Nozomanu Fushi no Boukensha (LN) - Volume 1 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: A Certain Undead’s Town Infiltration 

“Town... Of Maalt...” Those were my first words as I looked around me. 

It was unmistakably the busy town of Maalt. Although I had only been gone for a few days, it felt like an eternity. I’d thought that I would never be able to return to town again. 

That was what I had thought anyway—and yet, here I was, in the town of Maalt. 

Maalt! I was in the town of Maalt!! I wanted to jump for joy, for I thought I would never see it again. It would be strange for me to do so within walking distance of the gates, though. 

I also had a lot to do; my backlog was long, to say the least. Perhaps I could celebrate to my heart’s content another time. 

“We walked right through, huh? I’m glad, Mister Rentt!” Rina spoke, still walking closely by my side. 

She really was a kindhearted girl, so much so that she would show kindness to an undead such as myself. To think that Rina had done all this for me... 

But I could not let this go on any further. Any more involvement would surely cause trouble to befall her at some point. And that’s why I said: 

“It’s true... All... Thanks. To you, Ri... Rina. From... Here. I can go... On my own...” 

“Huh?” 

“...Rina. Our... Time. Together has come... To an... End. If you... Stay. With me any... Longer... Trouble... Will find you... One way... Or another.” 

Rina looked genuinely surprised at my words and began to raise her objections. 

“Mister Rentt... I...” 

But I did not let her finish—I simply couldn’t. 

“Rina... Thank... You. For everything... Up until, now. When I... Am. More human... I will definitely... Come find you.” 

With that, I sprinted away. I was a ghoul after all. My speed and physical strength far exceeded that of a normal human’s. An Iron-class adventurer like Rina could not possibly keep up. I put my all into it and ran as hard as I could, all so she wouldn’t be able to catch up with me. 

From behind me, I heard her voice—Rina’s voice, pleading with me to stop. 

But I... I could not stop. 

Although I had spent only a short time with Rina, it was more than enough for me to become aware of her potential as an adventurer. Associating with a strange, almost illogical existence such as myself would only serve to threaten her bright future, and I could not allow that to happen. 

It seemed like I had simply abandoned her after attaining my goals, even if I had depended on her for many things prior. Maybe I wasn’t such a good person...but I had no choice. If I did not do so, her continued association with me would surely leave a negative mark upon her life. And while I certainly did not look very human at all now, that would change in time. When that time came...I would surely seek her out once again. After all, I owed Rina an apology. 

But until then, all I could do was watch over her... 

This is for the best—was what I thought. 

With all that being said, however, it was undeniable that I still needed a human assistant of sorts. After all, entering the guild with my current appearance would be an intimidating prospect. Still, I had adventured from a young age and had worked incredibly hard all these years. I didn’t know of anything else to do other than earn my keep by my continued adventuring. 

Of course, there was still the issue of my appearance... As long as there were requests of slaying monsters or gathering ingredients, I would be able to complete those with ease. I did have a decade of experience after all. 

And yet...entering the guild myself was the most difficult part of the equation. 

The reason for me feeling that way was plain as day, perhaps overwhelmingly so: all members of the guild were experts on monsters and their physiology. Even if I was equipped with a robe, a mask, and gloves, the possibility of most of my garments being removed should I rouse anyone’s suspicions was uncomfortably high. And I, for one, had no intentions of taking such risks. 

Which brings me back to my first point—the only way out of this conundrum was through a human assistant. 

Ideally, they wouldn’t be a bright and simple person like Rina, but someone who could be discreet about things. Perhaps they’d even have a few secrets of their own to hide. That is to say, it had to be a mutually beneficial relationship. If that were not the case for any reason, I felt like I would surely receive the short end of the stick. Common decency and kindness were not things I could rely on any more. 

But did someone like that even exist...? 

In reality, I did have someone in mind already. Someone who, in the town of Maalt, could at the very least be said to be my best friend. I’d been walking to this person’s home this entire time after all. 

With a few more steps, I promptly found myself on their doorstep. 

...Toch, toch! 

A series of strange-sounding knocks emanated from the other side of the wooden door. 

...But there was no response. 

Without any other options, I knocked once more. Again, I was met with silence. Under normal circumstances, I would simply give up and leave. However, these were not normal circumstances—far from them, in fact. 

If I didn’t wake up this home’s inhabitant quickly, all I could see in my future was an endless cacophony of problems. Though I might not need sustenance because I was undead, there was also no place I could safely reside in. If I were to wander around town dressed like this, the soldiers of Maalt would surely capture me for questioning. 

I had a spot in an adventurer dormitory in life, but I couldn’t exactly return to it now, dressed as such. Fortunately, rent for the dormitory was paid at the beginning of each month. It would simply be cleared and rented out again once my contract ended. It was perhaps worth noting that dormitories everywhere usually did the same thing when an adventurer had failed to return after a long period, with the common assumption being that they were, for lack of a better word, dead. And that was why leaving my dormitory room in its current condition did not pose too much of a problem. 

Speaking of problems, I now returned to the one at hand—gaining entrance to this abode. This was why I gave up on knocking, and instead placed my hand on the knob, giving it a good turn. 

To tell the truth, I had intended to do as much from the very beginning. The person who lived here was not really in the business of receiving guests. In fact, they hardly ever had guests to begin with, and I was encouraged to freely enter when I pleased. And so, that was exactly what I had been doing all this time. 

But at the very least, considering my circumstances from today of all days, I absolutely had to knock, as the resident would surely be surprised to see me in this state. If I could safely make it through the door and close it behind me, we would at least be able to have a conversation. That was how I felt about the matter, anyway. 

But no matter what manner of courtesy I attempted, it would seem my friend had no intention of answering the door. 

Deciding that there was no longer a need for me to hold back, I turned the knob, intending to enter like I always had. As expected, the door was unlocked, and the knob turned smoothly; it did not offer the slightest hint of resistance. One could say that my friend was a careless person...or perhaps, one without many worries. 

With that, I took one big step into their familiar home. 

Nothing’s really changed in the short time I’ve been away... 

That was the first thought that came to my mind as I entered. The ever-present, towering piles of books, the dusty atmosphere—one could not walk forward without stepping on a book, or tripping over one mysterious tool or another. Although there were some normal pieces of furniture present, most of them were used as makeshift shelving for books and other knick-knacks. The chairs alone hardly looked like they had been sat on. 

The one place in the small home that was not littered with books was where the person I had been looking for slept. Currently sprawled out on what seemed to be a bed, there lay an individual with long, wavy hair, dressed in a somewhat messy and crumpled robe. 

Approaching, I put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a good shake. 

“...Hey... Hey. Wake up.” 

“...Un...nn. A bit more...sleep... A bit more...” 

Despite her sleepy protests, I continued to shake her. Maybe more persuasion was needed here... 

“...If... You say. The same thing... Again. I will drop... A book. On your head...” 

“...Come on now, don’t do that... Anything but that. Ugh... What, it’s you, Rentt? What do you want from me at this hour? Aren’t you usually somewhere in the dungeon at around this ti—ahh?!” 

Slowly opening her eyes as she spoke, she promptly bolted awake as she laid eyes on my face, her previously sleepy sentence ending on a shrill note. 

Affirming that I was merely wearing a mask, she seemed relieved. Feeling somewhat apologetic that I had to do this, I raised my hand before her face, removing my glove as I did so. Bits of dried flesh clinging onto bone—that was what my hand looked like. 

One would normally be surprised at such a sight. However— 

“...What happened to you?” 

Suddenly adopting a serious expression, I found my friend’s enthusiasm for such matters strangely reassuring. With a deep breath, I began my explanation of everything that had happened up until this point. 

“...A dragon, huh. It’s hard to believe no matter how you spin it. But...” Looking at me halfway through her sentence, she shook her head slowly. 

“I guess I have no choice but to believe you, given how you look. ...And as unbelievable as it is. To think that an old friend of mine would suddenly become an undead... It’s not something you think of every day, you know.” 

Removing my robe, she squinted her eyes as she carefully inspected every inch of my dried-out body. She did so with the fervor of the scholar-adventurer she was, for she was my old friend, Lorraine Vivie. 

She was dressed in that same messy and crumply robe she always wore. Her hair, wild and untamed, cascaded past her shoulders in long waves. Although it seemed like she hardly cared about her appearance, there was a sense of glamor emanating from her in her own strange little way. 

I had known her for a long time—about, say, ten years since coming to Maalt. While I’d known her for a decade, we only grew closer recently—her knowledge always came in handy, and it was a great help in ways more than one. As such, I couldn’t think of a better person than Lorraine to discuss my current situation with. 

She was clearly surprised by what I had to say, but never once did she doubt me or refuse to believe my words. If anything, Lorraine seemed to have already accepted my account of events as reality, and was now deep in thought. 

“I... Am the one... Who doesn’t want... To believe it. Becoming... Like, this.” 

Lorraine nodded at my words. 

“Yes... Very much so. Who even said that people become undead if eaten by a dragon...? A dragon in the dungeon... Unbelievable. Is it still there now?” 

“No... It was... Already gone. When I... Woke up. Its aura... Also gone. Probably... Not there. Anymore.” 

Reporting its presence to the guild was one of the first things I thought of when I’d woken up—but of course, it was already gone by that time. 

Gone without a trace, as if my experiences up until then had been some sort of dream... I wondered how the dragon could simply appear and disappear as it willed so. Although the reason for its behavior escaped me, one could also say that looking out for it wouldn’t do much good if it was capable of phasing itself out of existence. 

While an investigation was definitely warranted, filing a report without some sort of evidence on hand was a risky preposition. As such, it would be treated as either a hoax or a lie. Even if I were to show them my body and claim that this was the result of my encounter with the dragon, that would be, once again, exposing myself to terrible risk. To begin with, I had no idea why I became an undead just because I had encountered a dragon, so my guess was as good as theirs. 

Basically, the lack of evidence was a severe problem indeed, and if it went poorly, then I’d be in great danger. As such, I decided to put notions of reporting my dragon sighting on hold for the time being. 

Lorraine seemed to agree, nodding at the conclusion I had arrived at. 

“Your logic is sound. Even if you were to say you saw a dragon, few, if any, would believe you. I’ve known you for a long time now, so I can tell you’re not lying... But I doubt that’d fly for everyone else. Even if they did want to believe you, common sense would tell them otherwise. I mean, if you showed up in your current state, they’d probably send adventurers after you right away. Maybe even put your face on a quest list, too. Just give it up, Rentt.” Waving her hand this way and that as she continued her description of the scenario, Lorraine smiled. 

You know, Lorraine was oddly relaxed around me despite me being a member of the walking dead. This could perhaps be attributed to her personality—she was quite bold, in her own way. In all my time knowing her, Lorraine was never the type to obsess over small details, although it remained to be seen if my becoming a ghoul was such a small detail or not. 

The second reason was perhaps the more significant one: she was a scholar. More precisely, a scholar of monsters and magic. If anything, she would be more interested in how a living, breathing person could become this way and would bury herself in her work, searching for the answer to her questions. Her long periods of thought during our conversations were probably spent thinking about those very same questions. 

“But you know, the more I look at you, Rentt...the more undead you actually look. I hate to ask you this, but...are you the same Rentt I’ve always known? What if you’re someone...something similar, but not quite the same...?” 

It was a difficult question—one that even I wanted to know the answer to. 

Although I could consciously identify myself as Rentt Faina, I had, as a living thing, died once. There was no doubt about that. In fact, I was a pile of bones when I woke up. It was difficult to claim that I was a living thing, at least while in that state. 

But I still had my memories and consciousness. Even if that alone could not prove that I was the same Rentt Faina as I was in life, undead monsters were fundamentally changed from their living origins from the moment they became undead. I could say that I was a different kind of existence, at least; but even then, I wasn’t so sure. And that was why I said what I did— 

I had no idea. 

Upon hearing my explanation, Lorraine seemed convinced. 

“Yes, yes. The truth cannot be gleaned by simply thinking about it. If you asked me, I could tell that you are Rentt from how you answered my question alone. While you possess the same memories and personality...the question of you being ‘the same existence’ or not would be quite a departure from our initial line of inquiry... Yes. I, too, have no idea. So let’s put that aside; I’ll think about it later. More importantly, Rentt... What are you going to do from here on out? That’s the biggest thing to deal with now, isn’t it...?” 

Lorraine had apparently seen fit to advance the conversation in a sensible direction. That’s what made her so easy to talk to. The point she had brought up, in turn, was one of my main reasons for visiting. 

I started speaking once more. “Still... Want. To be an adventurer... But. But... Cannot. Go to guild...” 

“You’d be hunted down, wouldn’t you? Hmm... Then how about I go and get your quests and turn your collected items in? That’s why you came to see me, right? And, of course...you wish to stay here, having no other place to go.” 

With those words alone, Lorraine had correctly deduced my entire request. As expected, she knew me all too well. 

However, her eagerness at accepting my proposition left me worried. 

“Are... You sure?” I couldn’t help but ask. 

“I don’t really mind. Even I go to the adventurer’s guild sometimes, so it isn’t too much of a hassle if you think about it. Ahh... But then, even if I told you I’d do it for free, you wouldn’t really like it, right? So... You might as well help me out with my research, then.” 

Lorraine’s response was swift. 

“Re... Search. Research... Huh.” 

I had imagined such an outcome. It was perhaps more accurate to say that I was here precisely because of this line of thought. I had, after all, become a member of the walking dead. At the very least, I’d be of use to Lorraine’s monster research. But I didn’t think of exactly how I would go about accomplishing this. 

As if reading my thoughts, Lorraine continued her explanation. 

“Don’t worry about it; it’s easy. You know what I study, right?” 

“Monsters... And... Magic...?” 

“Yes, verily so. It just so happens that the topic of Existential Evolution falls neatly within the boundaries of my research. Realistically, I also haven’t been able to research this topic very much, for obvious reasons... But now you’re here, Rentt. A real-life specimen, a treasure trove of information.” 

“...I don’t... Mind. But... I don’t... Want to be... Dissected.” 

“Hey, now, I know I get pretty deep into my research, but I’m not some mad scientist, you know. Well...maybe some skin and flesh samples wouldn’t hurt...” 

“...” 

It occurred to me that Lorraine was mad enough for such a title. However, I kept my thoughts to myself...for now. It would be troubling if my refusal to hand over samples overturned our prior agreement. 

I was, however, surprised to find that there was insufficient research on the topic of Existential Evolution. Though I did not know much apart from the basics, I assumed that professional scholars and the like would have much more information than I did. 

At that, Lorraine said the following: 

“Yes, yes. Occasionally we get cooperative monster tamers who help us advance our research, somehow. But then, said tamers are rare—at least, as rare as the skill itself already is. To make things worse, monsters that have been completely tamed seem to no longer evolve. Requesting them to exercise the full extent of their abilities and bring back a relatively unharmed specimen is very difficult to begin with. Of course, after that comes the question of research rights and fees... It’s a very difficult process, you know?” 

It would seem like that was the case. 

Once again reading my thoughts, Lorraine went on to explain the many ways in which I could be of assistance. 

“First things first: it is impossible to get verbal consent and civilized agreement from a monster. Also, you have already experienced Existential Evolution once before. In other words, you have a high chance of going through the process again. If you could report to me when it happens, that would be very helpful. Although... I suppose your circumstances make it difficult for me to publish my research. But my curiosity needs to be sated, and I suppose you want to know more about yourself, too.” 

“Know... More? About... Myself?” 

“Yes, specifically about the evolutionary routes you would take from here on out, and so forth. Of course, I will lend you my knowledge and converge my thoughts with yours when appropriate. You may know a lot more about monsters than the average adventurer due to you having read most of my books, but I do this for a living, you know. You’ll benefit from my research—without a doubt.” 

Having obtained the title of “Great Professor” at the young age of 14, Lorraine Vivie felt, from the bottom of her heart, an unbridled sense of boredom in this world. 

She was referred to as a genius ever since she was young, and that changed little as she grew older, having been admitted into the kingdom’s most prestigious educational institution at the age of ten. She then went on to achieve the title of “Professor” at 12, and that of “Great Professor” at 14. To Lorraine, there weren’t many things in the world that were left unexplained. Even if there was a subject she did not know much of, a brief period of study saw her understand much more than specialist researchers who had studied the topic for years. 

For Lorraine, the world was very, very boring. Perhaps this was the reason behind what she had done. 

One day, without any warning or prior notice, Lorraine abandoned everything and traveled to one of the most rural kingdoms in the land—the Kingdom of Yaaran. Her destination was not the capital, however, but the smaller, somehow even more rural, town of Maalt. It was there that she had settled. 

Lorraine had her reasons for doing so. She had specifically gone to Maalt in search of a medicinal herb that could not be found anywhere else. Intending to pick it by her own hand, she ended up moving to Maalt as a result. 

Although she could have simply put up a request and sent one adventurer or another to find the herb, Lorraine was truly and utterly bored. She desired some sort of excitement in her life, so this was the very reason why she held the unreasonable notion of deciding to go find, and thereupon pick, the herb herself. 

It was very much an absurd sentiment—anyone would be worried if the youngest and, historically, most talented adolescent girl worthy of a “Professor” title suddenly vanished into thin air without any trace. 

Lorraine’s rivals at the time, who were at least four times her age, frantically searched the imperial capital for her. It’s perhaps difficult to imagine just how worried the scientific authorities in question were. Of course, with the passing of a decade, even Lorraine herself was aware of how childish her actions had been back then. Even so, such concerns were hardly on her mind at that age. 

Although gifted at her studies, Lorraine was but a child at the time, and she didn’t know much of the world outside her books. Fortunately, there was someone who had taught her exactly what that world was—a youth adventuring in Maalt at the time, going by the name of Rentt Faina. 

It all began during a search of the forested areas surrounding Maalt—a search in which Lorraine had met Rentt for the very first time. 

Although Lorraine already held the title of “Great Professor” at the age of 14, there was another requirement to obtain the title in addition to the academic achievements. Specifically, one also had to have a certain level of magic proficiency. As such, one would be required to use magic, and use it well. By the standards of the guild, that level of proficiency would be seen in a Silver-class mage. 

That classification and rank, however, was not equivalent to a Silver-class adventurer, but instead only took into account one’s aptitude for magic and spell casting. Under normal circumstances, a Silver-class mage would probably also be an adventurer with a proportionate amount of experience. But Lorraine’s case was slightly different. Due to her academic nature and fields of study, she had reached a similar level of magical aptitude without ever setting foot in the field. 

While an individual with such a history could never hope to become a full-fledged mage due to a lack of combat experience, Lorraine was blessed—or perhaps cursed in this aspect—by having already wielded the required aptitude due to her talents. Even though she lacked any sort of combat experience, she was able to wield various magical spells instinctively, and eventually learned many of the spells in the Silver-class category. 

At the time, Lorraine was faced with a particular conundrum: she needed permission from the guild to enter a certain area for the express purpose of collecting ingredients. As such, she visited the guild in hopes of registering herself so that she could collect the required herbs. The receptionist at the time, however, did not pay much heed to her and had assumed from her title of “Great Professor” that she was a Silver-class adventurer in some capacity, hence registering her as such. Although adventurer registration was something that could only be done if the individual in question was over the age of 15, Lorraine’s title superseded her age, so it was prioritized during her registration. 

Strictly speaking, the handling of Lorraine’s registration process was riddled with errors. While it was true that she held the title of “Great Professor,” the guild’s ruling on age restrictions always came first. 

Yet this ruling came with a somewhat persistent problem in its semantics. The general consensus or assumption of the guild and its members with regards to the title of “Great Professor” was simple: such a title could not possibly be earned by someone under the age of 15. The writers of the rule did not think to account for such a possibility. The problem was further exacerbated by the actions of the receptionist, who had made various assumptions regarding said situation. 

It was also worth noting that this particular rule was still very much intact and unchanged. Due to this, someone under the age of 15 could end up able to register as an adventurer—at least, they would if they held the title of “Great Professor.” 

Although Lorraine herself thought that there were some issues with the process, she was not about to tell the receptionist how to do their job, and as such, she kept quiet on the matter. Due to the previously mentioned circumstances, she found herself holding a shining Silver adventurer’s permit, and with that, was about to set off for her destination in a relatively happy mood. 

Lorraine’s aim was self-explanatory: she was going to make a little money for herself, in addition to collecting the herb that she had originally come to get. 

A voice, however, called out to her before she stepped out of the guild’s doors. Turning around without much of a second thought, Lorraine was greeted by a large, muscled, and somewhat peculiar-looking swordsman. 

“Hey, young miss... You took that Azuul Forest quest, didn’t you? Then bring this guy along—he’ll at least carry your stuff.” Saying so, the swordsman jovially pushed a young man toward her. 

Although Lorraine didn’t think much of it at the time, this was in fact a huge turning point in her life, as this young man was none other than Rentt Faina. 

Of course, the swordsman knew that Lorraine would have her reservations; recommending an adventurer to another in this fashion was not something that happened every day after all. As such, the swordsman readily offered an explanation for his actions. 

“Y’see... This guy here is still kinda new. He wants to gain all sorts of experience and usually follows me into the forest to collect ingredients. But then, y’see, I’m busy today—something else on the schedule—so I’ve been searching for someone else to take him out for a bit now. That’s when you came along, young miss... So, what do you say? Not a bad deal, right? He’ll carry your stuff.” 

Quite the sudden development. It wasn’t exactly common practice to bring along someone one has never seen before on adventuring trips. Judging from the conversation, the youth in question was probably Bronze-class or lower. In other words, they would be nothing more than a hindrance to her, a (newly-christened) Silver-class adventurer. 

Just as she was about to refuse, the strange swordsman, once again displaying his telepathic faculties, interrupted Lorraine. 

“Hah, don’t worry about it—I won’t even ask you for a hiring fee! Just bring this fool along with you. The quest you accepted just now was a gathering assignment, right? If you bring him along your rewards will only go up—more hands, y’see. Of course, you get to keep everything... And he’s going to carry all of it for you. So, y’see. Come on, young miss. Throw me a bone here.” 

The swordsman was pushy—very much so. He showed no signs of backing down from his outlandish request. And so it came to be that Lorraine, having no choice but to nod, ended up taking a youth she hardly knew along on her assignment. Little did she know, however, that she would soon be thanking this very youth from the bottom of her heart. 

The Azuul Forest was large, stretching out as far as the eye could see. In fact, it was a bastion of nature, home to all kinds of flora and fauna. Lorraine, having gleaned all of her knowledge from books, knew of the forest to some degree. Seeing it in person, though, was another experience altogether, the many differences between what she saw and what she read about continuing to fascinate her. 

That being said, Lorraine was not doing too well in her trek through the forest, as she had hardly covered any ground. The problem was not exactly a lack of stamina—if anything, stamina shouldn’t be a problem for a 14-year-old. Plus, Lorraine had strengthened her body with various enhancement spells. 

Unknown to Lorraine, however, there were basic techniques and insights with regards to traversing forested terrain—specifically, it was knowledge she did not have. Lorraine found herself getting increasingly tired as she waded through the brush, her stamina seemingly being sapped away by the forest itself with every step. 

Conversely, the Bronze-class youth accompanying her, while much lower in adventurer rank, did not seem tired at all. Conjuring up water from seemingly nowhere, he offered a cup of it to Lorraine, who was currently resting due to her exertions. 

Glancing at the youth, Lorraine noticed that his tool belt, having previously been empty, was now filled with medicinal herbs of all sorts that he must have been gathering from somewhere or another while she wasn’t looking. At her request, the youth handed over some of the herbs to her. It didn’t take long for a scholar such as herself to notice that each and every one of the herbs had been harvested correctly and methodologically. 

Although she had ordered herbs of all kinds from apothecaries and the like before, she did not recall seeing herbs prepared to this degree, nor with such skill. Such was also the case when they encountered monsters. 

Up until this point in her life, where she had decided to wander into a forest in search of herbs, Lorraine had not fought monsters in any shape or form. Of course, as a “Great Professor,” her magic had more than enough power to dispose of the average monster. But seeing as how she was usually accompanied by a companion or escort on her travels, she hardly had any chance to use her magic, as the monster would have already been defeated by the time she had even thought of doing so. 

This was perhaps why Lorraine had simply stood and stared blankly when faced with a monster. Barring the youth with her, she was alone this time around. It was only at this point that Lorraine realized just how ferocious monsters could be. 

Her mind was in a daze—she knew that she had to fight, that she had to cast a spell of some sort. Her body, however, did not move. 

It was then that the voice of the youth rang out, snapping her out of her stupor. 

“Lorraine! A fireball! Foteia Borivaas! Use it!” 

If not for what Rentt had shouted, Lorraine would have stood eternally frozen, and that might have been the end of her then and there. But instructions were given, and she followed them through. Indeed, she seemed little more than a puppet during the course of this incident. 

As the charred remains of what was once a monster continued smoking in the aftermath of Lorraine’s magic, she was once more found to be standing still, a vacant expression splashed across her features. Rentt, upon discovering that she had little to no combat experience, decided to impart upon her various details about monsters, combat techniques, and common movement patterns of said monsters while in battle. 

Lorraine was wise; in fact, she was much wiser than any run-of-the-mill mage. As such, she quickly absorbed the knowledge that Rentt had to offer, absorbing it all at an astonishing speed. She was, however, only able to do this due to his intervention in her first battle, and she had fully come to realize this. 

It was the same way in learning the details of her assignment—namely, the retrieval of certain medicinal herbs. According to her books, the herbs were quite common despite the fact that they only grew in certain places. Due to this, the herb would not be very difficult to find at all. 

But reality was very different, as Lorraine found herself empty-handed. After half an hour of searching, she couldn’t help but be disappointed with their big discovery being a single herb, only one of the many required for her quest. Frustrated with the state of affairs, she mentally noted that she would give the author of the book she studied a good punch the next time she met them. 

Yet despite all this, and Lorraine’s increasing frustration, Rentt, who had been walking behind her all this time, simply smiled wryly as the herbs in his tool belt’s bag continued to grow. Turning around, Lorraine realized the herbs he collected had doubled since she last checked—and amongst them were entire bunches of the herbs she had been tasked to collect. 

It turned out the book’s author was right. Lorraine had merely failed to notice the herbs in question when passing through the marked locations. At that, she finally realized just how little she knew of the world. 

Lorraine then requested that Rentt demonstrate and educate her on a variety of topics: from the basics of combat and adventuring, to the picking and preservation of herbs, to finding where said herbs grew. Rentt, for his part, happily obliged. And so the pair eventually returned in the evening, somehow completing Lorraine’s assignment on time. 

It wasn’t until later that Lorraine was informed of the truth from the strange swordsman. He, understanding that she had no combat experience just from her movements and equipment (or lack thereof), had intended for Rentt to function as her guide. Surprised at the development, she couldn’t help but ask if the adventurer’s guild took such great care of each and every new adventurer. However, this was not the case, as Rentt, who had been stationed at the tavern at the time, had simply taken notice of her. Discussing the matter with his swordsman companion, Rentt realized that Lorraine would probably not come back alive if she were allowed out into the wild as she was. This was why the two had hatched a plan to approach her, introducing Rentt as someone to carry her bags so as to avoid hurting her pride. 

While Lorraine had felt that their little scheme was troublesome and, to some extent, time-consuming, she was grateful for their intervention—it had ultimately saved her life. Once again, she realized just how constrained her knowledge of the world was, since she had barely seen anything beyond her books, or her fingertips. 

Lorraine once fancied herself a master of knowledge—understanding the known, and counting the known unknowns easily in her mind, while also accounting for the unknown unknowns that she might one day come across. 

In reality, though, Lorraine didn’t know very much at all—and that was all there was to it. In the end, it was Rentt who had taught her, and she who had subsequently learned from Rentt’s adventuring experience. 

Lorraine found herself staying in the town of Maalt after that incident. For the first time in her life, she saw color—where things had once been gray and boring, it was now filled with joy. For the first time, Lorraine found it difficult to leave a place—specifically, the town of Maalt. 

But Lorraine already belonged to another place, as she was only in Maalt for an assignment, a mere task. After many requests and communiqués from the capital begging for her return, Lorraine finally made up her mind: 

She would return to the capital—and then, she would once more set off for the town of Maalt. This time, she would be without regrets or loose ends. 

To begin with, scholars were allowed a relatively free life—she did not necessarily have to be in the capital to continue her studies. This was why Lorraine had returned to the capital, settling various affairs and matters that required her attention, all the while planning to return to Maalt after everything was said and done. 

Upon returning to the capital, however, Lorraine was surprised to find that what she’d previously seen as lifeless and gray was instead the exact opposite. Opening her eyes, she saw that her colleagues and friends at the capital were worried for her, and it was then that she realized her position at the capital was more than an empty chair—people truly cared. That was, once again, something she only realized after her meeting with Rentt. 

If anything, adventuring with Rentt in and of itself opened her eyes to the world, and Lorraine herself understood that. 

Despite all that, yet again, Lorraine found herself pining for the town of Maalt. Although she wasn’t necessarily elated in leaving her colleagues and friends, both old and new, behind at the capital, she felt like she had no choice. 

As expected, her announcement was met with a sea of disappointed faces, but in the end, Lorraine’s friends and colleagues relented. Perhaps it was because they realized that something about her was different—that her will, this time of all times, would not be so easily shaken. 

In exchange for her request, however, there was one condition: Lorraine was to return to the capital once every year. In turn, she was given permission to stay in Maalt, establishing her own facility there for scholarly pursuits. This arrangement allowed for her to forge new connections in Maalt as she continued her research, publishing her findings on an annual basis. This would also maintain a line of contact between herself and the capital. 

Promising to do her part with a casual wave, Lorraine finally moved from the capital, doing as she said she would. Summarily, she bought a house in the town of Maalt and continued her research in her spare time. It was then, however, that her slovenly nature finally reared its ugly head. 

Although Lorraine’s passion and love for research was true, as reflected by her relentless pursuit of knowledge, her punctuality with regards to communications left much to be desired. While she had initially been relatively punctual with correspondences, that would quickly prove to be more of the exception than the norm. 

While missives from the capital always arrived on time, Lorraine found herself hard-pressed to respond. Even her promise to return to the capital once a year soon fell to the sidelines, as year after year passed with Lorraine occasionally entertaining the notion here and there. Before she knew it, she had tasked Rentt with replying to her letters and planning her homecoming trips. 

The reason for this was somewhat simple—one of Lorraine’s friends from the capital, understanding the futility of the entire venture, had written to Rentt, asking him to take care of Lorraine to the best of his ability. It would seem that the friend in question knew Lorraine and her tendencies well. 

In reality, Lorraine depended on Rentt from the very start—everything from purchasing her house to her living arrangements was casually left to him, who took care of more than half of the overall procedures. Rentt taught Lorraine various kinds of life skills, often repeating himself until she, too, was able to take care of herself in a reasonable way. Should she fall behind on her duties, Rentt, on one of his many visits, would sort things out for her. 

But this was not exactly something Rentt had done for free. In exchange for his domestic help and assistance with other affairs, Lorraine taught Rentt a great deal of things from her end of the table. 

For all her faults, Lorraine was still a “Great Professor” and scholar. More accurately, she was one of the best scholars when all things were said and done. In other words, while Rentt would have normally had to pay a handsome fee for a tutor of Lorraine’s caliber, he instead did all her housework and chores, receiving the lessons in return as payment. 

Rentt did not set out with this in mind, however— 

For starters, he knew little of Lorraine’s history. He had only inferred as such from tidying up her fallen books, with Lorraine explaining the rest after his initial questions. While Lorraine did not exactly lie, she didn’t really tell Rentt much about her past, either—specifically not about how she had abandoned her fancy life in the capital to live in Maalt, or how her friends had tried to stop her, or the fact that she still wielded some influence in the affairs of the kingdom, or about the fact that she was one of the best scholars in the land. 

Thankfully, the person she was speaking with was Rentt. Although she wasn’t sure if he believed her explanation, Rentt didn’t dig further, and he left matters as they were. 

Ten years would eventually pass. Lorraine, for her part, was happy with the arrangement. She was content, and she wished that it could go on forever—perhaps, at least, up until her death. 

If Rentt wanted to continue adventuring, that was fine. She was content with just watching and standing by his side. In fact, Lorraine was all right doing her research, as she always did, with Rentt close by. She was fond of the meals they sometimes shared while talking about mundane affairs—she did not have the slightest suspicion or doubt that these days wouldn’t continue indefinitely. 

But one day, Rentt Faina disappeared. 

Lorraine was filled with a foreboding sense of apprehension, as it was unlike Rentt to not show up for several days in a row. Thoughts of him falling to monsters filled her mind. If that were indeed the case... 

Lorraine found her heart filled with a swirling chaos. It was a violent force—one that she’d never felt before. She very much wanted to patrol the streets, shouting Rentt’s name as she searched—that was how she felt. 

In her bright and logical mind, however, Lorraine quickly realized the futility of such a venture. If such a method proved fruitless, one would simply have to change the methods at hand. It would be prudent to ask other adventurers to search for him; money was of no import. She did, after all, have a fair amount of savings. 

Just as she was about to raise her quill, Lorraine was interrupted by a familiar sound from her door’s knocker—a familiar, rhythmic knocking... 

In her ten years of residing in the town of Maalt, Lorraine had many, many friends and had forged quite a few connections. It was possible that her visitor could be one of these many friends. However, there was something else about this sound—something different. 

Lorraine, with her typically inquisitive mind, quickly discerned the special characteristics of this knock’s rhythm. There was no mistaking it. Only one person knocked in this particular way— 

Rentt Faina. 

With that thought in mind, Lorraine wanted to rush out to be sure that it was indeed him—but that would no doubt be seen as strange. In any case, Rentt lived. That much was enough for her. 

Yet Lorraine couldn’t help but notice something else. In all his years of vising, Rentt had rarely knocked. The fact that he was currently knocking meant that something was wrong—or at the very least, different. Under normal circumstances, Rentt would probably enter on his own after a while—that was how it had always been. This was the reason why Lorraine decided to meet him as she usually would. There was just one problem, however: 

She was usually asleep on her sofa by this time of day. 

With that in mind, Lorraine decided to do just that. Running her hands through her hair to give herself a frazzled appearance, Lorraine lay down haphazardly upon the sofa and closed her eyes. 

It was then that a familiar click resounded through the room—the doorknob had been turned. With the approaching footsteps came a familiar voice... 

“...Hey... Hey. Wake up.” 

Ever since then, Lorraine had been visiting the guild on my behalf, handing over ingredients and magic crystals that I ended up gathering on my trips through the dungeon. She was, of course, provided with gold for those materials. While I once had to save religiously and monitor my expenses, I now found my pockets considerably heavy. 

In the end, Lorraine herself purchased the vial of slime fluid from me—for a pretty sum of coin, at that. Although it was a somewhat valuable ingredient to the guild, there were no rules dictating who I could sell my spoils to. That was up to the discretion of each adventurer. 

Lorraine was somewhat skilled in alchemy to begin with, and she often made her own medicines and potions. In return, she needed a variety of materials to work with, and it just so happened that I was carrying one of those ingredients—an expensive ingredient, I may add—for which she paid a fair price. In fact, buying direct from the source resulted in a cost savings for Lorraine, who usually had to buy it at elevated prices from the adventurer’s guild. 

But that aside, it’s perhaps noteworthy to mention that I was currently walking around the streets of Maalt. While I did want to bask in the atmosphere of the town, having been away for what felt like a long time, I didn’t exactly set off on a stroll without purpose. 

I did indeed have a purpose. An important one, actually—I was on my way to purchase a weapon. After all, I’d been using the same weapons and armor I had used in life, right up until I evolved into a ghoul. I was actually still using them now, but said weapons and armor were now battered, perhaps irreversibly. Although this sword had served me faithfully for many years in life, recent changes to my physique and internal reservoirs of mana and the like had taken a toll on its surface. The sword was now jagged and visibly damaged. 

Perhaps that was a given. I had used the spirit arts only once a day and never even thought of infusing my weapons and armor with divinity or magic. Due to those considerations, I’d mostly purchased cheap equipment. Considering the fact that I had been using magic, spirit, and divinity repeatedly over the past few days, the resultant toll on the blade was to be expected. It was unfortunate, yes, but there was nothing much I could have done about it. 

While I had intended to use it for one more year, I did not have any other weapons on me, so my continued abuse of the weapon resulted in the current situation. It was truly a tragedy. 

The combination of various factors, such as the overall increase in my abilities resulting in more efficient monster hunting, to Rina returning my change after purchasing my robes, and even my resultant sale of monster materials, it all contributed to one thing—I was now considerably well-off. So much so that now would be a very good time for me to invest in a new weapon. 

I made a mental note to hold off on the armor, though. After all, measurements were required for the creation of such equipment—something that necessitated the removal of my robe. 

It was not like I had a fear of being naked; it’s not like I’m a young girl. But I had my reasons. In some ways, it would terrify me even more than it would a young girl to show any kind of skin. I mean, how could I calmly show my ghoulish, half-dried body to a living person? 

No, it was impossible. ...Perhaps only to those I trusted. 

At this point in time, the only one I could trust in such a way was Lorraine... This was largely because of her nature and how she tended to not care about the smaller details in life. 

This wasn’t just a matter of trust—if my identity and state of being as a ghoul were to be discovered, there was no telling what would happen to me. As such, it was difficult for me to show myself to anyone but Lorraine at this time. This was the reason why I only set out to purchase a sword today. 

Finally reaching my destination, I looked up at the shop’s familiar signboard. Then, with a deep breath, I steeled my resolve, and entered through its doors. 

“Welcome! ...Huh?” The voice of a woman greeted me as I entered the shop. 

The shop in question was none other than the local blacksmith, better known as the “Three-Pronged Harpoon.” 

With her blonde hair, blue eyes, and demeanor befitting that of a noble lady, I had no idea why she saw fit to marry someone like Clope. Speaking of which, those very blue eyes were now trained upon my being. Perhaps my robed and skull-masked appearance was a little bit too suspicious. While adventurers sporting masks were not exactly unusual, my exact combination of clothing unfortunately made me stand out. 

As I continued ruminating, Luka slowly approached, as if to say something to her odd-looking customer. 

“...Apolo...gies. For looking... Suspicious...” 

“Oh, no! Not at all.” Luka quickly shook her head at my words. “It’s just that... You look somewhat similar to a person I know. My apologies. Masked adventurers are not much of an oddity, at least to my knowledge. I apologize if my gaze has made you uncomfortable.” 

Such was Luka’s apology. I suppose she was used to customers like me after all. 

With that, Luka continued speaking. “...Which brings me to my question: how may I help you today? Have you come to the ‘Three-Pronged Harpoon’ to purchase weapons or equipment? Or, perhaps you were seeking maintenance and service?” 

“Y... Yes. I would... Like. A new... Sword. H... Here.” Saying so, I placed my sword, scabbard and all, onto the shop’s counter. 

Without explaining my intent, Luka quickly understood the meaning of my gesture. 

“But of course. Excuse me, please.” With that, Luka promptly drew the sword from its sheathe, examining it closely. 

Although she was the wife of Clope, the resident blacksmith of this store, Luka also played an important role in customer service and interaction. As befitting her position, she was armed with an adequate knowledge of identifying various weapons, in addition to evaluating their quality and degree of wear. In fact, I’d heard that Luka herself could even forge simple items. 

After a short inspection, Luka offered her assessment, her eyes still fixated on my sword’s battered blade. 

“I’m afraid this may be beyond repair. From my observations, I would say this piece of equipment has been utilized to the best of its potential. Would you happen to have any preferences for its replacement? I see marks and straining characteristics of magic and the spirit arts... Is this indeed the case?” 

Identifying what abilities a weapon’s owner had simply by looking at its scuff marks was no small feat—Luka was truly capable of this much. 

I decided to honestly tell her the extent of my abilities, mainly due to the fact that I wasn’t exactly trying to hide anything to begin with. 

“Ah... Yes. Magic... Spirit... Divinity. I use... Them all. So I would... Like. A sword... That can channel... All three.” 

“...Thrice-blessed... I see. How very rare indeed. You’re the second customer I’ve seen with such a disposition.” 

“If... Possible. Could you... Keep it a... Secret?” 

“Of course—loose lips would sink an establishment like ours. But...with that being said, the nature of this order would result in...considerable fees, in addition to taking quite a few days to forge. Would that be acceptable...?” 

I had assumed as much. Individuals who could use all three of these abilities were rare in the first place—almost unheard of, actually. Perhaps one would have met one or two in their lifetime—but a third would be highly unusual. 

It therefore went without saying that an adequate amount of time must be spent crafting a weapon for such an individual. As a matter of fact, blacksmiths such as these commonly crafted weapons for those who used magic or the spirit arts. 

Those who could use divinity, on the other hand, were comparatively rare. Priests and the like often had specialist shops they favored, as opposed to the common blacksmith. Because of all this, the nature of my order made it a rarity in and of itself— 

But I was mentally prepared for the expenditure. 

“I... Don’t... Mind. But... This is... All I have...” I grasped my coin purse, placing it firmly upon the shop counter. 

It was filled with a considerable amount of gold and silver coins—this coin purse basically held my entire fortune. (Though it’s worth noting that it probably wasn’t worth very much at all to high-ranking adventurers.) 

Confirming the pouch’s contents, Luka started explaining the payment process. “...This is more than enough for us to forge a quality piece. With regards to payment, we’ll gladly take half for it now, as a deposit. The other half will be collected when the weapon is ready.” 

“Is that... All right?” 

It was a very special order after all. To tell the truth, the materials involved would probably cost a small fortune. 

“Yes, very much so. In return—well, not quite, but a favor, if you will. Could you please have a few words with my husband, Clope? He’s the blacksmith of this shop, and he’ll definitely want a word with you, given his character. To tell the truth, he’ll probably call for your input quite a lot during the forging process.” 

I had known Clope for quite a long time since becoming an adventurer. Needless to say, I was also familiar with his personality and quirks. He was serious about his work, even if it was just a common sword, let alone a special order. He would surely have me test the blade over and over again as he continued to forge it—I knew Clope all too well. This was why I half-expected what Luka had to say, and I promptly nodded at her words. 

“I... Do not. Mind. When... He needs. Me. Contact... Scholar... Lorraine.” 

I explained to Luka that Lorraine had kindly allowed me the use of her abode while I was in the town of Maalt. At those words, Luka’s eyes widened, more than they ever had before. That was, however, quickly replaced by a well-practiced smile. 

“Oh, of course. I understand. Well, then, first, I’ll return this to you...” Removing half of its contents, Luka picked up my coin pouch and handed it back to me. 

“I am sure Clope will have many questions for you regarding the new sword you wish to have forged.” 

And with that, Luka led me to the back of the shop, into the smithing chambers. 

The back of the store, where I had been led, contained the smithing chambers: forge, blacksmith, hot steam, and all. As expected, a muscle-clad but somewhat slim man was swinging his hammer calmly and methodically, striking red-hot metal over, and over again. I steeled myself—he was impossible to talk to when he was like this. 

As if reading my mind, Luka had a similarly penitent explanation to offer. “...I do apologize. You may have to wait for quite a while... He’ll be ready to speak in, oh, say, an hour. It might be better if you spent your time at another establishment while waiting...” 

A truly apologetic expression. 

Perhaps a first-time customer might be taken aback at these developments. I, however, was not, having known Clope for so many years. It was a quirk of his to fall into an almost trance-like state when he was hammering out a weapon; that’s just how he was. 

Of course, speaking to him in this state was impossible. In fact, Clope was so focused that any interruptions might simply be met with a single swing of his hammer. It was better for all parties involved to simply wait for him to put his hammer down after reaching one point of progress or other. Again, I was by no means unfamiliar with the proceedings at the Three-Pronged Harpoon. 

“...No. I do not... Mind. Can I... Wait, here. Instead?” 

“Of course, that’s quite all right, but...would that be acceptable? Nothing of interest really happens here. Do you not find it boring?” Luka asked, seemingly curious about my decision. 

“Watching... Black... Smith. At work. Not... Boring.” I replied. 

A slight expression of surprise once again flitted across Luka’s face before quickly being replaced by her business-as-usual smile. 

“In that case, there’s a chair in that corner from which you can closely watch the process. I shall bring refreshments—do excuse me.” Saying so, Luka left the room. 

Honestly speaking, my decision to stay was not an act of any kind. I genuinely enjoyed watching skilled individuals perform their work. I found that those who were at all skilled at their craft had a sort of flow and rhythm to their work—it was something one could feel just by spectating. 

Clope was, for his part, unmistakably an extremely skilled blacksmith, and one could feel a sense of fluid beauty in the various aspects of his work. There was no way I could find such a spectacle boring—no way, indeed. 

After what seemed to be a considerable amount of time, the rhythmic clanging of metal finally stopped, dispersing along with the intangible cloud of tension that had been hanging over the smithing chambers for the past hour. 

Clope held up the sword he’d been working on and slowly smiled. It was plain to see from his expression that this was a piece he was very satisfied with. I, too, felt that it was a thing worth celebrating. At that moment, though, Clope turned around to face me. 

“My bad. Kept you waiting, huh?” 

From Clope’s words, I could see that he had indeed noticed my presence. He was merely too focused in his work to greet me. A first-time customer would probably offer a complaint or two at this point. But the nature of his work meant that it couldn’t simply be stopped midway through—I, for one, had no qualms with that. 

This was why I answered: “...Not.. At all. I don’t... Mind. It was... Interesting.” 

Upon hearing my words, Clope smiled. “And here I was thinking it’s pretty rare for Luka to bring someone in here... Seems like you’re an interesting guy.” 

Clope’s expression was more befitting a battle-worn warrior staring down an adversary with an unfaltering smile—as opposed to that of a typical blacksmith. His facial features, however, indicated that he was a little more ahead in his years; somewhere in his forties would be a good estimate. 

Though he looked quite a bit older than Luka, in truth, the two were not that far apart in their years. Of course, I hadn’t asked them this up front. It was more of a conclusion I’d gleaned from Clope’s statements across the years. Particularly telling was the one where he claimed Luka was his childhood friend, hence my assumption. 

Although the practice of directly asking for someone’s age wasn’t non-existent, it proved extremely difficult to pose such a question when faced with the pressure emanating from Luka’s unfaltering smile. Basically, one would probably not find out even if they had asked her directly. 

“I... Don’t know... About being interesting. But I... Was told. You could forge... Me. A sword.” 

“Oh, would you like a piece specially order-made? There are many swords already displayed out front, though... And they’re all high-quality pieces, I can attest to that. Instead of an expensive custom order, maybe you’ll find one that fits you if you looked around?” 

Clope was a blunt man, and one of not too many words. While someone who was unfamiliar with him would simply assume that he was turning down my request, the reality was quite different. Clope was only concerned about customers unnecessarily spending copious amounts of money. 

With his sharp eyes and occasionally intimidating expression, it would seem like Clope could make someone cry just by looking at them. To make things worse, half of his statements sounded like threats or expressions of displeasure. But I knew better than anyone else that Clope, contrary to his appearance and mannerisms, was actually a very gentle person. This was why I answered in kind, not intimidated by his mannerisms in the slightest. 

“The... Blades... You have. Up front... At the store. Cannot... Handle. Divin...ity.” 

“Divi...? Oh, divinity! What, you a practitioner of the holy arts? You don’t seem like a priest to me. If you are, wouldn’t you have a specific smithy you go to?” 

Indeed, it was like Clope said. I did not, for all intents and purposes, look anything remotely close to a priest. If anything, I seemed to be the direct opposite of one—yet, with things as they were, I had no choice but to fully explain myself. 

“Not... A priest. I also... Use. Magic... And... Spirit arts.” 

“What... You mean you’re one of them thrice-blessed...? Huh, I see. All right. Well, then... Seems like you can’t use any of those out front. That’s why Luka brought you to me, huh. You have the money for this?” 

“The... Person. At the front. Told me I had... Enough for... The order.” 

“Hmm. If Luka says so... All right, I get it. Well, then, this may be sudden, but let’s get down to it. About the fees, too.” 

Saying so, Clope retrieved a chair from a corner of his workshop, lifting it by one of its legs. Placing it at a small table, the blacksmith and I finally started our discussion. 

“...Well, that about settles it. All that’s left are the finer details... I’ll send word when I need you, that good?” Clope said after finalizing the calculations involved in the weapon’s overall cost. 

“I don’t... Mind.” I nodded in response. 

“All right, then we have a deal. Look forward to working with you and all that, yeah?” With that, Clope stuck out his hand. 

A handshake—but of course. 

For a second, I hesitated. These hands were the hands of an undead—they were dirty. I felt like it would be a big problem for anyone to touch them. 

But that hesitation didn’t last very long at all. After all, I couldn’t simply discuss my circumstances or my new fate as a member of the walking dead with Clope. Instead, I just responded as normally as I could, gripping Clope’s hand with a firm shake. 

“I... Leave it. In... Your hands.” 

And that was all I could say. 

The customer stepped through the doors, and then, he was gone. He was certainly a strange one, dressed in a robe weaved from the darkness of night. On his face sat a skull-shaped mask, white as bone, seemingly made in the land of the dead itself. But the most unsettling thing about him was how much he reminded me of a youth who, just up until recently, often frequented our establishment. 

But then... 

“Hey, Luka. What’s wrong? You have a weird face on.” 

Clope, my husband, and the blacksmith of this establishment—our establishment. With his usual rugged smile, he called out to me from behind, having finally exited his workshop. 

Turning around, I couldn’t help but say to him: “...You know, right? You know who that was...” 

Clope picked up where my words trailed off, as I couldn’t bring myself to finish that sentence. 

“Well... Yeah. Haven’t seen him on the streets or at the tavern recently... Thought he went somewhere, you know. Seems like he’s gotten himself into a bad spot...” 

“Why won’t he ask us for help? Does he not trust us?” 

Clope seemed to nod at my words—words that escaped from the depths of my heart, bearing a heavy hue of sadness. 

“Yeah, maybe... Hey. Hey, I was just joking! Joking.” 

I was ready to cry at those words, and the reaction was enough to jolt Clope out of his callous mood. He waved his hands somewhat dramatically, as if to dispel the notion. 

I stared at Clope. I wanted his opinion, not his horsing about. 

“...Well, see, maybe he doesn’t want to trouble us? Don’t know why he has that robe and mask on, but... Maybe he got cursed or something? You know, that stuff occasionally happens to adventurers.” 

“If he really did get cursed, detractors of our establishment will sure come crawling out of the woodwork. Well, people like that were always there in the first place.” 

“Or maybe he thinks we won’t recognize him, and we’d just tell him to scram because he’s cursed, you know. Maybe he just needs some time and will tell us later... Or something like that, see?” 

“What do you mean, ‘something like that’! You haven’t said anything of the sort to him, have you?!” 

“...Yeah,” Clope quickly answered, sensing the increasing amounts of pressure and distress in my words. “I don’t talk to random punks, you know. But that’s just how he is, see. He’s always been like that. ...It’s probably fine. We know he’s alive, so for now we’ll just let him do what he wants. He’ll tell us in time... He did give us enough hints about who he was, you know. I can’t be exactly sure, but maybe that’s all he can bring himself to do for now.... He did still visit, see. Like he used to.” 

Clope’s words were convincing. A thrice-blessed individual with free access to Lorraine’s house— 

That, already, was a large hint. 

It was unmistakable—he had intentionally given us that hint to tell us who he was. But even then... We still had no idea what exactly happened to him. It seemed like he couldn’t talk about it freely himself. 

But he came to us in search of a weapon—that in and of itself was indicative of the amount of trust he had for our establishment... And us. I felt like I understood the situation a little better now. 

“Yes... Yes, I suppose so,” I said, turning to my husband as I slowly rubbed away the tears in my eyes.