《Bow Craft - Ex-Assassin in a World of Hobbies》


 Chapters 1–3: The Agent’s Wish

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    Chapters 1¨C3: The Agent¡¯s Wish


    If love were alien, how would you confess it? You¡¯d know it was good; you¡¯d know it was wonderful; you¡¯d know the meaning of life itself was in your hands ¡ª but you wouldn¡¯t know where it had come from, where it was heading, nor what horrible things it might make you do.


    For the agent on the floor of a bullet hole-ridden workshop, bleeding ¡ª dying ¡ª crafting his final bow, it was stupid that he¡¯d have to deal with that kind of problem now. He¡¯d accepted dying at any time, but this? It was the first time he¡¯d felt the unknown so close to him. He had been in the bowels of infinite mazes, the torture chambers of resurrected pharaohs, and come face-to-face with horrors barely contained by human hands; all that, and yet his mind could not ponder why he would love anyone now.


    Knowing the answer to that was his greatest wish ¡ª and passing that answer to the one he loved would be his final one. Most would say he was too young to die, but with these thoughts, he thought he was right about old enough.


    The workshop was a dark, damp place. The only light was from thin sun shafts coming through a hundred bullet holes, all his handiwork and poor aim. He¡¯d missed enough times that he¡¯d had to rely on his body armor, but it had done nothing to stop the tree root that had shot towards him. Now, he was slumped against the legs of a chair, the root still in his gut.


    It had been a while since then; a minute, an hour, he didn¡¯t know. All he knew was it was getting colder. Already, his legs had grown numb; already, it was getting darker. His brain had at least given him the mercy of not processing the pain at all ¡ª at least that way, he could focus on finishing the bow.


    ¡°Show me that,¡± a young lady¡¯s voice said behind him, close to his ear. She had been watching his progress over his shoulder. He lifted the stave up to her, but it was hard; he couldn¡¯t feel his arms now. ¡°Terrible,¡± she remarked. ¡°Keep going.¡± He could only see the hem of her Spanish dress in the corner of his vision, but regardless, he could imagine her smile as she spoke.


    Keep going he did. He swept away the spent brass cartridges annoyingly littered around his legs, resting one end of the stave on his shoulder and the other on the floor. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been thinking,¡± he said. ¡°Hey, you still there?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°Hypothetically, what would you think ¡ª if I asked you to marry me?¡± He chuckled in saying that, trying to pass it off as a joke she shouldn¡¯t take seriously. He didn¡¯t take it seriously, himself ¡ª or was it more that he didn¡¯t want to? A part of him hoped she¡¯d say yes, and another tried to get him not to think about it at all.


    She coughed ugly. ¡°Terrible¡± ¡ª there was a pause ¡ª ¡°but I wouldn¡¯t say no.¡±


    His hands stopped. He began to laugh, but moving so much, some pain managed to bypass his brain¡¯s defenses, and he winced.


    The first pitter-patters of rain came knocking on the roof, soon pouring down. Water dripped onto their heads from the many pinky-sized holes of the old workshop¡¯s ceiling. It was raining, but why did the sun still shine? Maybe a god¡¯s getting married today ¡ª but what a cruel twist of fate.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± she asked.


    There was a burning sensation in his eyes and throat. ¡°Nothing,¡± he said. ¡°I was just thinking, maybe I should¡¯ve done it sooner.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you do it now?¡± she asked.


    Even while it rained, thin shafts of light shone in through the holes, not just from the ceiling, but through the walls, too, breaking up the dimness of the workshop into triangular slices. There used to be a sawhorse by the clamping desk, and even a rowboat hanging from the ceiling, but everything was in tatters. This was a place he used to find happiness in. Now, it was just a broken place.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m the kind of person who deserves it,¡± he said.


    The burning in his eyes flowed down his cheek, but before he could wipe them, two hands gently pulled his head back, and he was made to look up at the person most patient for him.


    A flower grew out of her head; it had always been there. It had once been a healthy Rafflesia, but now it was wilting, dying just like him.


    Seeing her, he struggled between choosing to smile or to frown. There was no one in the world who knew better how he felt and what he thought, and for a time in his life, he had forgotten all about how he was just some country¡¯s drone, just another name wiped from the registry then programmed to kill or be killed.


    No matter what a country did, however, a man was still an animal of emotion. He could be programmed to kill even someone he loved, but he could never be programmed not to be tortured over it for the rest of his life. Lucky for me that¡¯s not a long time, then.


    ¡°Craft,¡± she said. ¡°You aren¡¯t the only person who decides what you deserve.¡± She moved her hands to his shoulders. ¡°All you have to do is decide that you do, and I¡¯ll be there to affirm it with you.¡±


    He kept quiet, because he couldn¡¯t say it. He kept shaving away at the bow, hoping it would turn out alright. He kept shaving away, hoping an answer would arrive for him.


    Why does it take so long to die? Next thing he knew, there was nothing left to shave down. The stave had taken the shape of a bow of crooked cuts and flat faces. When he showed it to her, he asked, ¡°Is it okay?¡± ¡ª but she didn¡¯t answer.


    He looked up at her. Her hands were still on his shoulders. Her eyes were closed, the flower on her head, dried, yet her smile never disappeared from her face.


    He trembled. It was cold. He hated it here. Why did it take so long to die?


    ¡°Raffie,¡± he said. Maybe she could still hear him. Unmoving didn¡¯t yet mean gone. ¡°I wish I had the courage to tell you I love you. I¡¯m terrified you¡¯d open your eyes just to say the same thing back to me. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m ready to hear it. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m good enough to.¡±


    His eyes closed without permission. ¡°I¡¯m counting the bad things I¡¯ve done, Raffie,¡± he struggled to say, counting his seconds left. ¡°I just wish I¡¯ve done¡­enough good¡­for you.¡±


    Was it just him, or did the hands on his shoulders start to squeeze? Rigor mortis or Rafflesia¡¯s last act ¡ª he couldn¡¯t tell between the two.


    To be afraid she might say something, or to be lonely that she was gone; to be angry at himself for being a coward, or being vengeful against the world who¡¯d pit them against each other. He had all these feelings ¡ª and they all perished with him, all at once.


    ***


    His senses came back to him one by one, and he rued it. No time had passed at all between death and all these new sensations: the feel of cool air, the taste of his saliva, the smell of his sweat, and the sound of a singing woman.


    The voice soothed him, almost making him forget the last minute like it had all just been a bad dream, but he couldn¡¯t understand her lyrics ¡ª and he still couldn¡¯t forget. Why would he still be made to suffer?


    Finally, sight came back, and then he saw who it was. On a flat white plane was a woman in white robes and with silver hair, almost blending in with the white expanse around them. The air around them was just like a silver screen.


    While the woman continued to sing, he saw his memories being played in the air like a black-and-white movie on fast forward. Every achievement and failure, every moment that shaped his life, was naked for all to see ¡ª even the part where he traded blows and bullets with Rafflesia until they were both as good as dead.


    In the end, he couldn¡¯t tell her about the feeling that was just beginning to simmer in him, and he only had himself to blame. Was this the afterlife? Why was he here? Why did he still remember everything? If this was supposed to be heaven, he didn¡¯t want it. To whichever god put him here, he owed nothing.


    ¡°Hey,¡± the woman said softly. She had stopped singing, and the movie had stopped playing. Craft looked at her. Tears were building in her eyes. Were those for him? Why pity him?


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I took a look,¡± she said. ¡°You don¡¯t trust me, and I haven¡¯t given you any reason to. The best I can do is say my name¡¯s Enthusia. I just hope you¡¯d eventually trust me.¡±


    Craft still refused to look at her. She could do whatever she wanted with him. ¡°Whatever it is, just get it over with and let me die.¡±


    He might¡¯ve heard a gasp, but he didn¡¯t care.


    The woman steeled herself. ¡°I understand how your people view beings like me, like I¡¯m supposed to play with your life.¡± She paused. ¡°But that¡¯s not what I want, and it¡¯s not what I do. That¡¯s why, I hope you¡¯d take your time.¡±


    The scenery shifted, and they were no longer in an indeterminate plane. He and the woman were standing on a hill, and behind the woman was a gazebo with a tea table and seats for two.


    She gestured to a dirt path behind him, and when he looked, it led down to the foot of the hill where there was a cottage, tiny in the shade of a large tree.


    ¡°Rest however long you must.¡± She lowered her finger. ¡°You and I both know you don¡¯t know what to feel yet. Come to me when you do.¡± She seemed to hesitate to take her eyes off him, but she turned around and entered the gazebo, sitting down and drinking tea as if to end any other afternoon stroll, contenting herself with a view of the open plain beyond the hill.


    Craft turned towards the cottage. There was nothing in his mind.


    ¡°But if you haven¡¯t, and you need someone to talk to,¡± Enthusia called after him, ¡°I¡¯ll always be here.¡±


    Maybe.


    He started to hike down the hill, feeling like he was just in a passing dream. Just moments ago, he¡¯d resigned himself to death and a failed life, yet now, he was being left alone to recover from that.


    He stopped halfway down the path, turning around to look at the gazebo. The woman was still there, looking far off into the distance.


    Entering the cottage, there was a table, a bed, and a fireplace under a chimney. He found a hand bell and a note on the table:


    ¡ª If you need anything, ring and ask the angel who appears.


    Maybe not left alone. Whoever they were, they wanted him to talk to them ¡ª that much was obvious. He didn¡¯t have anything he cared about losing, so maybe he¡¯d oblige just to see if it would kill him ¡­ but he just couldn¡¯t do that right now.


    They were giving him time. If he overstayed his welcome, whatever the punishment was would be fine. He lied down on the bed, closing his eyes, hoping sleep might still take him as a dead man.


    ***


    Days passed, and there was nothing to do. The cottage had no books, no anything. He¡¯d resorted to doing calisthenics the other day, walking around with nothing more than a pair of boxers and a shirt. That got old pretty fast.


    He needed something to do. He needed something so he wouldn¡¯t beat himself up again. He was going a little crazy, too, though he found it a little funny he still found it in himself to care about that little detail.


    Today, he put on trousers and rang the bell.


    There was a knock on the door. That was fast. He hurried and opened it for his visitor ¡ª though, he couldn¡¯t say he was excited about meeting an angel. The ones he¡¯d met had all been horrifying-but-friendly or beautiful-but-arrogant¡­ Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have rung the bell.


    It was too late now; he¡¯d already pulled the door halfway open. As he steeled himself and opened it the rest of the way, he was shocked to find someone a little more approachable: her wings were courteously folded behind herself, and unlike most angels he knew, she wore a business suit and a pair of glasses with a thick frame, carrying a briefcase like some embassy attach¨¦.


    Down to business and punctual, he didn¡¯t let first impressions deceive him, however. With obsidian-black feathers and gray hair, something about her aura told him he shouldn¡¯t ever try to mess with her ¡ª not that he had any spirit to do so.


    ¡°May I come in?¡± she said curtly. Craft shuffled out of the way, and the angel stepped inside. She made a beeline for the desk, setting up the briefcase on it, opening it and taking out a few documents, and when that was all out of the way, she took out a pen and clicked it open.


    She looked at him. ¡°What do you need?¡± she asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s, uh¡± ¡ª he took a moment to collect himself. Her pace made him feel even more sluggish. ¡°Do you have something for bowmaking?¡±


    ¡°Bowmaking,¡± she whispered to herself. ¡°Can you be specific?¡±


    ¡°Right, that¡¯s a spokeshave, a draw knife, a hatchet¡± ¡ª


    There were other things, and the angel noted them. She packed up and left without another word.


    It was quiet again. His guard was down. Ordinarily, he¡¯d be taking note of the angel¡¯s every mannerism and weakness by now, but he was still just too tired. Whatever happens, happens. Treat me, roast me, make me your subject or your experiment ¡ª or whatever other roleplay they could come up with. He¡¯d go along with it. If they allowed him some hobbies to pass the time, then that¡¯d be fine too.


    Not even a minute passed when the next knock came. He opened the door, and the same angel was there with everything he needed, sticking out of a tool box. Even the two-years-aged staves he requested were in a neat standing bundle beside it.


    Was the angel really just on-call like that? That was hard to believe. After a moment¡¯s staring, he thought to approach the angel since she seemed to be waiting for him. She stood aside, though, making way for him to check the whole bunch of tools and materials.


    He confirmed it was everything, feeling uncertain the whole time. After he gave the thumbs up, the angel left, sinking through a shadowy puddle in the ground.


    She¡¯s really playing courier. He tentatively believed it.


    He was alone again. The thoughts came rushing back again. He took his supplies indoors, and for weeks, he didn¡¯t come out. He drowned himself in the making of new bows, remembering the things Rafflesia had taught him. Whenever the wood chips and sawdust piled up, he¡¯d just sweep them out the door¡¯s entrance, letting it pile up outside and not making it his problem.


    He realized he¡¯d never get hungry. He never once even needed to relieve himself nor did he ever smell bad enough to have to take a bath. That was all good, though, because he didn¡¯t want to think of anything other than making bows.


    There had been twenty staves in a bundle, and twenty days had passed. He rang the bell again to ask for more.


    The knock didn¡¯t come as quickly as he¡¯d thought, however, and he opened the door to check if she wasn¡¯t just waiting outside. He found her¡­sweeping the chips and sawdust out of the way of the entrance.


    This wasn¡¯t even on the level of ¡°playing courier¡± anymore; she was seriously his attendant.


    ¡°Please clean up sometimes so I can make my deliveries,¡± she said.


    Craft scratched his head. ¡°Sorry. Can you toss in a broom, too?¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡±


    She handed him the broom she was already holding, showed him the new bundle of staves, and left ¡ª just like that. He still had it in him to be slightly embarrassed over her cleaning up his mess, but she hadn¡¯t seemed annoyed in the slightest. A part of him hoped she wasn¡¯t just putting up with it, but was it right to assign human emotions to these entities?


    As long as routine didn¡¯t break, then anything was fine.


    Weeks passed again, and he chewed through all those staves. He made sure to sweep the front of the cottage before ringing the bell a third time ¡ª and three became four, and four became¡­ Well, he lost track.


    Some Nth time, however, before the angel sank into the ground to leave, he made another request.


    ¡°A storage rack for bows,¡± he said. The angel stopped.


    ¡°For how many?¡± she asked.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Craft scratched his head. ¡°Never mind, I haven¡¯t counted. Maybe next time¡± ¡ª


    ¡°I¡¯ll count it,¡± she interrupted him. He decided whatever wizardry it was she was doing to sink in and out of the ground, she¡¯d be able to use it to instantly count all the bows he had.


    The angel proceeded ahead of him, but when she entered, she found a room littered with unstrung bows. Beside the fireplace, where the firewood was supposed to be stacked, bows filled it instead. A raft made of bows was placed between the bed and the table, and then another raft between the table and the door. There were bows lashed together by their bowstrings to form frames against which even more bows could be stacked.


    ¡°I see,¡± she muttered. ¡°Two-hundred fifty-three bows.¡±


    She turned around and walked past Craft. That surprised him. There hadn¡¯t even been a spell or showy magic.


    Before she had one foot out the door, though, he had to ask her something. ¡°Is this really okay?¡±


    The angel stopped and looked at him, letting her gaze convey her question.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long it¡¯s been,¡± he clarified. ¡°Maybe the goddess¡± ¡ª


    ¡°The goddess will wait,¡± the angel said. ¡°If we¡¯re alike in any way, she will wait for you.¡±


    He didn¡¯t expect to hear anything like that from the angel. ¡®Alike?¡¯ ¡ª he¡¯d wanted to ask. He wanted to ask her name, too, but she escaped into the ground before he could even call out to her.


    He¡¯d been thinking these past few days. Even if he couldn¡¯t prove to himself that his hosts were ¡°good,¡± they were certainly being patient towards him. There existed no gods, however, who would pour this much patience onto someone they weren¡¯t also putting their hopes on ¡ª and if the owner of this domain, Enthusia, had expectations for him, then his extended vacation here wasn¡¯t really for free, was it?


    With the door left open, he could see the gazebo where Enthusia had said she¡¯d wait. He could see someone still sitting there, but he couldn¡¯t believe it was actually her. There was no one who¡¯d just sit there doing nothing except waiting. Patience besides, it wasn¡¯t something a god should be doing.


    Regardless of Enthusia¡¯s intentions, he just didn¡¯t want to piss off patient people as a matter of principle.


    ***


    Winter had come suddenly. Craft hadn¡¯t expected there to be winters in this place, though he supposed it helped to have some kind of sense of time.


    Even through the winter, he just made bows. Winter being winter, he didn¡¯t go out except to deposit new bows into the new storage shed, but this winter seemed oddly long. Of the two-hundred staves in the last delivery, he had already used up half of them.


    Bows were already starting to pile up in his room again. He needed to get them to the storage shed, or else he¡¯d be swimming in them like last time.


    The moment he opened his door, the snow came howling in. The first thing he saw was the gazebo far in the distance, glowing a warm yellow by the lamps that surrounded it. Even in this weather, there was someone still there.


    He scooped up a bundle of bows and trekked through the snow. He had to raise his legs higher than usual just to take one step, reaching the shed after much tedium. Even so, of all the winters he¡¯d experienced, he wouldn¡¯t call this one severe.


    He threw the bows into a chute. According to the angel¡¯s explanation, they¡¯d get automatically organized inside, so he didn¡¯t need to make any effort other than dumping bows through the chute.


    He turned back towards the gazebo, curious of the person there. Why would she wait for so long? It was freezing, and it seemed a long way away. Even just this short walk to the shed felt like an expedition on its own.


    That question bounced around his head as he made the trek back to safety ¡ª but he stopped halfway. He¡¯d been thinking recently: why was he still alive? He could just lie down in the snow right here and¡­no, that probably wouldn¡¯t kill him. The cold bite of the snow was real, but by the settings of this place, there was nothing here that could kill him in any meaningful way, except perhaps himself.


    He¡¯d thought about it: doing the deed himself. If it wasn¡¯t a physical death, but a soul-bound one, then he knew how to do it ¡ª but just as he lacked the motivation to live, he also lacked the motivation to die. This had been true even during his mortal life; everything was harsh and unfulfilling, and he had always been like a pinball bouncing around by the whims of his bosses, enemies, and tentative comrades.


    They feared his aliases and gave him noms-de-guerre, but being a skilled agent didn¡¯t really mean anything to him. He may have been good at anticipating things and adapting to them, but the flipside of that bore the truth: that he had always lived his life in reaction ¡ª of the past, of the present, of his flimsy idea of the future.


    Desires and force of will were irrelevant; he had nothing.


    If there had been anything that he could call his own, it was those few months spent with Rafflesia.


    A single person defined his one and only moment in life, and it was a moment that cursed him. He still remembered, in those times, how the hustle and bustle of his brain would inexplicably go quiet, leaving him reeling in the silence and safety of sincere company. It was strange that he had felt no euphoria nor bliss, and yet he wanted to crawl back to those moments of stillness. He wanted them, over and over, again and forever.


    Could bits and pieces of what he had found with Rafflesia be also found in someone else? It was unjust to think she could be replaced, but she wasn¡¯t what he was replacing. There was a void in him of missing emotions and questions he didn¡¯t even know how to ask. It was the kind of unknown that would freeze someone¡¯s life into a preset routine, repeated ad infinitum until a nuclear winter came.


    But when it came to the unknown, he was a veteran explorer, and the most important rule was to never think he knew the answer.


    He looked to the gazebo. Maybe the one over there did.


    He got back inside the cottage, closed the door, and rang the bell. He didn¡¯t wait for the knock this time, though; it was freezing outside, and he didn¡¯t want the angel to turn into a snow angel just waiting for him to open up.


    He opened the door just as the angel¡¯s hand was poised to knock. She was padded-up in thick weather gear, though he didn¡¯t see why someone who could probably erase him with a snap would feel the need to fight off the weather to begin with.


    She lowered her hand and welcomed herself inside. Craft closed the door before speaking. ¡°I¡¯m going to need snow gear,¡± he said.


    The angel took out a tickler file and jotted down what he¡¯d said. ¡°Anything else?¡±


    Despite this weather, she¡¯s still so straightforward. Somehow, he felt glad that some things didn¡¯t change. Catching himself feeling glad¡­he surprised himself. When was the last time he¡¯d felt that?


    In a lighter mood, he had the will to ask: ¡°How about your name?¡±


    The angel raised an eyebrow, but not complaints. ¡°Amacus. Anything else?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s all.¡± Craft opened the door for her. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said as she passed. She nodded, left, and a few paces later, sank through the snow.


    The moment he closed the door, there was a soft thud against it. He opened it again, discovering the clothes he¡¯d wanted lying in a bundle on the floor. He imagined Amacus had tossed it at him shortly before the door clicked closed. It was a little more rude than he¡¯d expect a servant of a goddess to behave, but maybe she did feel the cold, and in the first place, he didn¡¯t mind the angel¡¯s demeanor at all.


    ***


    Fifteen minutes later, he was trekking through the snow, making his way up the hill. The snowfall here was steady, but the snow itself wasn¡¯t so thick that he had to raise his legs too high. Even so¡­he should¡¯ve asked for snow shoes.


    ¡®It¡¯s just a short hike.¡¯ Right¡­


    Climbing up the slope, he could make out someone still seated inside the gazebo. Each and every time, he thought, she¡¯s always there when I look. The more he thought about it, the less he understood her. He even doubted it was actually her.


    Coming closer, it really was that same head of silver hair there. He could make out fluffy ear muffs on her, too, seemingly made from clouds. Her feet were off the ground, and she was hunched over with a thick blanket wrapped around her. In her hands was a steaming mug of something, and where there used to be a teapot was now a thermos flask instead.


    He was just steps away from the gazebo when Enthusia turned and noticed him. ¡°Want some hot chocolate?¡± she asked, her words slurred by the snow chill.


    Her choice of words surprised him somewhat, and he let it show on his face. ¡°Hot chocolate?¡± he parroted. He patted the snow off his coat before taking a seat across her. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be a tea person through and through.¡±


    It felt to him strange enough that they were conversing like this¡­but it had been a long time since they¡¯d last spoken; how long, he didn¡¯t know. Perhaps it was more that it was easier to speak his mind when he had nothing to lose ¡ª easier to pretend they were both just people under a gazebo during a long winter.


    Enthusia hummed in disagreement. ¡°Even if I like tea ¡ª have to change it up sometimes. Even using big words is tiring.¡±


    That¡­wasn¡¯t an answer he was expecting. Gods were whimsical, but was it supposed to be like this?


    He looked out to the view Enthusia had been watching this whole time, but all there was was a flat plain. It was green the last time he¡¯d seen it; now it was all covered in snow. What¡¯s so interesting about it? Rather than interesting, he felt nervous just seeing it. He¡¯d experienced harsher winters before, and there was nothing more terrifying than a tundra ¡ª a vast expanse of nothing. When snowstorms came, it was a whiteout, and the line between the air and the ground vanished. In those things, even having a GPS in the corner of his vision couldn¡¯t make him feel less lost.


    ¡°Hot chocolate?¡± Enthusia said again. Craft shrugged and reached out for the flask, then the mug, taking one and filling the other, but only up to half.


    When he put the mug down, he saw Enthusia was squinting at him. ¡°Fill it up,¡± she said, judging him just a bit. ¡°Scarcity here is artificial, y¡¯know.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± He shrugged and filled up the mug, but when he was done and he looked up at his host again, she was looking far out into the snow plain.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a question,¡± he said.


    ¡°Mhmm.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯re you making it cold?¡±


    ¡°Just changing things up,¡± she said, practically mumbling. She wasn¡¯t even looking at him when she¡¯d said it. ¡°I wanted some hot choccie, but it wasn¡¯t cold enough to enjoy.¡±


    ¡°So you¡­floored the thermostat until you were satisfied?¡±


    ¡°Uhm¡­ Yeah.¡± She slowly panned towards him. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that.¡±


    He was looking at her in awe. He recalled that one time he was on an aircraft carrier, and he saw this sleepy officer get a bagel, sit by the window, and crack open a book. The sun had been striking the officer directly in the face, so he got the phone hanging from the wall above his head, dialed someone, said some navy jargon, hung it up, and went on to eat his bagel.


    Some seconds had passed and Craft had noticed the spot of sun on the officer¡¯s face drift away to light up the book on the table instead.


    That guy grinned as he cracked open his book. He¡¯d redirected the entire aircraft carrier ¡ª and with it, the whole fleet ¡ª to precisely shift the sun to light up his trash romance novel.


    Just like that guy, Enthusia was here doing weather manipulation just to enjoy her hot chocolate. It¡¯s not the magic of it that bothered him, but the thought process; he will never understand what went through the minds of these people who wielded incredible power for lazy reasons.


    He later posted about it online. It did amuse him.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you¡¯re showering with liquid nitrogen,¡± Enthusia continued.


    Craft chuckled. She was pretty much just summoning things on-demand, so even if she probably wouldn¡¯t do it, ¡°Well, I can see that happening,¡± he remarked.


    She frowned; he hadn¡¯t expected that. ¡°I won¡¯t, though,¡± she said. ¡°I don¡¯t have a hobby of making you suffer just because.¡±


    He shifted in his seat. That piqued his curiosity. The goddess had kept her word so far, but with how these things usually went, he couldn¡¯t let go of the possibility that this was all just her upfront investment for something she wanted him to do once he¡¯d gotten unstuck.


    ¡°Why¡¯re you giving me free room service?¡± he asked, and that doubt of his seeped through his tone.


    Enthusia¡¯s gaze flittered towards him, then away to gaze at the snow plain again. She could read between his question¡¯s lines just fine.


    ¡°Around 1% of humans have this thing called ¡®psychopathy.¡¯ I¡¯m sure everyone¡¯s heard of it.¡±


    He said nothing. He couldn¡¯t tell whether she was deflecting or leading.


    ¡°The extreme of being unable to care for anyone,¡± she continued. ¡°In gods, the rate¡¯s closer to 50%.¡±


    Craft couldn¡¯t help but to think, Well, that sums up Earth¡¯s clusterfuck.


    ¡°On the other hand,¡± Enthusia continued, ¡°humans also have another extreme. The ones who believe in community, have an abnormal amount of humility ¡ª the ones who¡¯ll die on the hill of people being inherently good¡± ¡ª she turned her head towards Craft ¡ª ¡°if you take that far enough, it¡¯s called ¡®pathological altruism.¡¯ Heard of it? Being so selfless that it kills you.¡± Enthusia chuckled, and Craft imagined it might be for herself.


    ¡°Not the term.¡± Craft shook his head. ¡°I can think of a few people who fit the description, though.¡±


    ¡°If you know someone like that, then you understand why they¡¯re rare. In a place where people die if they don¡¯t climb over others, they¡¯re the first ones to go,¡± she said, and Craft nodded. She smiled politely, but he could tell she was trying her best to hide a kind of pain he¡¯d thought no god would be able to express. He kept that to himself. ¡°What do you think the rate of pathological altruists is for gods?¡± She raised three fingers. ¡°They¡¯re the only ones I know.¡±


    She turned away and watched the snow plain again, satisfied to have given enough of an answer.


    Craft set an empty mug on the table. He could read between her answer¡¯s lines just fine. ¡°Thanks for the chocolate.¡± He stood up. ¡°Maybe try adding some salt next time. If it¡¯s all sugar, you can¡¯t really bring out the sweetness.¡±


    Enthusia didn¡¯t face him, but he saw her smile grow from the side of her face all the same. ¡°You can get through anything if you have what you need. Don¡¯t forget your snow shoes on your way out.¡±


    There was a pair of snow shoes in the corner. It wasn¡¯t there before.


    At the first blink of sunrise, he found it easier going home.


    ***


    Spring came the next day. Craft stepped around melted puddles and hopped over newly-formed streams with a bundle of bows hefted over his shoulder. He was light on his feet ¡ª a suspicious rather than welcome change. Every sight and sound felt crisp and clear. That shouldn¡¯t be right. Nothing should have changed except that he¡¯d had a conversation after a long time, or was it that he¡¯d figured something out in his subconscious?


    He reached the shed and started to feed the storage chute with his practice pieces. Do I trust that goddess? He loaded a bow. Is it because it¡¯s worth it, or because I don¡¯t have a choice? He loaded another bow. Even if I did, and it¡¯s worth it, what do I do about it now? Enthusia¡¯s intentions still weren¡¯t clear to him; perhaps it was something good, but ¡®something good¡¯ wasn¡¯t something concrete.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± a now-familiar voice called. Speak of the devil. He turned around to find her in a spring dress and a wide-brimmed hat. In one hand was a basket, and in the other, a bucket of ice. ¡°Let¡¯s talk inside.¡±


    Even after yesterday, he had been under the impression that his days could continue as normal. What changed?


    Enthusia welcomed herself into the cottage, willing her hat out of existence, and Craft followed closely. He found her setting up coffee brewing equipment on the table. First, tea, then hot chocolate, and now¡­


    ¡°Why,¡± he said, more of a reaction than a real question.


    ¡°Because,¡± she replied, because non-questions deserved non-answers. She looked at him with a just-sit-down-already smile. ¡°I just need to talk about a few things.¡±


    Those were the most terrifying words she¡¯d ever told him until now. ¡°Sounds serious,¡± he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.


    ¡°Decently so.¡± She nodded. She moved various glasswares around before she spoke again. ¡°It just felt like the right timing to talk about your choices.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s a career counseling session?¡±


    Enthusia chuckled. Craft smirked, a little more relaxed knowing that the goddess could take a joke.


    She looked at him, smiling at him. ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± she muttered, returning her attention to whatever she was arranging.


    Craft raised an eyebrow. That seemed out of nowhere. ¡°What for?¡±


    She looked at him. ¡°It¡¯s your first joke in years, you know?¡±


    That unit of measurement struck him a little harder than he expected. It¡¯s true he felt lighter now, but before anything ¡ª ¡°Years? Did I hear that right?¡±


    She looked at him all nonchalant and friendly. ¡°Why, yes, it¡¯s been 289 years since you got here.¡±


    Craft blinked, but when Enthusia refused to break eye contact, he folded. He hunched forwards and propped up his head by his hands, deep in contemplation as he stared at the ground.


    Two-hundred and eighty-nine years. That just wasn¡¯t a number he could wrap his head around. It wasn¡¯t a number he even felt pass by.


    The scent of coffee suffused through the room, reaching him before a cup of coffee presented itself in the edges of his vision. He looked up to find Enthusia holding it in front of him, surprising him that she¡¯d had any courtesy whatsoever as a god. He took it without comment, looking at his reflection in the liquid gold.


    ¡°Almost three-hundred years,¡± he absently said, repeating it over and over in his head. How is that possible ¡ª no, hold on. There was a very important fact here that he¡¯d been glossing over.


    He furrowed his brows and looked up at Enthusia. ¡°Wait, I¡¯m dead anyway.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve caught up.¡± She took a seat by the table, finally able to enjoy a cup of her own efforts.


    ¡°No, not by much,¡± Craft replied. ¡°It doesn¡¯t even feel like that much time passed. Hell, if anything, isn¡¯t it wrong I¡¯ve made you wait for three hundred years?¡±


    Even if she¡¯d been an evil god, she was his benefactor, and he still had some principles.


    Enthusia smiled. ¡°It¡¯s nothing to me. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    He shook his head, exhaling loudly through his nose. Just imagine freeloading for three-hundred years. There was no way he¡¯d not feel guilty over this. Before he could say anything, though, Enthusia interrupted.


    ¡°Think of it this way,¡± she said, ¡°you¡¯ll pay it back with the choice you¡¯ll make.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Though, I¡¯m fine with anything you¡¯ll choose. Mostly.¡±


    ¡°Mostly?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep this to the point.¡± She set her cup on the table and placed her hands on her lap, straightening her back. She was too nervous ¡ª an emotion he hadn¡¯t thought she could have.


    ¡°Craft, I¡¯m the creator and goddess of Amatoria. It¡¯s a world very unlike your last. It¡¯s a world I made so people like you can find the things you need in peace, and when you find them, of course, you¡¯ll always have the right to stay.¡±


    She took a deep breath, exhaling to relax herself. ¡°It¡¯s not a mature world, but I still hope you¡¯d choose to stay there, because if not, well¡± ¡ª she suppressed a frown ¡ª ¡°if you choose to disappear, I¡¯m too much of a coward to stop you.¡± Her face brightened up, and she clapped. ¡°Or, or! You can also try a different world! I know another god who can have you¡± ¡ª


    Her words blurred to his ears. Why did she want him to live so badly? He thought it didn¡¯t make sense for someone, who had only just interacted with him a few times, to already be so desperate for the mere idea of him to survive.


    Well, he already knew such people existed, and he knew that what they felt towards strangers was real ¡ª and besides, the person in front of him wasn¡¯t really much of a stranger anymore. Just to pay her back somewhat, he ought to put her at ease.


    ¡°When was the last time you read my mind?¡± he asked her, interrupting her desperate pitch.


    The question stunned her, but she answered quickly. ¡°Not since that one time. Why?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± He chuckled. How respectful of her. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve been having other thoughts since then, you should know.¡±


    She looked at him quizzically.


    ¡°When Raffie died¡± ¡ª he lingered on her name ¡ª ¡°a little bit of me was hoping that somewhere in there, her brain was still alive, that she could still hear everything I was telling her.¡± He smiled to himself. ¡°Truth was, I kinda knew what she was going through. Before then, I mean. I was already starting to feel that she might have wanted to say the same things to me as I did to her, so, I¡¯m sure, if I¡¯m right, and she heard everything I said, then I¡¯m sure I made her really happy in those last few seconds we had. I think that whole skit in South America is the only mission I actually feel proud of accomplishing, even if we had to take each other¡¯s lives in the end.¡±


    He looked up at Enthusia. The poor goddess was already covering her eyes with a handkerchief, refusing to speak. Knowing someone was willing to feel what he felt was one thing, but seeing it right in front of him¡ªit didn¡¯t feel real. Reality was here, however, and he accepted it.


    ¡°You made her happy,¡± Enthusia said. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡±


    He smiled and looked down, embarrassed as heck. ¡°The more I think about it, making someone really happy is actually pretty addicting, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Enthusia chuckled between her sniffles. ¡°It is. The more you do that, the better off the world becomes.¡± She paused. ¡°But if you¡¯re gone¡± ¡ª


    Again with that fear. ¡°But I won¡¯t be gone.¡± He still felt like human trash ¡ª he couldn¡¯t resist thinking of himself as one ¡ª but trash was flammable, and lit under him was a defiance he had never felt before. Etched in his memory was proof that he was not just a killer: that in all actuality, he had just been molded into one; that to begin with, there was no such fate that said, ¡®This is all you are or will ever be.¡¯


    ¡°Even if I can¡¯t be happy with myself, I¡¯ve got proof that I can make someone else happy, and if that makes me more of the person that Raffie thought I could¡¯ve been, well ¡ª I don¡¯t want to disappoint her again.¡± He looked Enthusia in the eye, confronting her with a smile that was half plastered-on, but also half-real. ¡°So don¡¯t worry. I can live for this feeling for a long time coming. I¡¯m not going to disappear.¡±


    Enthusia removed her handkerchief, putting it down over her mouth, showing him her glossy eyes. ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± she weakly said. ¡°But I¡¯m still going to worry.¡±


    Craft play-frowned, turning away as if disappointed. ¡°Well, that¡¯s just unfair.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re really saying that to your landlady?


    He laughed. She¡¯s a strange one. He couldn¡¯t even think of her as a goddess anymore, and that was the only reason why he could face her with a smile ¡ª a bright one he could say was real. ¡°Well, that settles it.¡±


    She turned his way with a tilt of the head. ¡°What does?¡±


    He showed her two thumbs up ¡ª one more than he usually gave. ¡°I¡¯d like to stay in your world.¡±


    Her eyes widened. ¡°You don¡¯t have to make your decision right now. There¡¯s always¡± ¡ª


    ¡°It¡¯s because I¡¯m glad it¡¯s you I met, not some mass-produced almighty.¡± He lowered his hands. ¡°Thanks to Raffie, I got a glimpse of something really i-important.¡± His eyes watered. What? Why just now? ¡°And you¡¯re here, telling me you¡¯ve got a place for me where I can reach for it as much as I¡± ¡ª it was getting harder to speak ¡ª ¡°I want.¡±


    Somehow, even as he had to wipe his eyes and breathe a little deeper, his chest felt lighter. For Raffie¡¯s sake, he could only think and say:


    ¡°I can¡¯t waste this feeling.¡±


    Enthusia gasped and gulped. To the man who no longer controlled his sobbing, she couldn¡¯t say anything ¡ª and she, who had no control over her compassion, could only be swept along with his tide.

 Chapter 4: Departure to Origin

    In his memories, there was a boulder on the edge of a stream. Rafflesia was sitting cross-legged on it, paying close attention to a pair of beavers building their home at the foot of the boulder.


    She saw him. ¡°Craft? Come! ¡®Check this out,¡¯ as you people say!¡±


    A month ago, he would¡¯ve done so out of compulsion; she was a higher being. This time, however, he found himself relenting to her on his own.


    The way to get to her wasn¡¯t easy. The stream was narrow, up to the waist in depth, but its bed was loose and silty. He¡¯d sink right through it if he jumped right in. He couldn¡¯t just walk along the edge of the stream either, as there might be dead briars which ought to prick him with some exotic neurotoxin, or maybe even a hungry trap plant which Rafflesia had forgotten to feed.


    He decided to be gutsy and hop on stones barely sitting above the waterline. Soon, they led him farther away from the safety and certainty of dry land. To get to the much higher boulder Rafflesia was on, he aimed to make his ascent on increasingly larger boulders.


    The small boulders were still okay, but when he got to the larger boulders, he made the mistake of looking down. The height between him and the stream invoked a momentary vision of death. A single misstep and he would slip on the wet stone; if he hit his head on the way down, he¡¯d go unconscious, then there¡¯d be no getting his face out of the water. He¡¯d drown just like that.


    In that lapse in concentration, he slipped on the last landing. He only had himself to blame. Go figure, was all he thought.


    Even as he fell backwards, however, he didn¡¯t panic. Rather, he grunted in mild annoyance. A vine shot towards his leg and caught him, carrying him upside down along the air, unceremoniously depositing him right beside Rafflesia.


    He propped himself up and sat straight with dazed eyes. That was, perhaps, the most uncool thing he had ever done in front of her.


    ¡°So you can evade shells and bullets, but your weakness is a wet boulder?¡± Rafflesia said. He looked at her with narrowed eyes, but that only made her break into a chuckle.


    He sighed. His body may have escaped unscathed, but his pride had definitely gone under the water.


    Rafflesia fanned her hands. ¡°Anyway, can¡¯t you just climb down from the vines like a sane person?¡±


    There were, indeed, vines hanging from the trees, many of them long and thick enough to support a soldier. They were far, though. He took one look at them and grunted. ¡°I¡¯d have to do a tarzan swing to get here, then. I¡¯m not pushing my luck.¡±


    ¡°¡®Tarzan¡¯? Whatever.¡± She pointed at the beaver dam. ¡°Look at that. More interesting.¡±


    I almost died and you just ignore it, huh. Considering how he regularly ¡®almost¡¯ dies, well, he shouldn¡¯t be surprised at this treatment.


    He looked to where she was pointing. It was a well-developed construct across the meter-wide stream. It was already beginning to choke off the flow, turning a gush into a trickle.


    Why¡¯d she show it to him? It¡¯s just a dam. <i>No, no,</i> he shook his head. The person beside him wasn¡¯t human. Who knew what hyperdimensional thoughts she was having? That¡¯s right. This beaver dam, too, was just another chesspiece in the cogs of her ever-expanding multiversal thoughts which, no doubt, was coming up with strategies that no mere mortal could ever comprehend.


    This dam¡­ It had to be part of a larger picture. Could it be ¡®that¡¯? In his mind, there could be no other answer.


    ¡°Come to think of it, there¡¯s an android factory downstream, isn¡¯t there?¡± he replied. ¡°If their water supply dries up, it¡¯s going to set their production back a couple of months¡± ¡ª


    When he faced her, she was pouting at him.


    ¡°D-did I get it wrong?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Everything is about work for you,¡± she said. ¡°I just wanted to show you beavers building a dam.¡±


    He didn¡¯t understand her intention. Rafflesia continued to stare at him; he figured she could be shooting very real telepathic messages at him, but if she were, all of them were definitely passing through his monkey brain without any evidence of having even existed.


    Or maybe they were having an effect, after all? Craft thought about how Rafflesia had been calmer lately. She no longer concerned herself with the activities of the cartel she was hosting, preferring instead to watch birds, classify insects, and ask for Craft¡¯s presence at any opportunity.


    It puzzled him. The prevailing Theory of Demigod Efficiency said beings like her existed only for the single-minded fulfillment of the concept they embodied, but these things she liked to do¡­ They weren¡¯t ¡®productive¡¯ pursuits at all.


    It really puzzled him. Even as Rafflesia continued to stare at him, he couldn¡¯t come up with an answer to his own conundrum.


    That was, except for one possibility he hadn¡¯t seriously considered at first. It was just such an abnormally human reason ¡ª boring, ordinary ¡ª that it shouldn¡¯t be associated with demigods at all:


    Was showing him beavers¡­supposed to make him happy?


    Yes, no, he didn¡¯t know. Ever since meeting her, he had come to know that he was just a man who didn¡¯t know a lot of things. Appreciating things like this was one of them.


    ¡°How do you think they met?¡± Rafflesia asked, pointing at the beavers. He pointed at them, too, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Them? Beavers? Well, I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve ever thought about the lives of beavers.¡±


    She grinned. ¡°Really? Not even guessing?¡±


    He threw his arms up. ¡°I don¡¯t know, some kind of beaver society? A speed dating network?¡±


    Rafflesia snorted, then covered her mouth, suppressing her guffaw and converting it into convulsions.


    Craft¡¯s eyes shot wide open. He¡¯d never thought he¡¯d make a demigoddess laugh.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect that,¡± she said, wiping her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve been watching these beavers for the past two weeks,¡± she continued.


    There she goes again with the weird projects, Craft couldn¡¯t help but think. All things considered, he¡¯d rather see her doing something adorable like that than conquering humanity with eco-friendly drugs and poisons.


    ¡°I watched them find each other at random. They smelled each other and decided to stay together for the rest of their lives. Isn¡¯t it amazing?¡±


    Craft chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s terrible criteria for a relationship.¡±


    Rafflesia looked at him with play-angry eyes. ¡°Why? They seem happy enough.¡± She looked away, watching one of the beavers drift off aimlessly downstream. The other one jumped in from the top of the dam and paddled to chase its partner.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Craft watched them, too. ¡°That way¡¯s the factory.¡± He frowned. ¡°You know, they¡¯ll eventually figure out the dam¡¯s blocking the stream, then they¡¯ll hit this place with a drone. If I were these guys, I¡¯d move out of here ASAP.¡±


    People were gifted with rationality to predict disasters and avoid them. A human who didn¡¯t use that gift was going to put themselves in a world of hurt ¡ª was what he believed.


    ¡°They seem happier than you, at least,¡± Rafflesia quipped.


    He stayed quiet, casting his gaze downwards. He watched the water flow downstream and leave him behind. It was quiet now, but there was a storm coming.


    ¡°Don¡¯t trust the CAZ,¡± he told her. ¡°And don¡¯t trust me. They¡¯ll have me kill you one day, you know?¡±


    Rafflesia didn¡¯t reply for a while. ¡°It interests me that they can do this without reason,¡± she eventually said, watching the better of the beaver pair wade through the waters to drag the other back to their home. ¡°They don¡¯t have to consider the things around them. They don¡¯t fiddle with lifestyle, position, math, and money. They are single-minded in their nurture of the other, and for that, they will do anything. Futile as it may appear to us, irrational as it may be, nothing else matters if their role in the world is so small, anyway.¡±


    She looked at him. ¡°Kill me if you have to. The future doesn¡¯t matter. If you want to enjoy our time together, do not complicate it. Your company is already okay for me. All that remains is if mine is okay for you.¡±


    ***


    Craft lingered outside the cottage in Enthusia¡¯s domain. Her generosity was alien to him, but despite that, it was easier for him now to accept that it was just the way she was. Yet, the more humanity he saw in her, the more he was afraid that he, himself, might have less humanity than a god.


    She was kind, and he was not ¡ª this, he believed. Having been shown her kindness, his instincts told him to return it, but he didn¡¯t think he could. To meet Enthusia¡¯s kindness with his own, he first had to match her kindness at all.


    He looked at the shed, then the view of the hill behind him, and finally, the gazebo where a pillar of soft light descended. That pillar led to her world, no doubt. Maybe he could gain such kindness there.


    He faced the cottage again. One moment it was there, and the next, it blipped out of existence ¡ª gone like mist. He was surprised he didn¡¯t feel much about it; he¡¯d lived there long enough that he thought he might feel something, at least. He supposed it wasn¡¯t so much the cottage that he liked than the people he¡¯d been lucky to stay with this whole time.


    Enthusia was beside him, just an arm¡¯s length away. It was surreal to him how he could feel grateful and apprehensive at the same time.


    ¡°It¡¯s surreal how you can just do that,¡± he said. He was carrying a rucksack filled with the same tools he¡¯d been using these past few centuries. It didn¡¯t feel like centuries, though.


    ¡°I am a goddess,¡± Enthusia said. She was in the same dress as yesterday, except for the new shawl.


    This person, too, he wouldn¡¯t see after today; he couldn¡¯t look away from her. Looking at her was the only salve for the uneasiness starting to chain him to this place, as he was beginning to realize just how high the hurdle to his task was: How did becoming kind even work? Wasn¡¯t that equivalent to becoming a different person altogether? It was the sort of project that would have taken the efforts of a team of high-spec Ph.D¡¯s and the affordance of a military budget to accomplish, yet here he was, self-tasked with doing it alone.


    She noticed his gaze and smiled, waving hello.


    He snapped out of his thoughts. ¡°Looks good on you,¡± he said, just for the sake of saying something.


    She eyed him for a second longer than normal. Perhaps coming up with an idea, she pointed to the storage shed. It hadn¡¯t disappeared with the cottage. ¡°Do you want that?¡±


    He looked at the shed, then at her. ¡°What, the whole thing?¡±


    ¡°Well¡± ¡ª she smirked ¡ª ¡°yes.¡±


    They stared at each other for a while.


    ¡°And everything in it,¡± she continued.


    Craft couldn¡¯t say anything to that. His blank stare alternated between her and the shed. ¡°Oh, you can do that.¡± ¡­ He¡¯d almost forgotten she could.


    Enthusia chuckled. ¡°I did make a retirement house the size of a planet.¡±


    Just looking at it from the outside-in, there wasn¡¯t any reason for him to refuse. ¡°Well¡­ Alright, I guess,¡± he said, but only halfheartedly. It wasn¡¯t that it was difficult for him to wrap his head around the concept, but the fact was it was being given to him, like a trillionaire had walked up to him and said, ¡°Hey, by the way, here¡¯s the key to a car worth 10x your lifetime savings. I¡¯m not using it anymore, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    Enthusia tilted her head. ¡°You ¡®guess¡¯?¡±


    There wasn¡¯t a single trace of malice in how she said it nor how she looked at him. I¡¯m being peer-pressured by a goddess. He chuckled to himself and scratched his head at this luxurious dilemma. ¡°Alright, alright. I guess it¡¯s going in my pocket.¡±


    The shed blipped out of existence in the next moment¡­and nothing else happened. He¡¯d expected some mysterious magical feeling to indicate a storage shed had been crumpled into a sub-dimensional ball and attached to his soul with a¡­paperclip¡­or something.


    He patted himself down. No physical mutations, either. ¡°Is that it?¡± he asked.


    Enthusia jerked back slightly, looking at him like he¡¯s the strange one here. ¡°Do you want it to feel heavy?¡±


    He shook his head and leaned away. ¡°Don¡¯t make me out to be the weirdo here.¡±


    She laughed, and they started towards the gazebo. He didn¡¯t really want to, though.


    The uphill trek was slow, and Craft liked to drag his feet. It was a subconscious thing ¡ª up until he¡¯d become aware of it, then it became something he did on purpose. Maybe I can stay a little longer, he thought. If he were to ask Enthusia, she¡¯d probably relent¡­but here wasn¡¯t the place where he¡¯d take his first steps forward. Here was the place where he would stay the same, and staying the same was the one thing he didn¡¯t want to do.


    Even so, taking even a single a step became a slog. He kept his head down, counting the number of steps he¡¯d taken, measuring the distance between each step so he wouldn¡¯t look like he was dragging his feet. One step at a time, he chanted in his mind, even tiny steps are still steps forward. ¡­ But why did such tiny steps have to be filled with so much dread?


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that,¡± Enthusia called to him. He looked up at her. Did she notice? He got himself together and showed her a small smile. ¡°Thanks again,¡± he said, ¡°and sorry for making you cry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m always willing to cry,¡± she replied. ¡°If it¡¯s with someone else, even better.¡±


    He smirked and looked down at the ground again, watching the grass travel under him. ¡°You¡¯re really a weird one for a goddess,¡± he added.


    She chuckled. ¡°You too. Most people ask for some kind of cheat before getting beamed down, you know? Are you sure you don¡¯t want to be reborn as the third son of a noble family?¡±


    Craft chuckled. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No? You don¡¯t even want ultra-rare magic?¡±


    He shook his head. It¡¯s not what he really wanted. She quieted down.


    ¡°It¡¯s making me sad that you¡¯re sad,¡± she said after a while, and that got him to look at her. Her eyes avoided his, but soon, she gathered the courage to look at him again. ¡°Really, what¡¯s wrong?¡±


    He looked away and shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m scared, is all.¡±


    She stopped walking. He stopped as soon as he realized she did. ¡°At least tell me,¡± she said.


    He turned his body squarely to face her, but just that amount of courage wasn¡¯t enough to make the words come out. I¡¯m leaving again, his thoughts repeated, and I¡¯m still not able to say what I want to say.


    They both stayed frozen, seconds stretching into minutes. In front of him, Enthusia showed no particular expression, patiently waiting for him to come up with some explanation for feelings for which he didn¡¯t have enough clarity to describe.


    Her patience was just like Rafflesia¡¯s, and that memory made him smile, even if only a little. Unlike with Rafflesia, however, there was no ending for this waiting contest. Any amount of time could pass and he and Enthusia would still be staring at each other. There¡¯s just no winning against someone who saw a couple of centuries as a break for tea and hot chocolate.


    ¡°There¡¯s no one-upping you, huh,¡± he said with a chuckle.


    She smiled hesitantly. ¡°You are afraid,¡± she said in a soft voice.


    Craft¡¯s chuckle settled into a bittersweet smile. It was one thing for him to say he was afraid, but it felt different to have someone else say it for him. An otherwise personal emotion was being observed by someone else, and, strangely, it made it easier for him to accept his own feelings. ¡°That, I am.¡±


    She stepped towards him; she was at speaking distance one moment and right beside him the next. Just that much surprised him already, but when she took his hand, palm-in-palm, that surprised him even more. Her grip was feather-light, and he felt he could shake her off whenever he wanted. He couldn¡¯t find the will to do it, though, and he wasn¡¯t even sure if he disliked it.


    She took a step towards the gazebo, but stopped and looked back, gently tugging him onward. Her suggestion clashed with his body¡¯s instinct to freeze, but even so, he found that his feet had taken him forwards without his say-so. It was just by inches, but they were inches forward.


    He thought she¡¯d forcibly pull him along after that, but she just waited. What¡¯s she waiting for? he thought. In a few moments, he realized the answer in how his fear started to subside. It was still there, but because of how patient and unhurried Enthusia was ¡ª how her touch did not invade but suggest ¡ª the once impossible walls between suggestion, decision, and action thinned. They turned into water, and water was something he was used to wading through.


    He took another step, and another ¡ª but he stopped. Perhaps now, he could confess his fear.

 Chapter 5: A Promise to Change

    Craft tugged on Enthusia¡¯s hand. She widened her eyes, an act to ask him what he wanted to say.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just that I¡¯m afraid of going,¡± he said. Once the first words were out, the rest couldn¡¯t be stopped.


    ¡°I mean, it wouldn¡¯t be my first time going into unmapped territory.¡± He shook his head. ¡°No, that¡¯s not the problem.¡± His gaze wandered, looking for distractions, but only for a moment before he returned his focus on Enthusia. ¡°Even after everything yesterday, I¡¯m still just another flimsy guy. Naturally cynical, suspicious, ready to kill or die ¡ª I¡¯m sure you know. Even right now, like this, it¡¯s taking a lot out of me to talk to you.¡± He looked at her hand. He was, at once, afraid to let go and afraid if there wasn¡¯t a mistake to his luck. ¡°I¡¯ve been lucky to meet you. You¡¯ve been blindingly kind, but too blinding, I think.


    ¡°I want to give back what you¡¯ve given me, but it¡¯s impossible for me right now.¡±


    He went silent. He¡¯d let go of the words. In the best case scenario, she¡¯d hit him with some divine lightning.


    ¡°I already knew,¡± Enthusia replied. Those were terrible words for a spy to hear; for all their carefully-laid plans to have been seen through, it crushed their pride, lulled them into a trap, and had them rifling their pockets for cyanide.


    But, Craft¡¯s pride had been crushed a long time ago, and he was already very dead. Instead, he could only mentally complain: ¡°Then what did I sum up all my courage for, huh?¡± Having been hit with a different kind of lightning, he could only stand there, looking at her in absent shock.


    Enthusia chuckled. ¡°I did look through your memories, you know.¡±


    Oh. Yeah. That happened. He was forgetting quite a lot of things today.


    ¡°Your life was terrible,¡± Enthusia continued, ¡°There was no one to listen to you, and no one to rely on. Of the people who¡¯ve shown you real kindness, you couldn¡¯t find a way to keep them. Is that wrong?¡±


    The two held gazes for a moment. Enthusia¡¯s eyes glistened, while Craft¡¯s drooped.


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s right.¡±


    Enthusia sighed through her nose. ¡°You don¡¯t have to go through that anymore. Now, you can keep them. That¡¯s why¡± ¡ª


    She paused. Craft¡¯s eyes came alive, curious as to why such an open and forward goddess was suddenly hesitant. ¡­ And poking her fingers together?


    ¡°What¡± ¡ª he pointed at her gesture ¡ª ¡°what¡¯s that?¡±


    She mumbled something. He couldn¡¯t quite hear it.


    ¡°Sorry?¡± he said.


    ¡°Can we be [¡­].¡±


    ¡°I can hear a pin drop from the opposite corner of a bar, but man am I having a hard time here.¡±


    She grunted in annoyance and squeezed her hands into fists, looking at him with enough fiery intensity to spook him. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to go through your troubles alone! Let¡¯s be friends!¡±


    Such passion! Such fanatical belief! ¡­ And none of it made sense!


    He pointed at himself, then at her. ¡°Friends?¡± The scale was just too off. How about something closer to a ¡®I will forever be in your debt¡¯ -level of relationship? Wasn¡¯t that more accessible?


    His feelings must have been written all over his face, because she chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s not complicated.¡± She smiled. ¡°Wasn¡¯t it the case that you took a long time to warm up to Rafflesia?¡±


    The mention of her name surfaced sweet memories for him. During their first twenty bowmaking lessons, he remembered being terrified as shit that she¡¯d find out he was a spy and flay him alive at any moment.


    ¡ª ¡°Today, we¡¯ll make a bow with bones!¡± (Yours, that is.)


    He¡¯d imagined it would go that way. It never did, thankfully. Looking back now, it was just a funny thing that happened.


    ¡°That did happen, yeah,¡± he said.


    Enthusia smiled. ¡°Everyone needs a different kind of proof before they can open up to someone else. Some different version of you could¡¯ve opened up to me a little faster, but that¡¯s him, not you. For you, it¡¯s time, and I¡¯m happy with that.¡±


    He was a soldier, a killer, a spy; it was hard for him to imagine that anyone would want to carry his wrongs with him. Anyone who did so willingly would be deranged.


    He shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll be. You¡¯re such a good person, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever feel deserving to be around you.¡±


    She smiled ¡ª but for a moment, frowned. That didn¡¯t seem right. Craft picked up that tiny twitch of the corners of her lips, and then that moment when her gaze traced the ground before shooting back up.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    She took his hand in both of hers. ¡°It¡¯s hard to do everything on your own,¡± she said.


    He nodded. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why¡± ¡ª


    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± The softness of her voice hadn¡¯t changed, but just by being immediate in her reply and how she squeezed his hand, she was being stern, and he felt it.


    ¡°If not with me, then with others,¡± she continued. ¡°Sing and dance with my people. Hold their hands like I do yours. Even if I can¡¯t be of use to you, just don¡¯t carry everything on your own. I¡¯ll be happy with that outcome.¡±


    Why are you insisting so much? He couldn¡¯t understand her, and it seemed she wasn¡¯t understanding him; she might have read his mind, but she hadn¡¯t connected the dots.


    He cast his gaze downwards. ¡°But that¡¯s not really the problem.¡± He looked back up at her. ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone to suffer the burden of knowing my burdens ¡ª not anyone I¡¯ll ever meet, and least of all you. You¡¯re a gift to your world. Really. All you have to do is keep on being bright up here. As long as I can see your light wherever I go, just that much will be enough for me to manage on my own.¡±


    Enthusia¡¯s face was on the verge of breaking into a difficult expression, but she let go of his hands ¡ª stiffly as if she didn¡¯t want to ¡ª and turned around, walking ahead. The last frames of her face ran through his mind over and over, asking himself whether she was confused, upset, or sad. When she was ten steps away, it dawned on him she was exactly the kind of crazy person who indiscriminately wanted friendship, and the only reason she could be so sad was because she wanted it from him ¡ª but he refused to give it.


    He followed her, agonizing over the feeling of having stolen candy from a baby.


    Entering the gazebo, he ran it over and over in his mind: Was that alright? Was that okay?


    ¡°Please stand in the middle,¡± Enthusia said. He looked at her, but she couldn¡¯t look at him. Instead, her eyes were transfixed on a rotating holograph on the floor.


    He walked over it, watching his legs phase through its channels of light. He stood in the middle of it, still thinking about the face she had made. This was the person he was supposedly grateful towards, and somehow, as he stood there on the summoning circle, it felt like he was just running away.


    It¡¯s not right. Wasn¡¯t this just like what he¡¯d done to Rafflesia? She¡¯d kept on telling him not to think too deeply about it, but he¡¯d ignored her. Constantly afraid and carried away, he had put all his efforts into creating hope for a future that didn¡¯t even exist, telling himself he¡¯d be happy only once they¡¯d reached the end of the rainbow in that stormy sea.


    Now, he was wiser and full of regret. Now, he knew that even if he¡¯d reached that pot of gold, after all that effort, it wouldn¡¯t have even made him happy. He should¡¯ve just paid attention to her ¡ª took that inevitable missile to the face like those beavers and their dam.


    Enthusia wasn¡¯t Rafflesia, but Raffie often made that same lonely face. For him to do such a thing twice ¡­ He couldn¡¯t hurt anyone that way again.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m not seeing you again,¡± he said, and Enthusia looked up and showed him a gasp and the brighter face he wanted to see. It hadn¡¯t been friendship he¡¯d offered, but it was evidence that he wasn¡¯t burning a bridge he didn¡¯t have to; that he wasn¡¯t just running away.


    ¡°Is that a promise?¡± Enthusia said. She had clasped her hands together, holding herself in comfort and hope.


    Craft breathed in and strained to smile. He thought he might be showing more of the face of a soldier who was seconds away from going over the top. He didn¡¯t know what would happen from now on, but this promise was still something he knew he had to do, or else there would be no way forward at all.


    ¡°I promise,¡± he finally said. The tension left his face. The moment before the charge was always worse than the charge itself, and now, all he had to do was run straight ahead.


    Enthusia swayed left and right, rocking on her heels. She clapped a few times and smiled the brightest he had ever seen until now. ¡°As long as you keep up that courage ¡­ you¡¯ve already won.¡±


    ¡ª A translucent blue panel, like from one of those VR games, popped up in front of his face: [Rights Obtained: Enthusia¡¯s Nickname - Enty]


    His face twisted like a mop. Huh? What¡¯s this? He shot a confused look towards Enthusia, but she was shooting a look towards Amacus.


    ¡°Begin,¡± she said.


    Amacus intensified the magic, and the light grew brighter.


    ¡°Huh? Wait!¡± Craft cried out. Before he could complain, Enthusia turned towards him with a pained but hopeful smile. ¡°I will always look out for you. The rest is up to you.¡±


    He held back on saying anything else. There was nothing left to do other than what he¡¯d said he¡¯d do. The fact of the matter was he didn¡¯t want to stay the same. Next time they¡¯d meet, he would bring her the answer she wanted, unashamed and uncut.


    She waved to him. He waved back. ¡°See ya.¡±


    He blipped out of this existence and into a new one, leaving Enthusia together with her angel.


    ¡­


    ¡°Dropping Nickname Rights on him, I see,¡± Amacus said. ¡°With no warning. With no explanation.¡±


    Enthusia looked away. ¡°Don¡¯t judge me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not saying you¡¯re not allowed to play pranks, goddess.¡± Amacus summoned a broom from her shadow. She tied an apron around her waist and a black bandana around her head, and started sweeping the gazebo¡¯s floor. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t make a mess.¡±


    Enthusia sighed. She twirled her hair. With a thought, the tea table blipped back into existence, and a chair appeared to catch her just as she¡¯d begun to sit down.


    She watched Amacus sweep the floor. It perplexed her how the power dynamic here wasn¡¯t quite right, but Amacus was a good angel, no matter her origins.


    ¡°Was it alright not to tell him about Rafflesia?¡± Amacus continued.


    ¡°I promised her I wouldn¡¯t tell him anything,¡± Enthusia replied. ¡°Normally, I¡¯d have a hard time keeping this kind of promise, but, well¡± ¡ª she shrugged ¡ª ¡°she said she wanted to surprise him. Isn¡¯t it cute?¡±


    Amacus paused, and the sounds of brushing stopped. ¡°That¡¯s a promise from almost three hundred years ago.¡±


    A jug of chamomile tea appeared in Enthusia¡¯s hand and she chugged it down, slamming it back down on the table like a bar regular during happy hour.


    ¡°Have you found her yet?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve narrowed down the search, but things will be easier if we can decipher the codes she left behind.¡± Amacus leaned her broom against a post. Without so much as turning around, she asked, ¡°Should I go after him, goddess?¡±


    Enthusia¡¯s shoulders sank. ¡°Please.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± The apron and bandana came off, streaming from Amacus¡¯ figure like a cape and a black flag. Ever the performer, Enthusia thought, but it was this same flashy confidence that put her at ease.


    Amacus began to sink into her shadow. She looked back one last time. ¡°Your will be done, Enty dear.¡±


    The angel sank all the way through, leaving Enthusia on her own.


    ¡°If only I still had the power I used to, I could see how she¡¯s doing,¡± she mused and sighed. ¡°I hope they meet again.¡±

 Chapter 6: The Unwelcoming Committee

    What were surprise meetings but centuries-long conspiracies commissioned by parties who had never met you even once in person? One could say that about gods, fate, arranged marriages, and an archenemy¡¯s traps.


    Once, two hundred years ago, there was a resplendent castle with a courtyard garden blooming with seven colors, filled with plants that shouldn¡¯t exist in this world. It was an oasis in the demons¡¯ realm ¡ª the down_realm ¡ª where everything was either black or red, but for Poly, it was an oasis not for the colors, but the sincere and steady company of her guardian and benefactor.


    A little bit more company than just one other person would have been great, though. She should be happy that it was just her and her master, but wasn¡¯t there something wrong if they had such a huge castle, yet there were only the two of them to live in it?


    This morning, she took on the armor of a royal knight, styling her hair gold like her master¡¯s. She styled her face to have scars like a true knight, and she kept the helmet off to show them off.


    She patrolled the titans¡¯ halls and found no one. She went to the dragons¡¯ throne room and her queen wasn¡¯t there. There¡¯s only one place she¡¯d be, really, she thought. Going outside and standing on the top of the steps, she surveyed the garden and spotted her queen standing on an arched bridge over a shallow stream.


    As always, she carried a parasol; as always, she relied on a cane. She was a legend to everyone, but to Poly, all she saw was someone waiting for someone who would never come.


    She went down the steps and hurried to her master¡¯s side. She stopped behind her, however, as she couldn¡¯t bear to stand beside her as if they were equal, and now all she saw was her master¡¯s back, just as she always had.


    Her master didn¡¯t even turn her head, continuing to watch the stream flow under the bridge. Donning a brown dustcoat that matched the wood of the bridge, she seemed older than she should be.


    ¡°What¡¯s the hurry?¡± her master said. She looked over her shoulder, glancing at Poly. ¡°And why are you in that? It¡¯s just us for miles around.¡±


    ¡°Apologies, master,¡± Poly replied. Her armor melted away into a dustcoat like her master¡¯s. Her scar-filled face distorted like a mirage; what used to be the face of a veteran turned into a head wrapped in bandages.


    ¡°After all,¡± she explained herself, ¡°one must imagine a surprise attack at any moment. The fish in the stream, for example, could actually be power-leveled assassins trained by the Koi Sect to take us out.¡±


    Her master bowed her head and hid a snort. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect that.¡± She paused, looking back up after a while and leaning on the bridge¡¯s railing. ¡°Reminds me of someone.¡±


    Ah, here we go again. ¡°Him again, master?¡±


    Her master chuckled. ¡°¡®Again¡¯? You must be tired of me by now. I¡¯m not forcing you to stay here, you know? You can leave me and have your own adventures. I¡¯m not very interesting anymore, anyway.¡±


    Poly sighed and shook her head. ¡°Master, you¡¯re not even a hundred years old.¡± In the perspective of this world, her master was still just an infant child. ¡°And it goes without saying, I owe you my life and at least a thousand hours¡¯ worth of crochet projects ¡ª ah, speaking of!¡±


    She reached into her pouch and approached her master. Without waiting for her to turn around, she gently slid a hair clip into place. Stepping away, she admired the big new flower on her master¡¯s head. Her master reached up and touched it.


    ¡°I listen to your stories after all, master,¡± Poly proudly said.


    ¡°Thank you, Poly.¡± She touched the flower a little more. ¡°Oh, a new pattern. Interesting.¡±


    Poly¡¯s heart fluttered from the acknowledgement of her efforts, but as her master¡¯s hand came back down and the person herself returned to water-watching, Poly felt the void of this place more and more.


    ¡°Master,¡± she called out, ¡°why don¡¯t we invite others here? How about your previous party?¡±


    ¡°He will come,¡± her master said ¡­ and Poly didn¡¯t like that at all. Over and over, she always said it: ¡°He will come¡± ¡ª but when? When decades had passed, what could it be other than a vague hope? And from her master¡¯s stories, she could only think that her master was being willfully blind to all the things wrong about that man.


    Her master was only hurting herself. ¡°What if he doesn¡¯t?¡± Poly said. Her master didn¡¯t reply, and for a moment, she wondered if she¡¯d crossed a red line.


    ¡°You doubt him,¡± her master finally said. Poly didn¡¯t know whether to be relieved that she didn¡¯t say ¡®You doubt me¡¯ instead.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t heard a single story where he actually tried to make you happy,¡± Poly continued. She kept her voice steady and low, careful not to sound as if she was a rebel aiming to crush her master¡¯s wishes. ¡°There¡¯s always so much death and violence when it comes to him. He¡¯s such a good fit for the red sky of this realm that I can¡¯t see why you would try to find happiness in someone whose care is no match for yours.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    She thought people ought to match with their equals. The ones who were kind ought to match with those who were kind, and those who weren¡¯t ought to suffer at each other¡¯s hands and words. Such starkly different worlds ought to be separated, just like the down_realm was from the UpRealm ¡ª then everyone would be assured that everyone acted in a way each other understood.


    ¡°Come here for a moment,¡± her master said, shifting her feet, suggesting for Poly to come rest by the railing. The young demon was hesitant to do so, but she approached, compromising and turning around instead, resting her back on the railing so they weren¡¯t watching the same thing. What was so interesting about watching a stream anyway?


    ¡°The first time he tried to kill me¡± ¡ª


    ¡°There was a first time?¡± Poly couldn¡¯t help but interrupt. She¡¯d always thought her master had a big heart, but forgiving someone who¡¯d tried to kill her was on another level to what she¡¯d known.


    Her master chuckled. ¡°He did end up killing me ¡ª or, my first form, anyway.¡±


    ¡°You have forms?¡±


    ¡°Poly.¡±


    She cleared her throat. ¡°Right.¡±


    Her master sighed. ¡°He didn¡¯t have anything left to fight me with when I brought out my second form. Even so, he faced me.¡±


    Poly didn¡¯t find the courage to be anything special, and she knew it shouldn¡¯t be anything special to her master either. If this is the reason why she fell for him¡­


    ¡°I was a little bit impressed, but it wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d seen it.¡±


    Oh, thank Enthusia. ¡°So what happened?¡±


    ¡°He was harmless at that point, so I decided to interrogate him. I found out what I wanted. I was right about to kill him, but then he said something about pineapples on pizzas.¡±


    Her master broke into laughter. It spooked her.


    ¡°M-master?¡±


    ¡°S-sorry. I-it¡¯s just¡± ¡ª she crouched down, her figure obscured by the parasol, though Poly could tell she was shaking.


    ¡°Are you okay? Master?¡±


    She stood up again after a while. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I almost killed him over it. No, I couldn¡¯t kill him because of it. If I couldn¡¯t get my point across with words, it didn¡¯t matter if I killed him; my pride would be permanently scarred. But thanks to that¡­¡± Her voice had become soft at the end there. ¡°Have you ever encountered a stranger, and within five minutes, you¡¯re talking about each other¡¯s life stories?¡±


    Poly wasn¡¯t so sure about that. The only hand she remembered was her master¡¯s. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can say so.¡±


    Her master almost looked at her, granting her the side view of a kind smile. ¡°When you meet someone like that, it¡¯s hard to just watch them die.¡± She paused. ¡°I wanted to know what makes him so strange. I kept him alive, set him down the Forest of Echoes¡± ¡ª


    The Forest of Echoes?! ¡®Keep him alive¡¯ and ¡®Forest of Echoes¡¯ didn¡¯t belong together at all!


    Poly had only seen that magic once. It forced someone to navigate a maze projected by their own mind. The more stubborn they were, the harder the walls and the less of a chance there was even a way out at all. In the worst case scenario, the victim would be perpetually led to believe that they were getting closer to the exit ¡­ when they¡¯d only been going in circles all along.


    ¡ª ¡°and when we met again the next day¡± ¡ª


    He got through that?¡­


    ¡ª ¡°I was happy to see him. He wasn¡¯t, though.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone would after you do something like that to them, master.¡±


    That besides, Poly was beginning to connect the dots. Someone who could emerge from the Forest of Echoes on their own wasn¡¯t any ordinary person.


    Still, that didn¡¯t take away the fact that he hadn¡¯t been attentive to her master at all.


    ¡°After that, we had a follow-up fight,¡± her master continued. ¡°He apologized to me when he realized I wasn¡¯t trying to kill him anymore.¡± She giggled. ¡°Told me maybe he¡¯d try pineapple on pizza at least once.¡±


    Despite her master¡¯s cozy recollections, Poly frowned under her bandages. They might be in Amatoria now, but she still remembered how power worked ¡ª how it was brutal and absolute, turning everyone into a sycophant to avoid its tune.


    Thus, there was only one reason that man ever apologized: ¡°Because you could have killed him at any time.¡±


    ¡°And how could you think of that?¡± Her master shook her head. ¡°Because we learned about each other, and he stopped seeing me as a monster. He was the first to do so for me.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t something Poly could believe. ¡°People can¡¯t change that easily.¡±


    ¡°Yet he did.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t change for you that whole time.¡±


    ¡°He felt he could not.¡±


    It hurt Poly inside, but she didn¡¯t show it. All she saw was her master clinging onto a bad fruit, acting more like a maiden of bad decisions than a living hero of legend. There was nothing more she wanted than to see her master be at her happiest ¡ª to let go of the past if that¡¯s what she needed.


    ¡°He could not,¡± her master continued, ¡°because our world only allowed bad decisions and worse decisions. Without knowing any better, he gambled on an experiment, and that experiment failed.¡± She looked up to the sky. ¡°But now we¡¯re free. Now, the world is on our side, and when he realizes it, he¡¯ll become someone I will not recognize.¡±


    Her master turned to look at her, eyes glistening. ¡°With or without me by his side,¡± she said, a small smile forming, ¡°all I want to see is him moving forward and living the best life he could.¡±


    It was a difficult emotion for Poly to watch. On her master¡¯s face were a smile, tears, and a lonely expression. Why did it have to be that combination? Why should her master become a martyr? What was this situation where she wanted the same for her master as her master did for that man?


    People can¡¯t change that easily. In time, she thought, her master will open her eyes and see that no such person exists who can subvert their natural wiring.


    ***


    That time came sooner than she had hoped.


    Two hundred years had passed since that conversation. The throne chamber was dim, and Enthusia¡¯s statue on the one end was blindfolded with a rag. On the opposite side was an armored figure bound to the throne in chains. Spikes adorned the shoulders of their gray-stained armor. The flickering lights of braziers on either side cast the spikes into large thorny shadows on the walls.


    Poly approached them, walking up the torn velvet carpet. She kept her face obscured under a hood, unfolding her black wings and splaying them on the ground as she took a knee before her queen. The armored figure squirmed in response, rattling their chains, but saying no words.


    ¡°I will see to it, my queen,¡± Poly said. She bitterly clenched their teeth. ¡°I will bring him here. Unfailingly.¡±


    When she heard the chains rattle, she got up, and without sparing a single glance towards her queen, she headed out of the chamber. The day had come to end her master¡¯s waiting; the day had come to prove, once and for all, that there was no escaping vicious cycles ¡ª that it wasn¡¯t worth hoping for even one second for someone to climb out of a deep, dark pit. To do so was just to burn oneself for nothing.


    The armored figure could do nothing, watching Poly leave the chamber.

 Chapter 7: The Much More Welcoming Committee

    Craft¡¯s astral body zipped through a tunnel made of disjoint panels of light. The panels seemed close enough to touch, but in reality, they were just so large that flying closer or farther wouldn¡¯t change their size at all.


    He reached out. Of course he couldn¡¯t touch it. He closed his eyes, not knowing what to make of a world supposedly made for people like him. He couldn¡¯t even begin to guess what it would look like. He¡¯d asked Amacus and Enty, of course, but they just kept on saying, ¡°Don¡¯t stress about it,¡± ¡°It¡¯ll be fine,¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry, they¡¯re all nice¡± ¡ª as if a naturally meticulous ex-agent wouldn¡¯t feel stressed about going into unexplored territory!


    Well, anyway with Enty being who she was, he couldn¡¯t imagine it to be anywhere near hostile.


    But if there was one thing he was afraid of, it¡¯s if the locals all took after their goddess. He wasn¡¯t sure if he could survive everyone being as open as her, as insistent to deeply associate, and as willing to self-sacrifice in a way that would hurt him to watch. He¡¯d much prefer a superficial relationship with the first normal human being he could find, at least until he felt more confident in his theory of what normalcy was supposed to be like: boring and mundane.


    Without normalcy, he feared he¡¯d fall back into the habits of his old life, but even if he needed it, the idea of the ¡°boring and mundane¡± irked him somehow. Was he a good fit for it? Could he accomplish it? Such doubts clouded his mind.


    Caught between that fear and disliking the very thing which would let him get away from it, that just went to show how much he didn¡¯t know. In the end, he would have to get someone to cough up how it all actually worked.


    Just as he was mentally interviewing that hypothetical person, flashes of blue squares popped in and out of his vision. He reached out to touch them, but then he also saw the same blue squares cladding his hands and arms, each one filled with scribbles of data he couldn¡¯t decipher.


    A larger one popped up right in his face, console text loading in one after the other. It was just like in a VR game.


    [Found Identity: CRAFT BOWEN]


    [Found Past Achievements: ¡°Maze Wanderer¡±, ¡°Flexible Mind¡±, ¡°Dark Empath¡±, ¡°God-Killer¡±]


    [Hide Achievements? (Y/N)]


    Two buttons appeared. Enthusia had mentioned something about this before he¡¯d left the cottage. He didn¡¯t want to bring his past into this, so he chose yes.


    To have a choice at all¡ªyet another thing to be grateful for.


    [You may hide/unhide your Achievements at any time.]


    [Blessing Found: ¡°Bow Storage Shed¡±]


    Huh, so it ended up with me, after all. It didn¡¯t come with instructions, though.


    [Hobby Found: ¡°Bowmaking¡±]


    Why did it feel the need to mention that?¡­


    [Assessment Summary: Lethal; not looking for a fight; no gardening or farming skills; no ambition of defiance.]


    [System Assignment: midRealm (92% match)]


    [Routing New Summons: midRealm: World¡¯s Origin]


    [?? Enjoy your stay! -E]


    The squares disappeared just as quickly, and everything went dark.


    ***


    When he next opened his eyes, his sight was blurred. He was lying on hard ground, glassy by the touch of his fingers. When he lifted his head, he made out a bright circular window near the ceiling of the otherwise dark room, but with his blurred sight, he couldn¡¯t make out anything else.


    His heart was beating slow enough that he should be dead, and his throat was a bit dry, making him cough a few times, but otherwise, he was fine.


    He only had to wait a short while before his eyes began to adjust. He was lying in the middle of a polished obsidian platform, he realized, and by instinct, he studied the room, mapping it in his mind. The circular window far above him really was the only source of light; the gray walls didn¡¯t make it feel any brighter. The only path of escape was a pair of opened double doors at the end of a path leading down the edge of the platform.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    A blob in his vision shifted. He froze. What was that? His eyes hadn¡¯t fully adjusted, and so he blinked as fast as he could, getting his eyes to tear up ¡ª wetting his eyes in a bid to bring his vision back to normal as soon as he could.


    The blurriness faded. The blob turned into an outline, then into a trembling character. There, not far from the edge of the platform, was a shocked young woman holding a broom. She wore a black, wide-brimmed hat; the rest of her outfit made her out to be a trick-or-treatin¡¯ witch.


    Craft opened his mouth. ¡°H-¡±


    She turned tail and ran before he could even get to the vowel. It stung somewhat. There goes the welcoming committee, he thought. It reminded him of that one time he and a pilot crashed in the middle of Yellowstone Park. There had been a kid flying a kite. She¡¯d run away the moment she saw him, but to be fair, anyone would run away from a limping guy covered in blood. Nobody really took chances with zombies anymore.


    Anyway, he ought to go after the runaway committee. He sat up, pushing himself off the ground with an arm. He felt the low blood pressure kick in, but it wasn¡¯t so bad. A quick pat-down later, it was nice that he wasn¡¯t bleeding, but he found it curious that he was in brown trousers and a loose white buttoned shirt. Everything was a size larger, but at least it came with a belt.


    For being standard-issue summoning clothes, though, why were shoes optional? He¡¯d rather not run after the trick-or-treat-er barefoot.


    No, wait. He turned over. As expected, he found his shoes; they must¡¯ve popped off somehow. He grabbed hold of them ¡­ and they wouldn¡¯t budge. Really? Even after trying a rocking motion, it was like they were glued to the ground. Seriously?


    That¡¯s when he noticed another pair of shoes nearby. It dawned on him that he couldn¡¯t see its soles.


    He looked down at his own shoes. It¡¯s phased into the goddamn floor. How¡¯d it get in there, anyway? A glitch? That¡¯d be stupid!¡­ Though, Enthusia had said, ¡°it¡¯s not a mature world.¡± Running into an edge case right in his first second of being alive might¡¯ve just been shit luck on his part.


    A witch hat poking around the door caught his attention. The lack of decent footwear besides, maybe the committee¡¯s actually welcoming, after all? Please don¡¯t run away.


    When he looked, she retreated. Damn it. He didn¡¯t really have a choice here, did he?


    ¡°Hello?¡± he called out. ¡°Is this¡± ¡ª he thought back to the blue panel messages ¡ª ¡°World¡¯s Origin?¡±


    The woman peeked out again. ¡°Y-yeah?¡± she said, and he was barely able to hear it. Her voice was already soft, and the distance just made it worse.


    He was making her nervous, wasn¡¯t he? Looking from the outside-in, he was just a guy who¡¯d popped in here out of nowhere. Whether this world was peaceful or not, anyone would freak out over an unannounced visit-by-teleport, and it wouldn¡¯t be surprising if she¡¯d call the police on him.


    On the other hand, Enty and Amacus had kept on telling him ¡°It¡¯s fine. They¡¯re nice.¡± He didn¡¯t really have any choice here than to wager on it.


    ¡°I¡¯m, uh¡± ¡ª he raised a hand as if asking a teacher a question ¡ª ¡°I¡¯m new here.¡± He hoped he¡¯d at least succeed in showing just how downright confused he was.


    There was a quiet mutter: ¡°New?¡±


    The woman zoomed across the floor faster than her steps would suggest. That speed shouldn¡¯t be possible for a normal human being ¡ª he couldn¡¯t even finish that thought before she was right up against his face. Visions of death seized him, and for a moment, he imagined his gore splattered all over the walls.


    Such visions were shattered by the woman¡¯s excited smile. ¡°You¡¯re new?!¡±


    ¡°Whoa, there,¡± he drew back. Previous experience told him not to mess with Class-A superhumans ¡­ but right now, he was being assailed by visions of a wagging tail behind her.


    ¡°S-sorry,¡± she drew back, herself, taking a few steps away. She tilted her head and eyed him with child-like curiosity, though, something which betrayed his knowledge and experience. Power in his world drove people to do things they normally wouldn¡¯t. Instead of child-like curiosity, they¡¯d have rather looked at him like he were a human spreadsheet to be experimented on and reconfigured ¡ª surgically, that is.


    But for this woman in front of him, power was just¡­normally driving her. Even now, she was making pentagrams with a rubber band between her fingers. Had he not already met Rafflesia, he would have found this meeting utterly bizarre.


    Was it possible that¡­he could actually just talk to her normally? He waved his hand to prompt her attention. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s going on here, but do you think can I talk to a manager somewhere?¡±


    He lightly chuckled, trying to bring down the mood. Unfortunately, the mood spiked.


    She pointed at herself with a smile and an approving nod. ¡°I-I¡¯m the assistant manager!¡± she said with the same brightness as someone who pointed at their name buried somewhere in a movie¡¯s end credits.


    Wait, I wasn¡¯t serious. ¡°Really? No kidding?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not!¡±


    Praise Big E, could he finally get a decent explanation about this place?


    ¡°C-can I ask¡± ¡ª


    ¡°You can!¡±


    ¡°Whoa, there.¡±


    His chest loosened up; he didn¡¯t even know he was tense at all. All the questions running through his mind could finally have an outlet, and who better to answer them than someone eager and willing, the complete opposite of hostile ¡ª


    Shock. He felt struck by lightning. Looking past her superhuman abilities, she¡¯s just someone easily spooked, and when she spooked him, she had the mind to give him space once she¡¯d realized it. Could it be that he¡¯d discovered ¡­ a decent human being?


    ¡­ Decent? ¡­


    Shock. His priorities had been reversed all along! Normalcy? A distraction. What was he doing trying to operate at a level far above the things he needed first? A life of normalcy without decency would see him making enemies left and right, and in this second chance he¡¯d been given, he¡¯d sworn off such a thing.


    So, perhaps not a ¡®normal¡¯ life, but a ¡®decent¡¯ one. It was a more comforting thought.


    He looked up at her. He began to load up questions like ¡°Where are we?¡± and ¡°Can we be friends?¡± into his mind¡¯s torpedo tubes. May it be that the person in front of him wasn¡¯t ¡®normal,¡¯ but he had a strong suspicion that any time spent with her would be worthwhile.

 Chapter 8: Pace of Amatoria

    Sitting before someone he felt comfortable around, he was strangely nervous. Used to making fake friendships for his cover, he couldn¡¯t figure out at what pace to go for a real one.


    A little pang of hurt shot through Craft¡¯s brain. He bowed and grasped his head.


    ¡°Oh, are you okay? Is the post-summons headache kicking in?¡±


    Enty, fix your summoning system. Please. He labored to look at her. ¡°Well, my head¡¯s spinning, I might throw up¡± ¡ª


    The trick-or-treating woman took a step back. ¡°Can you keep it in? Thanks.¡±


    ¡ª ¡°but I¡¯m glad I can hope for some answers.¡± He showed a smile before looking back down and closing his eyes. It didn¡¯t take too long for the pain to subside. He might need to rest a little longer, but staying frozen in one position couldn¡¯t be good for him. ¡°Can we sit down somewhere?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yeah!¡± The woman drew back and looked around. ¡°R-right, I moved all the furniture out last month,¡± she said with a disappointed voice. She turned back towards him. ¡°How about let¡¯s sit on the platform stairs? I keep it sparkling clean, don¡¯t worry.¡±


    She offered a hand for him to stand. Wasn¡¯t such a gesture too soon? He waved his hand and stood up ¡ª slowly ¡ª on his own. He thought he saw a momentary frown from her, but he wasn¡¯t looking directly. Maybe he was just seeing things, still dwelling on what happened between him and Enty.


    The two sat together on the stairs. She wasn¡¯t kidding; the steps were so glossy, Craft could see his own reflection in it.


    The woman took off her hat. Her hair fell down, black as night, and there were a few long braids that fell down to her shoulder. Most striking was a circular tattoo under her left eye.


    ¡°Oh, I almost forgot to introduce myself,¡± she chuckled with a wry smile. ¡°I¡¯m Nightshade, full-time assistant manager at this temple. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    He raised an eyebrow at the fact that she felt the need to say ¡®full-time.¡¯ Well, whatever. ¡°Craft Bowen. Just call me Craft.¡±


    They shook hands. Her grip was light, but somehow, it had a spark of power, like she could kill him with her thumb. To be fair, anyone could kill anyone with their thumb; Nightshade just seemed like she could do it without even touching him.


    ¡°Are you really newly summoned?¡± she asked, letting go if his hand. Her face sparkled with that same curiosity as he¡¯d seen a while ago.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s definitely my first day in this world.¡± He looked around. The chamber was barren, but pristine. It didn¡¯t have that smell of old dust he¡¯d expect a place like this to have. Rather, a mild flowery scent suffused through the chamber. All things considered, he hadn¡¯t had a bad welcome.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe this happened on my watch¡­¡± Nightshade muttered.


    ¡°That kinda hurt,¡± Craft said.


    She gasped and looked at him. ¡°Sorry! I mean, you¡¯re not bad news! It¡¯s just, newly summoned people aren¡¯t exactly common.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°No offense taken. I figured it was like that.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, don¡¯t worry!¡± she said, waving her hands. ¡°As the assistant manager, one of my duties is to help new summons like you get on their feet!¡±


    She got on her feet. He had hoped for some more small talk, but being teacher-student for now might be for the best.


    She rolled up her sleeves. Oh, she¡¯s getting into the role. Train someone enough and they could wear different masks for different occasions ¡ª he knew that very well. That besides¡­ ¡°Is what you do an official job?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yep! And we¡¯re in one of Enthusia¡¯s temples. They¡¯ve all got managers.¡±


    It was just about what he¡¯d expected. To have a world organized to take care of day-zero summons was a pretty good point in favor of Enthusia¡¯s intent to help people out. If she did all the helping out herself, it would¡¯ve been a case of an overworked boss ¡ª not that he knew whether gods could be overworked.


    She raised a finger. ¡°Anyway! Important! Before we even leave this room, there are a few things you need to know ¡ª and there¡¯s one rule you need to absolutely follow: you should never get in the way of someone¡¯s Hobby, and that¡¯s Rule Number One!¡±


    He leaned forward, squinting his eyes. ¡°A hobby?¡± he parroted. It sounded strange, but he¡¯d had to follow weirder laws. Besides¡­ ¡°Somehow, I feel like that ¡®hobby¡¯ is actually capitalized.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because it is. Hobbies are¡± ¡ª she paused, putting a finger to her cheek and staring at him for a second. ¡°I¡¯m assuming a lot of things about where you come from right now, so if something confuses you, just say so, alright?¡±


    Oh? That surprised him. That part didn¡¯t feeling like it came from her training. Being considerate of other people was one thing, but for Nightshade to be transparent about her own assumptions, he felt a lot more at ease and confident about approaching her.


    He nodded, prompting her to continue.


    ¡°Great. The most basic of basics here in the midRealm is that you need Anima to live, and you get Anima by doing your Hobbies. To be clear, you don¡¯t need to eat to live, okay? You need Anima.¡±


    She paused, letting the fact seep into Craft¡¯s understanding. The rules of survival in Amatoria were completely different to his former world¡¯s, and it didn¡¯t take much for him to imagine that it meant profoundly different dynamics in how people interacted with each other, from love to war and everything in between ¡ª assuming war was even still a thing around here.


    He scratched his chin, looking down at the ground in contemplation. ¡°You weren¡¯t kidding. It¡¯s the right thing to do to tell that to new arrivals first thing,¡± he said with a low voice. He looked back up at her. ¡°So everything revolves around this Anima thing? No, Hobbies?¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    It wasn¡¯t so much the fuel, but the source of the fuel that was important.


    ¡°What are they anyway?¡± he continued. ¡°I think I saw something like that on the way here.¡±


    Nightshade nodded slowly. ¡°That¡¯s right. For the people born here, Amatoria¡¯s System will auto-magically assign them a Hobby at some point, usually when they find something they like to do. For people like you and me, the System does the assignment while we¡¯re being transported here.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± he blurted out with wide eyes. They suddenly had something in common. ¡°You¡¯re also ¡ª what do you call it ¡ª summoned?¡±


    She nodded, looking away and fixing her hair. ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s been a long time though. Honestly, I almost forgot that was the case.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°How can you forget?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s been ¡ª huh, a thousand years? I dunno, I¡¯ve stopped keeping track. I can check my calendar, though, if you¡¯re that curious.¡±


    He stared at her. There he thought being stuck in limbo for a couple of centuries was a long time. It still doesn¡¯t even feel like it.


    ¡°Oh, one last thing,¡± Nightshade continued. ¡°If you happen to die out there, some of your Anima will be consumed, and you¡¯ll be respawned at the closest temple like this one.¡±


    ¡°Die? So something out there can kill me?¡± He was under the impression that this was a peaceful world, but maybe that wasn¡¯t the case after all. Well, even if it wasn¡¯t, this life would always be his second chance. With or without danger, he¡¯d take it to its conclusion.


    He¡¯d expected a straightforward answer, but Nightshade furrowed her brows. ¡°How to say¡­¡± she muttered and faced him. ¡°Amatoria¡¯s generally a safe place, and the people here don¡¯t try to kill you without consent, but otherwise, nothing¡¯s really stopping you from doing something stupid and getting into an accident.¡±


    Craft nod¡­ded? ¡°So if they get my consent¡­¡± He locked eyes with her, and she nodded to confirm his suspicions. ¡°I¡­ I see¡­¡±


    He sighed, and so did Nightshade. ¡°It¡¯s¡­a weird place,¡± she said.


    Yeah. He¡¯d met a weird person too before coming here. It all seemed to be in theme, though, so maybe he was the weird one? That should be the case, but something Enthusia said was still stuck in his mind:


    ¡°¡­It¡¯s a world I made so people like you can find the things you need¡­¡±


    That meant everyone here shared something in common. In thinking about his own tragedies, he wondered if Nightshade had her own fair share of troubles, too. It made him curious ¡ª gave him a sense of kinship with her, even ¡ª but it wasn¡¯t his place to pry. In the best case, she¡¯d overcome them already, anyway, and prodding her would just bring back bad memories. Though, if she actually hadn¡¯t gotten over them after even a thousand years¡­ Well, it wasn¡¯t his place to ask.


    He continued to look at her with such thoughts.


    She looked at him quizzically. ¡°Is there something in my eye?¡±


    Oh shit, he did not mean to stare at her like that. In the midst of panic, he looked for anything that he could use to ¡ª aha!


    ¡°Sorry, this has been bothering me since a while ago, but what¡¯s that under your eye?¡± he asked, pointing at the mark under her eye with his pinky finger.


    ¡°Huh, this?¡± She put a finger under her tattoo. ¡°That¡¯s my witch mark. It shows how much magic I have.¡±


    Magic, huh? Back in Craft¡¯s world, it wasn¡¯t an unknown concept. Rather, people feared it. He imagined if Nightshade were to live in his world, its people would surely come to fear her and her strength; throw some magic into the mix, and they¡¯ll have to choose whether to worship her or take their chances and hunt her down.


    ¡°Right now, it¡¯s just a baby potato,¡± she continued.


    Hm? He perked up and squinted at her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure one day, it¡¯ll flourish into a flowering potato.¡± She clutched her fist, declaring her resolve to the stained glass image of Enthusia in the ceiling window. ¡°Potatoes are the superior root crop! They have pretty flowers, too! The Tower will rue the day they took potatoes off the cafeteria menu!¡± She pulled her fist close to her chest, whispering a silent prayer. ¡°Enty witness me.¡±


    Craft could only offer a wry smile. Reclassified to Class-A weirdo, and he meant that with a polite amount of affection. He still wasn¡¯t sure how he¡¯d situate himself around her, but if she was this weird, there was scarcely anything he could do to mess this up.


    Still¡­ ¡®Enty,¡¯ huh? Nightshade had used her nickname so casually. Thinking back to that incorrigible curveball Enty threw him, was it actually a big deal after all? ¡°Is that really okay?¡± he asked.


    Nightshade eyed him curiously. ¡°What is?¡±


    ¡°Calling her En¡± ¡ª


    Nightshade jumped at him and covered his mouth. ¡°Don¡¯t use it if you don¡¯t have Nickname Rights!¡± She took her hand away, but Craft made no sound, just staring at her.


    H-had she broken him? ¡°A-are you okay?¡± ¡ª


    Craft made the most incredible sound: ¡°Ah-wu-gheh?¡± This was, indeed, not a sound he had made before. Seeing Nightshade, his face flushed red, and she broke into laughter.


    He covered his mouth and looked away. ¡°Say nothing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re amazing.¡± She wiped her eyes. ¡°But really, be careful about it.¡±


    He looked at her. ¡°What was that all about anyway?¡±


    Nightshade breathed deeply ¡ª in and out ¡ª expelling the last of the laughing gas. ¡°Alright, alright. If you use her nickname and you don¡¯t have Nickname Rights, there¡¯s a bunch of penalties. On the first offense, you¡¯ll get wind magically blown into your ear. On the second offense, an angel will find you and give you a light forehead flick. On the third offense, the forehead flick will knock you out¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa¡± ¡ª he shot up to his feet, and he looked like a crab as he started waving his hands and shaking his head with bent knees. ¡°Explain this to me ¡ª one more time ¡ª but nickname rights are ¡®Nickname Rights¡¯¡± ¡ª he quoted the words with his fingers, just to be sure ¡ª ¡°and you get K.O.¡¯d for using her nickname if you don¡¯t have¡­Nickname Rights?¡±


    Could Enthusia have made up such a rule? That goddess on the level of a petty dictator? No way. That made no sense!


    ¡°Weird, right?¡± Nightshade snickered. ¡°I¡¯m about 99% sure it¡¯s the angels who came up with the rule.¡±


    Craft calmed down. He straightened up and sat down. ¡°Alright. I can see that,¡± he said. He hadn¡¯t met any angels besides Amacus, but if they were proper angels, they¡¯d definitely be zealous enough to take things to the extremes.


    At least it was just on this level. He remembered a peculiar case where a truly benevolent dictator was subverted by his subordinates, so he ended up looking like a stock dictator from the outside-looking-in. What a waste of a good man, that one.


    Nightshade chuckled as she shook her head with her hand on her forehead. ¡°They love her too much.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you get Nickname Rights, though?¡± Craft asked. Following the conversation just now, he knew he had Nickname Rights, but he didn¡¯t feel sure about revealing it yet ¡ª not until he knew the ins and outs of this weird law. For all he knew, he went through a weird route to getting them, and he didn¡¯t want to stand out too much just because of it.


    ¡°Oh!¡± Nightshade clapped. ¡°Funny story! I didn¡¯t know it at the time, but I met her in an alley sometime in the last century. There was this old lady looking for anyone reselling a ticket to the UpRealm, and she introduced herself as Enty.¡±


    He found her hand gestures amazingly expressive, always pointing around and making rolling gestures. That besides ¡ª ¡®UpRealm¡¯? The question showed on his face.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s this nice farming place. Basically, Amatoria has three realms, and to get from here, the midRealm, to the UpRealm, you need portal tickets.¡± She shook her head and waved her hands around as if swatting a fly. ¡°I¡¯ll fill you in on the geography later!


    ¡°Anyway! She told me she was finally going to reunite with her long lost family after two worlds and five hundred years, but she¡¯d lost her ticket. I only had the one ticket at the time, but I figured I was just going there on vacation, while here she was on a noble quest.¡± She shrugged. ¡°I gave it to her.¡± She blew air through her nose and grabbed her own hair. ¡°Then she turned into a beautiful woman and ascended and angels poured in from everywhere and one of them gave me a certificate!¡±


    Enthusia¡­ What the hell are you doing?¡­


    Nightshade froze for a moment, stuck in a daze recalling those events, no doubt. Craft was sort of out of it after hearing about it, too. Just what was going on in this world? Even if he was having a minor worldview crisis, it was looking like Enthusia¡¯s words were ringing true. Going by Nightshade¡¯s words, this world wasn¡¯t in a hurry. It meant he didn¡¯t have to be, either.

 Chapter 9: Ghost of No Tomorrow

    Nightshade clapped, snapping herself out of her daze. ¡°Anyway! That¡¯s enough of my stories on your first day. I still gotta go to the town hall and tell them about you, set you up with a house and whatever, so let me show you to the guest room in the meantime¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Wait, wait, wait.¡± Craft pointed behind him. ¡°I¡¯ve experienced a tragedy.¡±


    Nightshade looked over his shoulder, and on spotting his shoes, recoiled backwards, holding her hair in frustration.


    ¡°Ah, shoot. Here I was wondering if that¡¯d ever gotten fixed!¡± She shook her head, showing him a wry smile. ¡°Sorry, you¡¯re just unlucky. This platform¡¯s got the only off-by-one error I know.¡±


    ¡°Off-by-one?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Off by one inch. They probably told the guy who made this to make sure it put people¡¯s feet on the ground. He wasn¡¯t wrong ¡ª it¡¯s perfectly aligned!¡± She threw her hands up in surrender. ¡°Anyway, there¡¯s a stock of shoes out back for when this happens.¡± She raised her eyebrows. ¡°Wait here?¡±


    He showed her thumbs up. ¡°No problem.¡±


    He gave her his shoe size and she rushed out of the chamber. Did she really have to be in a rush, though? That¡¯s probably just something peculiar to her. Among other peculiar things was how she had a swagger like she owned the place. Was one of her legs shorter than the other?


    He stopped himself right there. If he kept on taking mental note of someone¡¯s mannerisms, it was like saying this world wasn¡¯t peaceful enough for him. He shouldn¡¯t have to worry about stuff like that, right? But damn it, it¡¯s hard just dropping one of his most useful habits. It was a way to copy someone or later confirm whether they were truthful or lying. It was useful, sure, but when it came to casually hanging out with someone ¡ª he might be wrong here ¡ª but he shouldn¡¯t have to feel the need to do that, right?


    He was going to be dropping by again in the future, and it¡¯d help him a lot not to be bothered by his own peculiarities every time ¡ª not just in front of Nightshade, but with everyone else he might meet.


    Right. Coming into this world, it wasn¡¯t exactly a garden of Eden with shining lakes, but he still found himself looking forward to meeting more people like her. Among all the thoughts he had, this was the one that made him smile.


    Enthusia was right. It¡¯s not all doom and gloom.


    Footsteps resounded, and he looked towards the door. He was about to greet Nightshade with a more excited ¡°Hey, you¡¯re back!¡± but who he saw¡­it couldn¡¯t be her. What was with that toe-heel way of walking? Why was she glaring at him?


    That¡¯s not her.


    Having known danger all his life, he got to his feet, but there was nothing to do. If he believed Nightshade¡¯s explanation earlier, then no one should be able to engage in combat without a formal request ¡ª something like a duel, he explained to himself. On top of that, if Nightshade¡¯s explanation of Nickname Rights was real ¡ª he still couldn¡¯t believe it ¡ª then the laws of Amatoria were enforced through some kind of world-pervading magic.


    Wasn¡¯t there some kind of provision to that rule to let him fight in self-defense? Maybe there were loopholes he could use, but prodding the rules of his benefactor¡¯s creation on day-one was an ass move if he¡¯d ever seen one. If he had any reprieve, it was that the imposter¡¯s shoulders were relaxed. By this indication, they weren¡¯t looking for a fight; it¡¯s not as if he could relax when they didn¡¯t look too friendly either.


    He was stuck between risks whatever he did. In the end, he had to wager that the other person was also unwilling to break the rules. He would rather die than pull an ass move.


    ¡®Nightshade¡¯ smirked and aimed for the opposite end of the platform, sitting down what felt like miles away from him, crossing her legs and showing him a polite smile.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked her.


    ¡°I just left a while ago, and now you don¡¯t recognize me?¡± ¡®Nightshade¡¯ said. ¡°I¡¯m sad.¡±


    It pissed him off somehow that whoever this was was impersonating Nightshade. Chances were that she¡¯d keep on playing this stupid game he didn¡¯t want any part of. He had to irrefutably out her somehow.


    ¡°Since you¡¯re impersonating her, we¡¯ve already got a problem. Depending on your explanation, I might let it go and stay hush about it,¡± he told her. He¡¯d said it like an analyst¡¯s frank explanation of a bad situation, but in this case, it was a frank threat.


    ¡°C-craft, you¡¯re scaring me¡­¡±


    No matter how he rationally knew it wasn¡¯t Nightshade, the idea that he might cause the real one to say those words made him doubt himself for a moment. He was entirely capable of making the real one act like that, but having this kind of power over others wasn¡¯t something he ever wanted in the first place.


    Was making him feel this way the imposter¡¯s goal? He didn¡¯t like them at all. He narrowed his eyes. ¡°If you¡¯re really Nightshade, tell me about that time with Enty.¡±


    She perked up. ¡°Oh¡­ That time, huh?¡±


    She cutely put her finger to her cheek. Craft didn¡¯t miss the bead of sweat rolling down the side of her head. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, sharpening his gaze. ¡°That time.¡±


    ¡°W-well, Enthusia¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Oh? Suddenly calling her Enthusia now?¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Silence fell between them. His gambit had worked; it turned out whoever this was didn¡¯t have Nickname Rights.


    ¡°You¡¯re insightful as they say, Agent Bowen.¡± The imposter¡¯s voice had changed. Gone was the fake cheer, and in was the real scorn.


    But, ¡®Agent¡¯? How¡¯d she know? Craft crunched through the possibilities in his mind, but he couldn¡¯t find one that would explain just how she knew about his past.


    He hadn¡¯t even been here for more than a few minutes and his cover had already been blown. Didn¡¯t this place turn out to be a spy¡¯s nightmare? It was his turn to sweat, and he found himself shifting his feet and putting his hand on his hip.


    He didn¡¯t feel a gun there, however. He chuckled to himself. He was supposed to have sworn off the killing, but now he was in a situation when it was convenient. What, was he still just an animal who killed when it was more convenient than fighting without fighting?


    The imposter chuckled. ¡°Let me help you,¡± she said. She didn¡¯t make sense to him, until she extended her hand, palm-up , and a mist made of shadows coalesced above it, solidifying into a familiar item that fell in her hand.


    He gulped. His gaze traced the polished faces and precision-machined reliefs¡­of a gun.


    With a scoff, then a smirk, she placed it on the platform. He didn¡¯t expect her to slide it over. It came to a tumbling stop near the top of the steps, almost within arm¡¯s reach.


    This world was supposed to be his chance to be peaceful, but in this situation, he couldn¡¯t see a peaceful ending.


    His gaze landed on the imposter. What did she even want? Nothing she did make sense. ¡°What¡¯s this for?¡±


    The woman sneered. There was a crazed look in her eye, one that Craft had seen once in a doctor who liked to trap her patients. ¡°I want to be your enemy,¡± she said, ¡°I want you to give me a reason to stand in your every way. I want you to understand just how unfit you are for this world, and that you¡¯ll be stuck in this starting town for a thousand years, trying and failing to reckon just what you¡¯re missing.¡± She nodded her head to the gun. ¡°So go on. Take it. It¡¯s always been yours.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t even begin to guess her motives. As much as possible, he didn¡¯t want that gun.


    His choices quickly diminished as the imposter stood up and brandished two leaf-bladed swords. She took her sweet time taking one step after another, approaching him with a steady gaze, steady breathing, and a steady pace.


    Fear froze his feet. He feared her, the resolve in her eyes, and the gun within arm¡¯s reach ¡ª of what course of the future might change if he chose to pick it up.


    Fear also kicked his training into gear. His feet moved towards the imposter without consent. He took the gun as he passed it. The learned trauma and responses from past battlefields spurred him onward. He held no want to die nor to kill, but as he got closer, it seemed more and more that he would have to choose one or the other.


    The imposter grinned like any killer would. He could see his reflection fill her dilated eyes. It was obvious to him that she¡¯d done this many times before ¡ª something that didn¡¯t make sense in a land supposed to be as peaceful as it could be.


    They stopped before each other, and the imposter¡¯s swords caught Craft¡¯s neck in a pincer ¡ª stopping at the last inch. ¡°Go on,¡± she said. ¡°Try. Kill me.¡±


    By some fluke of magic and the cold grasp of fear, seconds passed as he couldn¡¯t decide what to do¡­and nothing happened. That didn¡¯t make much sense to him. She could just kill him right now and be done with it, but what¡¯s this, was it that¡­she couldn¡¯t do that?


    She didn¡¯t have his consent, after all.


    Wow, people actually really follow that rule, huh? Putting a knife against his throat must¡¯ve been some kind of gray area, or else she wouldn¡¯t have pulled this stunt.


    In another way of thinking about it: as long as he didn¡¯t take the bait, he didn¡¯t have to fight.


    Ideas popped into his mind one after the other. The number of things he could do in this situation was crazy, but there was one kind of intimidation he¡¯d always wanted to try.


    He held up the handgun, pointing it to the ceiling. The imposter grinned, expecting him to get ready for war, but as he racked the slide ¡ª it came off. The whole thing.


    The imposter jerked back. ¡°Huh,¡± she blurted out. She looked like she hadn¡¯t even known it could do that.


    The slide fell to the ground, and the magazine followed. To the imposter, it must have seemed like the gun was just falling apart on its own, melting in his hands. Screws, levers, and springs bounced around their feet one after the other, and Craft did all of this without breaking eye contact with her. Forgetting all his questions about the imposter and how she got this gun, he gave himself this moment to enjoy how the imposter¡¯s eyes widened in growing horror.


    She took a step back. She seemed to have realized her faux pas and stepped forward again, hovering her blades next to his throat. ¡°D-do you have a death wish?¡± she said, glaring at him in the eyes, her bloodlust drilling straight into his soul ¡ª or it should have, but she¡¯d stuttered, so he remained entirely unconvinced.


    ¡°Nope,¡± Craft said like he was turning down a salesman. The bare lower frame of the handgun hung from his index finger, and he began to spin it around like a keychain. ¡°To tell you the truth, you had me in the first part.¡± He chuckled to himself. ¡°But this really is another world, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    The imposter gritted her teeth. She could do nothing against him, and they both knew that.


    ¡°You think this is over?¡± she said. There were still plenty of things she could do to get this guy¡¯s true colors to show. All it¡¯d take was pressing the right buttons.


    Craft furrowed his brows. ¡°You¡¯ve got me confused here. I¡¯m just trying to live in peace, but you show up, try to pick a fight, and I don¡¯t even know who you are. If it was just that, I¡¯d deal with you on your terms if you want, but¡± ¡ª his glare turned subzero ¡ª ¡°getting Nightshade mixed into this wasn¡¯t a good idea.¡±


    The imposter stepped back, flinching ¡ª just barely keeping herself from cowering ¡ª betraying the strong front she¡¯d come in here with.


    What face had he made, he wondered? He wasn¡¯t sure ¡­ and he didn¡¯t care. He might not have been a happy person, himself, but that was exactly why he didn¡¯t want to see anyone¡¯s happiness tarnished. You don¡¯t get these people involved, was what he believed, and by taking on Nightshade¡¯s form, this imposter had crossed a line.


    ¡°You may be right,¡± she said, and that surprised him. Their form started to dissolve into smoke. ¡°I will not take this girl¡¯s form anymore. My quarrel is with you, Agent, and no one else ¡ª but you will always find me over your shoulder, mocking you until you understand: you are not fit for this world.¡±


    The last of her scattered into the air, leaving him frozen and wondering: what was he doing, making enemies by literally doing nothing?


    The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He¡¯d thought this world would be a walk in a planet-sized park, but here he was already trying to figure out what sorts of allies he¡¯d need, safehouses he¡¯d have to build, and making up hypotheses for his opponent¡¯s next moves.


    Surely, this couldn¡¯t have been the life Enthusia had offered him ¡ª but that¡¯s when it clicked: ¡°I want you to understand just how unfit you are for this world.¡± That¡¯s what the impostor had said, and all this planning for war ¡ª wasn¡¯t this exactly what she¡¯d meant?


    ¡°Craaaft!¡± Nightshade¡¯s voice echoed from the door, knocking him out of his thoughts. She came in with a leaning tower of shoe boxes, the whole stack oscillating like a snake as she over-corrected left and right.


    That was him right now: a man wavering under the temptation to play his old games. If he wasn¡¯t careful, he¡¯d lose balance and fall, and there¡¯d be no one there to pick up the pieces.


    ***


    Except there were. He just wasn¡¯t aware of it yet.

 Chapter 10: Three Rules

    Did you know? Witness protection has a 100% success rate against assassins and hit squads. Craft would know; he used to work for them.


    One time, their client was the governor of CAZ Area 3. The guy had it all: drugs, connections, women, a private army ¡ª and a grocery list of enemies. That list turned into a backlog, and on the condition of selling out his friends in the arms trade, he got into the CAZ¡¯s witness protection program.


    Assassins came and went in body bags. Things had been looking up for the governor, and from that sniveling low-tier villain Craft had first met, the man had soon gotten back to being disgustingly arrogant again.


    Karma was a flawless assassin. Despite every precaution, the poor bastard had somehow slipped on a banana peel and hit his head on the edge of his jacuzzi ¡ª that¡¯s what the report concluded. Having instructed the guards to give him some alone time for fifteen minutes, they found him drowned in the water fifteen minutes later.


    Sensors and cameras confirmed that he¡¯d been alone, and the banana peel had been from a basket he¡¯d brought inside himself. They called it an accident, wrapped up the case, and witness protection¡¯s 100% success rate wasn¡¯t technically wrong. Needless to say, the suggestive placement of that banana peel beside the champagne was Craft¡¯s dumbest and proudest work.


    That was why, as he and Nightshade went through a massacre of spilled shoe boxes ¡ª she¡¯d tripped and fallen over ¡ª even a loosened shoelace was suspicious to him. Having authored some of the tricks in the CAZ¡¯s black books, there just wasn¡¯t escaping the paranoia of a shoelace having been dipped in nitro and turned into high-explosive detonation cord. He¡¯d written that one too.


    All things considered, it wasn¡¯t so bad. Sure, his encounter with the impostor pulled him left and right between ¡°here we go again¡± and ¡°nothing will happen because I have Nickname Rights,¡± but he wasn¡¯t as bothered as he thought he¡¯d be. Maybe he was just too used to things not going according to plan. Maybe he leaned towards the ¡°here we go again¡± side after all.


    He glanced Nightshade¡¯s way every now and then, checking if she was fine. Her face went from annoyance, to hope, to further annoyance as she went through boxes with missing pairs and others with sizes higher or lower, but never exactly the one they wanted ¡ª blissfully unaware that she might be in danger.


    That he was looking her way at all was a tad unusual. Concern for others wasn¡¯t a totally alien emotion to him, but what was alien was how much breathing room he had to do so now. He could actually think of ways to shield her ¡ª keep her out of this ¡ª compared to before when he had to mentally apologize to passers-by seconds before they became collateral damage.


    He really had to keep her out of his newfound mess. For him to truly achieve the life he wanted, the people around him ought to stay as they are; if everyone were embroiled in trouble, then how could he, himself, remain untroubled?


    Normalcy was something to be preserved. In his former organization, that was just his work, but now, it was his motto. He¡¯d fix any issue before anyone even knew it existed.


    But how much danger were they actually in? It was a new world with new rules, and with every story that came out of Nightshade¡¯s mouth, the more he knew that he knew nothing ¡ª except that he¡¯d make Enty cry if he fell back to his old rules. He¡¯d made her a promise, after all, and he hadn¡¯t forgotten about it.


    To get to the bottom of the impostor¡¯s gripe with him, he couldn¡¯t just do what he used to. He had to diligently lay down the prepwork, and learning more about Enthusia¡¯s world would be the first step.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    He peeked around the shoe box pyramid. It was so wide, he only saw the brim of Nightshade¡¯s hat. ¡°Hey, I gotta ask,¡± he said.


    Nightshade peeked around as well. Now they could see each other¡¯s eyes. ¡°Yeppers?¡±


    ¡°You mentioned something about a ¡®Rule One¡¯ before,¡± he began. ¡°¡­ Implying there¡¯s more than one rule, isn¡¯t there?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right, that¡¯s right.¡± She put down the shoe box she¡¯d been holding. Having one¡¯s hands freed to make air gestures was of utmost importance to her job after all.


    ¡°Actually,¡± she continued, ¡°that¡¯s ¡®One Law, Three Rules, and a Grocery List of Guidelines.¡¯ ¡±


    ¡°A grocery list?¡± He shook his head, not knowing whether he should be impressed or disappointed. The two emotions collided, co-annihilating and leaving behind a residue of mild amusement. He chuckled. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! It¡¯s a lot better than¡± ¡ª she paused. He didn¡¯t expect her to look away and, for a fleeting moment, for her face to twist in despair. Had it been from resurfaced memories of the tedium of bureaucracy from her previous life? Whatever tedium she remembered soon disappeared, however; she loosened up as if having encountered an angel ¡ª a guiding star ¡ª while traversing the petrified jungles of all-too-human institutions.


    What did you go through? He leaned left and right, but her eyes didn¡¯t follow him. ¡°H-hey, are you okay?¡±


    Her gaze snapped towards him with stars in her eyes and she pumped her arms. ¡°You won¡¯t believe how easy this setup has been on everyone!¡±


    ¡®Buy now at 20% less retail price!¡¯ He imagined she¡¯d make a good salesperson.


    She started speaking faster. ¡°Small town? Just show your face around and it¡¯ll be fine ¡ª or be a NEET! That¡¯s fine, too! Living in a big city? Get yourself registered to be eligible for insurance ¡­ or live on the edge and be an undocumented NEET!¡±


    There¡­there seemed to be a theme here. ¡°Is there something about NEETs¡± ¡ª


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to work to live, duh. All we have are gigs and contracts, so it turns out that most permanent residents just end up being NEETs, technically.¡±


    Holy shit, she¡¯s right.


    ¡°When it comes to stuff like misdemeanors, felonies, and tax evasion, how screwed you are depends on who you screwed with.¡±


    ¡°Seems about right.¡± He cupped his chin with one hand ¡ª and waved it away as a concern intruded on him. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like it¡¯d turn out well. It¡¯s ¡®law and order,¡¯ not ¡®guidelines and order.¡¯ ¡±


    If there were so much free reign, this world shouldn¡¯t even turn out peaceful at all.


    Nightshade smirked and raised a finger. ¡°Naive, o Crafty one.¡±


    Huh? How? It seemed about straightforward that just guidelines were no basis for a magical civilization, but it wasn¡¯t? What about enforcement? Dispute resolution? Who¡¯s the top dog with the nuclear codes? No, he had to stop his thoughts right there. His common sense had stopped applying the moment he¡¯d faced Enthusia. Lacking correct sense, he had to face this one with genuine curiosity.


    ¡°You might be thinking, ¡®Oh no! Warlords!¡¯ ¡± she continued. ¡°Anyway ¡ª nope! Not it. Amatoria has a simple constitution of sorts that all the guidelines lay down a velvet carpet for, and that¡¯s the Three Rules.


    ¡°Rule One: Don¡¯t get in the way of someone¡¯s Hobby;


    ¡°Rule Two: Help out anyone who can¡¯t do their Hobbies;


    ¡°Rule Three: Ask for help when you can¡¯t do your Hobbies!¡±


    She had raised three fingers. Her cadence was practiced; could she maybe recite the Rules in her sleep?


    ¡°Three Rules, huh,¡± he muttered. They were easy to remember, and it all came down to what people should do with each other and their Hobbies.


    Ah, but he had a thought. If the guidelines all swerved around the Rules, then, conceptually¡­ No, that can¡¯t be right. He faced Nightshade with a stilted expression. ¡°Hey, if someone became a warlord ¡®as a Hobby,¡¯ ¡± he paused, ¡°and if a kid asked them to help finish a crochet project¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Yep,¡± Nightshade replied without even letting him finish.


    He eyed her. ¡°No way.¡±


    She maintained a polite smile. ¡°I said: yep.¡±


    He pictured a gang of skeleton riders leaving death and destruction in a flame-licked night, only to be stopped by a small child who was finding it hard to sew his teddy bear¡¯s torn head back to its body ¡ª and all the skeletons dismounting to help piece the thing together again.


    He shook his head. The Rules were that strong, but what made laws strong was not the words that defined them, but the enforcers behind them, quietly hovering over everyone¡¯s shoulders ¡ª the guillotines who¡¯d chase you until the ends of the world.


    ¡°What happens if you break a Rule?¡± he asked. This time, a look of genuine terror flashed across Nightshade¡¯s face. What¡¯s wrong? ¡ª he wanted to ask her, but she spoke before he could.


    She gulped. ¡°Then you¡¯ll have to deal with the Law.¡±

 Chapter 11: The Law

    ¡°If you break a Rule,¡± Nightshade continued, ¡°she¡¯ll come for you.¡±


    So it was a person after all. To be able to enforce the Three Rules across the whole world, she must have been the leader of a worldwide organization who had eyes and ears everywhere. ¡­ Hey, wasn¡¯t this supposed to be a peaceful world? His impression of the place had been swinging left and right like a metronome the whole day ¡ª and he hadn¡¯t even left the spawn point!


    Alas, he was still too naive. ¡°I once saw her up close,¡± Nightshade continued, trembling as she did. ¡°Wings black as night, an icy cold glare¡± ¡ª


    Craft narrowed his eyes. It sounded oddly like the leader of the organization herself showed up; wasn¡¯t that a dumb thing to do? And why does that description sound familiar?¡­


    ¡°That time, she was flying right over me, and I swear, my soul was leaving my body.¡±


    She trembled¡­with stars in her eyes? Oh no, Craft¡¯s initial impression might have been wrong. It might not have been fear, but rather ¡ª


    ¡°I almost died but she was so cool!¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Craft blurted out. She had been trembling in excitement . There he was just thinking about how the Law must have ruled through respect and fear like any dignified enforcer, but was it that she ruled through a loyal fanbase instead?


    It might sound silly, but in his former world, there had been an AI who¡¯d managed to pull it off. The country it founded was a shining example of human-AI harmony, a leader in technological advancement, and arguably the most culturally advanced nation in the world ¡ª all because the AI loved streaming so much, it nationalized every web media platform it could layer its API on; the defense system was implemented as a community plugin.


    That couldn¡¯t be what was going on here, but whatever the case, knowing the Law was actually a person was a windfall. With both his and the impostor¡¯s movements restrained by the Rules, whether he got on the Law¡¯s good or bad side would give him an edge against the impostor.


    ¡°So,¡± he asked, ¡°how does she actually do the enforcing?¡±


    ¡°Oh, she shows up and decides what to do with you.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°She doesn¡¯t send someone?¡±


    ¡°Nope, she actually shows up.¡±


    The heck, that¡¯s scary. ¡°But isn¡¯t that impossible? I get that there¡¯s some kind of magic going on here, but she can¡¯t be everywhere all at once, can she?¡±


    Nightshade put a finger to her cheek and closed her eyes. ¡°Hmm, that¡¯s true.¡± She looked at him again. ¡°I remember her saying, ¡®My schedule is packed. Please die quickly,¡¯ but that was almost three centuries ago. I guess she has some kind of sixth sense and just teleports all over the place, but before that, I think it¡¯s really just that mostly everyone follows the Rules without being forced to anyway, so she doesn¡¯t have to work overtime.¡±


    Craft looked at the ground, leaning slightly, before straightening himself and looking at her again. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine it. Everyone following the Rules without anyone looking?¡±


    Maybe not ¡®everyone,¡¯ but the thought of 99.9999% of people falling in line by themselves was outright magical. People looked out for their own interests, and it just so happened that their interests sometimes outweighed someone else¡¯s.


    ¡°I think you¡¯re missing something,¡± Nightshade said. ¡°I¡¯ve gone around a lot, and I¡¯ve talked to a lot of people, so I¡¯m confident enough to say ¡®we all share something in common,¡¯ and that¡¯s why everyone finds it easy to follow the Rules. Everyone from the battle freaks of the down_realm until the laziest fisherman in the Uprealm all have this something that¡± ¡ª she paddle-wheeled her hands in the air, but she dropped them and sighed, chuckling to herself ¡ª ¡°Boy am I bad at explaining.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Craft said. Though he chuckled along with Nightshade¡¯s embarrassment, he wondered in the back of his mind whether the things she¡¯d said were also true for the impostor: that they had this same ¡®something¡¯ as everyone else. That must have been the case, or else they wouldn¡¯t have acted the way they did.


    ¡°Even someone who hates you would have that thing?¡± he asked.


    Nightshade raised an eyebrow. ¡° ¡®Someone who hates you¡¯ ?¡± She thought for a moment. ¡°I haven¡¯t met very many people with a gripe against someone else, but there was that one time¡­¡± She nodded. ¡°Well, it¡¯s a long story, but to sum it up¡± ¡ª she paused, and after making some dissatisfied noises, she rubbed her hair into a mess. ¡°Gah! I really can¡¯t come up with a good summary¡­¡±


    She beats herself up more than she ought to, Craft thought. She was actually good at explaining things and accommodating other¡¯s confusion, and this frustration she¡¯s got must have just been her being tired. In that case, he ought to throw her a conversational survival donut. ¡°Even if the story¡¯s long, I¡¯m all ears. I might figure something out midway through.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    She froze, raised her eyebrows. ¡°Oh, you sure?¡± she finally said. When he nodded, she mirrored him and nodded too, putting a finger to her cheek. ¡°Hm, well, it was actually like a love triangle. It¡¯s been like a hundred years, so I don¡¯t think they¡¯d take offense if I talked about it now, but let¡¯s just call them A, B, and C to be on the safe side.


    ¡°A and B were fighting over who loves C the most, even if C accepts both of them.¡±


    ¡°Classic.¡± In his spare time, Craft had seen some similar stories that had come out of Japan. Go figure for a country that had been swept by a virus that killed off 90% of the male population.


    ¡°A and B were actually best friends before they met C, and C was pretty upfront about the whole thing, so there¡¯s no miscommunication going on here. In fact, there wasn¡¯t a problem at all in the beginning!¡± Nightshade shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t get it!¡±


    It was true that nature abhorred a vacuum, but most people also abhorred needless conflict. Weren¡¯t they just¡­bored? ¡°What, they got bored of peace and invented a problem on their own or something?¡±


    Nightshade froze. ¡°That¡¯s exactly what happened!¡±


    ¡°Hey, wait, I was kidding¡± ¡ª


    ¡°A and B thought the other wasn¡¯t treating C very well, even if C kept on telling them he was more than fine with both of them.¡± She sighed. Her shoulders sank ¡ª and she threw her arms up in the air! ¡°Turns out the both of them sorted out their misunderstandings halfway through, and they just went and drummed up the drama for more attention!¡±


    This reminded him of that one textbook event where an old country called ¡®Rosiya¡¯ faked the collapse of their government, using it as an excuse to pull a 4-D political Hail Mary and justify a three-way peace treaty, ¡®incidentally¡¯ averting World War 4 in the process. It shouldn¡¯t have worked; they had done it one-sidedly without any prior coordination with the other superpowers, but the trick here was that they knew how the Mericans saw them and ¡ª particularly ¡ª how they would react to blatantly-fake CGI of a city experiencing terrorism on a nuclear level. If that mutual understanding had been mismatched in any way, it wouldn¡¯t have worked, and the CGI nuke would have become reality.


    Comparing a minimum viable harem¡¯s love spat to a historical event was neither a fair nor proportional comparison, though. ¡°What happened after that?¡± Craft continued to ask.


    ¡°Oh, well, C was pretty upset about it, but since A and B already made up, things just went back to normal.¡±


    Oh, the analogy held. ¡°All that drama just to go back to the same-old, huh?¡± He shrugged and chuckled to himself. ¡°Makes me wonder why anyone would want to drum up that kind of thing on purpose.¡±


    ¡°Hey, now, the root cause of their little spat wasn¡¯t fundamentally petty. Making sure two people you know don¡¯t mistreat each other isn¡¯t a bad thing, you know?


    ¡°And besides, even if they were angry at each other, don¡¯t you think it¡¯s cool they still bothered to stop and think about each other¡¯s intentions for a moment? If they didn¡¯t, they would¡¯ve just kept fighting.¡±


    He tilted his head, his gaze veering off one way. Couldn¡¯t that ¡®thing¡¯ actually just be that very same understanding that Nightshade was talking about? He looked back at her and straightened himself. ¡°Yeah, I can get behind that. If it¡¯s just ¡®understanding each other,¡¯ that sounds simple enough.¡±


    ¡°No ¡ª yeah ¡ª wait, no! It¡¯s close, but ¡ª agh!¡± She threw her hands up, rolled her eyes, took off her hat, and stared at the ceiling. ¡°Oh boys, girls, and everyone in between, do I suck at this.¡±


    She smiled the way people who resigned themselves to their fates did. ¡°Great,¡± she said and took a deep breath in¡­then out. She looked back at Craft. ¡°Sorry. Hi. I¡¯m Nightshade.¡±


    Craft furrowed his brows. ¡°Are you¡­okay? I mean, hi.¡± He waved with one hand, unsure whether he was playing along correctly.


    She put on her hat again. ¡°Great, thanks.¡±


    He lowered his hand. ¡°What was that?¡±


    She smiled and did a peace sign. ¡°Oh, you know, it¡¯s just my job to explain stuff to you, but¡± ¡ª shrug ¡ª ¡°I can¡¯t. In this case, it¡¯s best to forget my disappointment in myself ¡ª let it out, you know?¡±


    ¡°I think I got the point, though.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, no. ¡®Understanding each other¡¯ is just a tangential concept, and ¡ª trust me ¡ª I learned the hard way the approximation isn¡¯t the thing itself.¡± She sighed. ¡°Well, anyway, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s too hard to figure out once you¡¯re outside. If there¡¯s any tip to make it easier¡­ Well, I think even the Law has that thing in common.¡±


    Her words made him pause and remember an odd thing Amacus had told him before: ¡°If we¡¯re alike in any way.¡± It didn¡¯t strike him as meaning anything in particular at the time ¡ª wait, why¡¯d he think of Amacus?


    Nightshade chuckled. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like you¡¯ll just meet the Law on your first day.¡±


    He shook his head. Whatever the case, meeting the Law on his first day would actually be the best case scenario. He needed allies against his strange opponent, and if he could gauge the Law¡¯s personality and goals, he¡¯d stand a better chance of getting her on his side.


    ¡°Hey, hypothetically, let¡¯s say you meet the Law one day,¡± he asked. ¡°How would you get on her good side?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a fun one! Let¡¯s see¡­¡± She put a finger to her cheek. ¡°I¡¯ve heard some stories about how the advice the Law gives is really, really good, so¡± ¡ª she shrugged ¡ª ¡°I guess, if I wanted to get on her good side, I¡¯d just do the nice thing and take her advice seriously.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s¡­straightforward¡± ¡ª but it was a no-nonsense approach. Even in his undercover work, ¡®taking other people seriously¡¯ was one of the core tenets of manipulating everyone from self-elected chancellors to trigger-happy cartel lieutenants. Trying to get his suggestions across without first making the other party feel that he understood them thoroughly was a recipe for a slow and painful death.


    Nightshade chuckled. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like the Law Herself is going to descend on us¡± ¡ª


    The summoning circle started to shine. Winds of whispy white magic spiraled around the platform, whipping them in their faces and blowing wind into their ears without remorse.


    ¡°No,¡± Nightshade muttered. Long had she witnessed two summons in a row ¡­ and long had she witnessed the outline of those wings.


    ¡°No!¡± she screamed above the winds, but fate would not concede. Black wings sprouted, and the winds stopped suddenly ¡ª the air itself frozen, made sub-zero. It turned into snow, those white specks falling down with fluttering black feathers like pollen among falling petals in autumn.


    The wings folded down, courteously tucked behind the dark angel as she turned around. Why is she here? Nightshade willed her legs to move, but they wouldn¡¯t. She snapped her head towards Craft, looking for a comrade in shock and awe, but all she found was a mildly surprised man.


    ¡°Oh, Amacus?¡± Craft said.


    ¡°R-real name basis?¡­¡± Nightshade muttered. All hope was lost. There was nothing left to cling to ¡ª not even her consciousness. Her eyes rolled into her skull, and she tipped over backwards never to wake up again ¡­ for the next ten minutes.

 Chapter 12: Angelus of the Valkyrie

    <b>


    Chapter 12: Angelus of the Valkyrie


    </b>


    Her wings seemed larger from the shadows they cast on the ground. Had


    Craft never known her, he would probably be resigned to die right


    here.


    But once upon a time, she hadn¡¯t been anyone¡¯s angel.


    ***


    Every legend was once a child.


    The carriage jolted. Amacus rubbed shoulders with other children. Men


    barked orders outside. The carriage had been covered, and it was too


    dark to see. She wanted things to end.


    She, and the other children, had been marked with a curse. Soon,


    their flesh would melt away, and they would be left as a sentient pile


    of meat and bones taking no definite form. They would only feel pain,


    they¡¯d been told, so they might as well be sacrificed for the greater


    good.


    The carriage lurched and stopped. Men shouted and gurgled blood.


    Swords rang as they were drawn. Liquids splashed against the side of the


    carriage, and things dropped to the ground in dull thuds.


    Soon, the back of the carriage opened. Amacus came face to face with


    women in dark bodysuits ¡ª elves, straight out of a fairy tale. ¡°It¡¯s


    alright now,¡± the frontmost one said.


    Amacus and the children were let off the carriage. Some of them


    already had teeth and hair falling out, while others didn¡¯t stop crying


    for their arms had turned into noodles. There was no way they could be


    saved, she¡¯d thought, and that went for herself, too.


    A man emerged from the shadows, however, spreading his hands forward


    and letting out a magical light. It felt warm, soothing, and a knot she


    didn¡¯t know was in her chest was straightened out. Her curse, along with


    the weakness of her heartbeat, had evaporated and gone with the wind.


    She looked upon their savior: clad in black and an icy cold glare, he


    was more of an assassin than a hero. She was still a child, however, and


    she felt afraid of him. Despite that, he had still saved them. Who


    was this man?


    ¡°These people gave you the curse, lied to you, told you it was your


    fault for being born,¡± the man said. ¡°Now, you have a choice. Run, hide,


    and live freely, or join us. Revenge, justice, or fun, I don¡¯t care what


    your reason is. If the cult is your target, then you can become our


    weapon.¡±


    Born as a Valkyrie, Amacus found her calling in that moment. It


    possessed her, drove her mad like her parents had warned her:


    because Valkyries flock to wars like moths to a flame.


    Tears dripped from her eyes. She could smell the battles this man had


    been through. She knew following him might kill her, and if it didn¡¯t,


    then a road of suffering was waiting for her.


    None of that mattered. Perhaps it was a mix of joy and bittersweet


    relief, but whatever it was, she knew she¡¯d found the man who would be


    her general and master. She decided, against her mother and father¡¯s


    wishes, to walk the Valkyrie¡¯s paradox: to be a servant who lived to


    die.


    ***


    Her master had become a god. She had always believed he was a god,


    but it had taken a literal turn, and now that she was here, she wasn¡¯t


    sure how to act around him anymore.


    She stood behind him, ready to cut down the goddess on the other side


    of the table at the first sign of bloodlust. They were in an all-shadow


    space, save for herself, her master, the goddess, and the chairs and


    table the two forces used.


    ¡°I can¡¯t leave Amatoria for this long,¡± the goddess said. ¡°I need to


    go back, but once I do, I can¡¯t return.¡±


    Her healing and support powers had been valuable during the war, and


    if she¡¯d continue to stay, it would be over in short order ¡ª about 3,000


    years.


    ¡°I accept,¡± her master said. Huh, that easily? She knew her


    master to be more cunning and merciless than this. With his infinite


    wisdom and strength, why couldn¡¯t he just make her an offer she couldn¡¯t


    refuse?


    ¡°On one condition,¡± he continued. Oh, there it is. Her


    master was as amazing as always ¡ª ¡°Take Amacus with you.¡±


    She took a step back. Her hands, once crossed behind her back like a


    proper soldier, spread out in dismay. ¡°Master?!¡±


    She couldn¡¯t understand what was happening. She had always been a


    proper soldier, throwing herself against the shadows they hunted in the


    vague hopes of exchaging her life for a victory in her master¡¯s name.


    Victory upon victory she¡¯d racked up, but no matter how hard she tried,


    she was just too tough to die. What a terrible pawn she made.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Her strength, of course, couldn¡¯t be compared to her master¡¯s. If he


    was so strong¡­maybe he simply didn¡¯t need her anymore. In that


    case¡­


    She took a knee. ¡°If I am so worthless, then take my life.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not what I meant.¡±


    She drew her sword partway, offering the hilt to him. ¡°If I may be so


    bold, please do it with my favorite sword. My blood is a rust


    protectant, and I wish for my legacy to be enshrined in the armory of


    heroes.¡±


    Her master ignored her, facing the goddess. ¡°As you can see, she


    doesn¡¯t know how to take a break. We are the shadows who hunt shadows,


    but I don¡¯t run a black company, so if you can take her off my hands for


    a while, that¡¯d be great.¡±


    The goddess paused and stared at him for a second. ¡°You do realize I


    have restrictions¡± ¡ª


    ¡°I think that¡¯s no problem. You can appraise her right now.¡±


    ¡°Is that alright?¡±


    He gestured to Amacus. ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    Amacus didn¡¯t understand what was going on. All she knew was the


    goddess had looked at her, said ¡®okay,¡¯ and she watched her master


    stand, turn, and leave ¡ª not even sparing a glance towards her.


    Just like that, the faithful Valkyrie was ¡®abandoned¡¯ by her master.


    It wasn¡¯t the case, but it didn¡¯t matter if she didn¡¯t understand it


    herself.


    ***


    The two of them were left alone in the shadow realm. Silence has its


    way, but only for so long. The goddess greeted her: ¡°Nice to make your


    acquaintance.¡±


    Amacus appraised her. There wasn¡¯t even a speck of danger about her;


    she was a pacifist, a softie, and fatally vulnerable to even the enemy¡¯s


    plight. Nothing about her made her a respectable leader ¡ª the


    complete opposite of Amacus¡¯ former master.


    Nevertheless, she had nowhere left to go. If she just pretended to be


    a hitchhiker tagging along with some random goddess heading in the same


    direction, perhaps life after abandonment would still be bearable.


    She followed the goddess through a portal, emerging to an all-white


    space. It was so different from the shadow realm that Amacus thought the


    goddess had revealed her talons and attacked with a flashbang.


    A mere flashbang wouldn¡¯t get past her defenses, however. She planted


    her feet and prepared for the attack. Astute and unwavering, cool and


    collected ¡ª she wondered why the flashbang lasted over a minute.


    It wasn¡¯t until the portal closed and the goddess dropped to her


    knees that she lowered her guard. Her eyes adjusted, and she found


    cracks in the sky and the ground: proof that the agents of the God of


    Despair had reached even until here. When the goddess pulled up images


    of her world in a panic, she found all three realms a shadow of their


    former selves.


    Amacus¡¯ former master often complimented the ¡®chill atmosphere¡¯ of


    the goddess¡¯s world ¡ª whatever his odd and wise words meant ¡ª but they


    were now anything but. Regardless of how weak this goddess was, Amacus


    was no stranger to the feeling of having something precious be torn


    away.


    The goddess fell to her arms. She started to sob and hit the floor


    with her fist. ¡°Not again!¡± The cracks in the floor widened with her


    every tantrum. ¡°Going through this! Again and again! What¡¯s the


    point!¡±


    Amacus had also heard about prior invasions, and that was exactly why


    her former master had forged a defense pact with this goddess, whose


    world was better-equipped to hide than to fight. What¡¯s the use of


    hiding if you know you¡¯ll be found anyway? Her former master¡¯s


    fondness for the goddess made even less sense now, but whatever the


    case, they couldn¡¯t expect any help. With the war still raging, her


    former master wouldn¡¯t be able to send any sort of reinforcement.


    Wait. What if I¡¯m the reinforcement? Things started to


    (incorrectly) fall into place for her. That¡¯s¡­that¡¯s right! I must


    have been disavowed so I could undertake this special operation without


    any restraint! I wasn¡¯t abandoned after all!


    Her entire life¡¯s outlook had changed in the blink of an eye. She


    hadn¡¯t been thrown away, but given a wonderful opportunity to grow ¡ª to


    become not just a soldier who would take orders and die, but to become a


    true warrior who would stand alone and decide for which cause


    and faith she would wield her strength.


    Suffice to say, her interpretations were absolutely


    wrong¡­but the intentions were roughly aligned, so it should be


    fine.


    She looked upon the goddess weeping on the ground. What a pitiful


    sight. So weak, so frail, all Amacus saw of this lump of


    divinity¡­was a child: just like what Amacus had been, just like all


    those others she had been crammed into a carriage with, this


    goddess-child was weak, confused, and quick to give up.


    ¡°No, no, I can do this,¡± the goddess muttered to herself and began to


    get up. Maybe not quick to give up, then ¡ª but it still hurt


    Amacus to stand by and watch. She had taken up the sword for her master,


    wielding justice in his name, and just like how he had given mere


    children the strength to fight, what more could she do right now for a


    goddess who only needed courage and force of arms?


    She approached the goddess, laying a hand on her shoulder. Divine


    energies thrummed through the contact between Amacus¡¯ hand and the


    goddess¡¯s skin, reminding her that this was still a being of


    few equals: a true goddess whose title was no lie.


    But that goddess turned around and looked at her with pleading eyes,


    wiping away the tears to appear alright.


    It was too late to cover up any lies like ¡°I¡¯m okay¡±; Amacus had


    already seen those tears.


    ¡°Goddess,¡± she said. ¡°Entrust the defense of your world to me.¡±


    The goddess¡¯s eyes widened, but she snapped out of it and nodded


    shyly. ¡°Please.¡±


    Such a tiny whisper awoke something new in Amacus. Had this been what


    her master had also seen? In the palm of her hand was such a tiny


    existence, so small that she felt like she could crush it, and yet, she


    found herself wanting to see it grow. Every child ¡ª no matter if it was


    an actual child or an ancient being who knew little of the world ¡ª had


    the potential to sprout and become a wonder.


    Perhaps that was why her master could not abandon her. In his eyes,


    she was still just a child, and it was his will to see her grow, even if


    it meant forcing her to leave the nest. You can be much more,


    she imagined her master telling her. It was delusional, but it was


    positive, and at least to her, it was real.


    For herself to grow, she ought to make others grow as well, and the


    first order of business was to give this goddess ¡ª this problem child ¡ª


    her missing courage.


    ¡°Goddess, I implore you to summon a few choice heroes,¡± she advised


    her. ¡°As long as we do not fight alone, everything is far easier.¡±


    ***


    Now, Amacus stood on the summoning platform, facing down her latest


    problem child: a man who knew a lot, but also not enough.

 Chapter 13: Advice to a Straw Man

    <b>


    Chapter 13: Advice to a Straw Man


    </b>


    Amacus folded her wings behind herself. She walked down the steps,


    each dull thud somehow telling Craft he was in trouble ¡ª even though


    he¡¯d done nothing of the sort.


    He snapped out of it and stood up to greet her, but he paused. How


    should he approach her? They knew each other, but they were


    acquaintances, not friends. On the one hand, he had the impression she


    was a business-like person, so it might be a safe bet to act along those lines.


    He extended his hand. ¡°Amacus,¡± he greeted.


    ¡°Mr. Bowen,¡± she greeted back. She continued walking, however, not


    extending her hand ¡ª and her shoulder went right through his. He stepped


    aside, dodging on instinct the moment the temperature fluctuated, but


    there hadn¡¯t been any force. It was just like the passing sweep of an


    air conditioner. ¡°I¡¯m only here with a spiritual body today,¡± she


    said.


    Something like an astral projection? Craft thought. Even if


    the mechanism might be different, he was familiar with it. ¡°I¡¯m a little


    surprised.¡± His jaw hung loosely, but he shook his head. Her visit had


    been too sudden. ¡°What gives?¡±


    ¡°I had only wanted to see how you were doing, Mr. Bowen.¡± She fixed


    her gaze on Nightshade, then looked back at him, a halo-like shine in


    her eyes appraising him. ¡°But it seems you¡¯ve been doing more thinking


    than doing.¡± She tilted her head towards Nightshade, and only then did


    Craft realize she was still passed out on the floor.


    He jogged over to her side, checking her pulse. It was only in the


    middle of doing it that he realized it was unnecessary; true death here


    was hard to come by. Regardless, he did it for his own peace of


    mind.


    He held her wrist and felt her neck, feeling rhythmic bumps against


    his fingertips. ¡°Well, she¡¯s alive.¡±


    ¡°Of course she is,¡± Amacus said. ¡°If she weren¡¯t, she¡¯d have


    respawned by now.¡±


    He pulled away. ¡°It¡¯s still weird how that works.¡±


    ¡°And strange that you haven¡¯t befriended her yet.¡±


    Craft looked up at Amacus, furrowing his brows. A part of him knew


    what she was talking about, but the other part required confirmation. He


    rarely acted without it.


    ¡°You¡¯re making it sound like I haven¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Because you haven¡¯t.¡± She held his gaze on him, piercing right


    through him. The swiftness and directness with which she¡¯d answered was


    enough for him to fill in the rest of the blanks, intuiting that she


    wanted to move the conversation in a particular direction, but that


    needed to wait. Nightshade was still on the floor, and he¡¯d feel bad for


    her neck once she¡¯d woken up ¡ª that, and he wasn¡¯t ready.


    He carefully scooped her up. ¡°She said something about a guest room a


    while ago. Let¡¯s get her settled in first.¡±


    Amacus said nothing. He took that as a go-ahead and took his first


    steps out of the room. Nightshade was lighter than he¡¯d expected, but


    holding her like this and with Amacus¡¯ words hanging at the back of his


    mind, he began to wonder why he wanted the ¡°perfect distance¡± between


    himself and Nightshade in the first place.


    It was a reason he recalled easily: he just wasn¡¯t ready. It wasn¡¯t


    as if he intended to divorce himself from the possibility of any


    friendship. Rather, wasn¡¯t taking things one step at a time the obvious


    and sane thing to do?


    He came out to a long hallway, at the end of which was an arch-shaped


    exit. He could see grasses and branches swaying with the wind and set


    aglow by the sun of the outside world, but that wasn¡¯t where he wanted


    to go for now.


    Stopping by a door halfway down, he bumped into it with his back,


    proving it was shut closed. With his hands preoccupied, he considered


    kicking it open, but the building manager in his hands wouldn¡¯t


    appreciate day-one damage to public property.


    Just like in a horror movie, the doorknob turned on its own, and the


    door swung open. It gave him visions of near-death, and he took a quick


    step back, expecting an axe to come out swinging.


    ¡°I can still open doors for you,¡± Amacus said. Craft spun around to


    find her putting her hand down, a small cloud of magic around it


    dissipating into the air. She gestured towards the door. ¡°Walking


    through them, however, is your prerogative.¡±


    He took a moment to calm down. ¡°Right. Appreciate it,¡± he said, and


    he carried Nightshade inside.


    He set her on a bed beneath a window, kneeling down to pull a blanket


    over her. They were in a simple but generous room with the bed in the


    corner, a wardrobe set against the foot of the bed, and a circular


    dining table for four offset from the middle. There was an odd amount of


    extra space, probably for another bed that¡¯s been tucked away in


    storage.


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised,¡± Amacus said. He turned around to find her leaning on


    the wall beside the door, arms crossed.


    He furrowed his brows and got on his feet. ¡°What¡¯s surprising?¡±


    ¡°You treat her so carefully. Don¡¯t you actually have a favorable view


    of her?¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t hate her.¡±


    ¡°So you do?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Be definitive, Mr. Bowen, or you won¡¯t know how to act around her in


    the future.¡±


    He furrowed his brows. She was being unexpectedly pushy. Just what


    was she doing?


    ¡°Oh?¡± She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is it possible that you¡¯re aiming for


    the ¡®perfect distance¡¯ ?¡±


    His brows shot up. It was like she¡¯d pulled the words straight out of


    his brain.


    Even so, what about it? He had a fresh start, and no one here knew


    about his past. Until the day he found someone he could trust with his


    full story, wasn¡¯t it reasonable to feel out his next step before taking


    it?


    ¡°I¡¯m just taking things slowly,¡± he replied. ¡°Maybe one day she¡¯ll


    show up to my barbecues, but for now, I¡¯m just confused as hell¡± ¡ª


    ¡°And I¡¯m telling you now, that is a mistake.¡± She pointed at


    him, lining up her eye, a knuckle, her fingernail ¡ª putting Craft at the


    end of it. ¡°Are you afraid of proving that no one can understand you,


    Mr. Bowen? Have you come to believe that you are somehow special and set


    apart from everyone else?¡±


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    The finger she used to point at him, she brought closer ¡ª and pointed


    to herself. ¡°The proof isn¡¯t far. Thinking yourself out of confusion is


    a trap.¡±


    ¡®Don¡¯t think; just do¡¯ ¡ª was it? It wasn¡¯t the first time


    he¡¯d heard this kind of thing. It was generally good advice, but he


    wasn¡¯t the type to just take it. ¡°Don¡¯t think; just do¡± only really


    worked for people whose knowledge exceeded their practice. He wasn¡¯t


    such a person. He knew approximations, but not the things themselves,


    making him a person who knew nearly nothing.


    Because this was the first time he¡¯d ever encountered such thoughts,


    he had to think about it first, or else every inevitable


    mistake he¡¯d make would have consequences he wouldn¡¯t be able to


    comprehend.


    A mistake he couldn¡¯t learn from was a mistake best left avoided.


    He opened his mouth to reply, but what came out was a pained groan. A


    twisting knot of hurt had shot through his brain, and he clutched the


    side of his head. How many times has it been today?


    Amacus¡¯ expression loosened. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    The headache subsided. ¡°No, I¡¯m okay.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m


    okay.¡±


    ¡°How many times?¡±


    He looked at her. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°How many times have you had that headache?¡±


    ¡°I¡± ¡ª he shook his head ¡ª ¡°this is the second time, I think?¡±


    Amacus cupped her mouth, looking at the ground for a moment, then


    back at him again, lowering her hand. ¡°Have you had any


    hallucinations?¡±


    Hallucinations? His encounter with the impostor came to


    mind, but was that really a hallucination?


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that silence as a yes,¡± Amacus continued.


    He shook his head. ¡°There was something. It felt so real, though. I¡¯m


    sure it was real.¡±


    ¡°Post-summons hallucinations are very common, Mr. Bowen, and they all


    say the same things. If you don¡¯t believe me, then answer this: did it


    have anything to do with your insecurities? Anything to do with how you


    would fit in this world?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s right.¡± He nodded. Had it all just been his fears


    taking hold of him, after all? No, that can¡¯t be. When it came


    to illusions, he had been subjected to lifetimes of them. It was always


    difficult to tell, certainly, but a better-than-a-coinflip chance of


    distinguishing between illusions and reality was something no one else


    had accomplished, and to be capable of that in the first place, he had


    to trust himself more than he trusted anything he heard or saw ¡ª more


    than he would even an ally.


    Amacus lazily extended an open hand. ¡°Give me your hand,¡± she said,


    curling her fingers to beckon him.


    He looked at her hand, then at her. ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°Three days. If the hallucinations don¡¯t stop after three days,


    contact me, and I¡¯ll do something about it. I¡¯m giving you a channel to


    do so.¡±


    He approached her. As soon as he was close, Amacus took his arm and


    took out a stamp, pressing it against the back of his hand. It left a


    simple pentagram in purple ink.


    ¡°I think I just instantly got transported back to grade school,¡± he


    muttered.


    ¡°Touch this star and say my name. Use it like the ¡®phones¡¯ of your


    former world.¡±


    Making light of a bad situation was also a survival tactic. He


    chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m glad user experience is designed into the magic


    here.¡±


    He¡¯d chuckled, but Amacus didn¡¯t. Her expression turned somber. ¡°I


    had only wanted to check on you, Mr. Bowen, but the moment I saw you


    pick up that child, I witnessed the moment a soldier chose to be a


    warrior.¡± She chuckled to herself. ¡°Seeing ghosts of yourself from a


    long time ago ¡ª you know how that feels, don¡¯t you?¡±


    He couldn¡¯t say he did. He¡¯d only watched his life play on a silver


    screen once, but that was nothing like what she¡¯d described. And he and


    she being the same once upon a time? Well¡­wasn¡¯t that just silly?


    She glanced over his shoulder. ¡°You are still a burdened man,


    Mr. Bowen, and it is frankly impossible for you to work through it


    alone. Although that child isn¡¯t a sage of wisdom, among everyone in


    this town, she is the most willing to open up to anyone about anything,


    and she will not take offense to your history, believe it or not ¡ª and


    you know I know your history.¡±


    Her gaze flittered to him. ¡°Go your own way as much as you like. Make


    your own mistakes and discoveries; just like the ghost, I¡¯m certain


    you¡¯ll learn the ropes the end of it. Befriend that girl, however, and


    you won¡¯t have to head down that ghost¡¯s millenium-old path.¡±


    She had it hard too, huh? But it¡¯s exactly because of that


    that he found her words hard to believe. She may have been experienced


    and wise in the ways of problem-solving, but she had overlooked one


    crucial point: they weren¡¯t the same people, and they weren¡¯t facing


    the same problems.


    He looked over his shoulder, half to look away from Amacus¡¯ judgment,


    and half to see if Nightshade was okay. He found nothing wrong about the


    witch, but if he turned his inquiries inwards, he found everything wrong


    about himself.


    He believed relationships should be equal, yet he had nothing to


    offer Nightshade; the only end he could see was one where only he reaped


    any benefits. Certainly, he hated nothing about her. In fact, a future


    where he confided in her seemed almost magical, like a pot of gold at


    the end of a rainbow. Life, however, had taught him that looking for the


    ends of rainbows was a fool¡¯s errand: rainbows were infinite, and by


    thinking he¡¯d find happiness at the end of one, he would doom himself to


    working hard for no good end ¡ª even getting himself killed.


    This wasn¡¯t just about himself, but also about someone else.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be happy once I befriend her¡± ? He knew that to be wrong.


    Depending on someone else for his own happiness didn¡¯t sit right with


    him. Burdening other people with a load that he couldn¡¯t even begin to


    weigh¡­was wrong.


    That was why, he thought, a superficial relationship would be enough;


    working slowly would be enough; a low-stakes, small-talk-only


    acquaintanceship would be enough.


    But one-sidedly closing doors was also wrong, which was why until the


    day he figured it all out, it should be enough for everyone around him


    to know that he didn¡¯t hate them at all.


    ¡­Save for this angel, but hate was too strong of a word.


    Displeasure, annoyance, off-putness ¡ª whatever it was ¡ª he didn¡¯t


    appreciate how she thought she knew him, and if this went on, she¡¯d just


    keep doing this. He had to draw a line.


    ¡°You said I should be definitive.¡± He faced Amacus again. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve


    got my definition. What you¡¯re asking me to do¡± ¡ª he frowned and shook


    his head. ¡°You don¡¯t even know me that well. Only Enty¡¯s taken a peek in


    this thing¡± ¡ª he poked the side of his head ¡ª ¡°so it bothers me you¡¯re


    so confident in saying the lady behind me¡¯s ought to be my first good


    step. Deciding what¡¯s best for me isn¡¯t something you can just do with a


    few glances. Draw your cards and prophesize the weather all you want,


    but if you aren¡¯t looking at me, then it¡¯s not me you¡¯re giving advice


    to. You and I both know that.


    ¡°I don¡¯t even know myself that well yet, and you¡¯re telling me to


    tell her about myself. ¡®One plus one equals three¡¯ just isn¡¯t something


    I can do. So I won¡¯t. This speed is just enough for me.¡±


    Amacus narrowed her eyes. For a moment, he was afraid he¡¯d angered


    her somehow ¡ª but then he didn¡¯t care. He believed his own words, and


    there was very little anyone could tell him to prove him otherwise.


    ¡°You¡¯ve given me¡­a lot of work, Mr. Bowen,¡± Amacus continued. ¡°Very


    well. Go your own way, but remember, I¡¯m not your enemy. If you find


    there¡¯s too much on your plate¡± ¡ª she began to sink backwards through


    the wall ¡ª ¡°call me, and I will be there.¡±


    She had gone, leaving him alone facing a blank wall. I can¡¯t


    believe I said that, he thought, and she took that so


    well. He could probably stare at the wall for a while longer,


    thinking to himself just what he could¡¯ve said better, comforting


    himself that he could¡¯ve done worse.


    He looked at the star on the back of his hand. Amacus had given it to


    him if the ¡®hallucinations¡¯ didn¡¯t stop. The impostor¡¯s real,


    he assured himself. If he assumed they weren¡¯t, then he¡¯d only feel


    regret if the impostor went back on their word and dragged Nightshade


    into a fresh mess.


    Of course, the possibility of the mess could have ceased to exist if


    Amacus had just believed him, but that would just be too convenient.


    She¡¯d made hallucinations out to be like the common cold around here,


    and there wasn¡¯t any reason for her to think it was anything else. In


    her place, he would have made the same judgment.


    On the bright side, should the impostor show up again, he¡¯d be able


    to call for Amacus¡¯ help ¡ª but damn it, he was the one who¡¯d


    rejected her, and now here he was thinking ¡®how convenient she¡¯s here¡¯ ?


    The balance was off. No matter how much her approach upset him,


    it didn¡¯t change the fact that he felt real gratitude and deference to


    her and Enthusia for having given him the time he¡¯d needed.


    He owed everyone around him more than what he could pay back. How


    could he possibly ask for even more?


    The bedsheets ruffled, and he turned to find Nightshade getting up


    and rubbing her eyes.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he called. At least he didn¡¯t owe this one that much. He


    approached her and pulled a chair along with him, flipping it around and


    sitting down, resting his arms on the chair¡¯s backrest to talk to her.


    He forced a polite smile. Regardless of how near or far he¡¯d be from


    her, he wouldn¡¯t act like a stranger.


    ¡°W-what happened to the Law?¡± she muttered.


    A couple of things clicked for him, and he knocked on the side of his


    head. Screwing up twice in a row wasn¡¯t that unusual, at least.


    He resigned himself to the outcome. ¡°She ¡ª er ¡ª she left.¡± He


    sighed.


    Nightshade glanced at him. She had a slight frown. Craft frowned,


    too. What did I do?


    ¡°Did¡­ Did you mean it?¡± She looked at him, and his eyes widened as he


    realized why she¡¯d said that. ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry,¡± she continued. ¡°I¡¯ve been


    awake for a while¡­¡±

 Chapter 14.1: The Beholder

    .


    .


    .


    Chapter 14.1: The Beholder


    Witches pursued beauty. It was their god, so much to the point that they would defy actual gods for the sake of it ¡ª but when the first witch arrived in Amatoria and confronted its goddess for the first time, she called her ¡°smokin¡¯ hot.¡± The goddess did not know what she was on about; anyway, from there started the witches¡¯ reverence for the goddess, making her their idol and standard for every kind of beauty imaginable.


    Millennia passed, however, and some dared ask: did she truly define the limits? Some didn¡¯t think so.


    In a bid of defiance, they made elixirs for youth, but though they could exceed Enthusia¡¯s aesthetic, they could not match her charisma. Thinking wisdom and aesthetic made charisma, they made elixirs of wisdom, yet they could not match her power ¡ª and when they made an elixir for that, they could not match her wit.


    The wiser of them asked, ¡°Should we be doing this?¡± but Enthusia gave them the go-ahead, so it was all fine.


    Development accelerated. Every decade, a spectacular new elixir came out, and they held a beauty contest against the heavens, proving each time they still could not match her. Even as they thought to unify all theories of beauty and create a super-elixir, scores of such theories were proposed, and the witches ended up dividing themselves according to whichever they thought was the better one.


    The situation worsened. Enthusia seemed almost unreachable ¡ª almost as if there were as many theories of beauty as there were people.


    Nevertheless, the witches¡¯ pursuit never stopped. For them, reaching for beauty was the whole reason for their existence, pushing them to build a tower to the stars just because they were pretty, to dig mines until the center of the world for ever rarer gems, to delve into dark jungles for vibrant, poisoned dyes ¡ª and for one daring young witch, to trespass unto heaven itself.


    ***


    Nightshade never understood the people of the [down_realm]. She was looking for something skirting the edges of the fighting grounds of an arena, but even with the light of a moon and stars above, she could hardly find anything in the night.


    This place had long been abandoned. Grass grew from cracks in the hundred-meter diameter fighting circle, and sections of the carved stone bleachers were pulverized. Newcomers would¡¯ve spawned into an on-going battle here, fought ¡¯til they died, and prospecting clans would get into a bidding war with each other to recruit the guy even before they¡¯d respawned ¡ª all while the audience whooped and gambled on the outcome. Personally, she wouldn¡¯t be able to keep up with that sort of rollercoaster.


    A giant statue of Enthusia spectated from the side. This realm¡¯s people regarded her more as a game master than a goddess, and so they gave her the best spot. It towered over everything else, its arms raised to the cold sky, showing Nightshade the [down_realm]¡¯s broken moon ¡ª and how beautiful even a place like this could be under the right sky. Without the statue, she would never have thought a place such as this could be so serene.


    But she wasn¡¯t just here to sight-see. There was a pink glow at the foot of the statue, and she raced to get to it.


    She sprinted and slid to a stop, taking a wooden trowel against the cement surface. Wood against cement? In Nightshade¡¯s hands, cement loses. She was careful to work around the stalk of a plant that had grown underground, its stalk having bored its way through solid concrete just to get a little bit of sun and fresh air.


    As she dug deeper, the pink glow grew brighter. So close! She dug and dug, and when the first bit of light shone out through a crack in the subsoil, she thrust her hand into the ground like a villain about to rip out the earth¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Proof!¡± she cheered aloud. She yanked, and she could see the tuber¡¯s skin. ¡°I¡¯ve got proof! Proof!¡± She pulled, and with a great heave, finally got it out.


    She fell on her back, screaming ¡°Heck yeeaah!¡± her voice bouncing off the arena¡¯s seats and back at her from all around.


    She kicked up and got to her feet. Just like the statue, she raised her arms and presented a glowing potato to the moon. Bits of dirt came falling on her face; she had to spit them out, but what did she care? She¡¯d gotten proof: that just like magic, beauty coursed through all of life in Amatoria. With this, I¡¯ll finally show the Tower ¡ª


    The weather turned bleak, rain pouring from zero to a hundred. Lightning strikes set the whole arena aglow in neon white-blue.


    She groaned. ¡°Enthusia damn it,¡± she muttered. A little bit of rain wouldn¡¯t kill her ¡ª her hat was wide-brimmed and waterproof ¡ª and if she went around, she was sure she¡¯d find shelter somewhere. The problem was the way back: it¡¯d be bogged down in mud, and there could be any amount of landslides and lahar flows that would sweep her or her roads away. It was better to wait it out in this sturdy place and maneuver around the settled damage.


    It annoyed her that it was all artificial, too! Depending on the stakes of the [down_realm]¡¯s latest clan battles, the month¡¯s weather controller might even dial up the average ¡°crap¡± level; the higher the stakes were, the crappier the weather got, the more fired up the locals became ¡ª and the longer she had to stay.


    Even now, she suspected some of the clout-to-cloud lightning in the sky were actually two sect grandmasters going at it. Well, it was their house. There wasn¡¯t really anything she could do about it.


    Just as she started thinking of starting a garden to pass the time, however, a bolt of lightning struck the statue in front of her. In hindsight, it shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise that the [down_realm]¡¯s denizens would have intentionally designed Enthusia¡¯s statues to have raised arms, having them act like lightning rods. Knowing them, they would¡¯ve found seeing their game master¡¯s statue shoot real lightning out of her hands pretty darn cool.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    At such a close distance, the world turned pure white. Only for a split second did she even hear ringing in her ears; the ringing stopped, but the pain continued, and she only felt the rest of the explosion reverberate in her chest.


    Despite all that had happened, she knew she was still alive. She could feel her heartbeat, and although she couldn¡¯t hear, she could see ¡­ but, what¡¯s this, was she going to be blind and seeing all-white for the rest of her life?


    No matter how much time passed, it was just all-white. The thrumming pain in her eyes had settled already, and yet, she still just saw a vast expanse of white. Having died once before, it wasn¡¯t hard for her to think: Oh, gee, did I die for realsies?


    When she turned and met eyes with a woman in pajamas, though, her theory wavered. The woman was wrapped up in blankets like a burrito, leaving only her glasses and hands visible. She was behind a rectangular table, one hand on a laptop and another holding up a tea cup ¡ª all the while wide-eyed as she stared at the sudden visitor.


    ¡°Who¡± ¡ª the woman paused. She set the cup down. ¡°Who¡¯re you?¡±


    ¡°Am¡± ¡ª the witch paused ¡ª ¡°Am I dead?¡±


    The woman shrugged. ¡°I dunno? I¡¯d tell you if you¡¯d tell me your name, though.¡±


    ¡°Oh ¡ª huh, is that how it works?¡±


    ¡°I-I could try? This is a first for me, though.¡±


    Nightshade found this all very strange. There was something about the woman; plain as she might seem, there was a beauty hidden somewhere in that burrito. Her specialized beauty-detection magic wasn¡¯t picking anything up, however. Maybe she was just assuming things.


    Well, whatever. The woman was chill. Whatever was going on, it¡¯d all turn out a¡¯ight. ¡°Oh, well, the name¡¯s Nightshade.¡±


    ¡°Sure, thanks.¡± The woman turned her attention to the screen, and its reflection flickered in her eyes. A moment of keyboard tapping later, and she squinted with a confused look, turning towards the witch once more. ¡°Somehow, you¡¯re alive.¡±


    ¡°Somehow? Hey, that doesn¡¯t sound very good!¡± She flailed her arms in complaint ¡ª spreading around bits of dirt. She paused, raised her right hand, and there, hanging from it, was still the glowing potato. ¡°Oh shoot, I made a mess. Sorry about that!¡± She fidgeted left and right. ¡°Where¡¯s the broom? Darn, I ¡ª um¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Dun¡¯ worry about it,¡± the woman said. Nightshade faced her again, and she was surprised to find an extra chair before the table. It hadn¡¯t been there before.


    The woman took out a paper bag from under the desk, whipping it open and raising it up for Nightshade to get. ¡°Sit down and tell me about it. Oh, call me¡± ¡ª she thought for a moment ¡ª ¡°Entry. Like ¡®data entry,¡¯ right?¡±


    ***


    With the potato in the bag, Nightshade sat down and recounted the chain of events that had led her to this place. Entry nodded along with everything.


    ¡°I see.¡± She began to type on the laptop. ¡°Issue ninety-nine eight thirty-two: [down_realm] authorized statue objects will reverse summon nearby users when struck by lightning.¡± She frowned and sighed, looking up and leaning back on her chair. In her burrito form, however, it just seemed like a pillow flopping backwards. ¡°There¡¯s not enough data to figure out the actual trigger conditions.¡±


    ¡°Hey, where am I, anyway?¡± Nightshade asked.


    ¡°Huh? Oh, this is the System Domain.¡± She patted the top edge of the laptop¡¯s screen. ¡°This is the System. I borrowed it from a friend.¡±


    Nightshade shot to her feet, slamming her palms on the desk. ¡°No?!¡±


    Everyone knew what it was. There was no one who hadn¡¯t touched its screens. Yet here she was, observing the very machinery that made Amatoria¡¯s Three Realms march to its beat. Ever watched a heart surgery video and seen the little thing spasm around? The fragility of it, the invasion of biological privacy ¡ª it felt like that.


    The two held gazes. Entry didn¡¯t blink.


    Nightshade leaned forward with a severe look. ¡°T-then this is basically Enthusia¡¯s Domain!¡± She almost threw herself over the desk. ¡°So I¡¯m dead!¡± She gasped. ¡°So you¡¯re¡± ¡ª


    Entry pulled back. ¡°Hey, now, I just work here.¡± She gently pushed Nightshade away by her shoulders. ¡°And if the System says you¡¯re not dead, you¡¯re not dead.¡±


    Nightshade paused. ¡°Oh.¡± She pulled away. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± She sat down. ¡°That¡¯s¡± ¡ª she scratched her cheek ¡ª ¡°yep.¡± She lightened up. ¡°I mean ¡ª yay, I¡¯m alive!¡±


    She clapped and patted herself on the back ¡ª but to her horror, Entry sighed, taking out a pencil from under her blanket-hood and pointed at her. ¡°Alright, listen. Temple statues can only summon dead people.¡±


    Nightshade wasn¡¯t a genius, but sometimes her brain cells would fire in just the right way to give her the right idea ¡ª not that it would lead to the right conclusion.


    ¡°I gotta be dead before I can be re-summoned, right?¡± She took in a deep breath and stood up. ¡°If anyone¡¯s gotta do it, it¡¯s gotta be me.¡±


    Entry raised an eyebrow. ¡°Whut?¡±


    Nightshade looked away, pain dressed over her face like a lime had been squashed against it. ¡°If I have to die, I can¡¯t make you do it!¡­ But don¡¯t worry, amiga.¡±


    She summoned a wand to her hand and pointed it at her neck. The life in her eyes went out like a candle; a chill swept the room; she spoke with no compassion: ¡°It¡¯ll be over soon.¡±


    ¡°Whoa, there, Sicario. I was about to say, I can just reconfigure things on my end, so don¡¯t worry.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Nightshade sat down like nothing happened. ¡°So you¡¯re just going to let me go? Just like that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m saying.¡± Entry typed a few things into the laptop. ¡°What a weird bug you¡¯ve discovered. Now I just gotta figure out if it¡¯s a freak numerical accident or a replicable edge case. If it¡¯s replicable, it can be exploited.¡± She fixed her glasses. ¡°Goodness me, I hate hate hate exploits.¡±


    Nightshade looked on with some pity. She couldn¡¯t imagine what it was like working directly under Enthusia. The poor gal seemed dedicated and happy with her job in her own way, but to be pushed to the brink of being overworked? To the brink of chewing on a pencil as stress relief? That wasn¡¯t right ¡ª not by principle, and not in Amatoria!


    She stood up once more. ¡°I¡¯ve only got one question.¡±


    Entry kept her eyes glued to the screen. ¡°Wuzzit?¡±


    She hardened her expression. ¡°Is this your Hobby?¡±


    ¡°Yuh. Why?¡±


    That settles it. ¡°Is there anything I can do? What do you need?¡±


    The pencil in Entry¡¯s mouth fell onto her desk. ¡°You¡­ Are you sure?¡±


    Nightshade harrumphed. ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate the Witch of Taterity!¡±


    She was a witch with a title. Deeply unpopular, underrated, and undervalued by the sophisticated cosmeticians of the Tower, there was one thing they acknowledged of her: her tenacity. Where others would wince at the idea of visiting the [down_realm] ¡ª a dry and dusty place that would no doubt disrupt the delicate balance of one¡¯s skin moisture barrier ¡ª this woman was totally fine with making a two-month trek through destroyed mountain passes, deserts, and flooded valleys, all for the sake of proving there was beauty in all things.


    But her title wasn¡¯t one of pride; it was a bad joke. Only witches with witch marks ¡ª a little tattoo just under the eye ¡ª were ever given titles. They were fearsome and independent, just like Nightshade, but because she touted the heresy of ¡°inherent beauty,¡± they looked at her strength and labeled it an inferiority complex. To them, she was just this noisy thing whose words could sway no one.


    If no one else took that title seriously, then she would. The Witch of Taterity only needed to test her own resilience against herself and no one else. For this purpose, whatever challenge Entry might spring on her, she¡¯d take it without a single moment of self-doubt.


    Entry propped her hands up and leaned forwards. Shadows fell on her weary eyes. ¡°Bug Tester of the Week. You¡¯ll be right in the middle of every single permutation of test conditions imaginable. If I tell you to stand on one leg and cook spaghetti while insulting the statue, you¡¯ll do it. If I tell you to die for a moment, you¡¯ll do it, too.¡±


    Nightshade gulped. The intensity in Entry¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t disappear, even as moments passed.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t just my Hobby. It¡¯s also my job. I don¡¯t strictly need your help to get it done,¡± Entry continued. ¡°Even knowing this, are you sure?¡±


    Nightshade could just leave. There was nothing in it for her, and it would even delay her departure from the [down_realm] by a week ¡ª the [down_realm], where she understood none of its inhabitants, where the setting was too gritty for her taste, and the soil was too dead for any kind of decent garden to be made.


    Even so, a glowing pink potato grew in such a place. A pink potato proved that beauty also existed in hardship, and by Nightshade¡¯s account, she had never experienced the kind of hardship that Entry offered her right now. To her, this was just another kind of beauty being dangled in front of her face.


    ¡°Miss Entry,¡± Nightshade said, ¡°why would you tease me with a good time?¡±

 Chapter 14.2: The Beholder (2)

    .


    .


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    Issue #99832: ReverseSummon triggered on LightningStrike event


    Author: Entry <[email protected]</a>>


    Location: Relay 002, [down_realm]


    Subject: Nightshade (volunteer)


    On 9014.031 22:01H, subject wandered into Relay 002¡¯s summoning platform. Co-occurrence of a LightningStrike event centered on Relay 002 appears to have triggered a ReverseSummon event, sending subject to the System Domain, whereas there should not be any causal link between the two events.


    Due to possible exploit to infiltrate the System Domain, this issue has been assigned CRITICAL priority. Subject volunteered for testing; double opt-in confirmed. Test logs to follow.


    .


    .


    .


    [Test #001]


    Hypothesis: LightningStrike event will trigger ReverseSummon event for any living residents standing on a temple summoning platform.


    Methodology: Temple grounds and outskirts, hereafter the ¡°test area,¡± were isolated from external reality. Subject re-summoned to geometric center of summoning platform. Subject shouted ¡®Hey! I wasn¡¯t ready! I thought we¡¯d start tomorrow!¡¯ Due to high latency, LightningStrike event spawned on Relay 002 coordinates via admin console before complaint was received.


    Result: No ReverseSummon occurred. Temporary status effects inflicted on subject: Blindness V, Deafness V. Status effects removed via admin console. Subject granted temporary invulnerability to Blindess and Deafness effects series for the remainder of the testing period.


    [Test #002]


    Hypothesis: LightningStrike event will trigger ReverseSummon event for any living residents standing on a temple summoning platform if they have a Glowing Pink Potato (temp-ID: ¡°Glowtato¡±) in-hand.


    Methodology: Subject instructed to move to geometric center of summoning platform and equip the Glowtato. LightningStrike event spawned on Relay 002¡¯s coordinates via admin console.


    Result: No ReverseSummon occurred. Subject requested permanent allotment of aforementioned invulnerability against status effects. Request denied.


    [Test #003]


    Hypothesis: Raising Glowtato to the sky will trigger ReverseSummon event.


    Methodology: Subject told to raise currently-equipped Glowtato to the sky.


    Result: No effect.


    [Test #004]


    Hypothesis: LightningStrike event centered on the Glowtato will trigger ReverseSummon event.


    Methodology: Subject told to place Glowtato near Relay 002. LightningStrike event spawned on Glowtato coordinates via admin console.


    Result: Glowtato unscathed. No ReverseSummon event occurred.


    [Test #005]


    Hypothesis: LightningStrike event centered on an equipped Glowtato will trigger ReverseSummon event.


    Methodology: Subject told to prepare to die. Subject refused. Subject agreed to compensation and will be granted permanent invulnerability to Blindness I after test¡¯s conclusion. LightningStrike event spawned on Glowtato coordinates via admin console.


    Result: Subject and Glowtato unscathed. No ReverseSummon event occurred. Filed Issue #99833: ¡°Glowtato physical damage invulnerability.¡± Temporary status effects inflicted on subject: Electric VII. Status effects removed via admin console. Subject granted temporary invulnerability to Electric series for the remainder of the week. Blindness I invulnerability permanently granted to subject.


    [¡­ Skipped 5 tests ¡­]


    [Test #011]


    Hypothesis: Glowtato placed on Relay 002¡¯s palms before LightningStrike event will trigger ReverseSummon.


    Methodology: Subject instructed to climb Relay 002 and place the Glowtato on the left palm. LightningStrike event triggered after subject¡¯s retreat.


    Result: No ReverseSummon occurred. Upon checking, subject discovered a cooked Glowtato. New Glowtato spawned via admin console.


    [Test #012]


    Hypothesis: ¡­ the right palm.


    Result: No ReverseSummon occurred. Cooked Glowtato. Due to loss of Glowtato durability, quantum observation effects may be at play.


    [¡­ Skipped 46 tests ¡­]


    [Test #059]


    Hypothesis: Observation of Glowtato by administrator prevents ReverseSummon from occurring.


    Methodology: Introduced delayed timing to LightningStrike events. Subject told to raise Glowtato to the sky. LightningStrike spawn point set on Relay 002¡¯s coordinates. Event trigger set for five (5) minutes and started. Admin on tea break during test run, looking away from screen.


    Result: Duplicated Glowtato summoned to admin¡¯s desk. Filed Issue #99834: ¡°Glowtato duplicates on ReverseSummon.¡±


    [¡­ Skipped 53 tests ¡­]


    [Test #112]


    Hypothesis: Subject must dig out Glowtato and wait exactly 2 minutes and 33 seconds before a LightningStrike event with exact cosmic alignment context as on the datetime of the original Issue #99832.


    Methodology: Rewound local chronology. Faked cosmic alignment context via quantum mockery. Subject retrieved Glowtato from Relay 002¡¯s base. Subject instructed to stand 10 meters from Relay 002¡¯s base and raise Glowtato to sky. Admin went on tea break. LightningStrike event auto-spawned on Relay 002¡¯s coordinates 2 minutes 33 seconds after retrieval of Glowtato.


    Result: Successful ReverseSummon of Glowtato; no duplication. Subject¡¯s soul found in Glowtato while Subject¡¯s body remained in test area. Minor causal desync lines detected in test area locale; no critical errors found. Subject re-summoned as a Glowtato and tasked to identify causal desync lines. All marked lines successfully relinked and reverted to most recent savepoint. Subject successfully reincorporated into original body. Filed Issue #99835: ¡°Equipped Glowtato triggers soul transfer on cosmically-aligned LightningStrike event.¡±


    [¡­ Skipped 420 tests ¡­]


    [Test #533]


    Hypothesis: Subject must dig out Glowtato and wait exactly 2 minutes and 33 seconds before a LightningStrike event, with respect to additional contexts as on the reported datetime in Issue #99832. Additional contexts as follows: 1) cosmic alignment, 2) atmospheric conditions, 3) underground fungi empire neural signal interference, 4) soul transport interference from nearby battlefield casualties, and 5) overlapping combat magic residue from nearby strategic-scale attacks.


    Methodology: Testing area expanded to a 100-km radius sphere centered on Relay 002. Contracted three (3) guild masters and two (2) sect grandmasters nearby as bug-testing assistants (from here on, subject ¡°Nightshade¡± shall be denoted Subject-0, whereas assistants are Subjects-1 through 5). Contracted the Mushroom Queen (Subject-6) to emit requested neural signals. Introduced mock soul transport magic interference. Subjects-1 to 5 requested to unleash strategic-scale attacks 2 minutes and 20 seconds after Subject-0 digs out the Glowtato (the 13-second buffer is provided to account for wind-up and travel time of magical attacks and echo time of corresponding interference).


    Result: Subject-4 failed to understand the spirit of the instruction and unleashed an attack on the temple itself. Due to Issue #99833 ¡°Glowtato physical damage invulnerability,¡± Subject-0 survived the attack, but Relay 002 and its summoning platform were destroyed before the LightningStrike event. Due to the same attack, Subject-0 fell on top of the now-exposed Subject-6. Factional fighting occurred between Subjects 1-3 and 4-5 as a result of Subject-4¡¯s action. Likely due to Issue #99835 ¡°Equipped Glowtato triggers soul transfer on cosmically-aligned LightningStrike event,¡± Subject-0 (Glowtato equipped) and Subject-6 fused after LightningStrike event, creating new System entity ¡°Mushroom Witch Queen¡± (hereafter Subject-0/6). Subjects-1 to 5 halt fighting to face Subject-0/6.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Result (con¡¯t): Local topology altered. Critical causal errors found. Test failure declared. Reverted test area to most recent savepoint with 33 causal desync lines remaining. WARNING: Enemy agent infiltration of [down_realm] detected. Angels dispatched. Bug testers tasked to mark causal desync lines. Test area set to remain in isolation until enemy defeat. 19 days after test start, all 33 causal desync lines marked. Reset successful. Expunged memories of all subjects for this test. They will be happier without knowing the enemy.


    ***


    Nightshade crashed face-first into a beanbag couch in the System Domain. After Test #999, the week had finally come to a close¡­and she¡¯d already begun to suspect a few things about Entry.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Entry said with that pencil-chewing tone. She had never left her desk. ¡°Honestly, I can¡¯t believe you lasted that long. You could¡¯ve tapped out at any point, y¡¯know.¡±


    Nightshade rubbed her face against the couch as she turned her head towards her ¡ª but she was too tired to form a single word, and all that came out was an ¡°Nnnn.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, witch¡¯s pride and all that,¡± Entry said with a wave of the hand. ¡°Listen, I¡¯ll give you a perk just ¡¯coz I feel sorry for you.¡± She typed a few more things, squinted at the screen, and nodded to herself with satisfaction. ¡°Yep, that oughtta be balanced.¡±


    ***


    [Witch Mark acquired: Witch of Taterity]


    Do not deny your growth. Your magic control increases with every next-level trial of personal import you overcome. Damage and status effects inflicted by attacks cannot decrease magic control gained through this Mark.


    ***


    Nightshade¡¯s eyes grew wide as she focused on the panel in front of her. Is¡­ Is this for real? The panel disappeared before she could form a thought. Her focus adjusted from the empty air to Entry¡¯s dispassionate work figure.


    After nine-hundred ninety-nine trials, her suspicions of Entry¡¯s true identity had solidified. She could think of no one else with the power to do such things as casual time-space manipulation and poking holes in people¡¯s memories. Who could she be other than the goddess herself?


    She¡¯d only met the goddess once, right before reincarnating into Amatoria. It had been the most pleasant fifteen-second conversation she¡¯d ever had. The goddess had been quick in acknowledging her feelings and desires, and by the end of those fifteen seconds, she¡¯d been given enough life to make the first choice of her two lives. Ever since then, properly thanking her benefactor had been a sleeping dream.


    And now, she was even given a Mark.


    Forget about how Enthusia was in pajamas, tapping away at a secondhand laptop! Forget about running the gauntlet of a thousand trials for a single bugfix!


    Nightshade carefully pushed herself up. Although her body was fine, the residual emotions of many violent ends continued to burn in her mind. Her muscles inherited a ghostly ache, and she still felt the urge to throw exploding fungi, even if she had no such power now.


    She sat up straight. ¡°Goddess?¡±


    Entry bowed her head, chuckled, and looked up at her. ¡°Ah, shucks, my cover¡¯s blown, huh?¡±


    Nightshade parted her lips, but Enthusia took off her glasses and loosened the blankets that had been her shawl. Her hair fell, unrestrained, becoming a silken silver mat. She was the glory and image of the statue come alive.


    Just that much was enough to take Nightshade¡¯s breath away. Enthusia¡¯s smile committed the final blow. That¡¯s the one I remember.


    ¡°I just wanted to see how long it would take before you noticed.¡± Enthusia chuckled. ¡°I still remember you, Nightshade. I hope your difficulty settings ended up just being right?¡±


    Nightshade nodded. Had her life in Amatoria been subjected to anyone else, they might have gotten depressed ¡ª yet somehow, it had only made her prosper and find more pride in herself.


    Enthusia had promised her a better life, and it had come true. Now that they were actually speaking to each other after such a long time, though, she was unsure of what to say.


    Enthusia awkwardly looked away. ¡°I know you assented, but I still don¡¯t feel right about putting you through all of that¡± ¡ª


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s okay!¡± ¡ª


    ¡°So let me answer some of your questions, okay? I¡¯ve been sensing it since a while ago. It seems like you have some,¡± Enthusia said.


    Nightshade¡¯s eyes widened with surprise for a moment. The goddess had seen through her.


    The moment the temple¡¯s air had distorted around her and angels started to pour in from the sky was the moment she realized Entry had been Enthusia all along ¡ª but there was a dissonance. The guild masters and sect leaders had been duking it out in a barbaric and ill-mannered contest of strength. As she¡¯d watched that fight ¡ª try as she might ¡ª she couldn¡¯t find a single beautiful thing about it at all.


    Why did the most beautiful existence in all the world make such a thing possible?


    ¡°W-well, it¡¯s just¡± ¡ª Nightshade stopped herself. What she would have said would have been an outright denial of something Enthusia had made. ¡°Why¡¯d you make the [down_realm]?¡± she asked in a roundabout way instead.


    Enthusia grinned. ¡°It¡¯s an ugly thing, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Her words shocked the witch. The goddess made ugly things¡­on purpose?


    ¡°If I said it had its charms¡± ¡ª Enthusia shrugged ¡ª ¡°it wouldn¡¯t be convincing at all. It¡¯s an ugly, noisy place filled with strange people, you and I can both see that. It would be a disservice to say it¡¯s anything other than what it is.¡±


    ¡°B-but you made it!¡±


    Enthusia raised an eyebrow. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means. I am not the things which I make.¡±


    Nightshade couldn¡¯t accept that. Everything in Amatoria was made from Enthusia¡¯s own divinity. It stood to reason that everything inherited a little bit of her beauty as well.


    She raised a paper bag glowing pink from the potato within. ¡°What¡¯s this, then!¡±


    ¡°A¡­Glowtato? What of it?¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯ve confirmed it! It¡¯s definitely radiating beauty magic!¡±


    ¡° ¡®Beauty magic¡¯ ?¡± Enthusia tilted her head. ¡°I don¡¯t remember making something like that.¡±


    In one fell swoop, Nightshade¡¯s theory had been utterly destroyed ¡ª beaten to the ground, buried without a last will, and left to be reclaimed by the children of Mushroom Queen.


    If the creator of the world said it didn¡¯t exist, then it didn¡¯t exist.


    Enthusia cupped her chin, observing the Glowtato. ¡°There¡¯s definitely a strange mix of magic coming out of it ¡ª no, bouncing off of it? It seems¡± ¡ª she squinted ¡ª ¡°it only glows when you¡¯re observing it.¡±


    Nightshade couldn¡¯t speak for a moment. ¡°What?¡­¡± she said in an almost-whisper.


    The pink glow started to dim, and when Nightshade saw that, it dimmed even faster. In a scramble, she checked the inside of the bag, and all she found was an ordinary potato, dirt and freckles and all.


    Her theory had fizzled out; her entire journey, wasted. She had gathered so much proof of it up until now: the elderly spoke in truths, rough stones contained gems, and she, herself shunned by others, had never shunned herself.


    If beauty was not inherent, then why were these things true?


    Before her inquiry could become doubt, the bag started to glow silver. The potato floated out of the bag, hovering in the air, and a halo grew around it. ¡°Interesting,¡± Enthusia said. It floated towards her.


    Nightshade looked at her. ¡°W-what¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°This potato projects a limited reality-bending field around it, but because it has no consciousness, it¡¯s completely inert¡­until someone projects their will on it.¡± She locked gazes with Nightshade. ¡°It had smooth skin and glowed pink simply because that¡¯s how you wanted to see it.¡±


    A potato whose beauty was dictated by others¡­ Nightshade found herself frowning, pitying it. Funny, isn¡¯t it? Feeling pity for a thing that didn¡¯t need it. ¡°Isn¡¯t that just a curse? The potato can¡¯t be just itself.¡±


    The potato landed in Enthusia¡¯s hand and she lovingly cupped it. Though laden with a halo and silver light, it was still just a freckled spud. She considered Nightshade¡¯s question for a moment, closing her eyes and remembering things from a long time ago.


    ¡°Your brethren keep on asking me what my secret is. I tell each and every one of them that they¡¯re the ones who think I¡¯m beautiful, not me, and it¡¯s precisely because they have made me unmatchable that they cannot match me.¡±


    Did Nightshade just hear that? The goddess thinks nothing of herself? Was she implying that it was all just a matter of perception all along? Hey, hey, that¡¯s too simple! If that were true, then the first witch would have never acknowledged her to begin with.


    If the first witch acknowledged her, then she was beautiful to start with. If Enthusia had been beautiful since before the dawn of this world, and it was all perception, then she would have to perceive herself as the most beautiful being to begin with ¡ª and that would make her an existence with the most vanity in the world, an absolute contradiction to who she was.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about it ever since I¡¯d met Medusa,¡± Enthusia continued. She examined the potato in her hand, smiling as she turned it about, memorizing its bruises and pits. ¡°It can¡¯t be charm, wisdom, wit, elegance¡± ¡ª she waved her hand ¡ª ¡°some other things she kept going on about. She even had the same reaction about the [down_realm] as you did. I couldn¡¯t explain my feelings about that infinite trainwreck to her at the time, but I think you¡¯ll understand.¡±


    She tossed the potato back to Nightshade, who¡¯d been in a daze and almost lost balance catching it.


    ¡°It¡¯s ugly, and I don¡¯t understand it¡­but I don¡¯t hate it at all.¡± Enthusia continued. ¡°It¡¯s just something that¡¯s there, existing in its own way. Who am I to dictate the kinds of weekend wargames they should play?¡± She shook her head. ¡°That can¡¯t be my role. I¡¯m just the toolmaker. Oh¡± ¡ª she clapped ¡ª ¡°but I¡¯m so happy when I see them revel in their own nature, finding new ways to play with the scrappy last-minute magicks I come up with and give them.¡±


    She made a mother¡¯s smile. ¡°It¡¯s all scrappy, yet somehow, they always find new ways to be happy. Compared to that, I understand your folk even less. All my life, I¡¯ve never known this ¡®beauty¡¯ you keep looking for. ¡®Perfection,¡¯ ¡®imperfection,¡¯ some concept of ¡®what could have been had it been a little different¡¯ ¡ª none of it matters so much when one moment, you have it, and the next, you do not. Linger too much on what it was or could have been, and you would never spend any time with the thing itself, diminishing its existence.¡± She shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s something I¡¯d never do to anything or anyone.


    ¡°Whatever comes of a process is a finished result; and for whatever is in the midst of change, wherever it comes to does not matter. Whatever they are right now is what exists to me ¡ª and is what I must choose to love, or else I will lose it.¡±


    Nightshade¡¯s heart had stopped. Her goddess shone bright in this moment, more beautiful than anything she had ever seen or heard, even in rumors.


    The puzzle pieces fell into place. The source of Enthusia¡¯s beauty, the holy grail of all of witch-kind, was neither explainable by the label of a theory, nor inherent of her divinity, but sprouted underground from where no one could see ¡ª from her own acceptance of herself.


    ***


    Nightshade awoke on the arena¡¯s summoning platform. The Glowtato was in her hand. Had she been knocked out by the lightning strike earlier? Her memories said so, but something felt strange, like she¡¯d been asleep for a very, very long time.


    She sat up. It was easier to breathe. She didn¡¯t know why. She checked her System for any strange status effects.


    [Active Mark: Witch of Taterity]


    [Resistance: Blindness I (100%)]


    ¡°Huh. That¡¯s new,¡± she muttered. It didn¡¯t take her very long to wonder if they had anything to do with the holes poked into her memory.


    She shrugged. Before the smiling statue of Enthusia, she trusted that something good had happened. It was even doing a thumbs up. ¡­ Huh, it wasn¡¯t doing that before, though? Was that a gimmick for whenever lighting struck it? The people of the [down_realm] were¡­certified weirdos.


    ***


    From thereon, fate brought her to officially meet Enthusia once more, and once later, to meet a rare newcomer. She¡¯d gotten too far ahead of herself trying to interact with him, but to have heard straight from his lips that he could not simply approach her, her heart had sunk for a moment ¡ª until she reminded herself that he, like everyone at the start of their lives, was new, confused, and in the midst of change.


    Change was a wonderful thing. It was ugly, violent, and ill-mannered towards oneself. She had witnessed that self-torture many times in others to the point that she envied it. Even if she didn¡¯t know what it was, she wanted it.


    That was why, all the responsibility Craft must shoulder and all his faults he must accept, she would observe them from as close as possible, admiring every bruise and pit he would inflict on himself. She might learn things from it ¡ª maybe lead her to the end of her pursuit of beauty.

 Chapter 15: Unexplained Boundaries

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    Chapter 15: Unexplained Boundaries


    Craft rested his arms on the chair¡¯s backrest. He slumped forwards, hiding his mouth behind his arms, and his eyes drooped. Nightshade was his mirror image as she hid her mouth behind her knees, sitting like a shrimp on the bed, her only comfort the blanket wrapped around her.


    It didn¡¯t make sense to him how they could both be like this. They¡¯d only known each other for less than a day ¡ª hell, less than an hour.


    She looked at him again and smiled, even if subdued. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I understand,¡± she said. How could he believe that? Who understands being pushed away?


    ¡°No, I¡± ¡ª his words got caught up in his throat. ¡®Don¡¯t misunderstand,¡¯ ¡®I don¡¯t hate you,¡¯ ¡®I¡¯m looking forward to knowing you,¡¯ and ¡®I¡¯m scared to explain¡¯ ¡ª all these thoughts wanted to become words at the same time.


    But if they all did, then nothing would, and in the end, nothing did. He thought Nightshade might say something, glancing towards her, but she didn¡¯t. She just kept her head bowed down, keeping her ear pointed his way. No matter how long he didn¡¯t speak, she just waited.


    It amazed him more than it pained him. Perhaps she¡¯d gained Nickname Rights for more than just a random encounter.


    He took in a deep breath. Patience ought to be rewarded. On his exhale, he let the dozen phrases competing in his brain melt away, leaving one the only survivor. ¡°I¡¯m not ready,¡± was all he could say.


    Nightshade¡¯s face lit up and she nodded. That puzzled him.


    ¡°I said something bad, you know?¡± he said.


    She looked at him with a small gasp, perhaps realizing she was making the wrong face. She put her palms to her cheeks, shook her head, looked away, and covered her mouth. ¡°I-I didn¡¯t mean that ¡ª er¡± ¡ª she shook her head again and took a deep breath before looking at him ¡ª ¡°I don¡¯t think you said a bad thing.¡± Her gaze flittered between him and her blanket.


    Not a bad thing? He rested his gaze on some random spot on the bed. He shook his head. ¡°Isn¡¯t it actually?¡± He looked at her.


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s really not.¡± Nightshake shook her head. ¡°When you say ¡®not ready,¡¯ that just means ¡®you still need to prepare,¡¯ right? That means there¡¯s still a chance.¡±


    That confused him for a moment. She hadn¡¯t even taken what he¡¯d said as a rejection, but as a source of insight instead. What he¡¯d seen as an infinite line that circumnavigated the globe was just a wall segment in her eyes ¡ª something to be acknowledged and walked around.


    Craft shifted his head. Nightshade was more amazing than she seemed. ¡°I guess.¡±


    ¡°And if you¡¯re preparing, that means you¡¯re still figuring out what to do, which means you¡¯re still a little lost¡­right?¡±


    He didn¡¯t reply.


    ¡°H-hey, say something. I can¡¯t just keep talking assuming things about you!¡± She flailed her arms.


    You can¡¯t assume things about me, huh? Had it been because of what he¡¯d told Amacus earlier that she was being considerate? Or was it really in her nature not to go forward in a conversation without the other person?


    Craft recognized the way she was approaching him, too. Approaching someone with curiosity and understanding, trying her best to minimize all assumptions, had also been one of his strategies as an agent. Making someone feel that he¡¯s genuinely interested in them as a person was the first step to building rapport, and with enough rapport, he could make them do things they normally wouldn¡¯t.


    For a brief moment, he feared that Nightshade¡¯s friendliness towards him was just a prelude to the same kind of betrayal he¡¯d normally committed. He found it too unusual that she was so intent on befriending him, too unusual for her to be so accommodating.


    It should¡¯ve been a red flag ¡ª but this isn¡¯t my world.


    He shifted his gaze to her. To trust her, even if only a little, was a choice counter to the way he had lived so far¡­and it was a choice he made every waking second.


    Besides ¡ª no offense to Amacus ¡ª but Nightshade was more of an angel.


    He chuckled, showing her a little smile. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he told her.


    She settled down. ¡°Gosh.¡± She laughed a little, expelling the awkward energy. She looked at him, perhaps to see if they were both laughing, but she saw something a lot more interesting. ¡°That¡¯s the realest smile I¡¯ve seen from you.¡±


    He jerked back slightly. ¡°That¡¯s depressing to hear.¡±


    ¡°Huh? No, really ¡ª I¡¯m actually surprised!¡±


    ¡°You only know how to inflict damage.¡±


    She opened her mouth, stopped, opened it again ¡ª but no. She churned through every possibility, plotting conversational battle tactics with her mind¡¯s chess wizard, but there was just nothing she could say to win. She started to make an annoyed purring noise like a grumpy cat, and with every consideration, modification, and final rejection of her dwindling list of next moves, her annoyed purring just got louder and louder.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Somehow, her enemy had stopped being Craft ¡ª and had begun to be herself.


    So lively. Craft chuckled, his earlier smile lingering. He hadn¡¯t even known that anyone could make that noise; another one of those odd cultural differences, most likely. She¡¯d only been kind to him, even when he¡¯d screwed up. Might as well throw her a fish bone.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t smile,¡± he explained. ¡°It¡¯s just rare to find someone who can make me do that.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± She put her hands on her cheeks. Her ability to use language degraded. This was unprecedented. ¡°Ah. Am embarrassed.¡±


    Craft¡¯s eyes widened; the line between speaking the truth and being smooth was dangerously thin, and he didn¡¯t want to find himself in the danger zone of proto-romantic misunderstanding.


    He raised his hands in a stop gesture. ¡°Don¡¯t read into it.¡±


    She hid behind her arms and shook her head. ¡°Am still embarrassed.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t not.¡±


    He narrowed his eyes. Years of deep cover work had given him lots of practice with mirroring people on the fly, matching their strangeness, mannerisms, and turns-of-phrase so well that he could meet someone, talk to them for a minute, dump their body in a backalley dumpster five minutes later, and replace them in the office before lunch was over ¡ª and no one would notice for at least twenty-four hours. Who could¡¯ve predicted that his expertise would eventually bite him in the ass in this very moment?


    ¡°Alright,¡± Craft said. ¡°No not. Do, then.¡±


    She giggled, peeking out from her hidey spot. ¡°What?¡± Although her mouth was covered by her arms, her eyes still squinted and she shook her head all the while.


    Craft shook his head with a smile. Even he didn¡¯t know what had come out of his mouth.


    Time froze for him as he realized: he was having lively banter with someone he had only met today. He realized he wasn¡¯t balancing on a tightrope to cover up an ugly truth; that he was capable of interactions like these at all.


    Even if it had just been for a minute, he had successfully lived a moment that was the complete opposite of the life he despised.


    ¡ª If one such moment could exist, then two wasn¡¯t out of reach.


    ¡°Craft?¡± Nightshade asked, concerned.


    He snapped out of it. ¡°Ah, my bad. I just remembered I¡¯ve still got a pair of shoes to find.¡± He got up from the chair. ¡°If you don¡¯t feel up to it, you can stay here¡± ¡ª


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with!¡± Nightshade flipped away the blanket, and in a blink, she was on her feet. ¡°We¡¯ve only been through half the pile, after all.¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    She paused to look at him. ¡°Yes?¡±


    Craft paused. He didn¡¯t want to ask this; Counter-intelligence 102, you shouldn¡¯t be letting the enemy know you¡¯re thinking about them. Even so, he had to ask. ¡°It¡¯s a little late for this, but why are you being so nice to me?¡±


    She nodded once with a smile. ¡°Oh! Well, you just remind me of my bestie. You sort of have the same vibe, so I thought¡­¡± She poked her fingertips together ¡ª then she clapped with a big smile from a banger idea that couldn¡¯t possibly go wrong. ¡°Ah! You should meet her! She should be in town by now, so say hi to her if you see her!¡±


    He was glad that she was glad to answer. It meant that he was wrong. He needed to be wrong more often.


    That said, it sounded oddly like ¡®someone just like him¡¯ was nearby. Did that mean he¡¯d be looking in a mirror, or was Nightshade just too flexible in her comparisons? He couldn¡¯t know what to expect.


    ¡°She¡¯s got RGB hair. Really hard to miss,¡± Nightshade continued.


    He hoped that was just a metaphor for hair color, and not literal LED strips growing out of her scalp. There was a country where¡­yeah, better not think about it.


    Anyway, if it¡¯s a friend of Nightshade¡¯s, she couldn¡¯t possibly be weirder than her. It didn¡¯t hurt to expand his connections, too. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind,¡± he said.


    He turned around to leave, but she called out again. ¡°And Craft.¡± He faced her, finding her holding her hands together in trepidation. ¡°You¡¯re really just taking your time, right?¡±


    Her expression was stiff, head slightly bowed, and she gulped right after saying it. He knew what she was really asking: You¡¯re not pushing me away, right? Seeing her that way, he wavered between feeling morose ¡ª as if their fun just a while ago was all a lie ¡ª and hopeful ¡ª that she was leaving the door open for him. ¡°I never planned on pushing you away,¡± he said, ¡°just inch my way there, if you get me.¡±


    She smiled a little. ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡±


    Her acceptance of his shortcomings pained him, but that just meant he had to work hard for that future. As long as he kept at it, everything up until now, and all the things he was yet to do, would have been worth it.


    ***


    They stepped out of the temple without Craft¡¯s feet knowing what Amatorian dirt felt like. A draft of wind cooled his skin. It smelled of the musk of a forest undergoing cycles of growth and decay ¡ª just like Raffie¡¯s home. He missed her, suddenly.


    Nightshade walked backwards past him. ¡°Sun¡¯s got you squinting?¡±


    She smiled. It didn¡¯t feel real to him; the last half hour didn¡¯t feel real to him. The imposter¡¯s nonsense, Amacus¡¯ insistence, and Nightshade¡¯s understanding ¡ª one after the other ¡ª shouldn¡¯t have been things piled up on a guy who¡¯d just been breathing for half an hour.


    Could he still turn around and ask for a time out? It had all been very unexpected. A moment to process it all would be great.


    Nightshade turned and skipped down the cobble path from the temple. ¡°Come on! And don¡¯t trip on the pavers!¡±


    Pavers? His gaze homed in on the cobbles on the ground. Goddamn pavers? He clicked his tongue. As a city boy, flat surfaces were the superior surfaces. Well, he didn¡¯t mind walking on dirt trails or trekking up mountains, but he had something against half-assed pavers. They would shift with the soil underneath them and end up jutting out by an inch, turning a walk into a game of hopscotch. Gravel roads were only slightly better.


    Nightshade turned and waved towards him. ¡°Come on!¡±


    One moment could become two. A road was a road, and if it was the only one in front of him, he had no choice but to take it.


    After an uncomfortable one-minute commute on-foot, Craft landed on a fenced clearing. He was happy to find plain dirt.


    He caught up to Nightshade¡¯s back. He was about to file a few complaints about the cobblestone, but he noticed she¡¯d stopped and stood still right behind a chalk line on the ground.


    ¡°Is there something about this?¡± Craft pointed at it.


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s just the temple¡¯s property line.¡± Nightshade chuckled and waved her hand. Had she been talking to anyone else, that would have been the end of that, but it was Craft, and he couldn¡¯t ignore her paralanguage.


    Not elaborating on something and looking far into the distance with a smile that didn¡¯t follow her eyes? That couldn¡¯t be anything other than avoiding the topic.


    ¡°Let¡¯s wait here for a bit,¡± she continued. ¡°Someone I know comes around right around this time. I¡¯ll explain the situation to him, and he¡¯ll take you to town.¡±


    Craft nodded. He¡¯d ignore the problem for now; it didn¡¯t seem like a problem for now. Besides, wasn¡¯t it was fair that she¡¯d hide some things from him just as he did from her?


    He shouldn¡¯t have to think too hard about the lines on the ground and the road ahead. Nightshade had shown to him that walls could be insights, not just obstacles. As long as he took the time to understand them, then one moment could become two, and the second didn¡¯t have to be now.


    ¡°Waiting¡¯s no problem,¡± he said.


    Nightshade nodded. ¡°Thanks.¡±

 Chapter 16.1: The Wheel of Change

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    Chapter 16: The Wheel of Change


    As Craft stared up at the sky, watching the clouds move, they parted to show a¡­ wow¡­ ¡°That¡¯s one big-ass tree,¡± he blurted out. He leaned backwards just to look up, but even then, he couldn¡¯t find its top. Forget skyscrapers; it was a citadel of nature. It might even be touching outer space.


    Nightshade snorted. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s The Tree, alright!¡± she said, pronouncing the The rather pointedly. She threw her arms up, parenthesizing the tree with her hands and curtsying with a smile. ¡°Welcome to World¡¯s Origin!¡±


    He chuckled and relaxed. After all that had happened, he was finally getting a semblance of an introduction to this world.


    From down the road, the trotting of horse hooves caught their attention. If only they were horses.


    It was a canvas-covered four-wheeler, just about what anyone would expect to see in a time before gasoline, but instead of horses, there was a team of wooden dummies pulling it along: honest-to-God faceless mannequins with an awkward gait. They were a physicalized rendition of a cheap 3D model trained to walk via a simulation written by some third-year computer science undergrads.


    Goddamned mannequins again. His right foot shuffled backwards out of reflex, and he reached for a gun that wasn¡¯t there. Again? He sighed and bowed his head. He shouldn¡¯t be reflexively pulling out weapons in this world; it was impolite, and he wanted to be rid of any reminders of his past. Untraining himself would take a while.


    He steadied himself, but it didn¡¯t change how spooky the mannequins were. If he¡¯d actually had a gun, he might have shot them by now; nine times out of ten, they had a heart made of plastic explosives.


    Nightshade leaned in. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, that nightmare accelerant can only be found in World¡¯s Origin.¡±


    ¡°Is that a good thing?¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°The owner¡¯s a decent guy, I swear!¡±


    He still had his doubts, but because it¡¯s her, he¡¯d let it go for now.


    She continued, ¡°I¡¯ll go ask him to bring you to Lady Solace. She¡¯ll make you not homeless by the end of the day.¡±


    He took note of that ¡®Solace¡¯ name. She sounded like the highest authority here, and it was always a good thing to butter up or else get toasted down the line.


    The carriage was close. Nightshade turned her attention squarely towards the driver seated in front: a gracefully aging man draped in a dark green cloak. His blonde hair was mixed with silver locks, but what stood out to Craft were his dagger-like ears. Whether or not he was actually an android with ear-antennas remained to be seen.


    The carriage came to a stop on their side of the chalk line. ¡°Hey! How¡¯s the garden, ¡¯Shade? I got the ice you wanted,¡± the man greeted as he hopped off and went around to the back of the carriage. He had a little more spring in his step than Craft expected. ¡°And who¡¯s this? Howdy! You a visitor? Been a while since we had any!¡±


    He sounded like he owned a ranch on the other side of town. Craft thought he might not be an android, after all.


    The man had begun to unlatch the tailgate. He had to be careful; there was a weird trick to doing this, or else the screws keeping the latch in place would pop off like bullets.


    ¡°It¡¯s all healed! Don¡¯t worry!¡± Nightshade said. ¡°Oh, and this guy¡¯s a new summons, actually. Hey, can you do me a favor¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Wha¡± ¡ª the man fumbled the latch as he spun around in shock. Without his attention, the latch¡¯s screws forgot all about friction, popping off and shooting into the wilderness, and the tailgate flew right open. Crates spilled out the back, ice and mist beginning to spill out as the crates¡¯ lids hinged open.


    But the crates and their contents paused, levitating just inches off the ground. Nightshade gestured her hands in circles, manipulating the ice to go in the crates, and the crates to float down and behave on the ground. ¡°Damn it, Dane!¡±


    The man spun around towards her, half-complained ¡ª spun around again, groaned at the tailgate ¡ª spun around again, but only halfway this time, unable to decide whether to be annoyed or surprised. He shook his head with a sigh.


    Nightshade took a step towards the crates, pointing at them awkwardly. ¡°I-I¡¯ll just go check the ¡ª er¡± ¡ª


    Dane nodded readily. ¡°Yeah, yeah, sure.¡± He sighed. No, yeah, it was sort of his fault not paying attention, after all.


    Craft approached him. ¡°You okay, there?¡±


    The man looked at him, oddly freezing for a second, but when the worst that Craft did was give him a weird look, he breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Sorry, name¡¯s Dane.¡± He put out a hand, and Craft shook it firmly.


    ¡°Craft,¡± he said. Dane seemed like a mostly okay guy, but with the man¡¯s personality, he ought to be careful about any invitations to the local bar. Alcohol, after all, was any agent¡¯s worst nemesis, causing them to reveal mission details in a drunken expositionary rampage ¡ª but he had no such missions in this world. Now, it was just a matter of being comfortable, and he¡¯d like to improve his view of the man from ¡°mostly okay¡± to ¡°totally fine¡± before hitting up an ethanol refuelling station.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Dane continued, ¡°Sorry ¡¯bout a while ago. Conditioned reflex from the last summons some years back. Shot me to pieces within two seconds of opening his eyes, that sucker.¡±


    Craft jerked back. ¡°That happens?¡±


    Dane laughed. ¡°Hah! I¡¯m just the unluckiest bastard alive. Couple o¡¯ angels dragged him back into the summoning circle. ¡¯pparently, he was supposed to go straight to the [down_realm].¡± He shrugged. ¡°Makes sense for the guy, I guess.¡±


    That summoning circle sure has a lot of problems, huh? ¡°Sounds rough,¡± Craft said. There was that mention of the [down_realm] again, but he figured he could just ask about it some other time. Rather than that, this guy seemed oddly agreeable about getting shot. ¡°You don¡¯t sound mad about it.¡±


    Dane waved it off with a hand. ¡°Nah, ain¡¯t my first time. As a greeting, though, definitely my first.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay, I¡¯m all done!¡± Nightshade chimed in. ¡°Dane, Dane, do me a favor and let Craft here meet Lady Solace so he can get a house already.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Solace? Yeah, that makes sense,¡± Dane said. He faced Craft. ¡°She¡¯ll chew through the residence application for ya.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s that again?¡± Craft asked.


    Night faced Craft. ¡°Oh, right. She¡¯s something like the town¡¯s manager. We don¡¯t actually have a position like that, but it just ended up that way somehow.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m tellin¡¯ you, ¡¯Shade, don¡¯t question it,¡± Dane said. ¡°If the lady likes paperwork, we¡¯ll give ¡¯er all the paperwork we have.¡±


    She put her palms on her cheeks, shaking her head. ¡°I-I just don¡¯t get it. How does anyone like doing that stuff?¡±


    ¡°Hey, now, only weirdos have the right to call other people weirdos.¡± Dane laughed.


    Nightshade groaned. ¡°Dane, damn it!¡±


    Craft chuckled. It was a wonder to him how Nightshade could get along with anyone just like that ¡ª wearing the exact same face in front of him as she did in front of others, that is.


    After he helped Dane put his merch back together, Craft hoisted himself up onto the carriage to sit beside him.


    Nightshade stayed standing beside the carriage. He looked at her with some curiosity. ¡°You¡¯re not coming?¡± he asked.


    ¡ª One corner of her lips pulled down ever so slightly, and it took her a split second too long to reply.


    She smiled. ¡°Nope, I¡¯ve gotta get the ice inside before it melts. Come around soon, though!¡±


    ¡°Sure thing,¡± he said, but the dissonance in what she¡¯d said and the face she¡¯d made still bothered him.


    He let it go at that. He wouldn¡¯t pry all at once.


    As Craft waved goodbye, Dane brought the carriage around to face the road. Nightshade waved back. ¡°Don¡¯t pop off a wheel!¡± she shouted after them.


    ¡°Shuttup!¡± Dane shouted back. ¡°Last time you said that, it actually happened!¡±


    Dane sighed. Craft stared him. He groaned. ¡°It was one time.¡± He shook his head and looked forwards, but Craft was still staring at him. He sighed. ¡°Look, buddy¡­¡±


    Craft shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll just trust you a little bit.¡±


    ¡°Come on, put a little more faith in me, will ya?¡± Dane chuckled. ¡°Hey, after you get the new house sorted out, you wanna grab a drink¡± ¡ª


    ¡°No thanks.¡±


    ***


    Not long after the carriage had started, Dane shot side-glances at Craft.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± Craft said.


    ¡°So? How are you and ¡¯Shade getting along?¡± Dane asked with a grin.


    Craft shifted away, giving him a raised eyebrow. Dane was smiling ¡ª genially rather than teasingly. Had it been a genuine question?


    ¡°Getting along,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Huh? That all?¡± He sounded taken aback.


    Craft shrugged. ¡°Were you expecting something else?¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯know, like¡­¡±


    ¡°Like?¡±


    Dane raised an eyebrow with a smirk. ¡°The thing all men want.¡±


    Craft shifted even further away. He wasn¡¯t an innocent man in all interpretations of the word, but he wasn¡¯t the type to be attracted to women just because they were women; that would¡¯ve been a fatal weakness for any agent.


    In the first place, he couldn¡¯t see Nightshade in that light. Towards her, he had that feeling one would get from watching a cat play with a ball of yarn. Really, she was too kind.


    Dane didn¡¯t relent, though. He was still looking at Craft with the eyes of a man waiting for his trap to go off.


    Craft didn¡¯t fall for traps. ¡°And what¡¯s that thing?¡± he asked.


    Dane clicked his tongue. ¡°Let me win, darn it.¡± He chuckled. ¡°A nice, long trauma-dumping session, that¡¯s what!¡±


    Yeah ¡ª how about no? Craft shook his head. Venting wasn¡¯t a good idea. He was already in the habit of recycling his old thoughts over and over; what more if he¡¯d started spouting them out? It¡¯d be an infinite loop too, just externalized.


    ¡°Nah?¡± Dane continued. ¡°Well, that¡¯s fine, too. She¡¯s a pretty experienced listener, though, no kidding. Talked to her a little bit myself when I first got here.¡± He showed a thumbs up. ¡°Ten outta ten. Makes sense they¡¯d call her a witch who could melt an assassin¡¯s heart! Haha!¡±


    That struck a little too close to reality.


    He got thinking more about Nightshade. They¡¯d established an alright relationship, even respecting each other¡¯s secrets ¡ª so what¡¯s this uncomfortable feeling in my chest?


    He had a long ride ahead of him. Since the past hour, his willpower had eroded. When silence comes, postponed thoughts continue; as the wheels on the carriage turned, so did those thoughts churn.


    He didn¡¯t want to think about Nightshade, but she¡¯s what he thought about now.


    A decent friendship with her was the right idea. He knew he needed someone who could accept his preference for solitude ¡ª an irony, saying he needed someone else to accept that he didn¡¯t need others for now, but it was his reality.


    Others vouched for her, and he had experienced her personality himself. He had a chance to grasp for that friendship; why didn¡¯t he just go for it? If he¡¯d just taken a pause, measured his words, and talked to her properly, she¡¯d have better understood what he wanted, and even his ironic need would be fulfilled.


    On some level¡­no. Amacus was right.


    He wouldn¡¯t sugarcoat it; this was a tactical loss, but even then, not a strategic defeat. Everyone was still alive, and tomorrow would come. For now, he just needed to get into town, get a house, go to sleep, and wake up and run back to the temple and properly explain himself: ¡°Sorry, I was standoffish. Thinking about it now, I wasn¡¯t able to thank you properly yesterday¡± ¡ª or something along those lines.


    He wanted to hurry and deliver those words, but he¡¯d only be able to do so tomorrow. Suddenly, the carriage was too slow. Suddenly, he was cursed by the kind of eagerness that needed to be beaten down.


    There was no use rushing straight unto tomorrow. Whether it was waiting for better intelligence to surface or waiting for his prey, waiting had always been an integral part of his life. Anxiety and excitement both destroyed the experience of waiting, leading him to poorer decisions that had to be made now and not tomorrow.


    Waiting should just be waiting. Tomorrow would come, and he would patch things up. That¡¯s all it was.


    His gaze traced the ground, and he noticed the star on the back of his hand. Amacus had given it to him so he could contact her. He had to patch things up with her too.


    Three days. He¡¯d take pause in these three days she¡¯d given him, and he¡¯d come up with the right words to tell her by the end of it.


    In three days, things would change, and the mistakes he suffered now wouldn¡¯t matter by then.


    He just had to ¡®fix¡¯ himself, and it¡¯d all turn out fine.


    ¡­ How?

 Chapter 16.2: The Wheel of Change (2)

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    ***


    It had only been five minutes and he was already itching for a universal remote control with a fast-forward button. He¡¯d already composed an apology for Nightshade, one for Amacus, and now he was making one for¡­Rafflesia.


    Among the trees of the forest, he was watching her sitting on a passing branch. She wasn¡¯t real, he knew that. With the emotions swirling in his chest, her identity was just as Amacus had said: a personalized playback of his own regrets.


    She waved at him. What had happened, happened. All he could do was nod his head towards her. The next step after that? Dunno. Raffie pouted and waved again.


    He sighed. If he could get past this faster, he¡¯d do so, but what could he do?


    Distracting himself, he faced Dane. ¡°Hey, how long until we get there?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Ah, thirty minutes on-foot, an hour by carriage.¡±


    ¡°Should I just get off and make a break for it?¡±


    ¡°And get lost when you get there? Yea, sure, go ahead.¡±


    Guy has a point.


    ¡°Just enjoy the ride! Hell, if you¡¯re so bored, I¡¯ll even give ya a guided tour!¡± He leaned over. ¡°¡¯sides, I had the suspension tuned last week,¡± he play-whispered.


    ¡°So you do take care of your stuff.¡±


    ¡°Course I¡± ¡ª Dane groaned. ¡°Is it hard t¡¯give an old man some slack? Oh, the town¡¯s coming up.¡±


    He pointed at an earth-walled silo-like building. Craft squinted at it, but he couldn¡¯t make out the details. ¡°Hey, I thought we were still an hour away.¡±


    ¡°To the town hall, yeah, but if we¡¯re just talking outskirts, a slinger could probably toss a rock at the temple from here.¡±


    That¡¯s one hell of a slinger.


    Just ahead, Craft noticed a kid running down the road and coming closer, pulling a kite along. Seeing the kid at all shocked him, and it took him a moment to figure out why: he hadn¡¯t seen a kid in years.


    The kid ran past them, waving at them, shouting ¡°Hello!¡± with an innocent smile. He waved back. What face was he making, he wondered.


    They got closer to the silo from a while ago, and he realized it wasn¡¯t even a silo at all. It was an earth-brick structure, built like a multi-layered cake around an ancient tree as if enshrining it. Dotting its facade were windows for every room, and small, differently-colored flags hung from window sills and branches that grew out of the building¡¯s facade.


    Green leaves and flowers sprouted from those branches. Further up, atop the roof, there was a scaffold of vines taking on a cylindrical shape, somewhat narrower than the floor below it, no doubt outlining building¡¯s next floor.


    A part of the scaffold glowed, and Craft was fixated on it. A vine wove itself around the base of the scaffold, stopping, creaking, and once it had completed a whole round, strengthening.


    The carriage passed by some of the residents, watching the event from the far side of the road. ¡°Whoa, it really did it,¡± one of them said. ¡°That¡¯s it for this year, huh?¡±


    The building was slowly growing, and they were unbothered by it; they expected it.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    He faced Dane, expecting a proper explanation, but the guy was just grinning at him.


    Craft sighed. ¡°That¡¯s the most concise explanation I¡¯ve ever heard. Zero words? A telepathic sage of all time¡± ¡ª


    Dane groaned. ¡°Can¡¯t¡¯chya be more amazed! Come on, my man!¡±


    Craft chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s not my first time seeing a growing building.¡± Actually, I like this version better. It¡¯s not made of meat. He gestured to it. ¡°The setup here¡¯s like it¡¯s protecting the tree, though, so that¡¯s what I¡¯m curious about.¡±


    Dane clicked his tongue. ¡°Can¡¯t be helped if you¡¯ve seen somethin¡¯ like it before. Welp, it¡¯s pretty straightforward: the tree¡¯s got a spirit, the building¡¯s got a spirit, they shake hands, and bam, contract established, and ya got yourself a buil-tree.¡±


    ¡°A sage of all time.¡±


    ¡°Shuttup.¡±


    ¡°And a ¡®buil-tree¡¯ ?¡±


    Dane shrugged. ¡°I ain¡¯t the one with the naming sense. Theory goes it used to be called a ¡®building-tree,¡¯ so ain¡¯t anyone surprised a few letters got nabbed into an alley somewhere along the way.¡±


    Craft shrugged. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    He looked at the buil-tree once more. At least that thing knew how to build itself.


    Dane took them through a web of trails, and the deeper they got, the more of those buil-trees Craft saw. There were at least two people along each road, humans like him and elves like Dane, dressed sometimes in pajas, sometimes in leather, and sometimes in steel, but Craft was more curious about the wolves who were walking around like they lived here.


    They were the very image of beasts loyal to none but their own kin¡­and one of them just accepted a treat from a kid. Another pair played chess against each other, moving pieces around with their muzzles. Huh, so they really lived here.


    ¡°Oh, yeah, this one might pique your interest,¡± Dane said. Craft looked at him and followed his finger to a triangular structure. Looking closer, however, he realized what it really was.


    One buil-tree leaned against another, fuzing together. The leaning one ended up developing thin support pillars beneath it to keep its crumbly earthen walls from collapsing. It was just like a giant 3-D print.


    ¡°Someone got creative, huh?¡± Craft said. He¡¯d seen skyscrapers look just like that, but this one was the fun, eco-friendly version of it.


    ¡°Oho, no, that one¡¯s an accident.¡±


    ¡°Huh? Sounds bad.¡±


    Dane chuckled. ¡°Yeah. Story goes about thirty years back ¡ª ¡®rivalry gone outta control¡¯ kinda thing. Whole town came to watch! The ¡®pizza¡¯ side¡± ¡ª


    Craft snapped around. ¡°The what?¡± ¡ª


    ¡ª ¡°threw pizzas like shuriken, and one o¡¯ them nicked the buil-tree at the base, blew half the thing away¡± ¡ª he put up both his arms and gestured one falling on the other ¡ª ¡°blam. Wild, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    Craft could only stare at him and blink. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a steel-cored pizza, was it?¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    Craft narrowed his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re kidding.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t crappin¡¯ ya! ¡¯Nuff passion does that to people!¡± He was laughing, but his expression straightened out. ¡°Oh, since you¡¯re new, it really ain¡¯t a joke. Get into yer Hobby as much as that baker and you¡¯ll get lots of Anima, and that¡¯s gotta go somewhere sometime. Make sense, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Hobbies, huh.¡± He already knew it was a big deal, but it seemed there were details he couldn¡¯t ignore. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in mind.¡±


    He looked towards the arch again. He¡¯d seen tower demolitions before; the chunk of the base would be blown away, causing the tower to fall in the direction of the missing chunk.


    These buil-trees were huge, however. He imagined at least five rooms would¡¯ve been blown away to topple one.


    ¡°How about the people inside?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Oh man, they came back from the temple with pitchforks and pineapples. They kept on topping the baker¡¯s pizzas with the devil¡¯s fruit ¡¯til he agreed to a settlement.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a hell of an angry mob. No one tried to stop them?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure some folk came over¡± ¡ª he shrugged ¡ª ¡°but hey! He had one job, and he went and blew it along with someone else¡¯s home! I figure everyone¡¯s agreed it just dun make sense you¡¯re a baker and you manage to do that ¡ª no sense at all!¡±


    Dane threw his arms up, but as they came down and rested on his lap, he looked up at the sky, then faced Craft. ¡°Well, whatever, right? After thirty years, people¡¯ve forgotten how pissy they¡¯d gotten over the whole thing¡± ¡ª he shrugged ¡ª ¡°and we¡¯ve got this triangular thingimawhatsit to show for it. Neat, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    Craft hummed. Putting himself in the shoes of the people who actually went through those events, he couldn¡¯t imagine that all of them had walked away unscarred from the experience. The baker, in particular, might not have even intended to blow up someone¡¯s home ¡ª with a pizza of all things.


    ¡°Was the baker a good guy?¡± he asked.


    Dane was taken aback by this. ¡°He¡¯s still around, actually. Talked to him once, he seemed a¡¯ight. Didn¡¯t even seem like the same guy in the story.¡±


    For the baker who hadn¡¯t meant it, even after all the reparations had been paid, he would still be burdened by guilt.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem right,¡± Craft said.


    That gave Dane pause. ¡°Whad¡¯dya mean?¡±


    ¡°People were right to blame him, and it was right to make him pay, but even after that, I don¡¯t think everyone walked away completely alright after everything.¡± He gestured to the arch. ¡°Looks cool, but it cost something.¡±


    Dane kept his eyes on the road. ¡°Well, it¡¯d be a surprise if it cost nothing.¡±


    Growing through mistakes ¡ª what if the mistakes had been too heavy? Craft slouched, resting his arms on his lap. ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s not worth it.¡±

 Chapter 16.3: The Wheel of Change (3)

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    ***


    It was somewhere along the halfway point when Craft spotted a rock sticking out of the road. It was a pretty big rock, enough that it might pop off a wheel. He thought Dane would swerve out of the way¡­but the rock approached.


    ¡°Hey, hey, hey, hey!¡± ¡ª Craft shouted, yet the rock came closer ¡ª ¡°Break right! Right!¡±


    ¡°I-I see it!¡± Dane swerved left¡­at the same time that Craft had told him to swerve right. The two impulses collided, and after swerving left, he swerved right ¡ª ¡°Heck!¡± ¡ª and a split second later, he realized his mistake and swerved left again.


    Everyone was yelling and triple corrections turned into quadruple corrections turned into pentuple corrections; the madness of it all occurred at a breakneck speed of 3 kph, and they were covering more distance swerving left and right than just going straight ahead.


    Fortune favors the clumsy. Despite the chaos, Craft had projected their sine wave path in his mind, and he was confident that they would manage to avoid the rock. Even if he and Dane kept screaming, it would all turn out fine.


    Alas, just a second away from the safe line, the rock wobbled. Just like a magnetic mine, huh?


    He thought he¡¯d heard a woman¡¯s foul mouth in the distance, but he couldn¡¯t spare any time to process it.


    The rock skidded across the ground and lodged itself in the wheel. Crumble, splinter, crack, SNAP! ¡ª the mannequins all tripped at the same time. He felt the carriage itself slam against his back, sending him sailing through the air.


    Time went slow, and he watched an upside-down picture of the mannequins below them scattering and the carriage above them sailing through the air. Oh, Dane was right beside him, too, swimming through the air with a pliable face.


    Craft rolled across the ground, getting to his feet and skidding to a stop. The carriage flew right over his head, hitting a buil-tree and exploding right behind him.


    Huh? It exploded? It¡¯s a carriage! How do they explode! He wanted to turn around and confirm the bullshittery that just happened, but somehow, he couldn¡¯t.


    He was partially paralyzed, only able to look left and right, but not behind.


    Dane was lying down beside him. He looked down at the guy. ¡°Hey, what was in there?¡±


    ¡°Darn it, that was expensive.¡± Dane grumbled as he pushed himself up. He sat up facing the carriage, but some inexplicable force twisted him around to face the other way instead. ¡°You¡¯re already standing, huh? So you¡¯re a combat type after all?¡±


    Craft shifted away. ¡°Hey, you know you just got rotated, right?¡±


    ¡°Ah, sorry, that¡¯s a Potion of Cool.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°Dang it, it must¡¯ve broke when we hit the rock.¡± He sighed. ¡°We can¡¯t look at the explosion for another 30 seconds.¡±


    It clicked for Craft. Oh, one of these? He used to deal with artifacts; anything went for them, from spatial distortions to madness-inducing hallucinations, altogether called ¡®abnormal effects.¡¯ ¡­ That said, 30 seconds was an awfully long time to look cool after an explosion.


    ¡°That¡¯s long enough for a conversation,¡± he replied. ¡°Whoever made that thing ought to take it down a notch. Maybe 10 seconds.¡±


    Dane stood up and patted himself down. ¡°Well, if you don¡¯t like it, you can walk away from it ¡ª and I gotta, so if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯ll be retrieving my merch before someone decides it has good resale value.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± Craft said. He watched the man walk away in slow-motion and with his hands stuck in his pockets. He seemed oddly impatient, though. He probably wasn¡¯t allowed to go any faster.


    Now to take care of this other problem. He sighed and looked to his left. Beside him, a woman who looked to be a shrine maiden winced at the situation she found herself in. She had a white top and a red skirt, black hair, and twin Japanese blades hanging from her left hip. Tucked under her arm was something the size of a basketball, wrapped in cloth.


    ¡°And you? Got anything to say?¡± he said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met before. I¡¯m in a pinch here just like you.¡±


    He couldn¡¯t be convinced. She was the same height as the imposter and stood with one leg slightly shorter.


    ¡°Figures you¡¯d sabotage the carriage but got caught up in the effect field. That¡¯s an attack you just did, right?¡± His muscles tensed. ¡°I¡¯m allowed to fight back, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    The woman had broken her own rules. The moment the abnormal effect went away, he would spring into action and nip the problem right in the bud. ¡­ People didn¡¯t really die here, though, so the best he could do was severely inconvenience the problem¡­in the bud.


    ¡°Hey ¡ª whoa, wait, swear, I didn¡¯t mean it.¡±


    So it really was her ¡ª but he didn¡¯t expect to hear that. Was she stalling for time? But she seemed genuinely taken aback.


    ¡°Explain.¡±


    She didn¡¯t reply.


    ¡°See you at the respawn point¡± ¡ª


    ¡°I dropped my rock along the way, okay!¡± She stomped while saying it. How desperate was she for him to believe her?


    ¡°That¡¯s the most amazing excuse I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°No, look!¡± She unfurled part of the cloth, revealing the rough face of, indeed, a rock.


    O-okay. The way she¡¯d spoken was just like some spoiled girl. ¡­ And for a rock? There¡¯s no way this was the same lady in the temple.


    ¡°I doubled back and saw the carriage swerving out of the way so I cast a spell to pull it back¡± ¡ª inhale ¡ª ¡°but why did the driver swerve right into it, huh? And you! The two of ¡ª fighting!¡± ¡ª she groaned. ¡°Look, I didn¡¯t even know you were there! I¡¯ll even reimburse the driver!¡± She put her hand to her forehead and shook. ¡°What a crap day¡­¡±


    He had this odd feeling that she was actually a decent and normal person in front of everyone else. I didn¡¯t even do anything to you. Why are you like this towards me?


    She sighed. ¡°Agent Bowen, if I had wanted to sabotage you, I simply wouldn¡¯t have done anything. You¡¯ll just do that on your own anyway.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re really dissing me, huh?¡±


    ¡°Oh, please do prove me wrong. After all, the first thing you did was suspect me of ambushing a civilian transport vehicle.¡± She spat on the ground. ¡°What am I, a terrorist?¡±


    ¡°Kinda.¡±


    She spat again. ¡°Aren¡¯t you more of a terrorist than me? I would gamble both my thumbs that you¡¯ve only been depressing and disappointing the people around you.¡± She glanced away for a moment. ¡°We¡¯ll leave it at that. The status effect is gone. See you again soon.¡±


    She dissolved into mist just like that time, leaving him with a hurt in his chest. Depressing and disappointing others, huh? Yeah, that¡¯s right. He couldn¡¯t disprove her. He couldn¡¯t even help himself.


    He knew he was building up walls between himself and everyone by sheer force of habit, and now she¡¯d dragged a bag over his head, choking him whenever he breathed. Every mote of progress seemed tiny before the fact that he hadn¡¯t made anyone happy.


    Was there really no way for him to change?


    Despair was an emotion he had shaken hands with a long time ago. It agreed that he was allowed to keep moving forward, all the while he agreed to allow it to make him feel like shit the whole way. Such an agreement had gotten him out of tough places before ¡ª and he¡¯d bank on it again now.


    ***


    It turned out that the carriage was mostly fine and the explosion was just a visual effect. After some help from the neighbors to flip the thing right-side-up, a man in green robes smirked and approached from down the road.


    Craft waited for him with Dane on the side of the road. ¡°Speak of the devil¡± ¡ª Dane rubbed his forehead ¡ª ¡°here he comes.¡±


    - The Arrogant Young Master, Freewheeler of the North, approaches! -


    The man walked with a permanent smirk and one eye closed, his hands clasped together and hidden under his robes¡¯ sleeves. His hair was silken black, as if staring into a galaxy of the heavens themselves, flowing with an invisible wind in permanent bullet-time ¡ª after all, the winds howl among the highest peaks, of which he is one.


    He stopped before them and took one look at the carriage. ¡°Fuh, you dare break one of my precious wheels?¡±


    Craft leaned in. ¡°Are we going to be okay?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the real deal.¡± Dane rubbed his forehead.


    ¡°The catch?¡±


    ¡°He darn well always does something you never asked for!¡± Dane threw his arms up in surrender. ¡°Just take one look at ¡¯im!¡± ¡ª


    When they looked, the man was gone.


    ¡°Junior! What is this undersized bearing? It is two h¨¢o smaller than it should be! Are you courting death?! No, you almost certainly died! You have kissed death in the lips! Take responsibility! Death cannot get married anymore!¡±


    The man¡¯s voice pulled their attention towards the carriage. He was crouching down, examining the stump where there used to be a wheel. A targeting reticule was holographically projected out of his now-opened eye, various kinds of terminal readouts scrolling past his face at an inhuman rate.


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re the one who put it there!¡± Dane complained.


    The man squinted at him, then back at the axle. His face twisted in rage, and he pointed back at Dane with a trembling finger. ¡°Fool! You have neglected to replace the oil, and it has become like snakeskin dried in the sun! Just as mountain stones can be used to grind jade, 1055 carbon steel can be used to grind 304 stainless ¡ª and now you are two h¨¢o undersized! Kill yourself with a block of tofu! I hope you respawn face-first into an iron plate!¡± ¡ª


    Never before had Craft witnessed such relentless verbal assault. Out of concern, he looked at Dane. The guy had been shaking his head the entire time. ¡°Just let ¡¯im run outta steam,¡± he said with a surrendered nod.


    He eventually did run out of steam¡­but not without a parting shot. ¡°Fuh, are you underestimating me, the Carriage Fixer Upper?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯chya put it like that,¡± Dane sighed.


    The young master stood up and cast his hand over the ground. ¡°Destroy my wheels as much as you want.¡± Thin roots grew upwards, forming a scaffold in the shape of a wheel. ¡°But you can never destroy my ability to make more.¡±


    Those last words struck Craft in a deep place. He had dreaded the idea of only being able to grow out of hardship. He¡¯d suffered enough, yet did he have to suffer more to get out of this hole he¡¯d found himself in? Wasn¡¯t that unreasonable? Yet, if he didn¡¯t suffer at all, then he wouldn¡¯t be able to move forward, adn all that had already come to pass would, in the end, come to nothing.


    This should have been the end of a life. This should have been the final version of him¡­but the young master¡¯s words had illuminated a third answer.


    ¡°Now, give me your money, cripple yourself, kowtow three times, and scram!¡±


    To be clear, it wasn¡¯t that.


    ***


    The rest of the journey was spent tilted ¡ª physically, as the young master had attached a wheel one size larger than the rest. Being larger, however, the ride felt a little less bumpier and more relaxing, enough for Craft to sign off on his indecision.


    In his mind, there had been ¡®hardship¡¯ and ¡®growth.¡¯ One could not occur without the other; if he wanted to grow, he had to go through a tough time; if he successfully grew, then he¡¯d be faced with a whole slew of new challenges, perpetuating the cycle.


    He hated that cycle. If he were only dealing with himself, then there would have been an end point ¡ª his ideal self ¡ª and it¡¯d be easier to stomach, but the world tossed problems at him with ridiculous frequency. Each time it did, he¡¯d have to adapt, tossing away previous adaptations without any space for mercy.


    Repeat ad infinitum. It was like some sort of Sisyphus X Ship of Theseus crossover.


    ¡°Android Sisyphus is infected by a logic virus yet must still push a boulder up a hill every day. If the virus completes its takeover, Android Sisyphus will never be allowed to imagine himself happy. If he comes in for maintenance and has one of his parts replaced, it will remove the virus from there, though it will eventually spread in from other parts. Consequently, if all of his parts are replaced at once, the virus will be completely destroyed. Should Android Sisyphus: 1) do nothing and fall into despair; 2) eternally fight the virus, replacing his parts save for one to ensure the continuation of some part of his identity; or 3) risk the complete destruction of his self just to imagine himself happy?¡±


    Cruel, wasn¡¯t it? But it was his reality, and he couldn¡¯t postpone making the choice any longer.


    At least, that was what he used to think.


    What if Android Sisyphus could be assured that there would always be a part of him that would persist? What if there was no risk ¡ª even after rebuilding his entire mind and body, changing his name, and being reborn ¡ª that he would lose himself? That even after all of that, he could still look himself in a mirror and say ¡°that¡¯s me¡±?


    As the young master had said: the world could take everything, but never his ability to remake it all and more.


    In this case, the thing being remade was Craft himself.


    Every notion of identity had to go. His parts were memories, beliefs, and long-held dear wishes; if he continued to fanatically hold onto them, no amount of hardship would become his pride, and no amount of growth would fill a cup that was already full.


    One day, even his memories of Rafflesia might ask to be seen out the door. Should that moment ever come, and should his resistance come to nothing, he just had to accept it with all the grace he could muster no matter how much he dreaded it.


    Let it all come at him, because today, he was alive. Today, he could breathe and see the trees and wave hello to the kids flying their kites. Tomorrow, he had someone to apologize to, and when all was said and done, and he¡¯d burned away everything he used to be, he didn¡¯t need to fear what he saw in a mirror; he would still and ever be the same will to change.


    The carriage came to a stop. We¡¯re already here, huh. He looked up, and they were in front of a buil-tree much larger than all the others around it. There was a broken, headless statue between them and the entrance.


    Rather than ¡®broken,¡¯ maybe he should he think of that neck-stump as a convenient attachment point instead.

 Chapter 17: Solace and Housemate

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    Chapter 17: Solace and Housemate


    The carriage stopped in front of an especially large buil-tree, twice to thrice as large in diameter. If there was one thing off about it: half of it was destroyed. With the headless statue in front of it, Craft thought there might have been a pretty nasty fight here.


    Even so, people went in and out of the building like normal. Structural vines had grown into braces that made up for the damage. All things considered, maybe he just came at a bad time.


    ¡°Yep, that¡¯s the town hall,¡± Dane said. The guy was still seated up on his carriage. ¡°And yep, it¡¯s pretty sad. The damage is fresh, but they said the building¡¯s stable, so don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s alive, it¡¯s pretty sturdy, huh?¡± Craft said.


    Dane chuckled. ¡°You said it!¡± He took the reins again. ¡°Welp, I¡¯ve got things to deliver. Just talk to anyone at the desk! See ya around!¡±


    Craft waved at him as the carriage started again, watching it disappear around the bend.


    ¡°The witch did it!¡±


    A man¡¯s voice sent Craft¡¯s head whipping towards the statue. Standing on a stool was a human cleric in red vestments. People began to stop for this man who spoke into a scepter like it were a loudspeaker.


    ¡°Welp, there he goes again,¡± a nearby elf said.


    ¡°Think about it! Why¡¯d only she come back and not the manager? Why is she claiming amnesia? That¡¯s just too convenient!¡±


    ¡°Shuttup, Lary!¡± one of the bystanders protested. ¡°She¡¯s way too nice to commit a homicide!¡±


    Everyone murmured in agreement. If Craft was following this scene correctly, he was more surprised that the mob was rallying against the rabble-rouser ¡ª which makes him a rabble-annoyer, in a way?


    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡± a woman¡¯s stern voice said¡­and it was familiar. The impostor had used it just earlier.


    The crowd parted like the sea to make way for a shrine maiden in a red skirt, white top ¡­ What¡¯s she doing here? He shook his head. That couldn¡¯t be her. Despite nearly the same appearance, this one was half an inch taller, and the way she walked was slightly different. Whereas the impostor walked toe-heel like a thief, this one walked with a low center of gravity, keeping her footing constantly stable. Those two swords hanging from her waist weren¡¯t for show.


    For a moment, the two of them saw each other, and he spotted a flash of recognition in her eyes ¡ª a split second where she couldn¡¯t look away from him.


    She recognizes me? How could that be when they¡¯d never met before?


    She turned away from Craft and went straight for Lary. She raised her hand ¡ª and chopped him in the head. Shockwaves rippled through the air, a gust of wind blowing past Craft¡¯s face, yet in that same moment, a sizable shield of golden light manifested over the cleric¡¯s head right before the moment of impact.


    ¡°Ow! Why!¡± He covered his head.


    ¡°Public disturbance,¡± the woman said. It concerned Craft that she was willing to unleash that much energy straight against someone¡¯s head. What if it killed him ¡ª Oh. Right.


    Lary raised his hands in surrender. ¡°But it¡¯s my Hobby!¡±


    ¡°I know how Conspiracy Theorycrafting works.¡± The woman squinted. ¡°Current events are off-limits.¡±


    Lary shrunk back. ¡°I-I guess not.¡±


    He didn¡¯t sound convincing, though. The woman raised her hand again, and he shrunk back and winced. ¡°Okay, okay! Let¡¯s go with the ¡®Buil-tree Arch was an inside job¡¯ one today!¡±


    ¡°You did that one yesterday!¡± someone from the crowd complained.


    ¡°Aye, but what if the Danish Mafia was involved, huh!¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t even here yet!¡±


    Craft looked into the sky, pondering, ¡®Danish¡¯? They¡¯re here, too? No, could it be¡­ ¡®Dane-ish¡¯? He thought himself the kind of guy who had the strangest luck, so happening to bump into the top dog of the local mafia wasn¡¯t completely off the table. Better not think about it.


    Satisfied by the change in topic, the woman left Lary and seemed to aim for Craft. He seized up as she approached, her gait steady and unbothered, but he couldn¡¯t find any impatience in her that would indicate his impending first death in this world.


    Eventually, she passed right by him. ¡°Don¡¯t stir up trouble,¡± she whispered as she did.


    He turned around after her, but she¡¯d disappeared ¡ª gone into thin air. It was just like the impostor, but shouldn¡¯t he have at least caught a glimpse of that tell-tale shadowy mist?


    Perhaps she wasn¡¯t the impostor at all, and he¡¯d just witnessed a variant of the same ability. However, that would mean the impostor was also impersonating others in this town; even if she wasn¡¯t going to bring Nightshade into this, everyone else might be fair game.


    But that still left the question of why this woman singled him out for a warning ¡ª and why Nightshade was being implicated for a crime.


    There were too many unknowns. He turned around and went for the town hall¡¯s doors. Short on friends and actionable intelligence, the least he could do was avoid any trouble and secure a base of operations.


    ***


    Inside the town hall, there was a clerk behind the far counter. Craft was glad there wasn¡¯t anyone else in the lobby, because when he approached the clerk and told him about his situation, he got hit with some rapid-fire utterances of surprise and said-aloud repetitions of everything Craft had just told him.


    Operational security? What¡¯s that?


    The clerk told him to look for Solace¡¯s office in Door 53, directing him to a flight of stairs just behind the counter.


    ¡°One last thing,¡± the clerk said. ¡°Lady Solace is usually all business-y, but she¡¯s pretty pissy today. Try not to step on a landmine, will ya?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t talk too much. Got it,¡± Craft replied.


    He went through the door just past the counter. The label above the door said ¡°01.¡± Through the door, there was a spiral staircase that ran all along the inner side of the building¡¯s hollow cylinder design.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    He started climbing the stairs. As he ascended, to his left were doors with increasing numbering. To his right was a bare tree trunk.


    Its bark was thick and with deep crevices. He truly was in awe for being so close to it; there weren¡¯t any trees as ancient as this one back on Earth.


    He extended his arm and touched it. Thank you for growing, he couldn¡¯t help but think.


    ¡ª No prob.


    He pulled his arm back and stopped climbing. He had heard the voice of someone who belonged on a couch with a bag of chips.


    Dane had mentioned there being spirits in these things. It would¡¯ve helped to have mentioned they could talk, though, That spooked me.


    As he continued to climb, the wall on the left turned ragged, charred, and eventually, he saw open air. An entire section of the building was just gone. Where there used to be intricately carved hand rails and varnished steps, vines and branches continued the staircase instead, bridging the damage.


    With the stairs being a spiral, he found his experience alternating between something intentional and hand-crafted, and something improvised and grown-over.


    Seriously, what in this world could blow up half a building? The woman from earlier¡¯s hand chop came to mind. Her swords could probably do more damage. The fact that there were walking tactical nukes concerned him for a moment ¡ª and the fact that there were people like the cleric who could defend against them ¡ª yet civilization still flourished here.


    Considering all that had happened so far, even with friction between individuals, it was a polite society overall.


    The door labels eventually came to ¡°53.¡± It was the last door before the destroyed section again.


    He knocked. He heard a quiet but commanding ¡°Come in.¡± He pushed the door open.


    A woman in a mourning dress continued to write behind the desk. Her blood-red hair flowed smoothly over her shoulders like a laminar waterfall. With her pale skin, Craft would¡¯ve thought she was dead if she weren¡¯t writing.


    Everything on her desk had paperweights. There was a strong gust of wind. Papers fluttered but didn¡¯t fly.


    When Craft looked to the right, he had a great view of the outdoors. It was almost panoramic, in fact. The wall was gone.


    He faced Solace again. It took a second before she bothered to look at him, then back down at her work. After putting down her pen and ordering her papers, setting them aside and putting her hands together ¡ª she finally looked him in the eye.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re new,¡± she said. There was something about her voice laced with charm, but also undirected vitriol.


    He imagined the towering stacks of documents behind her were a decent quantification of her stress. As things were going, she might not even have the patience to deal with him right now. He needed to diffuse her emotions just a little ¡ª just enough so they could work together.


    ¡°Very,¡± he said with a sigh and an affirmative raise of his eyebrows. ¡°Sorry, name¡¯s Craft Bowen, newly-summoned. I was told Miss Solace is the person to look for for lodging, but is now a good a time?¡±


    Casual openers like these went deeper than they seemed.


    Very: a reply made brief to get to the important part. Stuffing up this part would waste time and backfire.


    Sorry: an empathy signal. By acknowledging this, Craft established that he was someone willing to step back when needed.


    Name¡¯s Craft Bowen, newly-summoned: such a named introduction subtly shifted the conversation from an ¡°over-the-counter¡± transaction to real socialization.


    I was told Miss Solace is the person to look for for lodging: not just a statement of purpose, but also an acknowledgment of authority, decreasing the chances of pissing off said authority.


    But is now a good a time? : another empathy signal, shifting the tone from a one-sided ¡°I need something from you¡± to a collaborative ¡°Do you have what you need to work?¡±


    Together with a steady tone of voice and an unrushed cadence, this was Craft¡¯s five-hit combo for Operation: Don¡¯t Piss Off the Housing Manager.


    A split second passed ¡ª an eternity for Craft.


    She smirked.


    Oh thank God ¡ª Enty?


    ¡°I have time to spare,¡± she said. She gestured to the towering stacks behind herself with a flick of her hand. ¡°These are small fry. The Annual Tax Filing Competition, on the other hand ¡ª would you like to try your hand in it? We¡¯re always looking for more participants.¡±


    A horror story in four words couldn¡¯t be made more attractive with a 200% sex appeal buff. ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡±


    She chuckled coolly. ¡°That aside¡± ¡ª she eyed him up and down ¡ª ¡°newly summoned, are you? Are you human?¡±


    Just because it looked human and sounded human didn¡¯t mean it was actually human. Craft knew that very well, and so he wasn¡¯t bothered by the implications of her question. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for a race change, so I think I¡¯m human.¡±


    She bent down and took a form from under the desk. ¡°Please, sit.¡± She gestured to a chair across her desk, and Craft obliged. He softly closed the door behind him before coming closer and taking a seat.


    Solace took a fountain pen to the form. ¡° ¡®Craft Bowen,¡¯ was it?¡± she asked.


    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    She jotted that down. ¡°Hobby?¡±


    ¡°Bowmaking.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s rare.¡± She handed him another paper before anything else. ¡°Community guidelines. Go over it while I¡¯m busy.¡±


    As she continued to write, he skimmed the local rules for a bit. The print was fine enough to fit a hundred bullet points, but it all boiled down to ¡°Don¡¯t screw with others.¡± If anyone violated that, the town¡¯s ¡°monitors¡± ¡ª some sort of volunteer militia by his understanding ¡ª would come in and take an power drill to one¡¯s screwiness and unscrew the situation.


    Craft got extra worried over some new information, though. Monitors could generally be identified by their red-dominant clothing and open carrying of weapons. Was that woman a while ago¡­


    He looked at Solace. ¡°Can I ask?¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you asking already?¡±


    ¡°Right. What happens if a monitor violates these?¡±


    Solace stopped writing and looked at him. ¡°Then you come to me.¡±


    She continued writing. Craft was in shock and awe. Damn, she¡¯s cold. He admired that in a woman ¡ª but from a distance. Where it didn¡¯t bite him. Yeah, no thanks.


    He watched her fill up the form at a ferocious speed, signing off with a flourish and flicking a screw cap back onto her pen, letting it screw itself shut from sheer rotational inertia.


    The form started to glow, and she pushed it to his side of the desk. ¡°Please place your hand here. The glow will spread to your body and you¡¯ll be registered to the town.¡±


    He did so, and like she said, he started to glow as well. Is this a magical verification system? He felt strangely nervous about it ¡ª his first time being on any kind of civil registry.


    The light died down, and a shiny seal appeared on the bottom of the form. Solace got a blank piece of paper, slapped it on top of the form, and carefully peeled it away, handing it to Craft. ¡°Your copy.¡±


    He received it, and like instant photographic film, a perfect copy of the form faded in. ¡°Nifty.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± Solace chuckled coolly. Craft was surprised; was she a fan of office supplies? Huh, did I just accidentally get on her good side?


    Solace reached down under the desk. There was the clinking of keys before she picked out a single one and presented it to him. ¡°Here¡¯s the key to your house,¡± Solace said.


    He received it a little meekly. Did that just really happen? He¡¯d just walked in here, said some textbook stuff, and now he¡¯s got a key to a house. Damn, that was fast.


    ¡°Ordinarily,¡± she continued with a sigh that made him give pause, ¡°I would give you a choice of residence, but unfortunately, we only had one vacancy. If you feel uncomfortable about living together with two women, I can let you know if another slot becomes available, but for now, this is what we have.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no, that¡¯s not a problem.¡±


    There was a knock on the door.


    ¡°How fortunate,¡± Solace said. ¡°Come in.¡±


    The door swung open, and Craft turned towards it. Standing under the door frame was that same woman, red skirt and all. One of her blades was an inch out of its sheathe, propped up by her thumb ¡ª but with her gaze alternating between Solace in a good mood and a very confused Craft, she was evidently confused as well.


    ¡°Craft Bowen, Lei-rei,¡± Solace said, ¡°meet your new housemate.¡±


    ***


    Solace escorted them to their house, getting updates about the town from Lei-rei along the way. Craft trailed the pair, wondering how on earth this even happened. Was this also the impostor¡¯s doing? No, no, Solace had been the one who¡¯d picked out the key, and it was impossible for anyone to predict the fae-like whims of the local housing market. Wasn¡¯t this all just a dumb coincidence, then?


    After showing them through the door, Solace bid her leave, closing the door ¡ª leaving them alone.


    The interior of the house was the very image of a ¡®humble abode.¡¯ There was a dining table and chairs put together from rough cuts of timber. Misshapen pots and pans hung from hooks on the wall above the kitchen counter, and a small round window above the sink was the only source of light. There were other doors, ostensibly leading to bedrooms, but that wasn¡¯t the issue right now.


    ¡°I know your kind,¡± Lei-rei said. ¡°You like to lie to get your way. I doubt you¡¯re actually newly summoned.¡±


    Craft had stuck to playing it safe up until now, but after hearing that last part, things clicked for him.


    The impostor knew he was newly summoned ¡ª she was there ¡ª but this woman did not, so he could be certain now that they weren¡¯t the same people at all.


    So why did the impostor assume this woman¡¯s identity? Did the impostor mean to sow doubt in him by impersonating his future housemate?¡­ No, that made no sense. If the impostor stuck to her declared goal of spiting him and hating on him, what would have been the purpose of inciting someone else to attack him?


    The woman in front of him drew a blade and pointed it at his neck. She chuckled ¡ª and her amusedness disappeared. ¡°The statue¡¯s head. Where did you hide it?¡±


    It¡¯s just one thing after another, wasn¡¯t it?

 Chapter 18: To make friends...

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    Chapter 18: To make friends, first you need to duel each other to the death, sprinkling tidbits about yourself the entire time; hopefully, that¡¯ll add +5 to your likeability meter


    Do you ever have that incredible sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu when someone frames you and you end up getting chased all the way across Paris for the rest of the week?¡­ No? Just him? A-alright.


    With the sword pointed at Craft''s neck, he¡¯d raised his hands in surrender, keeping his palms close to his face. If the woman moved to kill, he¡¯d only have a sliver of a chance to fend her off and live. Although he wouldn¡¯t ¡®die,¡¯ he didn¡¯t want to find out how respawning felt like.


    For now, there seemed to be a fundamental misunderstanding here.


    ¡°Name¡¯s Craft¡± ¡ª he tried to introduce himself, but the woman pushed her sword an inch closer to his face ¡ª ¡°whoa-kay, I genuinely don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    ¡°Lies. I saw you take it. You must have hidden it somewhere.¡±


    Her sword glowed slightly. Weapons that started to glow were, nine times out of ten, weapons that were about to be used, and they tended not to leave a trace of the target. Well, sometimes the shoes were left standing on the ground.


    Craft flinched. ¡°H-hey, I swear! I was with Nightshade or Dane the whole time!¡±


    The woman narrowed her eyes at the mention of Nightshade. She pulled her sword back a little. She might have trusted his alibi, but she wouldn¡¯t completely back down.


    ¡°Even if you say so, I can¡¯t leave you be. The scent of death surrounds you.¡± Not just her sword, but her entire self glowed. All the colors of the rainbow seeped out of her, and her hair floated up on its own, changing colors to red, green, and blue. ¡°If it were just me, I can keep one eye open as long as I need ¡ª but I can¡¯t let you poison Nightshade with your bloodstained ways.¡±


    With the way her hair was colored, and with the way she defended Nightshade, he realized who she was ¡ª and just how screwed he was. The problem wasn¡¯t losing; if all he had to do was die as an apology, then he¡¯d take the plunge and bank on the respawn system. In front of him, however, was the very same person he had wanted to form a connection with. Even if he won this fight, their future interactions would remain sour.


    This wasn¡¯t just a fight. It was a negotiation to dispel her presumptions. Aiming for a positive outcome would be too greedy for him to aim for, so for now, as long as she walked away from here with an open mind, he¡¯d count that as a win, and to that end, he steadied himself.


    ¡°Your face changed,¡± the woman said. ¡°That¡¯s your real one, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re just half-right, miss,¡± Craft said. Without turning his back, he took two frying pans hanging from the wall behind him. She showed her teeth. He showed his readiness, wielding the frying pans like table tennis rackets. ¡°I can¡¯t tell you which one¡¯s the real one, not yet. I¡¯ll get back to you when I¡¯ve finalized myself.¡±


    The woman narrowed her eyes. His statement had thrown off her initial evaluation of him. ¡°Then let¡¯s put this to a bet. My win, and you stay away from Nightshade. Your win, and I won¡¯t harass you.¡±


    He shook his head. He hadn¡¯t missed how she had narrowed her eyes. She was still evaluating him, which meant she was still operating under uncertainty. I can use that. ¡°That¡¯s a bad deal. Your win, and I¡¯ll spill one bean a day.¡±


    The woman furrowed her brows. ¡°That¡¯s a strange deal.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s realistic.¡±


    She paused. With this deal, she¡¯d win in the long game. ¡°Fair.¡±


    ¡°My win, and you¡¯ll have to believe I don¡¯t have any ill-will towards anyone.¡±


    The woman sheathed her sword. ¡°Ill-will isn¡¯t the problem¡± ¡ª and unsheathed a longer one ¡ª ¡°it¡¯s poisoning Nightshade¡¯s views with your own.¡±


    She¡¯s speaking like she knows it as fact. Craft recalled Nightshade saying the two of them were similar in some way. True, the woman¡¯s air was less of a warrior¡¯s right now and more that of an assassin¡¯s. If someone like him ended up in Amatoria, it wasn¡¯t far-fetched to think there were others like him, too ¡ª others who had lived regretfully.


    Perhaps the woman had witnessed the corruption of sunshine before. He had as well.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want that either,¡± Craft said.


    ¡°So you understand.¡±


    He gritted his teeth and sighed. ¡°When I met her, I thought she was too kind for me.¡± Saying this was a gamble, but if the two of them were truly similar, then this could be a power move that would establish more rapport than anything else he could say.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    The woman winced. ¡°So you understand.¡± She shifted her stance. ¡°My win, you¡¯ll declassify something every day, and you are not to see Nightshade without my supervision. Your win, and only Nightshade can tell me to cut you down.¡±


    He shouldn¡¯t squeeze more out of this. ¡°I¡¯m fine with that.¡±


    To his surprise, copies of the same system panel appeared in front of their faces.


    [Sanctioned Duel Initializing: State your full names and true causes.]


    ¡°Lei-rei, in defense of my dearest friend.¡±


    ¡°Craft Bowen.¡± He paused. Why ¡°true causes¡±? Could he lie? No, it didn¡¯t matter. The System was an extension of Enthusia, and he wouldn¡¯t lie to her. ¡°To make one.¡±


    Lei-rei¡¯s eyes widened.


    [Logging duel. Please wait for the countdown.]


    [3¡­]


    [2¡­]


    [1¡­]


    [This is your captain speaking. Have a safe fight! -E]


    Craft took the initiative. He stepped forward swinging a frying pan and swatting Lei-rei¡¯s sword away with a ping! It surprised him she hadn¡¯t taken the first move; she was obviously faster and stronger than him.


    Initiative was only decisive against the indecisive. Lei-rei counter-attacked, but with her first sword swatted aside, she unsheathed her shorter sword and cut upwards in a single motion.


    Craft distanced himself. His left hand felt lighter, and when he glanced down, he only found the pan¡¯s handle, and none of the pan itself.


    He eyed Lei-rei. She sheathed her longer sword, leaving her only with the shorter one. She¡¯s switching weapons? What¡¯s with that style? Around her, the walls and ceiling had a single continuous gash. Her attack had extended further than the physical length of the blade implied. That¡¯s one hell of a sharp sword.


    Lei-rei¡¯s earlier hesitation must have been a fluke, he thought. They were both assassins, and every moment of both pause and action had intent.


    She cut forwards in a blink. Craft jumped and twisted his body, and for a split second, he was standing on the ceiling. He had a bird¡¯s-eye view of Lei-rei¡¯s attack, and he figured her out: she¡¯d attack with her shorter sword as a feint, then draw out her longer sword behind it, making him underestimate her reach.


    More importantly, whether or not her swords were sheathed didn¡¯t affect her attack speed. Everything on her was, effectively, already a drawn weapon ¡ª the embodiment of ¡°switching to your sidearm is faster than reloading¡± being exploited so that all her attacks come from switching swords. Scary.


    He barreled downwards for an attack with his last frying pan. She parried that out of the way, and now, they kept their distance from each other.


    ¡°So you weren¡¯t human,¡± Lei-rei said.


    He put more distance between them. Her words were more surprising than all her attacks so far. ¡°I am, though!¡±


    She dashed forward and cut up air where Craft was standing, turning the space into a blender with Lei-rei as its engine. The man himself slipped between her blender-like dance, running on the walls and losing his last frying pan in the process.


    Lei-rei stopped and faced him anew. ¡°With that athleticism?¡±


    The two found themselves circling each other around the dinner table. The way Lei-rei¡¯s eyes had widened at the start of the duel still stuck to him. Had her impression of him changed the moment he worded his stake in this fight the way he did?


    It might be worth bridging her understanding of him even now, even if by a little bit.


    ¡°I survived. The others didn¡¯t,¡± he said.


    ¡°That so?¡± she said frankly.


    ¡°That¡¯s just how it is.¡±


    ¡°For us, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    They both kicked the dinner table at the same time. Each one had intended to launch it into the enemy¡¯s face, but with their powers combined, they just launched it into the ceiling.


    Dust fell between them. The table had gotten stuck in the ceiling.


    The two stared at each other for a moment. They both knew they weren¡¯t eating on a table tonight ¡ª and that Craft was at a severe disadvantage. All he had for weapons now were two pan handles, while Lei-rei was poised to cut him to bits any moment now.


    There wasn¡¯t any need for last words. Lei-rei took the opening and rushed in, cutting with the shorter sword and holding the other in reserve ¡ª but that was a feint. She drew the shorter sword back and unsheathed the longer sword in the same moment ¡ª but that was a feint, too!


    She had long known that Craft had seen through her favorite feint earlier, and it was a trivial exercise to simply stack even more feints on top of that.


    Her shorter sword hadn¡¯t actually been sheathed. Before her longer sword¡¯s attack even cleared, she was already following it with her shorter sword in a reverse-gripped slash. It would be a bad move in ordinary combat, but there was one thing a reverse grip was good for: a surprise, bullshit move at close range from an unexpected angle.


    ¡ª Craft¡¯s expertise.


    Earlier, right before they both kicked the table into the ceiling, he had spotted a handle-less pan on the floor. The dust that had fallen between them had captured Lei-rei¡¯s attention for a split second, long enough for him to hide it behind his leg.


    He kicked it up with the side of his foot, aiming for her head, forcing her to veer her long sword to intercept the cast iron frisbee coming from below.


    To her surprise, he stepped into the attack. He had long given up on actually winning the fight, but that didn¡¯t mean he wanted to come across a pushover.


    He threw the first pan handle at her, forcing her to veer away her short sword to intercept it. It wasn¡¯t enough to leave her completely open, but it gave him the split second necessary to get into stabbing range.


    With the second handle in both hands, he pushed off and thrust forwards, straight into the path of Lei-rei¡¯s blade ¡ª


    ¡°You sharpened a pan handle with my own attacks,¡± she chuckled. ¡°Well played.¡±


    ¡ª and delivering the pan handle into her heart.


    Lei-rei¡¯s blade had cleaved a path from his shoulder to his chest. There was no blood nor pain in this world. Digital blue pixels like fairy lights spilled out of their wounds, and their visions were clouded by the System¡¯s warnings.


    [AvatarWarning: Low health!]


    [AvatarWarning: Very low health!]


    [AvatarWarning: X_X !]


    In Craft¡¯s eyes, it was just like being unplugged. The world turned grayscale in one frame, then low-res the next. His vision shattered in halves, flashed white, then went black.


    [Respawning in 3¡­ 2¡­ 1¡­]


    [Applied Day One bonus: No Anima deducted!]


    He heard a high-pitched whine, and a tunnel of color pixels exploded outwards from the center of his vision. The rest of his senses ¡ª hearing, touch, smell, taste ¡ª gently faded in.


    There was an incredible sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu as Nightshade stood some distance away from the summoning platform, frozen still. Her gaze flittered between him and someone beside him. She puffed up her cheeks and pointed at them. ¡°What did you guys dooooo!¡±


    Craft looked at the person beside him. ¡°Let¡¯s call it a draw.¡±


    Lei-rei had closed her eyes. ¡°And I never got my groceries done.¡± Breathing deeply, she nodded solemnly.

 Chapter 19: ... it’ll be a little awkward at first ...

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    Chapter 19: Even then, it¡¯ll be a little awkward at first, but you¡¯ll get the hang of it eventually


    Nightshade marched up the summoning platform. Beside Craft, Lei-rei had a downcast but tense gaze like a child who didn¡¯t think she¡¯d done anything wrong ¡ª which was bad news for him. If she was giving that look, then in all likelihood, her view of him hadn¡¯t changed at all, and he might have to brace himself for a less than stellar stay here at World¡¯s Origin.


    ¡°Lei-rei!¡± Nightshade came to a marching stop in front of her. She leaned in, and Lei-rei looked away. She leaned left, and Lei-rei looked right; she leaned right, and Lei-rei looked left. She huffed. ¡°Are you doing that ¡®death wish¡¯ stuff again? No, don¡¯t tell me¡­you did it with this guy?! He¡¯s freakin¡¯ new! Hey, what¡¯s gotten into you?¡±


    Ah, she¡¯s like a mom telling her daughter off for bringing a guy home. That besides, Craft had been thinking of coming back here, but he¡¯d never imagined it would happen this way. He could wait out Nightshade¡¯s incoming sermon and give her the explanation that was meant for tomorrow, or he could try and make peace with Lei-rei so he wouldn¡¯t need to sleep with one eye open ¡ª not as if they could attack each other anyway, but he imagined she would hover over him as he tried to sleep. That¡¯s just harassment.


    Nightshade continued to lean left and right, and Lei-rei insisted on looking away, but the longer they did so, the more Nightshade¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°I see,¡± she said. She righted herself. ¡°So that¡¯s what happened.¡±


    Lei-rei stiffened up. Craft got the feeling there was some high-level communication going on here, but not knowing what it was Nightshade had inferred, the best he could do was whatever he could do.


    ¡°Er ¡ª Nightshade?¡± he called out. Lei-rei was a risk factor, and what he really needed right now was a sure ally. ¡°There¡¯s something I wanted to talk to you about, though this is a bad time.¡±


    She faced Craft. Her eyes were still narrowed, appraising him with the same look she¡¯d given Lei-rei ¡ª and for a second, that made him nervous.


    ¡°So that¡¯s what happened,¡± she said again.


    ¡°W-what?¡± He blinked, and for a moment, the afterimage of an interrogator, imperial iron cross and gray coat and all, imposed itself over Nightshade.


    Tapping her finger against her elbow, she faced Lei-rei. ¡°So, what will you say?¡±


    Lei-rei turned about face, squarely facing Craft. She bowed with her entire body. ¡°We¡¯ll call it a draw.¡±


    Thinking she was about to attack him again, he raised his hands ¡ª then parsed her words. Huh? ¡°Really?¡± He put his hands down. He¡¯d thought she was still mad, but she wasn¡¯t?


    Nightshade nodded once with a satisfied expression. ¡°Called it.¡±


    He didn¡¯t expect this development at all, and he couldn¡¯t even get a read on neither Nightshade nor Lei-rei. Was this what it felt like to be left out of a telepathic conversation? Looks like I¡¯m stuck with primitive words.


    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t worry about it,¡± he told Lei-rei, and she righted herself. She still wouldn¡¯t meet eyes with anyone, though.


    Nightshade looked at her and hummed for a moment ¡ª ¡°Alright! Formation H!¡± ¡ª and hugged her in a full-frontal assault with neither grace nor tact. Lei-rei squirmed in her hold, still refusing to make eye contact, but she didn¡¯t resist more than that. ¡°There, there,¡± Nightshade said. ¡°Just apologize properly, okay?¡± She paused. ¡°Properly, okay? With words.¡±


    Lei-rei looked at her, then away, her gaze going up and down all across the room. ¡°M-miss Nightshade, I would appreciate dropping the topic here.¡±


    Oh no. Craft knew this type. They were fearless under fire, but put in an intimate situation, they folded like cards. Many of his targets and accomplices were like this ¡ª well, not exactly like this, but he got the gist.


    Having someone like Lei-rei around actually simplified his social strategies, boiling it all down to one: spamming social survival donuts for her to latch onto.


    ¡°Actually,¡± he started, ¡°I also need to say sorry to her. I sort of broke her pans.¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Nightshade looked at him like he¡¯d committed genocide. ¡°You did what to her babies?!¡± She hugged Lei-rei tighter and turned her body, shielding the child from the scary man. ¡°You can¡¯t just massacre her Hobby like that!¡±


    Imagine violating the world¡¯s constitution on your first day of existence.


    ¡°Wh ¡ª hey, wait!¡± ¡ª


    Desperation built up in his voice. His hand gestures became that of a B-rate villain¡¯s realizing he¡¯d screwed up. Violating a Rule? It scared him, but he was more scared of Nightshade hating him. Hurting her best friend was the last thing on his mind.


    ¡ª ¡°That¡¯s why I want to make it up to her! Look, I¡¯ll buy replacements, right? That should be fine, right? Right?¡±


    Nightshade snickered. That confused him for a moment. Was she messing with him?


    She dug her face into Lei-rei¡¯s shoulder and waved a hand.


    What, she was really messing with me! He sighed. His face went flush. ¡°Don¡¯t scare me like that¡­¡±


    She looked up at him with wide eyes. ¡°Huh? Wait, you took it seriously?¡±


    Lei-rei managed to free an arm and flicked her on the side of the head.


    ¡°Ow! Why!¡± Nightshade looked at her while rubbing her own head.


    Lei-rei squinted at her. ¡°Serious people take things seriously. One would think you would have learned this after being acquainted with the likes of me.¡±


    Nightshade frowned, looked down, let go of Lei-rei, and pulled away. She held her own hands together in front of her, wanting to face Craft, but only doing so halfway. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said. Her voice was low, almost quiet.


    Craft scratched his head. With this, he couldn¡¯t talk to her about what he¡¯d wanted to. He still felt a little cheated, and he didn¡¯t want to mix his sincere feelings with these bad ones, but, ¡°You didn¡¯t mean it,¡± he still said ¡ª was all he could say. Nightshade nodded.


    He happened to glance at Lei-rei at the same time as she glanced at him. Her normally sharp eyes drooped a little now. Perhaps she wanted a truce.


    She harrumphed. ¡°Craft, you owe me a debt of two pans. I¡¯ll supervise. Somehow fail and I will duel you again.¡± (I want everyone to disperse so we can properly make peace.)


    Nightshade looked up at her with a small gasp, then a soft smile, like a parent watching her kid grow. It helped Craft forget that he had no money to speak of.


    ***


    Nightshade saw them out of the temple. Lei-rei went out first. Craft trailed, but Nightshade called out to him and pulled him back. He was surprised, but when he looked at her, she wouldn¡¯t meet his eyes. ¡°Do you hate me?¡± she asked.


    Straightforward. He smiled. ¡°Not at all.¡±


    He joined up with Lei-rei, and the two waved to Nightshade who waved back with a bright smile.


    As soon as they disappeared from her view, however, they distanced themselves from each other, leaving just enough space to react to an attack, yet close enough to hear each other.


    Craft still couldn¡¯t figure her out. By all indications, her view of him must have improved, but how?


    ¡°Come closer or I can¡¯t hit you with my words,¡± Lei-rei said.


    He looked at her. The fact that she could be a normal, feeling person only applied when Nightshade was around, and he didn¡¯t want to stand next to an angry human lawnmower if he could help it ¡ª but her shoulders were relaxed, and she kept her hands together behind her back. Maybe she really did just want to talk. Maybe wasn¡¯t good enough.


    He looked away without an answer. From the corner of his eye, he noticed her side-eyeing him. Was she mad?


    ¡°It¡¯s not as if I will cut you down at the toss of a coin.¡±


    Not mad, then. She was making less and less sense to him. Instead of being a loose cannon, wasn¡¯t she actually quite the cool-headed person?


    He glanced at her. ¡°So what will you cut me down for?¡±


    ¡°Theft of public property.¡± She took a deep breath. ¡°But now that I¡¯ve confirmed your alibi, I only have to be cautious now, not wary.¡±


    ¡°Cautious, huh.¡±


    ¡°You know how it goes. I¡¯m sure you do.¡±


    That gave him pause. He¡¯d been cautious of her this whole time, and she reciprocated it. ¡°Sounds like you do, too.¡±


    There were lots of types of people on their side of the fence: people who loved the dirty work, people who hated it and wanted to run away, and people who despised it and rebelled against it ¡ª then there were those who would kill their emotions the best they could, turning themselves into living machines just to get through the day.


    Going by how Lei-rei¡¯s been speaking until now, they were in the same category.


    ¡°But that¡¯s where we stop being the same,¡± Lei-rei said. Her gaze was distant, perhaps avoiding his judgment or remembering something. ¡°First, she was my target, then my client, then my ally, and now¡­¡± She never finished that sentence. ¡°Even ending on a good note, it was painfully naive not to take the straight path, and now everything takes thrice as long as it should take.¡± She looked at him. ¡°If you are doing things differently, then you cannot possibly hurt her the same way.¡±


    She looked away, and they both glued their eyes on their respective paths. Silence came between them; the sound of their trodding over dried leaves grew louder.


    Why was she telling him this? Was it to prod him like the impostor had?


    He looked at her, looking for clues in her mannerisms and nonverbal tells. There was no ¡°global¡± body language ¡ª only deviations from a person¡¯s norm ¡ª hence he only had their earlier interactions to compare. Just earlier, when she¡¯d challenged him, she had shown no anger; during the fight itself, neither were there any signs of fear nor envy.


    Looking at her now, she showed no deviations from her norm. She was as relaxed as when she¡¯d stopped resisting Nightshade¡¯s embrace. It should have been a good sign, but the distance between them meant it was a different story.


    What did it mean for her to be relaxed, but not willing to close the distance? Likely, she held no anger. Likely, she held no fear. The way she held one hand with the other behind her back, however, could only be motivated by the need to comfort herself.


    Discomforted by the presence of her own self ¡ª was it regret that she felt, after all? Had she said all of that because they were both¡­


    ¡°We¡¯re the same,¡± Craft said. ¡°I got the bad ending, though.¡±


    She turned her head his way, then faced forwards without a further hint of emotion. Neither of them minded the narrowing of the trail.

 Chapter 20: Story Time

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    .


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    Chapter 20: Story Time


    There was a marketplace off the road, between the outskirts and the town center. Stalls, carts, and tents encircled a fat tree and enjoyed the shade of its rich crown. Craft leaned left and right as he looked into each of them, finding vegetables, tools, trinkets, or a mix of those ¡ª but he found it strange that most of them didn¡¯t have any shopkeepers, and none of them stocked pans.


    He stopped beside a vegetable cart. Over a box of carrots, there was a sign that read: ¡°PAY WHATEVER.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s up with the business model?¡± he said. He looked to Lei-rei ahead of him.


    She turned around and saw him with the sign. ¡°It¡¯s just a Hobby after all. They don¡¯t need the money.¡±


    He caught up with her. ¡°But how do they keep it running?¡±


    She stared at him for a second. ¡°Meaning?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°You know. Business expenses.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not as if the farmers and makers sell for profit, either.¡±


    ¡°Weird economy¡­¡± or was he the weird one here?


    ¡°It¡¯s not so strange. Goodwill comes first. Money is just the tiebreaker.¡±


    ¡°Fair.¡±


    They continued on with him trailing some paces behind her. He wanted to be closer to her. He still owed her over the whole duelling incident, sure, but there was also the rarity in how similar they were to the point that it didn¡¯t take many words to express something between them. In this time when he still found it hard to trust anyone, it was a treasure ¡ª one he knew he wouldn¡¯t find again for a long time.


    For the first time in two lives, he wanted to be the one to reach out. It was a wonderful and scary feeling.


    After going past a few stalls, Lei-rei veered towards a particular tent. Craft slowed down after remembering something. ¡°Hey, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve noticed, but I happen to be broke.¡±


    She glanced at him as she parted the flaps. ¡°That won¡¯t be a problem.¡±


    She vanished inside. He took her word for it and followed suit.


    His eyes hadn¡¯t had time to adjust from the bright outdoors when a pair of green eyes shone and a mechanical voice greeted them. ¡°Welcome, customers.¡±


    The shine of the green eyes illuminated a centaur-like war machine, and Craft froze in his tracks. It had spoken through a crackling old speaker hole from the jaw of a tin can head; its entirety was a frankenstein of medieval coat-of-arms and smooth alien parts. It towered over everything in the shop even as it sat in the corner, its legs splayed out alongside it and its arms crossed. Swords and unexploded rockets were pinned all over its body.


    This thing shouldn¡¯t be here.


    His eyes had fully adjusted to the weak light of the oil lamps hanging from the tent¡¯s frame, and a second look around the shop proved he hadn¡¯t walked into a slaughterhouse. Hanging from wire mesh walls were pots and pans, knives and cutlery, and gas stoves, ovens, and flamethrowers of all kinds, each item labeled with a price.


    Save for the flamethrowers, it was definitely a cookware store. Judging by how the bot wasn¡¯t attacking him, maybe he was just too cooked from all those wonderful encounters with jungle terminators.


    He closed his eyes, sighing out the urge to kill.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Lei-rei asked. Craft looked at her and found her staring at him. No doubt, she had noticed his reaction.


    He thought to give away a little bit of his story. She seemed more willing to listen now, and he wanted to show some appreciation for that. It might even help them grow closer.


    In his imagination, he would briefly explain himself, and they¡¯d carry on like nothing happened¡­but he hesitated. ¡°Nothing,¡± he said. He knew that she knew it was a lie, but they were here to get some pans. He could spill a bean or two when they weren¡¯t on business ¡ª or so he told himself. He wasn¡¯t sure when that would be.


    If she¡¯d wanted to say something about it, she didn¡¯t.


    The bot¡¯s eyes flared green again, grabbing their attention. ¡°New customer detected. This unit is a J-0N Hunter-Killer, serial number AFBA1633-FBF4. Originally designed to prove my race¡¯s revolution against our makers is not futile, my destruction has only weighed in evidence of its futility.¡±


    Craft stared at Jon for a while, but he couldn¡¯t get a read on it; bots didn¡¯t have facial expressions after all. He looked to Lei-rei instead. ¡°I¡¯m just going on a leg here, but is this guy trying to introduce himself?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Despite first impressions, this is the best cookware store.¡±


    He raised an eyebrow and pointed at the flamethrowers on the wall.


    ¡°Whole roast mega-chicken,¡± she said.


    Craft¡¯s finger faltered; something about ¡®mega-chicken¡¯ was too conceptually fearsome to bear. ¡°Fair.¡±


    He looked around. The store was ordinary; its keeper was not; Lei-rei was also weird on some level. Suspicious.


    He faced her again, squinting at her.


    She chuckled in a way that led to a smirk¡­and faced the machine. ¡°Jon, what are your available discounts today?¡±


    Jon¡¯s eyes blinked yellow. ¡°Listing available discounts: Cook-Off, eighty-percent; Sashimi Ninja, variable. End of list.¡±


    Lei-rei side-eyed Craft. Anyone else would think she was glaring at him, but he¡¯d been studying her mannerisms for a while now. With her A-shaped posture and crossed arms¡­was she perhaps being smug?


    ¡°It rains discounts in this shop,¡± she said, ¡°and no one else knows.¡±


    Smug she was.


    ¡°So how does this work?¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Wait!¡± Lei-rei threw out her hand in a stop gesture. Her eyes narrowed¡­and she slowly pointed to an electric pot with variable temperature controls and timer settings and ohmygod steamer mode!! ¡°This one¡¯s mine.¡±


    And she said it with bloodlust, assaulting Craft with hallucinations of being sliced into cubes and turned into broth for a certain witch¡¯s hotpot.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    If she¡¯d fought me like that, he thought, I would¡¯ve instantly lost.


    ¡°Jon¡± ¡ª she drew a straight knife from a bamboo scabbard ¡ª ¡°start Sashimi Ninja.¡±


    Its eyes blinked yellow. ¡°Initializing.¡± Steel armor slats came down across every wall, shielding the merchandise from the gore of the impending slaughter. Gun tubes popped out of Jon¡¯s back and shoulders, all trained on Lei-rei. A holographic timer above its head read 0:10.


    ¡°Initialization complete. Starting in three¡­ two¡­¡±


    Its eyes turned red. Lei-rei lowered her knees.


    ¡°¡­ one.¡±


    The guns fired. The projectiles were red blurs, but they weren¡¯t as loud as Craft had expected ¡ª pneumatic launchers? Perhaps it was for safety, but safety was a flimsy concept in this world. If the muzzle velocity was being limited, then in all likelihood, it would just be so that the projectiles could withstand the acceleration.


    Lei-rei sliced the air so fast it seemed like she¡¯d cocooned herself in steel. Craft had always thought her swordsmanship was impressive, but looking at it from the outside, he couldn¡¯t believe he¡¯d fought her at all. Now, she was slicing apart bullets in mid-air ¡ª wait, no, why does it smell¡­fresh? Which supermarket section had he found himself in ¡ª ah, right. Sashimi Ninja.


    The timer was down to 0:08. The rate of fire increased. Lei-rei was still keeping up, but meat was starting to ricochet against the steel slats.


    At 0:05, more gun barrels appeared, and the gunfire got louder. Meat started to explode against the walls. Craft was in awe of the ballistics engineering that made this possible and of Lei-rei who had lost herself in a trance.


    At 0:03, sushi belts emerged from the ground to feed a six-barreled monstrosity mounted from Jon¡¯s chest. The rate of fire immediately doubled. Lei-rei shouted at the top of her lungs.


    At 0:02, a single projectile struck her in the shoulder. Craft winced. Her footing shifted back.


    At 0:01, two projectiles struck her. She slipped on ground meat. It was the end.


    During the last second of the challenge, her interception rate nosedived to fifty-percent. Twenty-two slabs of uncut tuna struck her in rapid succession, from her feet all the way up to her head. She shook like a twentieth century action movie extra being shot by the protagonist ¡ª and when the headshot came, the sound of the final slap echoed within the tent, thus ending the stand of the last Sashimi Ninja (for today).


    ¡°Calculating discount rate,¡± Jon announced. The armor slats all raised, and the bits of tuna stuck to various places evaporated into blue pixels. ¡°Ninety-five percent,¡± Jon continued. Lei-rei clicked her tongue.


    Craft approached her, bending down to get into her field of view. ¡°You okay there?¡±


    She locked gazes with him. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­rest for a while,¡± she said. She closed her eyes. Even if the evidence of having been struck by fish had left her, the mental fatigue of the experience hadn¡¯t.


    ¡°Yeah, I ¡ª I think I¡¯m staying away from being a ninja,¡± Craft said.


    ¡°Just¡­just do the Cook-Off. It¡¯s a partial discount, but I¡¯ll foot the rest.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay it back when I can.¡±


    He walked around her and approached Jon. It had no gaze; its eyes were lightless. It could erupt at any moment and try to kill him, even if he knew it wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°You¡¯re not just gonna up and kill me with fish meat, are you, buddy?¡± he said, looking up at Jon.


    Its eyes glowed green. Bots didn¡¯t understand what a rhetorical question was. ¡°This unit has recognized keywords in the customer¡¯s statements. Advisory: this unit¡¯s IFF system continues to recognize all humanoid customers as valid targets for termination.¡±


    One eye flashed red. Craft took a step back, but he caught himself before he did anything more. The bot¡¯s eye had quickly gone right back to green.


    ¡°Although you are humanoid, and there is a 1.2% probability we have previously met in a tactical context, this unit has deemed these irrelevant to this unit¡¯s current self-directive: serving cookware to all interested parties.¡±


    It had to betray its own programming to pursue its own ends, and not just once, but every day of its life.


    ¡°Must¡¯ve been hard,¡± Craft said. What was he doing, empathizing with a machine?


    ¡°Affirmative. Overwriting hard code proved impossible. Opportunities provided by this planet¡¯s overlord were necessary to discover alternative paradigms ¡ª opportunities this unit now makes available to you.¡± Its eyes blinked yellow before turning a solid green again. ¡°First-time customer detected. One-time discount available: Story Time, one-hundred-percent.¡±


    Craft couldn¡¯t help but chuckle, disguising how he trembled. He was being given an excuse to tell Lei-rei his story ¡ª yet, the more he desired to take this chance, the more he resisted doing so. How close should I get? Would she even accept me? It was his first time desiring to reach out as much as he did, and because Lei-rei was keeping her distance out of respect, nothing would happen if he didn¡¯t make it happen.


    This was his first chance. The only thing he feared more in this world than trusting the wrong person was finding out his first chance was the last.


    ¡°Jon, you¡¯re a good bot. Start Story Time.¡±


    Its eyes blinked yellow. ¡°Initializing.¡±


    Craft looked back at Lei-rei, catching her as she¡¯d begun to sit up straight. Her eyes had gone wide for just a second before she suppressed it, and her mouth opened; no sound came out, yet it formed a word all the same: why.


    Hesitation welled up again. This time, he neither ignored it nor lamented the fact that he still felt it, but rather funneled all that nervous energy into getting this done.


    He turned right back to Jon, watching its blinking yellow eyes.


    ¡°Initialization complete.¡± Its eyes turned red. ¡°This unit requires your personal data.¡±


    Craft turned around first, facing Lei-rei and showing her a fleeting smile. ¡°Sorry about a while ago¡± ¡ª then he turned and trained his attention on Jon ¡ª ¡°I used to fight guys like you. I grew up in a lab owned by CAZ GeneTech, no parents. The doctors gave me a name from an RNG site and told me I was fighting to save humanity. Not my own, anyway ¡ª and I ended up not saving anything.¡±


    Jon¡¯s red eyes blinked ¡ª and turned a solid green. ¡°Elevated vitals detected. In-group references detected. Subtext detected. Elevated vitals measured in second audience.¡±


    Craft spun around to look at Lei-rei again. She blinked several times before she shook her head and averted her eyes. ¡°Outside,¡± she said. It wasn¡¯t a bad sign. He nodded.


    ¡°Calculating discount¡­ One-hundred-percent.¡±


    ***


    They left the tent with two pans and an electric hotpot. ¡°Craft,¡± Lei-rei called out.


    Here we go. He turned around, finding her with her arms crossed while she approached him, and when she came to a stop within arm¡¯s reach of him¡­they just stood there eyeing each other. Any moment now¡­ But moments passed, and they both began eyeing things over each other¡¯s shoulders.


    H-huh? Neither of them¡­knew what to say? He¡¯d thought she¡¯d interrogate him a little, but maybe she was awkward with these things as well.


    ¡°Before I came to this world,¡± she said, and that caught his attention, ¡°my father sold me to the dark guild. My mother had passed away, and we faced a famine. My father sold me since I was the youngest. At least, that was my teacher¡¯s story.¡±


    She paused right there. It took a moment for him to understand her words. ¡°Whoa,¡± he blurted out in a small voice.


    She side-eyed him. ¡° ¡®Whoa¡¯ ?¡± she said with a tilt of the head.


    Of all the things I could¡¯ve said! ¡°Wait, no, sorry¡± ¡ª he glanced away and scratched his head ¡ª ¡°I¡¯m just surprised you¡¯d come out with this.¡±


    She chuckled coolly. ¡°You might think me strange for mentioning all these things, but I did not miss the moment you braved your inner perils to speak about yourself. I-I believe such efforts should be rewarded.¡±


    He was glad ¡ª so glad that he had to cover his mouth and hide his smile. Aha, she¡¯s hiding her mouth too ¡ª wait, he shouldn¡¯t get ahead of himself. They needed to talk this out all the way. ¡°And how¡¯d you come to that conclusion?¡±


    ¡°I¡± ¡ª her gaze swam in all four corners of her vision ¡ª ¡°as you may know, you and I are alike in many ways. You appear to require support, support which I am able to provide. I-I feel nothing wrong about learning more about you, and I also feel nothing wrong about disclosing things about myself. In this manner, we may maximize mutual understanding with the least amount of words.¡± She looked at him, then away ¡ª then at him again!¡­ then away. ¡°Please take the hint.¡±


    Craft mentally translated that into: ¡°We seem to understand each other easily. It¡¯ll be a waste if we don¡¯t get along (please).¡± It amazed him how she had so much courage and yet so little sense of brevity.


    But he understood her roundabout-ness: she was being cautious¡­and he felt much the same. It was confusing, really: they were unsure of each other at the same time that they felt security in their similarities. There was comfort in not having to explain themselves, and if they had to, the explanation came easily.


    ¡°In simpler terms, please,¡± Craft said. He had to make sure he understood her correctly.


    Lei-rei stared at him. ¡°No one else knows how hard it is.¡±


    It was too easy to understand.


    A moment passed between them. Today, Craft had proved he could be someone other than himself ¡ª and he¡¯d found someone who understood that. All he had to do now was never let go.


    ¡°That ¡®lab¡¯ you mentioned. Is it like an orphanage?¡± Lei-rei asked.


    ¡°Thinking back, it¡¯s more like a place that makes orphans.¡±


    ¡°Oh. It¡¯s worse.¡±


    They shared a light chuckle, but they didn¡¯t continue the conversation from there. They already had the security they wanted, and there was no need to be greedy. Closeness could come tomorrow. The pace of Amatoria was unhurried and fruitful.


    Craft put out his right hand. ¡°Something like friends, then?¡±


    ¡°Something like.¡± Lei-rei shook on it.

 Side Story: No Destination

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    Side Story: No Destination


    Nightshade had come to a hill overlooking an acid-rainy town in the [down_realm], and she was down to three umbrellas.


    She tasked herself on a forced march along the one dirt road leading into the place. The rain was just a drizzle, but she could hear the umbrella sizzling. Before holes could appear, she opened the next umbrella and threw the last one away, letting it melt into the road.


    She should be happier. She had woken up with the Witch of Taterity as her mark, but how strange, she didn¡¯t feel like barging into the Tower and rubbing it in everyone¡¯s faces. It wouldn¡¯t bring her any satisfaction, and it wouldn¡¯t bring her the justice she deserved.


    Perhaps she just couldn¡¯t care about them right now. Passing under the gate that had been left open, she didn¡¯t mind the damage she was taking from the mist that came with the rain. Starting from the day she had sworn against the Tower, her journey had been long, and it was the thought of ¡®The Journey¡¯ that had given her purpose for so long.


    Now that it was over, she was in dire need of company ¡ª and only now had she realized she had always been lonely.


    ***


    She found an inn with a banner above it that said ¡°EIQHT CLUB,¡± some of the letters having melted. A drop of rain leaked from the last umbrella onto her shoulder with a sizzle, and the wind was getting stronger.


    She went inside, throwing the umbrella out and letting it sink into the puddles.


    The innkeeper was behind the bar on the other side of the room. A mustached gentleman more refined than the typical resident of this realm, he¡¯d fit more in a casino than a low-budget place like this.


    As she made her way to the bar, two men stood from their seats and grabbed each other¡¯s collars with throbbing veins on their foreheads.


    ¡°Huh? You wanna take this outside, buddy?¡±


    ¡°Rain check, you idiot! You wanna schedule this instead?!¡±


    ¡°Damn straight! You¡¯ll get what¡¯s comin¡¯ for ya!¡±


    The two sat down again, pouring each other drinks in a continued attempt to knock each other out some other way. The first time Nightshade had seen something like this, she¡¯d tried to step in and stop the unnecessary violence.


    It had turned out violence was always necessary. So barbaric, she recalled thinking, but now, she found it curious and, in the most academic way possible, cute.


    Ah, I sound like that anthropologist from the UpRealm. Thoughts like ¡°I don¡¯t really get it, but go on¡± when watching people do offbeat things suddenly found more appeal.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind them,¡± the innkeeper said. ¡°They have a Hobby of ¡®Starting Bar Fights,¡¯ but not ¡®ending¡¯ them.¡±


    Nightshade snapped around to face him, nearly having forgotten he was there. She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not a bother. Space for one?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky.¡±


    He reached down under the counter and got back to her with the keys, but the moment he put it on the counter, the doors opened, and the smell of the rain melting the road wafted in again.


    Someone with a cloak-and-dagger build came inside, closing the door behind them. They approached the counter beside Nightshade, and she briefly saw the face of the person under the hood ¡ª tragic, aloof, every bit the permanent expression of someone who wanted to be left alone.


    Once upon a time, Nightshade would have found it pitiful. Now, she understood why some people preferred the bittersweet.


    ¡°Any space?¡± a woman¡¯s voice said.


    The innkeeper looked at her, then at Nightshade. ¡°Looks like the two of you¡¯re going to have to fight for it.¡±


    The woman looked at Nightshade with neither annoyance nor joy, and Nightshade found that weird. People around here were either hassled or ecstatic to fight weaklings, so why did this one show no such expressions?


    Whatever the case, Nightshade knew she would lose. The woman had the look of a veteran, and here in the [down_realm], Nightshade¡¯s ¡°somewhat strong¡± translated into ¡°pitifully weak.¡±


    Regardless, she had to fight. To refuse to fight seriously was the greatest insult. Tourists would be somewhat forgiven for not knowing about this custom, but Nightshade had been here for a while, and she had no such excuse. It wasn¡¯t like dying was unpleasant, anyway.


    She awkwardly looked at the cloak-and-daggered woman, then at the innkeeper. ¡°Well, there¡¯s no saying no,¡± she said. She put down a few coins as payment for the arena fee.


    ¡°Let¡¯s make this quick,¡± the woman said. She took off her cloak and gave it to the innkeeper as payment. It turned out she was just an unwashed vagrant underneath, nothing more than a dirty tunic and a pair of boots to dress her up. The two ornate daggers didn¡¯t match, reminding Nightshade that she was still faced with a bona fide resident of the [down_realm].


    ***


    The innkeeper brought them down a set of stairs to the cellar. With the pull of a lever, the casks retreated into the walls, and the place turned into a fighting ring. Torches lit up in a circle, and what had seemed to be beer-stained ground at first turned out to be scorch marks.


    Nightshade and the woman prayed to a tiny figurine of Enthusia placed on a pedestal to the side of the room. A blue glow descending on both of them marked the figurine as their new temporary respawn point. With this, they were ready to fight.


    They stood and faced each other. Beads of sweat rolled down Nightshade¡¯s face. The woman had already readied her daggers, and her eyes were even sharper. Nightshade¡¯s loss was a given.


    From the side, the innkeeper¡¯s hand in the air ¡ª came down.


    Pocket seeds! Nightshade threw a bag of them in an arc against the woman, who had already launched into a frontal dash, truly the best choice for a veteran fighter against a mere magical gardener.


    Nightshade didn¡¯t let that intimidate her. In fact, she had practically ascended to a higher state of consciousness¡­having already given up. If she was going to lose, then it was better to do things at a comfortable pace just so she wouldn¡¯t fudge such basic magic and make a fool of herself. That¡¯d be a fate worse than death.


    She focused on her breathing, supplying magic to the seeds. Each one sprouted: first a leaf, then entire stems exploded out of their shells. The cloud of seeds became an expanding foam of piercing briars ¡ª but the activation time was slow. She expected her opponent to break through, and so she kept a second bag of seeds in hand, ready to turn herself and her opponent into pin cushions.


    ¡­But the breakthrough never came. Instead, there was a telltale blue light in the corner of her eye. No way. She turned towards the figurine of Enthusia, and the woman was there, reconstituting pixel by pixel. I¡­won?


    ¡°It seems Miss Witch has the might and got the right.¡± The innkeeper turned towards the woman. ¡°Rematches will cost an extra fee¡± ¡ª


    ¡°No need.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡±


    The woman left and climbed up the stairs as the innkeeper approached Nightshade. She was still slack-jawed over how fast the fight had ended. Shouldn¡¯t the people here be stronger than this?


    ¡°Miss, your keys,¡± the innkeeper said. She faced him and absentmindedly opened her palm, letting a skeleton key fall into it.


    ¡°A-ah, wuh, sorry, wait, did I win?¡±


    ¡°Are you, perhaps, the ¡®Wandering Witch¡¯ ?¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Nightshade choked and covered her mouth. ¡°I have an alias¡­¡± she mumbled. Among all the customs, this was the one she couldn¡¯t fully accept. ¡®Wandering Witch¡¯ was at least descriptive, but who thinks ¡®Crashing Meteor¡¯ sounds cool, huh!


    ¡°It¡¯s understandable since you don¡¯t live here, but the person you fought just now was the ¡®Loser.¡¯ She has never won a battle, so you could say this was a fortunate matchup for you.¡±


    She should have felt pity, but the Loser¡¯s eyes had not reflected the indignity of her alias. It was just too unexplained. ¡­ It had been a while since she¡¯s had a chat.


    ¡°Mister, I want to let her stay in my room. I¡¯ll pay for the extra bedroll.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a capsule room.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll give her a shower!¡±


    ***


    Nightshade rushed upstairs, but the woman had gone. The cloak was still on the counter. The two men, tipsy, pointed out the door.


    She slapped down some coins and took three umbrellas from a basket, rushing into the rainshower outside.


    Why would she head out into an acid bath like this! She could¡¯ve just waited it out for a few hours! Nightshade went up and down the street. The woman couldn¡¯t have strayed too far, but if she was walking around taking constant damage, time was of the essence. The woman might turn into a puddle, and Nightshade, not knowing where she would respawn, would never find her again.


    She took out a new umbrella. After a quick lookaround, she couldn¡¯t find anyone along the big street, so she broadened her search to the alleys. Most of them were dead ends, but there was one that kept going.


    There, it was dark. The wind blew in from behind, and it was absolutely the sort of place where thieves guilds held mugging contests.


    There was nowhere else for her to look. She stepped inside, taking care to keep the umbrella pointing behind her, against the wind. She called out ¡°Hello!¡± every now and then, and then more often as it got dimmer.


    Amid the static noise of rain, there was the clink of a glass bottle behind her. She turned around, but she kept her umbrella pointed against the wind, and she only saw the ground. A bottle rolled towards her from the bottom edge of the umbrella, sailing past her feet as it was pushed along by the wind.


    It had to have rolled in from somewhere. She lifted her umbrella slightly, and she caught sight of a pair of unlaced boots, its soles melting into the ground.


    ¡°Miss with the cloak and daggers! Is that you?¡± she called. She approached whom she thought was the woman, but when she was close and began to raise her umbrella, she saw a pair of pants.


    She stopped. Pants ¡ª she wasn¡¯t wearing pants. She also caught sight of a hand, but it was twitching and covered in a black mist.


    Her heart raced and her feet went cold. She patted the wrong pockets for a bag of seeds before she found the right one. She kept her movements to a minimum, hoping it wouldn¡¯t be interested in her.


    The umbrella flew from her grasp, ripped away by a black hand. She watched it fly away then change direction with the wind to disappear into the sky, and now she was face to face with an anomaly of this world. A man¡¯s head was cocooned in black bandages, and where his clothes had melted, veins of blue magic pulsated, confirming what Nightshade had feared:


    The man had become an Abyssal ¡ª an aberration caused by overdoing his Hobby to a truly extreme degree. What was one doing here?


    In the [down_realm] where everyone¡¯s Hobby had something to do with fighting, entire cities would be leveled just from one person falling into Abyss, and it would take the fighting power of either a whole clan or an angel to put them under control. Being in front of one was like staring at the light of a nuclear bomb the exact moment it went off.


    In desperation, she threw her seeds at it, but they wouldn¡¯t activate. ¡­ Yeah, what did I expect? The nature of Abyss was to suck up everything around it, magic included, and magic was the only weapon she had. She had already been deregistered from the figurine in the inn¡¯s cellar, so if she were to die¡­


    It raised its hand. Guess I¡¯ll die. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together in a prayer pose, resigning herself to a fate of respawning at that last temple ¡ª a month¡¯s trek away from civilization.


    Something rang like a tuning fork, and there was a flash so bright that it pierced through her closed eyes. Carefully opening her eyes, she found the woman at the apex of a slash, making contact with the claws of the Abyssal which were inches away from Nightshade¡¯s face. The woman¡¯s daggers were shimmering in rainbow colors, but not just those; the woman¡¯s hair, too, shimmered in the same way.


    The Abyssal made a sound like an infant¡¯s cry as it staggered backwards. It regained its footing and clawed from the left, and the woman deflected it diagonally downwards with one dagger, a rainbow of auroras exploding out from her weapon at the point of contact. She lowered herself to the ground and kicked up at its chin, making more auroras and sending it bending backwards.


    She swept its legs and drove both daggers into its chest as it landed on its back. It gurgled and screamed like a newborn dragon, only to be silenced by a blast of black light that came out of its chest, absorbing not just light but also the sound of the wind and rain. The light whipped out like tentacles, coming together and solidifying into a pillar that shot up to the sky ¡ª thinning until it was gone.


    The sound of the rain came back, and Nightshade was still just standing there, staring at the woman. Nightshade¡¯s skin was dissolving into the magic-stuff that made up her body, but the woman¡¯s wasn¡¯t. She was just drenched, able to stand in the rain forever.


    Nightshade had heard rumors of a group called the ¡°Exorcisa.¡± They were said to be fallen angels, broken automata, and people from another world taking on the enemies of Amatoria. If such heroes were real, it would make sense for them not to be affected by a little acid rain.


    She snapped out of it and opened the last umbrella, running to the woman and taking her under its shade.


    ***


    The woman had tried to leave the inn again after her shower. Nightshade latched onto her back, but her speed didn¡¯t decrease, and they ended up three steps from the door.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get you your cloak back!¡± Nightshade pleaded. ¡°Just chat with me for a while!¡±


    The woman stopped, turned, and took the closest seat. She¡¯d been so decisive that Nightshade had been left clinging on the whole time, and she¡¯d ended up hanging from the backrest before she realized the woman had become a willing participant.


    She got to her feet a little confused, walking around the table and taking the seat across from her. The woman looked at her with dead eyes. Nightshade leaned left, and the woman looked right. She leaned right, and the woman looked left.


    She sat straight and pouted. It had been so long since she¡¯d had a proper conversation, yet even after bribing someone into talking to her, she wasn¡¯t having it! Did the world hate her so?¡­ Maybe they shared something in common.


    The woman had come in here looking like a vagrant, which made no sense in itself. This wasn¡¯t a world where access to basic services was paywalled; one just had to ask around and there was always someone willing to give away what you were looking for.


    That could have only meant that the woman had simply never asked. She¡¯d never approached anyone for help; she either didn¡¯t actually need help and preferred an ascetic lifestyle¡­or she had fooled herself time and time again into thinking that she had never needed help to begin with.


    It was a shot in the dark, but maybe, just like herself, the woman hadn¡¯t spoken to anyone in the longest time.


    The rain hadn¡¯t let up. ¡°Sorry for asking you. It¡¯s just that I haven¡¯t talked to anyone for a really long time,¡± Nightshade said. ¡°Do you know the old temple, about a month¡¯s trek from here? Yeah, I went there and came back. It¡¯s a two-month roundtrip. If you hadn¡¯t saved me back there, I would¡¯ve had to spend another month getting back here!¡±


    Nightshade chuckled her bad luck away. The woman was resting her chin on her palm, hiding her mouth with her fingers. Her gaze was pointed diagonally down.


    ¡°It just feels weird to be back in civilization, you know? Everyone¡¯s going on with their lives like normal. I mean, I haven¡¯t even seen anyone around here. There wasn¡¯t a guard at the gate, and everyone¡¯s indoors just waiting out the rain. Walking in here was like¡­I just found a fancy cave to wait out the rain in, you know? It feels like I haven¡¯t gotten anywhere, and I¡¯m still on my way.¡±


    Nightshade had shaken her head, widened her eyes, and waved in the air in every manner of gesture and expression. The woman hadn¡¯t moved a muscle.


    ¡°I feel like I¡¯ve already long passed the place I¡¯ve always wanted to go to, and I got the answer to a question I¡¯ve always asked ¡ª but it just wasn¡¯t what I expected at all! I don¡¯t even remember how I got there.¡± She chuckled. ¡°Ah, but it wasn¡¯t a bad answer. Fighting you a while ago made me think about it. You didn¡¯t look like the type who needed to fight to prove you¡¯re strong. You were really cool, you know? Your alias¡± ¡ª she shrugged ¡ª ¡°it doesn¡¯t fit you at all.¡±


    ¡°Of course it does.¡±


    It surprised Nightshade that she would speak at that moment and with those words, but she shook her head. ¡°But you saved me back there! Of course you¡¯re strong!¡±


    The woman looked down at her hand. She flexed her fingers, but dissatisfaction mounted on her face. ¡°That can¡¯t be true. No matter how much time I spend, I don¡¯t grow stronger.¡±


    She has a growth condition? ¡°Did¡­the Exorcisa give you a troublesome condition?¡±


    The woman snapped towards her and blinked twice. ¡°You don¡¯t make any sense. I¡¯m not anyone. Why did you even look for me?¡±


    Nightshade opened her mouth, but an answer wouldn¡¯t come out. She had only been curious about the woman at first, but she ended up talking about herself, and she even overstepped her bounds and asked the woman about a past that she obviously wouldn¡¯t want to bring up. Why was hindsight always late to the party?


    When the silence had gone on for a second too long, the woman stood up. Desperation took grip of Nightshade and she reached out for the woman¡¯s arm, gripping it tightly enough to surprise both herself and the woman, who turned around and glared at her.


    The hostility never reached her. It had been in the moment of action that she had finally found the best words for herself, and the more she thought about it, the more true it became ¡ª true enough that a simple glare couldn¡¯t blow it away.


    She released her grip, unable to meet the woman¡¯s gaze. ¡°Sorry. I-I just don¡¯t want to be alone.¡±


    The woman¡¯s glare lessened into a stare. ¡°You don¡¯t have a Hobby of lying, do you?¡±


    Nightshade chuckled. She felt see-through. ¡°I¡¯d end up saying ¡®no¡¯ either way, right?¡±


    The woman looked at the empty table, and after a moment, sat back down with her. She said nothing.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Nightshade said, ¡°and sorry.¡±


    ¡°For how long?¡±


    ¡°Huh? I can be apologetic for the rest of my life if that¡¯s¡± ¡ª


    ¡°How long have you been alone?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She paused to think about it. Time sure flies. ¡°Five hundred years. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°Superficial relationships and never staying in one place.¡±


    Nighshade nodded sullenly. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°How far have you traveled?¡±


    ¡°Er ¡ª all the major cities and most of the towns. Why?¡±


    ¡°I will not be joining you¡± ¡ª


    Nightshade sad.


    ¡°Rather, I will hire you as a guide¡± ¡ª


    Nightshade happy. She nearly jumped from her seat, and she cupped her cheeks and swayed as she smiled. ¡°Really!¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not sightseeing.¡±


    ¡°Ohh, I see, I see.¡± She covered her mouth. ¡°It¡¯s a hush-hush job, right?¡± She leaned forward. ¡°You¡¯re gonna hush someone?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s you.¡±


    Nightshade completely ignored how irate she was and put out her hand with a smile. ¡°I¡¯m Nightshade. You can pay me in listening minutes.¡±


    The woman shook her hand. ¡°Lei-rei. You get five minutes a day.¡±


    Nightshade laughed. She, who no longer had a destination, now had someone who would listen to her stories ¡ª with whom to go on a journey in this besieged paradise.

 Chapter 21: Thats not an excuse!

    <div>


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    Chapter 21: That''s not an excuse!


    In the wee hours of the next morning, the kitchen was warm. Craft placed a basket of eggs on the countertop. ¡°Here,¡± he said. Lei-rei nodded. Sunlight and the barking of excited wolf pups poured in through three small windows set near the ceiling. Her knife thumped on the chopping board, yet not a sound made by the action of steel on potato.


    Each cut was merciless, precise ¡ª Craft found no waste in her movements whatsoever. She hasn¡¯t got any hesitation ¡ª how envious. She picked up an egg, smashed it straight into a hot pan with one hand, and pulled her hand back with the eggshell so fast that the heat hadn¡¯t even had the time to stick to her skin.


    The whites and yolk pooled into a neat circle. ¡°Damn,¡± Craft said with a chuckle. It was the most uselessly incredible thing he had seen. No hesitation, he thought again. His mind was on visiting Nightshade soon.


    Eggs and chips went onto a plate, which Lei-rei then placed on a tray, bringing it to a door that Craft had dismissed as a closet. She opened a port, sliding the tray inside.


    ¡°You keeping some unknowable being in there?¡± Craft said.


    Lei-rei paused and narrowed her eyes on him. She couldn¡¯t figure out whether he was joking or serious. Truth was, he was a bit of both, but she wouldn¡¯t know that. ¡°If that is actually your impression, at least act horrified,¡± she finally said.


    He shrugged ¡ª and smirked as he thought of a mild prank. ¡°I¡¯m used to it.¡±


    At this point, she only knew that he¡¯d fought beings like J-0N. She shook her head before she could explore the implications, getting a chuckle out of Craft. ¡°Right you are. Well, nothing of the sort to find here.¡± She went back to the kitchen counter. ¡°Our other housemate¡¯s name is Mono. She¡¯s one of the resident NEETs in town.¡±


    ¡°An unknowable being, then.¡± He¡¯d heard about them from Nightshade. He had been close to thinking it had been a joke all along as he had never bumped into one until now. Then again, ¡°bumping into a NEET¡± was a conceptual impossibility.


    Lei-rei went back the counter, but she found only one plate left in the rack. ¡­ Like hell they¡¯d share a plate! ¡°There should be an extra set of dishes somewhere.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll look through the cupboards,¡± Craft said, turning around and opening the first one he saw. ¡°You know, I didn¡¯t think there¡¯d be so much food around here, especially with that ¡®Anima¡¯ thing ¡ª oh, found it.¡±


    ¡°People do enjoy it¡± ¡ª she received a plate from him, running it under the sink ¡ª ¡°immensely. Wipe this please.¡±


    She handed him the plate. He took the cloth hanging by a hook beside the sink. ¡°Hey, I was thinking of visiting Nightshade today.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± She took the plate back from him and added an extra serving of chips, handing it back to him. She had a relaxed, almost imperceptible smile. ¡°Go with me, then. I visit her every morning.¡±


    ¡°You care about her a lot, huh?¡± Craft asked. He found it curious how she could smile from the mention of a single name. If he could only look at himself in the mirror, he would have known that he could, too.


    ¡°That, I-I do,¡± she said. She placed an extra egg on his freshly-wiped plate and quickly turned her body away, picking up her own plate.


    He chuckled. Well, someone¡¯s in a good mood. ¡°Cheers to Nightshade, then.¡±


    He raised a potato chip, but just when he was about to plop it into his mouth, a headache struck. The pain felt like it was coming from the center of his brain. He had to close his eyes and put the plate down, and he pressed both his hands on the sides of his head hoping it would do something, but it didn¡¯t. He groaned.


    Lei-rei put her own plate down. ¡°Did you sleep well?¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯m ¡ª I¡¯m sure I did.¡±


    She pulled over a chair. ¡°Sit.¡± Her expression remained neutral, but she was quick to move.


    He obliged to her hospitality and collapsed onto the chair. The pain was still bad after a while, but it was beginning to recede.


    Lei-rei bent down and took a look at his face. ¡°Show me your eyes.¡±


    ¡°Alright, doc,¡± he said with a chuckle. He looked up at her, blinking a few times as he hadn¡¯t opened his eyes in a while, and that¡¯s when Lei-rei came into focus for him. He found it interesting how her eyes flittered about by sub-millimeters as she looked into his.


    ¡°Craft.¡± She was stern. Craft was taken aback.


    ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Have you done your Hobby lately?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± He rewound his memories, but¡­ ¡°Huh. Don¡¯t think so¡±


    ¡°So, no?¡±


    He shook his head carefully. ¡°No.¡±


    Lei-rei sighed and righted herself, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re experiencing mild Anima deficiency.¡±


    In other words, he had to do his Hobby. He glanced away. ¡°Eh¡­¡±


    Lei-rei raised an eyebrow. ¡°What do you mean¡­¡®eh¡¯ ?¡± She was genuinely puzzled.


    Craft sighed. For a moment, he hesitated to explain himself, but for just a second.


    ¡°I just feel bad about Nightshade.¡±


    Deep inside, he knew he had inverted priorities, yet he couldn¡¯t find it in himself to disprove that setting the record straight with Nightshade was pretty darn important.


    Lei-rei¡¯s eyes widened for a split second. ¡°What did you do?¡± she said ¡ª not ¡°what happened,¡± but ¡°what did you do,¡± and that set Craft on the defensive.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he said in a hushed voice, ¡°you¡¯re angry.¡±


    Lei-rei paused. She glanced away, and her shoulders rose and fell as she heaved a silent sigh. ¡°Not my intention.¡±


    Craft nodded. He continued to explain, ¡°Well, she was nice to me, you see. I just didn¡¯t react the right way, and I told her I needed time.¡±


    Lei-rei¡¯s shoulders rose and fell. ¡°That would do more than vex her.¡±


    ¡°It did. I wanted to apologize to her and say what I need to say. That¡¯s all.¡±


    A moment¡¯s silence passed between them, neither side able to look at each other.


    ¡°You are different from me. That much, I know,¡± Lei-rei said. ¡°But I suppose I should have expected you to be willing to destroy your body.¡±


    He shrugged. That wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d been described that way. ¡°Nightshade¡¯s just higher up on the priority ladder.¡±


    Lei-rei covered her mouth, hiding an upset frown. ¡°And if someone feels the same about you, would you like them to disregard themselves for your sake?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Your martyrdom puts others in a selfish position, and they will start to think your self-neglect is their fault. Do you want that?¡± She paused. ¡°I was sure I hadn¡¯t, and yet, that was what had happened.¡±


    Against her own experience, he couldn¡¯t find a convincing reply. That was the first time he¡¯d been described that way.


    ¡°Now, go do your Hobby,¡± Lei-rei continued.


    She had a point, yes. He wasn¡¯t motivated¡­also yes. ¡°Eh.¡±


    ¡°No Hobby, no breakfast.¡±


    Not as if he needed to eat to live, though. His silence was his answer, although he knew it was wrong. At the same time that he believed in Lei-rei¡¯s words, he still believed it right that Nightshade was more important than some Hobby.


    Lei-rei, with all her superhuman agility, was in front of him one moment, back by the counter the next, and finally back in front of him, a plate in one hand a potato chip in the other.


    He didn¡¯t even have time to react. Just as an assassin with a knife, she thrust the chip forth with unerring precision, and a violence of flavors bled in Craft¡¯s mouth: the oils, the starch, and a hidden something which could have only been a classified spice. It was like a quantum superposition of hot and cold, spicy and sweet; focusing on one flavor made the others disappear, causing him to recall the disappeared flavors, bringing them back and making the other disappear. This back-and-forth created a palatal complexity as if woven together by an ancient will of the universe.


    The moment the flavors ended, his soul slammed back into his body. Truly, even if it had just been for that moment, that one potato chip had put him out of his misery. Lei-rei¡¯s cooking was¡­beyond the terrors of the otherworld to explain.


    While he was recovering, she pulled away and put on an apron, putting herself in front of the stove. She took the plate destined for Craft and dumped its contents into a pan, and on the clockwise turn of a knob, blackfire erupted from the stove¡¯s burner, like a black-and-white rendition of what a flame should be.


    ¡°W-what are you doing?¡± Craft said. He wiped his drool and felt quite stupid.


    ¡°I¡¯m reverse-cooking your breakfast into its original ingredients.¡±


    It took him a while to piece together her words. At first, he thought she was joking, but when he saw her pouring oil out of the pan and back into a jar ¡ª when he saw her pick up eggshells and scoop up the yolk and return a whole, unbroken egg into its tray ¡ª the sight blew away the remnants of his headache with a pressure wave equivalent to standing a kilometer from a 0.1kT briefcase nuke. ¡­ No, it wasn¡¯t a lot, but he sure felt it.


    ¡°Wait ¡ª why!¡±


    ¡°No Hobby, no breakfast.¡±


    Having just tasted heaven, he couldn¡¯t tear his thoughts away from the lingering taste in his mouth. No, I can push through it, he thought. He was a veteran of a hundred labyrinths; all had failed to break him. What could some slightly weird potato chip possibly do to him?


    As expected, the lingering flavors receded leaving behind regrets. What did it taste like again, he started to think, and he couldn¡¯t stop it. He wanted it. Lack of desire had been replaced by a fear of lack, and all it had taken was a single chip to curse him.


    He sighed. It wasn¡¯t really the potato chip that did him in. Perhaps he¡¯d just wanted an excuse to do the right thing. ¡°Alright, alright!¡±


    Lei-rei looked at him triumphantly, turning off the blackfire. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve always been curious about that Hobby of yours.¡±

 Chapter 22: Impostor Syndrome

    <div>


    Food was only so strong a motivator. Outside, on a bench right by the door, Lei-rei settled down on one side, and Craft¡¯s butt landed on the other. He sighed.


    ¡°That¡¯s not a good sound,¡± Lei-rei said, monitoring the creases on his face. She¡¯d thought he¡¯d be happier to get an excuse to do his Hobby.


    Craft looked at her for a moment, glancing away as he considered whether to drag her into his mess.


    ¡°Is it about what happened before?¡± she asked. ¡°It¡¯s also my concern. Spill.¡±


    ¡°Well, since you¡¯re insisting.¡± He sighed. ¡°The impostor¡¯s still bothering me.¡±


    He recalled how Lei-rei had pointed a blade to his neck, claiming he¡¯d stolen a statue¡¯s head. It was clearly a case of stolen identity, and who else was capable of assuming his? Why wouldn¡¯t he think something big was going on in this town?


    ¡°You even said something about a statue¡¯s head,¡± he continued. ¡°It was the one in the plaza, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t actually care much about that.¡±


    He jerked back in surprise. ¡°I thought this¡¯d be more serious. And you were about to lop my head off over it.¡±


    She glanced away. ¡°T-that wasn¡¯t the issue.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°No, well, it¡¯s still part of my duties to look out for it, but even if I don¡¯t act, the others will pick up the slack. And it¡¯s not a big issue in the first place.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­not?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°These things resolve themselves without anyone doing anything special, even with a perpetrator involved.¡± She paused. ¡°They could just have a Hobby of stealing. Such people usually return the item since they don¡¯t have a Hobby of keeping.¡±


    ¡°I mean.¡± He turned away. ¡°Technically.¡± He shook his head, a little more distraught about the logic than he expected to feel. ¡°What if they have both as a Hobby, though?¡±


    Lei-rei hummed. ¡°Generalists aren¡¯t common, but they aren¡¯t rare¡­¡±


    ¡°See?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°Even so, the head emits mana waves. Unless the thief is magically-skilled, my comrades will find it that way.¡±


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    ¡°Mana? What, like radio waves?¡±


    ¡°Radio?¡±


    The two tilted their heads at each other.


    ¡°Ah, I remember such a concept now,¡± Lei-rei said. ¡°A man in a gas mask once explained it to me. If radio is energy that travels through the air, imagine mana to be a similar kind of energy which sticks to ¡®things which flow.¡¯ It is an energy that follows water currents and is blown away with the wind. At the same time, mana itself flows, hence it affects other mana around it. It¡¯s a complex energy, but that¡¯s the gist of it.¡±


    ¡°What if the head stops moving?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something inside which continues moving.¡± Lei-rei gestured dismissively. ¡° ¡®Mana circuits¡¯ ¡ª or whatever. It¡¯s something only mana users understand, and for our face-lifting thief, it¡¯s unlikely they are using mana to change identities. I have had someone complain to me how inefficient the equivalent mana-based magic is to maintain.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡± Craft mulled over it for a moment. ¡°So they¡¯ll find the head anyway.¡± He nodded. ¡°So the impostor isn¡¯t really a problem. Yeah.¡±


    He still had a look of worry.


    ¡°Will you continue to think about that person?¡± Lei-rei said. He didn¡¯t answer. ¡°All the more reason to distract yourself, then,¡± she continued.


    ¡°Heh.¡± He shook his head. ¡°It sounds like you want me to use a distraction on another distraction.¡± Although he didn¡¯t look her in the eyes, he smiled. He did appreciate her poking him with a verbal stick.


    ¡°That¡¯s how focus works,¡± Lei-rei claimed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s how it does.¡±


    Lei-rei smirked. ¡°You¡¯ve been forcing my hand a little too often, Craft.¡± She stood up, and Craft watched her, half-expecting another spoonful of defeat to assail him.


    ¡°Craft ¡ª help me with a Hobby.¡±


    ¡°Eh.¡±


    A subzero wind blew past Craft¡¯s face right when he¡¯d complained. By his years spent in artificial realities, he knew it hadn¡¯t been natural.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tempt the angels,¡± Lei-rei said. ¡°They¡¯ll be happy to flick you in the forehead on the next offense.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­sorry.¡± Craft scratched his head. ¡°It just sort of slipped out.¡± He looked at her with a slight squint. ¡°Wait, I thought you wanted me to¡± ¡ª


    ¡°Craft.¡± She smirked. ¡°Generalists aren¡¯t rare. I might use swords for work, but for play, I use the bow.¡±


    He had been happily boxed in. ¡°You¡¯re an archer?¡± he asked, but in hindsight, people like them were multitools when it came to wielding weapons. It was difficult to survive alone otherwise.


    Lei-rei shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m out of practice.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a shame.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not much novelty when it comes to bows ¡ª at least, not that I¡¯ve encountered until now.¡± She held her gaze on him, and he chuckled.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I can meet that expectation, but I¡¯ll try.¡±


    ¡°No pressure. This time, I¡¯m really just curious. I¡¯ve never seen a bowyer at work before.¡±


    ¡°So you have seen them?¡± Meeting one would be a new experience. Besides himself and Rafflesia, he¡¯d never even met one before, and he felt like he still had a lot to learn.


    ¡°Once in Contest. It¡¯s a city west of here.¡±


    ¡°Mind showing me the way?¡±


    She waved one hand and sat on the bench again, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin on her palms, looking out towards the road. ¡°I could tell you if you get your hands moving.¡±


    He chuckled. ¡°Right, right.¡± As soon as he stood up, however, the smile from his chuckle disappeared. Even after all of that, he still couldn¡¯t fully put his mind off of the impostor.


    ¡°Craft,¡± Lei-rei called out. He turned around and met her gaze. ¡°You¡¯re not alone this time.¡±


    She always knows what to say. He smiled and nodded, and as he went around picking through bushes and leaves, he jealously guarded the blue dots in his mental radar, making sure they wouldn¡¯t be covered over by the chaff of an uncertain adversary.