed with exotic materials. Those too, tell a story.

But the mechanics? Their insides? What makes them tick? Different? 

 

I had not the luck of finding any research about that.

 

Food for thought.

 

。。。

 

As I crest over a hill, I hear sounds of someone struggling.

 

I see someone at the bottom of the incline leaning against a loaded cart, trying to push and failing.

 

I stop.

 

There aren't any other roads or paths to take to walk around them. The surroundings are plains and just an open area with grass so it is not as if avoiding them is impossible, but it would be very awkward to do so where they would definitely be able to see me obviously walking around them.

 

I had just learned a lesson to not be too trusting of strangers you meet on the road.

Thankfully that didn't end in a very violent altercation. But now I can't help myself but to be wary of other people. Hobask and Pedle seemed nice to me when I first met them. Maybe they are, if only to their own friends and allies. I found out later I wasn't included in that list.

 

'But…'

 

I sigh to myself.

 

'Dumb feelings…'

 

Resigned with my own dead-end conclusions. I approached the person ahead who had noticed me standing still on top of the hill.

 

——— –– –– -- - -

 

The person was actually an old grandpa, his gray hair and generous amounts of wrinkles a stark feature of his age. He has a seemingly perpetually hunch on his back. But even though he looks like a seventy year old nearing retirement age, he is built like an ox, with a thick and strong build of someone used to lifting heavy weights. If it weren't for his face I would think he is a soldier of some kind.

His clothes are simple linen and cloth, and he is wearing a straw hat that protects his eyes along with a waist sash. In his mouth he is chewing on a wheat straw. Really, he is the quintessential image of a farmer if there ever was one. 

Beside him is a simple small hand-pulled cart. It's full of produce and slanting on its side. He waves at me.

 

I approach him with my hood up to cover my horns… I wanted to conceal, or at least partially hide my features but I can't realistically hide my tail unless I wrap it around my torso, and while it's not exactly uncomfortable to do so, it leaves me looking like I'm wearing a wheel tire under my clothes. Not exactly subtle.

 

'Oh here I go again… putting too much trust into people.' I chastise myself. Still reeling from the last event. 'He's just a grandpa… What could go wrong?'

 

I gingerly wave back as I near him.

 

He momentarily pauses as he sees the tail that was conveniently obscured behind me.

 

'Oh…' My mood immediately deflates, thinking of the worst possible outcomes.

 

"Ho! traveler!" The grandpa greets me with an easygoing smile, the sort that just makes you feel like you can trust them from how simply charming it becomes on an aged face marked with wrinkles of laughter and smiles. "Not everyday I see a mage— you are a mage, yes? If you wouldn't mind, my cart got stuck and I can't pull it out by myself…" He rubs the back of his head with a sheepish grin.

 

I stand there silently staring at him.

 

"Oh! Pardon my manners, I'm Germaine. Nice to meet you." He offers a handshake.

 

"..." I look down to his extended hand.

 

"...Not really talkative are you?"

 

"A-ah, sorry… I mean— no… yes." I fumble. I guess that by my outfit and my staff anyone could guess with certainty that I practiced magic. My expectation was that there would be a healthy amount of suspicion, maybe just a simple nod or good day as I passed by him, not that I would be approached like this.

 

"BHAHA!" The grandpa in question barks out a loud laugh that startles me. I jump a little in the air and my tail stiffens.

 

"Sorry, sorry!" He says but his smile tells me otherwise. "You just look like my niece, shy as a mouse. And getting lost in her own head. I think you two would get along…?" He half nods at me, expecting something.

 

It takes a long awkward moment for me to realize what he was alluding to.

 

"...Syuufarin" I give a slight nod.

 

"Ah, no need to be so stiff. Nice to meet you too, lass. What brings you to this town? Not many people come around here in the boonies around the border, not to mention the roads have been rather empty lately with all the unrest. You look young I hope you take care of yourself well, you know, my niece…" He kept on going on and on in a big spiel bragging about his niece, changing topics abruptly without warning and asking me questions, and then moving on before I even got to have a word in.

 

"..." I'm overwhelmed by his outgoing extrovertedness. I stand there stiffly waiting for him to finish, though I'd admit that despite his discontiguous chatter confusing me half the time, it is oddly informative.

I learned the approximate locations of several establishments he spontaneously recommended to me, restaurants… two bakeries with an odd rivalry between them… a library I would definitely like to check out later. 

I oddly noted to myself he would make a great tour guide.

 

Eventually, after the sun turned by a few degrees in the sky.

 

"Ah!" The grandpa— Germaine, slapped his forehead. "I always get caught up in a good talk," he laughed.

 

'...You were talking one-sidedly to me all this time though?!'

 

"Wouldn't you give me a hand to dislodge my cart?" He turns around and reaches into the contents inside "Here." He deposits something in my hand.

 

…It's a sack of potatoes. I stare at him in confusion.

 

Okay, It is a very generous amount of large potatoes, each with a good heft to it, they would be a great addition to a stew… And it's not something easy to forage out in the wild. Offhandedly I think about making fried chips if I ever get my hands on enough oil… It's been quite some time since I ever had some.

 

But still. I digress.

 

Potatoes?…

 

I… hesitantly store them for later, somewhat perplexed.

 

"Um…" How could I put it into words? The man seems rather  trusting to someone he just met on the road. "Shouldn't you be a little more suspicious of a stranger you just met?" I say with a strained voice.

 

Germaine regards me with silent contemplation for a moment.

He scratches his chin, which has scruffy face hair with a look that hasn't been shaven in the past week. "Here in the boonies, we folks gotta look out for each other, yeah? You don't strike me as the bad sort— and why shouldn't I ask a good folk for help?"

He laughs "I may be old but I'm not some feeble, defenseless grandpa yet! Besides, no thief or brigand smarter than a dim-witted bull would have the balls to steal from someone this close to town."

 

Germaine… may be right, but I felt that this grandpa could be easily taken advantage of by a scam of some sort.

 

I sigh, exasperated.

 

He pats the side of his cart "Come on now, help me here, I can give you a ride to town if you do."

 

My face twists into indignation, then confusion, and then frustration. I sigh, again.

 

I can't tell if I'm lucky or unlucky to meet with such a hung-ho person right after going through that ordeal of trust.

It is annoyingly, frustratingly, aggravating and incredibly scathing to me. It's not his fault but rather that I want and feel like I shouldn't give any headway into lowering my guard ever again… But then here comes someone that is overwhelmingly not a threat of any kind to me, I know that intellectually, and the fact that I harbor ill suspicions about this kind man when he has done nothing wrong makes me feel revulsion at myself.

 

It feels… nice. Good, even. To help people.

 

Whether because of gratitude or my own satisfaction, I always enjoyed being helpful on some level. To be necessary. To be wanted. Before my death I was planning to go to a medical university after all… though I got splattered by a falling concrete electric pole before I could even begin the first semester.

This desire to help, because it is the right thing to do and costs me nothing. The remnant wariness and aftereffect suspicion that I picked up from being double-crossed. And the self-loathing that came with letting myself fall for it so naively…

…To say the least, there are a lot of conflicting thoughts going on inside my head.

 

I just want to get this over with. I sigh for the third time.

 

。。。

 

Germaine was a little perplexed by my performance. He'd seen mages before, but never really spoke with one.

"Yanno, I was expecting you to wiz some fancy magic spell that would unstick my cart off the mud but uhh…" He glanced at my arms. "You're a strong little lad aren't ya?"

 

I blush and look away while rubbing the back of my arm. While in theory I could have used a spell to lightly lift the considerably heavy cart, I opted to simply lift it a little with my own hands instead. It's not like it was too heavy for me.

More often than I'd like I forget that I'm way stronger than what my small build would suggest, since I'm always with magic and spells on the forefront of my mind.

 

He said that I could sit in the back of the cart on the way to town as he pulled it by hand, told me it wasn't heavy at all but I declined and opted to walk beside him instead. I didn't want to put more weight on the thing he would be pulling himself.

 

Maybe he noticed my solemn silence, or maybe not. But after some minutes of peace and my own brooding mind he began to chatter away endlessly once again. I accompany him at his side, but stay mute under his own monologue.

 

I resign myself, hanging my head. I was— still am, a massive introvert who believes that dealing with people is one of the biggest pains imaginable. And yet here I am merrily chasing the very things I supposedly dislike.

 

Perhaps… I was conceited on how well I knew myself.

 

——— –– –– -- - -

 

Eventually Germaine ran out of things to talk about… is what I would like to have happened.

 

No, the man has a bottomless amount of subjects to chat about.

 

By the time we finally, finally reach the town I can feel my ear drums pulsating.

 

'It's like it was unpleasant…' I massage the back of my ears in an unfruitful attempt to soothe the pain. 'It's just… too much.'

 

There is a… completely ordinary gate.

What makes a gate ordinary? I thought to myself. It wasn't anything grand and robust like I heard of in stories and my old life's depictions of great castles. Rather than tall double doors of thick beams of wood together with iron bars it simply was a reinforced wooden gate. Not even a drop down one, just a glorified door. 

Simple, but effective enough for its purpose.

 

A single person is standing near it. Most likely a guard or the equivalent of a policing force there is. They are wearing a gambeson, along with simple leather armor here and there and an open metal helmet. They are leaning on the wall behind them with a spear propped up on their side.

Beside the gate there is a small one story building with a small porch, another man with similar equipment is resting in a chair, languishing with feet propped up on top of a table.

 

They see us approaching.

 

"Hail!"

 

"Hail!" Germaine waves his hand high in response in a casual manner, as if he'd done this tens of dozens times before. 

 

My head turns back and forth between them. '...What does 'hail' mean?' A type of greeting, by the looks of it.

Belatedly, I also sheepishly raise my hand only half-way up in a somewhat sloppy manner. "...H-hail?"

 

The old farmer looks at me for a moment with a raised eyebrow.

 

"...W-what?" I coughed out awkwardly, looking away.

 

"BHAHA!" He slaps me in the back with poorly restrained force, one hand still pulling the cart with relative ease. He doesn't bother to explain why he laughed when I ask him, only shaking his head mirthily as a response.

 

I observe the guards shuffling a little as they notice me, the one chilling by the shade under the porch doesn't even twitch… 'is he sleeping?'

 

"Old man! Good day, who's the pretty miss?" The guard gives out a flirtatious smile.

 

My face hardens at the compliment and I feel a shudder run down my back and down to the tip of my tail. It hits the ground in an uncontrolled tremble because of it.

On one hand, being called pretty by someone that isn't from Daivette gives a nice boost to my self-esteem. All elves in that village either don't talk about beauty at all and take it for granted as a completely ordinary thing or give out so many compliments all the time that I began to adapt to it after the first few dozen times.

On the other hand… I am deeply uncomfortable. I mean— He's a man, and I used to be a dude.

 

I don't think I'll be getting used to that anytime soon.

 

The guard leans beside Germaine and whispers. "O-oi… did I say something wrong? She's got a scary face now."

 

He laughs, "Bah~ it's nothing, she's like my niece y'know?" the farmer also whispers conspiratorially, "All bark and no bite."

 

"...I can hear you." I point out, miffed.

 

Germane snickers to himself and moves on to cross the gate.

 

"Ap, ap!" The unnamed guard places a hand in front of the old farmer. "You know the rules."

 

"Ah! Come on! You know me!"

 

"I do, but I still need to do my job, you know?" He nods to me. "And I don't know her. The procedures exist for good reasons."

 

Germaine tsks his tongue, though there's no heat in it. "So dutiful… Eh~ fine, have it your way Mr.uptight." He says playfully.

 

"So who's she? Can you vouch for her?"

 

"Ah, I just met her on the road from home. She helped me push my ol' cart that got stuck in a ditch!"

 

"..." The guard gazes at me, then slowly turns to look at Germaine with a stare. The type of sorrowful stare that shows how much suffering the man inflicts upon him, but also with an underlying wrath from a man whose patience has been wearing thin with this particular person.

 

"What?" Germaine replies innocently.

 

"I… just—" The guard groans and raises his arms. "you can't just pick up strangers in the middle of the road like that! Even more so with the recent reports of unlawful brigands roaming around!"

 

The realization hits me like a hammer.

I hadn't encountered any bandits on the road. He also could have been referring to something else… but this is as good as any confirmation that I would get for now.

'Liberation Army… Are they really fighting for that? What are they doing?'

Though I was not there to witness it, mentions of deliberate 'acquisition' of bystanders' supplies were plenty enough for me to paint a clear picture. There is a good chance that these brigands the guard is talking about are them.

 

"Bah! Whatcha talkin' about?! She's no stranger see?" He gestures to me "Look at her! Harmless as a stray puppy."

 

"..stray puppy?" I mutter, breaking out of my previous train of thought.

 

The guard sighs, "Just— go inside already, I'll deal with her."

 

"You treat her right, you hear me!" Germaine points at him, then turns to me and slaps my back. "I'm goin' into town, early bird gets the worm! I want to see your face again today, so stop by the market!"

With those parting words, he crosses the gate with his wares.

 

The guard and I share a moment of quiet as we watch the merry farmer leave.

 

"Right, Miss," The guard addressed me, shaking his head with a smile. "Germaine gets a free pass since he regularly comes through this gate all the time, I can just log his entrances and exits later. Now, if you'd show me your papers?"

He makes a gesture of someone who has gone through this procedure hundreds of times to me, waiting for something.

 

A pregnant pause goes by as an increasingly awkward silence begins to grow. My palms begin to feel sweaty and I get an urge to crane my neck away from him.

 

"......Papers?..."

 

"..."

 

"..."

 

"...Oh Lady above you're serious aren't you?" He sighs, then turns to the other guard who had been napping all along. "Theodore! We got a country bumpkin here, it's your turn!"

 

——— –– –– -- - -

 

…

 

I don't know what I was expecting when entering a town for the first time. Awe, a festival, food, a church, a tavern, guilds…

…Paperwork? It certainly was not what I thought I would be doing

 

'If I had a coin for every time I ended up filling papers when going places I'd have two coins… which I don't know how much they are worth but it's weird that it happened twice'.

 

Theodore walked me through some things while Jubal went back to the gate. He told me the rules that boil down to: don't steal, don't kill, respect authority, and so on and so forth. Universal rules, basically. And he asked me my name, what were my intentions on entering town, visiting or staying, if I was carrying anything that is considered contraband or illegal– which I honestly had no idea of what is considered banned. We spent a good half-hour just picking apart all the junk inside my luggage. He raised an eyebrow after seeing a wolf skull pulled out but didn't comment on it.

I thought it was cool and maybe I could try peddling it to someone I honestly forgot it was there… I am going to need to clean out my backpack one of these days.

The paperwork in question was because they assumed I was a traveler of some sort, and those that cross borders usually have a permit or identification of some kind issued by their own states… Not to mention that said travelers are usually renowned merchants who can afford inter-country travel, nobility, pilgrims, mercenaries, or some other kind of important person.

That isn't to say that normal people don't travel, but the frequency of them passing through this town is as rare as the previously mentioned examples. So it's a toss up if someone has missives or just passing by.

 

He was very, very curious when I said I came from the east… because there wasn't anything worth noting to the east except unnamed settlements that aren't beholden to any country, and the Dark Forest, .

Apparently the name they use for that forest and the name the elves use are the same, neat. Though I doubt he knows the meaning of it. "Druhtoori the Dark Forest"

It's funny because the translation turns it into "Dark Forest the Dark Forest".

 

Though I didn't point that out to him, I had a feeling that revealing my relationship with Elves wouldn't be the best idea.

 

The gate guard, Theodore, was even more surprised after seeing that I knew how to read and write, and with good calligraphy too. He also pointed out that I had a weird accent like someone born in a prestigious background. I had to awkwardly avoid his questions because no, I'm not someone important, I'm just well taught. I even explicitly told him that, but he just raised an eyebrow and let out a long hum like as if he knew I was hiding something, which I wasn't… except for the elves. But I think that he was deeply misunderstanding something on his own.

 

'I shouldn't have said I could fill out my own information…'

 

For illiterate people, these gate guards offer to write down for them. Since I could just do it on my own it saved them the trouble… though it isn't like the place is busy.

I had to fill out a simple statement form of my intentions and origins… and that was pretty much it. This wasn't any airport security but I felt like it was a bit too open to potential trouble down the line with how lax it was.

 

'But well… who am I to question their methods?' I shrugged it off.

 

"Aaaand… that's everything. Now don't go causing any trouble, you hear me?" Theodore told me as he ushered me to go past the gates.

 

And just like that, I was in.

 

——— –– –– -- - -

 

［5 hours later］

 

'I really do suck at planning ahead, don't I?' I sigh to myself.

 

If there was one thing I was looking forward to seeing in a city… town… whichever properly describes the settlement I find myself in. It was the architecture.

A key point in observing the cultural and technological history of a society… But more because I find the buildings pretty. Design philosophy, markings of well-lived places and how people go by in their daily lives by the traces left in the environment are all neat things to observe.

Unsafe and exposed. In the standards of modern security from my old life, breaking inside homes or theft must be much easier and simpler. Yet I can't help myself but feel a sense of wonder at how open things are. There are walls, doors and locks, yes. But here people live outside their homes as much as they live inside it, the totality of a person's livelihood and area where they pass their time isn't locked into a single bedroom.

 

Houses aren't smooth brutalist monoliths—the raised stone foundations, exposed support beams, windows, patches of brick without plaster, balconies… all sorts of nooks and ledges a person could hold on to. I'd even say it's easier than climbing a tree—they don't have any footholds.

There aren't many buildings with two floors, and even less with three. In a tangent thought, I wonder where all the building materials come from. There has to be someone somewhere with a kiln to fire all the shingles that make up the roofs. Along with people that source everything else from stone to wood. I noted that in the more distanced houses, in the area that is not as populated compared to the center of town, have more primitive thatch roofs.

 

Rudimentary they may be compared to the 21'st century's buildings and monoliths that reached the skies, they've got their own charm. Not only that but also very different, if not quite dissimilar to elven architecture which incorporates being one with nature around the homestead.

 

After reluctantly finding Germaine at the local free market and greeting him briefly. I had spent… A long time just walking around…

 

…So much so that by the time I noticed it got dark. I had walked an entire circle around town.

 

'So, if I remember correctly this street is a dead end… that one curves and leads back to the one I'm currently in… that one goes to a residential district…' I wander around for a while, trying to find a hotel, or an inn… Whatever the equivalent is in today's age.

 

The streets, compared to daytime, became much darker as the sun set and the moon began to rise. There aren't convenient lampposts everywhere to illuminate the night, and there are very few people awake at this time. The light of one or two candles can be spotted peeking out of windows.

In the distance I can hear the quiet but still active taverns that are still open. Either with the people who only get free time to go to such places late in the evening… or busy kicking said people out of their establishments.

 

It was twilight hours when I was stopped by a sudden stranger.

 

"Oy." I hear a voice, but don't register as directed to me so I keep walking away.

 

"Oy! I'm talkin' to you!" The voice shouts.

 

I blink twice, look left and right, then half turn around and see someone standing in the road walking towards me. I point a finger at my face, gesturing to ask if he is referring to me.

 

"Yeah, you!"

 

"...Yes?"

 

The man approaches brusquely, a hand hidden under his coat with something bulging underneath.

"We can do this quietly… or the hard way. Hand it over." He speaks hurriedly.

 

For a moment I'm left incredulously confused. "Huh — What?" What's this bloke talking about?

 

"I said — Hand it over!"

 

With a forceful grip he grabs my arm. Then I see the blade he is holding.

 

'...oh…OH! — Is this a robbery?' The thought passes by like a frolicking butterfly as I stare dumbly at the blade. I observe that the knife is pretty shiny and remarkably well maintained, it looks like it just got out of the factory! — or smithy, same thing.

 

A beat.

 

It was only after a long pause that the severity of the situation finally reached my head. '...Oh shit —'

 

*shnnrk*

 

"Oh." I let out a wet cough, though it comes out more of a grunt of mild discomfort.

 

The man has just shanked me.

 

I look down in mild confusion at my abdomen, a growing stain of blood dripping from the blade, then look up.

 

"Wha–You stabbed me!" I yell indignantly.

 

The man's eyes meet mine, he is looking at me strangely and gives a double take up and down with confusion at my lack of appropriate reaction to being stabbed in the gut.

 

I let out an annoyed huff. I have been stabbed and bitten by way worse things in before, compared to those this is nothing.

 

I put my hand on his shoulder. The man winces badly as I apply force to my grip, squeezing it hard enough to feel the bones shift just a little. The man tries to jerk away and he clumsily loses his footing as he fails to escape my grip while simultaneously making an attempt at swiping my bag. I let go, and it ends up with him falling on his butt while clutching his shoulder in pain.

'My plan was to… nevermind that. Intimidation? Then what? I acted more on impulse rather than a deliberate motion. Now I have a grown man writhing in pain at my feet… What does one even do in this situation? It isn't like I can call the police… guards? Constables?' 

 

"Jeff? What are you–Jeff?! Damn she got him!" I hear someone say.

 

Looking in the direction that the man who had stabbed me came from, three other people showed up.

 

'Oh bother…'

 

…

 

Ordinarily, my rather mellow mood that I always constantly maintained would make me lean towards solving this situation in a more peaceful manner. I dislike hurting people in general as a matter of principle. I also understand implicitly that people who resort to theft aren't always the bad sort, and that there are exceptions to the common criminal stereotype. This understanding would lead me to be inclined to offer them a chance at redemption or at least hearing them out. Though I wouldn't willingly hand out my belongings no matter what happened.

— However. —

A combination of the events of the Liberation Army that still linger in my mind, combined with the bad mood that plagued me during the past weeks. The accumulating indignance, rebellious desire, frustration, and impatience that had been building up like pustules inside a compressed gas tank, things that I usually suppress consciously and unconsciously because those sort of dead-end emotions don't lead anywhere good.

It's a childish term, but there is no better way to say it: I felt like throwing a tantrum. At the world. At myself. Against existence in general.

Do you know? That sudden urge to hit something. The need to scream in a pillow. The garbled mess of unintelligible words that comes out as a hiccuped sob.

 

Not to mention that this guy stabbed me!

 

"Quick, jump her!" The one in the back shouts, the trio charges toward me.

 

The first one runs to me. "Dibs on the—!"

His approach is amateurish, arms wide and no steady footwork to have any mention of. It's like he only knows how to swing his hands for show.

 

'Do they think this staff is just for show?' I twirl my staff for a brief moment for the perfect opportunity. Just as he reaches my range, I swing towards his midsection — I take note to not use the side of the head with the pointy bits. Despite it all I don't want to maim him.

The man crumples in half immediately, spittle flying over my head from his sunken stomach as he is sent flying.

 

With less than a beat from one to the other, the third assailer rushes just like the second one. For a reason only god knows he decides to try and grab my face.

With a practiced motion — I don't even have to crouch for this one — I easily dodge and let his hands fly over me and I lunge forward. One step forward, a twist and the full use of my whole arm and back, then I sucker punch him in the liver.

This one stumbles forward and falls on top of me, I shrug him off easily and let him hit the ground.

 

A few seconds of respite.

 

I look at the last one who was frozen mid-step.

 

They hastily drop the weapon and raise their hands. "H-hey… it's n-nothing personal r-right? No need to be harsh?" They try to edge in an attempt to not get folded in half too.

 

I stop to look him in the eyes. My expression schooled into a neutral one.

 

The man gulps. A flicker of his eyes looked towards the fallen men in the ground and back at me, then to the still pilling blood from my guts that is being completely disregarded in a stoic manner.

 

"Leave."

 

The man bolts immediately as fast as he possibly can, tripping himself on his own feet a few times before disappearing, after a brief moment where I watched him turn a corner, I sigh, slumping slightly. 

 

The other one who had been squirming in pain from his shoulder begins to stand up. I shut him up with a strike of my tail to his face without even looking at him.

 

"..."

 

I take a deep breath, looking once again upwards at the night sky.

 

My mood was at an all time low—actually, no. There were worse times than this, but still—I was not very happy at the moment.

 

Though… I couldn't bring myself to just leave those men in the middle of the road—I mean, yes, they deserve all the pain they are feeling but leaving them out in the open lying on the cold hard ground feels wrong.

I drag them into an alleyway and leave them there resting near each other while propping them up against a wall. Then I pause.

'Better to remove these…' I take their blades away, I wouldn't want anyone else suffering the same fate as me. I pointedly ignore that one of them is still soaked in my blood. 'I could also rummage their pockets for valuables…' I shake my head.

'No, I won't stoop down to their level, they will already need to spend money on medicine for their wounds already.'

Ideally, I should report or turn them over to the guards. But I have no idea how or where to do that, and I haven't seen or heard of any guard patrolling at night.

I pause again.

'They'll catch a cold if they're just left like that…' I turn back and rearrange them so they are near each other to share heat… I also throw a bunch of dry leaves on top of them to make a primitive blanket. It looks suspiciously like someone is trying to hide two bodies but I ignore that thought.

 

The night was turning out to be longer and longer, I just wanted to go to sleep now... I sigh and begin looking up for good footholds.

 

'Am I too softhearted?... I would be entitled to repay them in kind, but that feels wrong to me. I don't know how the law works around here and I don't want to get in trouble too.'

 

"..."

 

'I'll just… leave them here, maybe someone will eventually find them so they can deal with it instead.'

 

——— –– –– -- - -

Eventually I found a place that had a placard with a stylized "inn" written on it.

…

 

The place wasn't too big, I could count maybe 3 or 5 rooms judging the overall size of the building. 

A simple countertop marked the entrance. It looks like a single home where someone built another floor on top along with a frontal extension to fit more rooms and a reception space. From where I am standing I can see a stairway that leads to the second floor, a path protected by wooden handrails open to see from the ground floor's reception. The only other door in the first floor is behind the reception area, which I assume is where the owner lives and is off-limits.

 

There was nobody here. "...Hello?" I asked out loud.

 

I patiently waited for around 3 minutes before I heard someone coming in from one of the rooms further in.

 

A tired looking man appeared from the door behind the counter, he was holding a bottle of foul smelling stuff I can only assume is liquor. He cracked an eye open and glanced at me for a brief moment before saying with a distinct lack of enthusiasm for a business owner. "...Welcome."

 

"...How much for a room?"

 

"Ten." He curtly says.

 

'Ten… Ten, what? Can't you elaborate?!'

I started rummaging through my things, at one point even setting it on the ground to reach into its deeper pockets. After a minute or two I finally grab a coin pouch. Inside it is a mix of the ancient coins I found on some ruins and the few coins that quartermaster gave me before everything flipped upside down.

I know there are two other denominator coins, bronze and silver, but I don't have any of those… Only gold coins. And I never really got a good measure of what they are worth. It's one thing to work in the requisitions office of a slapdash army of maybe-insurgents, it's another to know how much a piece of bread costs… Maybe I can ask for change?

 

The moment I take out the shiny gilded coin the innkeeper freezes.

 

"Is this enough?"

 

"Yes…" The man's voice trails off as he stares at the coin, before he coughs and gathers his bearings. Handing me a rusty old key before I could do anything else.  "...Yes yes! Dear customer, last door on the second floor–" Then he sees the very abundant stain of blood on my shirt and promptly loses all color in his face. Since the woman in question seemed completely apathetic to the presence of it on her own clothes he immediately assumed that the blood belonged to someone else, and the implications therein.

 

I mutely nod in thanks. Not noticing the innkeeper's expression.

 

Climbing the stairs and walking to the end of the corridor, the floorboards creaking under my steps, I end up in a tiny room with a single bed and a stool tucked in the corner. The bed doesn't have sheets or a pillow on it, just a vaguely rectangle shaped sack, gently sinking my hands into it makes a muted sound of straw inside it, and the mattress is thin enough that I can feel the wood of the bedframe through it.

'I feel like I may have overpaid a little?' I shake my head as I lock the door. The key is larger and more clunky than what I am used to, and it doesn't fit perfectly into the slot so it awkwardly clatters around the doorlock as I try to twist it one way or the other, after some shifting the mechanism finally turns when I find the correct angle where the key manages to turn instead of getting stuck.

 

'Eh… I can deal with that later, I just want to go to sleep now.'

 

Flopping down into the bed I wince a little as the rough mattress feels sore and itchy, I decide to untie one of the cured pelts I had somewhere on my luggage to lie on top of instead of directly on the mattress.

 

A puff of air leaves my mouth as a half-hearted huff as I blankly stare at the ceiling.

 

How long has it been since I handled coins? Or any physical currency for that matter? Back then, I never got around to owning a bank account, I was old enough but was only going to get it when I finished high-school. As I never really had any crucial need to have my own spending money and if I had things I wanted my parents occasionally let me use theirs.

At least… I don't remember ever buying something with bills and coins… It has been a long time.

'Ah… I miss them.'

 

"..."

 

The deafening silence of my own melancholy is enough to slowly lure me to sleep.

 

——— –– –– -- - -