14. Dependence

Love was deep.

Maybe.

Well, not that the immature Haruhiro would really understand.

Birth, upbringing, race, none of that had anything to do with it... he supposed? Though it was questionable whether Mr. Unjo and Rubicia were really a loving husband and wife. Mr. Unjo may have simply gotten lonely, being a stranger in a strange land, and sought comfort with a woman he just happened to meet. The woman might only have been indulging him out of a sense of pity or something, too. Haruhiro wouldn’t know, but that sort of thing could happen... right? If it did, was that also a form of love? Could he call it that? Maybe? Hmm? He wondered...

The fact that Mr. Unjo and Rubicia didn’t act particularly close made something feel off. Was it because Haruhiro and the others were there? Because they were embarrassed? Did they flirt when no one else was around? Or was this just how things were in Darunggar? It was hard to imagine a couple carrying on with what Haruhiro thought of as married life here in Herbesit. Maybe just the fact that they weren’t killing each other already meant they were in a pretty good relationship? But Rubicia looked like an intellectual and quiet person—or something so close to a person that, even though she wasn’t, he wanted to think of her as one—so she didn’t fit in Herbesit to begin with. Or were there some peaceful, pacifist types living quietly here in this town, too?

With Rubicia’s tower as their base of operations, they learned a number of things as Mr. Unjo showed them around the town over the next day or two.

In the vast majority of Herbesit, the provocations, violence, and robbery went on without end. Even seemingly empty streets were sometimes the territory of gangs of robbers, so it was important to remain cautious. The bell tower in the center of town was controlled by a faction called Garafan—which apparently meant “sharp claw”—and that area was especially dangerous. Mr. Unjo said that even he never approached the bell tower.

In the town of Herbesit there were also the Jagma (great storm), and the Skullhellgs (the children of Skullhell), two other gang-like organizations, and, naturally, there was a violent struggle between them. Painting in the broadest strokes, Central Herbesit was Garafan’s territory, Western Herbesit was Jagma’s, and Eastern Herbesit was the Skullhellgs’. If they picked a fight with any of these three groups, they were in for trouble.

However, in the Old Town of Herbesit, there were underground aqueducts, though they hardly worked anymore, as well as graveyards. The ones who ruled the underground here, the Zeran (the scholars), were an exceptional group who didn’t favor violence. That said, they weren’t against using force to keep the fighting under control, so if anyone started a quarrel underground, punishment from the Zeran would be waiting for them. They knew everything about the complicated underground, and had a sizable number of fighters, so the Zeran were by no means weak. In fact, it would be fair to say that, underground, they were incredibly strong. Not even Garafan, Jagma, and the Skullhellgs, the three big gangs of Herbesit, would try to encroach on the underground.

Now, that being the case, you might think Herbesit’s underground was a paradise, and the weak all ought to go down there to live, but there were reasons that they couldn’t. The Zeran weren’t so narrow-minded as to refuse guests, but they were elitists of a sort, and wouldn’t allow outsiders to settle in the underground. Furthermore, there were sealed districts underground that only the Zeran could enter. And in order to become one of the Zeran, one had to understand their doctrines and undergo training.

Incidentally, Rubicia was a former Zeran, and she had lived underground before, but had moved to the surface for certain reasons. While she still had connections in the underground, she was treated essentially the same as an outsider would be.

So, Haruhiro and the others tried visiting the underground. There was a market there, and they could shop with black coins. With blacksmiths, grocers, clothing stores, and more, there was a greater variety of stores, and better selection in each, than had been available in Well Village. However, the prices were double to triple what they were in Well Village, making things pretty expensive. There was also the difference that everyone worked with base 10.

Also, even in their time there, the party got a sense of how the Zeran looked down on outsiders. Or rather, according to Mr. Unjo, when outsiders shopped in the underground market, they were charged double what the Zeran would pay. Outsiders could complain, That’s not fair, but they’d just be told, If you don’t like it, get out, and never come back, and that would be the end of it. There were a number of marketplaces on the surface, too, but the three major gangs were involved in all of them, and that didn’t create an environment where they could take their time choosing items at their leisure. They wanted to avoid trouble, so they had no choice but to use the underground market.

Furthermore, in the basement of Rubicia’s tower, there was a furnace with a smokestack reaching up to the roof, a cooking area, an incredibly deep well, and a drainage pipe leading to a sewer; all the things they would need to live. In addition, though they hadn’t noticed this at first, there were two small mezzanine floors, and Mr. Unjo’s and Rubicia’s bedrooms were on them.

They were married, but they slept in separate rooms...? Even if Haruhiro had wanted to ask about that, he couldn’t. They were already imposing on the two of them in their love nest. It would be wrong to pry needlessly on top of that.

On the third day, when they had learned a little about Herbesit and were starting to feel a little more at ease, Mr. Unjo said they would be leaving town.

“I’ll show you people the exit. The entrance to the exit, to be precise. I came to Darunggar through there. My comrades all died. I was the only survivor. I no longer have any intention of returning home. There is a path back. There is a way, but I value my life too much to take it. To live. I’ve learned that that is the one thing I desire.”

Before they set out, Rubicia held Mr. Unjo’s right hand in both of her hands, pressing it against her cheek for a short while. It was a silent bit of contact, as if it were some sort of ritual.

Mr. Unjo had said he had no intention of returning home. Was Rubicia the reason for that, perhaps? In meeting her, Mr. Unjo may have found a reason to go on living here.

When they exited Rubicia’s tower and left the town of Herbesit, they headed west, in the opposite direction of the ridge where the flame that was not the sun rose each day.

It was hilly to the west of Herbesit, and there were a number of farms, large and small, surrounded by fences. At the farms there were these creatures with rather tiny, child-like bodies turning over the dirt or pulling up these dark gray stalks that looked like weeds. There were a number of times when collared gaugais (inuzarus) on the other side of the fences barked at them.

“Never go inside the fences,” Mr. Unjo strictly ordered them. “It will cause trouble.”

He needn’t have told them that, though, as they had no intention of going inside them. It wasn’t just the tiny laborers who looked like slaves and the gaugais. The farms had lions that stood upright, and muscular humanoids with bull-like heads, too. They were armed. They kept a close eye on the laborers’ work, and also ensured that no intruders entered their farms. If they trespassed, even if the guards didn’t spot the party directly, the gaugais would bark like crazy and alert them.

Once they were past the farms, there were white things covering the gently rising and falling land. They didn’t even need to pick them up to know what they were. They were bones.

The Field of Bones, Zetesidona. According to Mr. Unjo, it was an old battlefield where the forces of Lumiaris and Skullhell had once waged an intense battle, and some great power had caused the death of tens of thousands. The dead had rotted, their possessions had been stolen, and now only bones remained. He said that even those bones were ground up and spread across the farmers’ fields, used effectively as fertilizer. Zetesidona had such a great pile of bones that, even with that, they still hadn’t run out.

When they stepped on a place where the bones were piled deep, there was a risk of them falling through and getting buried. Looking closely, there were spots where dirt peeked through the bones. Those spots were safe.

They had to watch their footing while crossing the Field of Bones. But if they kept their eyes constantly down, that would be dangerous, too.

There were birds called skards here. These carrion birds looked like large crows, but they couldn’t fly much. Their bodies were too heavy. Their leg strength had developed to make up for that, and it was a terrifying sight to see a skard take aim from afar and then charge in a straight line to tackle its target.

If Haruhiro and the party were sent flying by one of those, and landed in the deep bones, that would be the worst. That was apparently how the skards hunted. They dropped their prey into the deep bone piles so that they couldn’t move, then pecked them from above. They were ferocious birds of prey.

By the time they reached the reddish-brown river, the Dendoro, it was already night. The Dendoro was not a large river, with the opposite bank being only ten meters away, but its current was swift, and it was by no means shallow. They couldn’t walk or swim across it. There was apparently a bridge upstream, but it was far away, so they decided to make camp by the riverside.

When the fire on the ridge set, the carrion birds of the Field of Bones cawed ominously. They could hear them all the way at the riverside, and that made it hard to sleep.

When the skards stopped cawing, the ridge in the distance began to burn. Haruhiro never did get a wink of sleep, but that was nothing new. It was no big deal to him.

They walked along the river, and the bridge came into sight after about a quarter of a day. Haruhiro had a bad feeling about this. When they got closer, the state of the bridge became apparent. The bridge’s piers were all still there, as were the girders, but the planks were gone, making it not much better than a log bridge. Haruhiro the thief might have been fine, but it would be a bit cruel to expect the heavily-armored Kuzaku or Shihoru the mage to make the crossing like that. However, Mr. Unjo said, “This is the only bridge.”

It’s either go on or go back, huh, thought Haruhiro.

It took Shihoru a long time, and there were a number of times when it looked like Kuzaku was going to fall in the river, but they made it across somehow. Mr. Unjo, of course, and the rest of their comrades including Haruhiro, made it without trouble.

There were ruins on the other side of the bridge. Or Haruhiro called them ruins, but they weren’t as intact as the City of the Dead Ones had been. It might have been better to refer to them as the ruins of ruins. However, these ruins of ruins covered a vast stretch of land.

“There was a city called Alluja here,” Mr. Unjo explained. “If you search, you’ll occasionally find tablets.”

“Huh?!” Ranta jumped, then pointed off into the distance. “H-H-H-H-H-Hey, there, there’s something over there?!”

“Probably just a pillar or something...” Haruhiro put his hand on the hilt of his short sword just to be safe and squinted at it. In the end, whatever Ranta had pointed at didn’t move. It did look person-shaped, but he’d give good odds that it was just the wreckage of a building. —No...?

Haruhiro lowered his hips and drew his short sword. “It just moved, maybe? That thing, just now...”

“See!” Ranta held his black blade at the ready, hiding behind Mr. Unjo. “T-Take it out, Unjo-san! I’ll back you up! Totally!”

“Yeah, I’m sure you totally will...” Kuzaku got his longsword and shield ready so that he could use them at any moment, then moved up. “There’s something, right? Something here.”

“Logoks,” Mr. Unjo said. “Tree people, they’re called.” He drew the ax hanging from his hip.

The thing that had looked like the wreckage of a building was walking towards them with swaying steps. Gradually picking up speed. It was coming. Running towards them. The logok. A tree person. It certainly looked like a tree. It had a stump-like torso with leg-like and arm-like branches—no, maybe branch-like arms and legs? Anyway, it movements were awkward, but it wasn’t slow.

Kuzaku was ready to meet it head-on, but Mr. Unjo threw his ax. The ax spun through the air, then chopped off one of the logok’s legs. The logok lost its balance and tripped.

“Logoks don’t die,” Mr. Unjo calmly explained. “Smash it, and keep it from moving.”

“Roger Wilco!” Ranta sprang at the logok and chopped it up with his black blade. “Ohohohoho! Easy peasy! Gahahahahahaha!”

“Listen, man...” Haruhiro was so disgusted with Ranta that it felt horrible.

“Meow!” Yume let out a strange cry. “There’re still more!”

Haruhiro had figured as much. Well, no, not actually, but it isn’t strange that there are more. Looking around, I see other humanoid figures have popped up. Popped up? Maybe that’s not the right word. Anyway, they’re probably logoks. Five, six of them. More maybe.

“They’re not strong,” Mr. Unjo said as he drew another weapon from his pack. “However, they’re numerous, and troublesome.”

“I’ll watch Shihoru!” Merry held her head staff and stood with Shihoru behind her.

Shihoru nodded, as if to say, I have Merry here, so don’t worry about me.

They’re numerous and troublesome, Haruhiro thought, remembering what Mr. Unjo had said. It was true, there were a lot of them. To get into rough numbers, by the time they were able to take a break, they had dismantled forty of the things. Fifty, possibly.

Ranta was wheezing, exhausted, and down on all-fours. “A-Are are we gonna h-have to fight these things f-forever...?”

“No. I’ll use this.” Mr. Unjo picked up a dried branch that looked like it had once been a logok’s arm or leg. When he lit it aflame, a white smoke rose up from it and let off a bittersweet smell. It wasn’t intolerable, but it was far from pleasant.

“...Um, does the stench drive off logoks?” Haruhiro asked, trying not to breath through his nose.

“Yup.” Mr. Unjo looked around. “Just to be safe, take as much as we can.”

“Yuck,” Ranta complained, kicking around pieces of logok. “This stuff stinks. It smells nasty. —Bwuh?!” Mr. Unjo had kicked him in the butt. “I-I’m sorry! I-I-It smells lovely, right?! It’s a sweet smell, yeah?! Okay, time to pick up as much as I can!”

Well, Haruhiro didn’t think Mr. Unjo would kick any of them other than Ranta, but he didn’t want logoks swarming them everywhere they went, either, so they all worked hard to gather up pieces of logok. How long was it after they started walking again that it happened?

Haruhiro turned back. Had he imagined it? He faced forward again, and walked.

...Huh? No, there was something strange, after all.

Haruhiro raised his hand, having everyone stop. “Um, Unjo-san?”

“What?”

“We’re not being followed... right?”

“It’s possible,” Mr. Unjo said like it was nothing. “The smell of logok repels logoks. However, in exchange, it draws in nivles.”

“Nipples?” Yume tilted her head to the side. “What’re those?”

Mr. Unjo pulled his braided hat down. “...It’s nivles.”

“You moron.” Ranta pointed at his own chest. “If it were nipples, you’ve got a pair. Why would nipples come up here? Are you nipple-obsessed or something, Yume?”

“...So, what is a nivle?” Shihoru ignored Ranta and asked.

“Lizards,” Mr. Unjo responded immediately. “About four meters long.”

“Four!” Kuzaku let out a short, strange laugh. “...K-Kinda big, huh?”

“It’s certainly...” Merry looked around. “...not small, no.”

Mr. Unjo drew the ax at his hip. “They’re less like lizards, and more like small dragons.”

“Oh, man...” Haruhiro slouched forward. His stomach hurt. “Personally, I don’t want to meet any dragons... Not here... No, not anywhere...”

“Y-Y-Yeah, w-w-well, I say I w-w-wanna meet ’em!” Ranta declared.

“You’re sayin’ that, Ranta, but your voice is shakin’.”

“Y-Y-Y-Yume! Why’re you perfectly calm?! It’s a dragon, dammit! You know, a dragon?!”

“Y’think they’re cute, these drangos?”

“Not drangos, dragons, you dolt!”

“Yume’s not a dolt!”

“H-H-H-H-H-Here it comes...!” Haruhiro exhaled strongly.

The creature was around five meters to the rear. It had peeked out from around the corner of a ruined wall. It stood less than a meter tall, but it was big for a four-legged animal. Really big. It was a deep green lizard—or more like a crocodile? No, a dragon? It had a fleshy crest on top of its head.

“Do we... run?” Haruhiro hesitantly asked Unjo for advice.

“They’re persistent,” he said. “It’ll chase us for days. We have to take it out. It’s poisonous. If you’re bitten, it will be serious. Be careful.”

“Yes, sir...” Haruhiro responded like a kid without meaning to.

That’s no good. I need to keep it together. I’ve probably been loosening up because Mr. Unjo is with us. I’m the leader here. The leader, Haruhiro told himself. When there’s a reliable person beside me, I depend on them. I’m a weak person. It happens every time, but I still don’t like it. Yeah. I’m weak. I really am hopelessly weak, so I need to at least try to keep it together.

The nivle steadily walked towards them. Its footsteps were practically silent. It was a wonder he had noticed it before. If he hadn’t, it might have ambushed them eventually. Even if they had run their fastest and thought they’d managed to shake it, it might still be sneaking up behind them.

Mr. Unjo was right. They had to settle this here.

“Kuzaku, I’m counting on you,” Haruhiro said. “Take the head. Yume and Ranta, the sides. Merry, stay with Shihoru. Shihoru, support us with Dark. Use whatever timing works best for you. Unjo-san, if it comes down to it, please help.”

“Very well,” Mr. Unjo responded, his voice sounding just a little bit kind.

Haruhiro probably had some pretty sleepy eyes right now.

“...Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”