Prologue-Storytime with Grandpa
They say my grandfather was a hero.
That in his youth he uncovered the buried secrets of an ancient race, flew a flying ship held aloft on streams of fiery wind, fought an army of demons with nothing but his fists and the sure knowledge that failure was not an option, and won the heart of everyone he met with his selflessness, wisdom, and wit.
What I remember are his stories. Legends from the Outside, even from beyond the sea itself. Adventures that never made their way into print in spite of all efforts to make him write them down. As a very young girl we visited the royal palace for the Harvest Blessing, and he matched the Court Bard story for story and jest for jest the entire night.
I was 10, almost 11 when he told his last tale. It was Halloween, and happy chatter filled the air of the last hours of the festival, the first bite of fall in the air. The tourists were tucked into their (well paid for) beds in the inns, the stalls had finished cleaning up, and it was time for the locals to have the village to themselves again.
"Come along kids, let's give the grownups some space," an elderly but still barely stooped man ordered with a shooing motion, corralling the small mob of tween age children with the ease of long practice and a voice that held only the slightest quaver of age. "Everyone has their milk and toasted walnuts, yes?"
"Yes.." the children, though not for much longer, responded in a chorus as they shuffled along. Young enough to still enjoy such things but just old enough it started to seem uncool, they stole glances at each other as they settled onto the picnic tables and benches left out for the purpose in one corner of the square, some more than others a little irritated at still being counted among the kids.
"Can we hear Kazuma and Megumin's Excellent Adventure?" a girlish voice piped up once they'd settled.
"Or 'How Mitsubishi got his Sword Back?' another munchkin suggested
"Or…."
The requests came thick and fast, some children shouting more than one as they thought of them until one of the older children, about to start secondary classes at the village school the next month, broke in with "What about your story?"
That quieted them. It had been so long since that story had been told that many of the younger children had no idea he even had a tale of his own.
"Hmmm. It has been quite some time hasn't it?" Grandpa mused, stroking his gray whiskered chin. "Well, I don't mind one more trip down memory lane if you don't." Clearing his throat for a moment of thought, he began.
"Belzerg of old was a different place in my better days. With a good 'scope on a clear day you can see the borderlands of the Demon King's realm from many a hilltop, you'll go on a field trip there in your secondary classes at least once to see firsthand where so many tales of adventure began and ended. You've heard many of them already, some even from me directly."
"But in my homeland we had a saying, 'Adventure is a word for when you're in deep… trouble and far from home'. One story in particular begins with a young man not so much older than yourselves, who through luck, fear, and more than a little help faced down the deepest trouble he'd ever seen in his life, and did it achingly far from home." He clapped his hands onto his knees and stood up, climbing up on the bench and then to the tabletop to gaze down upon them. Raising his hands to his sides with a flourish, he continued in a clear, strong voice belying his years, "So welcome, or welcome back, to MY story children. Welcome to Subaru Natsuki's adventure!"
The story begins, as all too many did back in those more bloodsoaked days, with a corpse. Three of them to be exact. In Axel, then as now, it was the custom to dispatch a followup party to search for overdue adventurers. Not so much to look for survivors, though that was always hoped for, but because any threat able to wipe out a party of adventurers with any sort of experience without allowing anyone to escape with a warning had to be taken seriously, and eliminated if possible.
The party we had just found took a toad elimination quest near the edge of the south forest two days ago. The swordsman and lancer were outside the partially cut open toad carcass, implying the third member was still within. Something likely ambushed them in the process of freeing him, since the swordsman lay face down next to the toad with his weapon still in its scabbard. The lancer was a little quicker on the draw apparently, the spear was knocked a distance away from its owner's remains, a gouge in the shaft just behind the head showing he'd at least tried to parry whatever took him.
The ranger with me took in the scene with a glance and a grimace, flipping long dark hair over her shoulder as she eyed the treeline. "Amy?" she questioned the maternal looking dog eared priestess on my other side.
She shook her head. "I don't smell anything," she decided after a moment. "We should be clear."
"Sense Foe isn't reading anything either. Ok, let's go." the ranger agreed, leading the way after triggering a pencil sized bottle rocket to mark our location. Red, for no survivors. Careful to step in clear patches of dirt or gently nudging debris to avoid stepping on it by sheer reflex, she seemed to almost dance her silent way to the scene. It seemed a waste of good woodcraft skills given Amy and I were nowhere near as quiet, but I supposed she liked to stay in practice. Getting closer didn't tell us anything new, except that nobody's neck should bend that direction, and….
My vision swam for a moment and I had to jerk my eyes away, taking deep, calming breaths like the pair had suggested on the ride out early this morning, swallowing reflexively until the waves of nausea started to pass.
"Kid! Hey, Kiddo!" a smack to the back of my head brought me back to reality, the ranger Mel-something I couldn't remember standing in front of me with her other hand on her hip. On a better day I'd have appreciated her fashion sense, she had a build to die for and wasn't shy about it, but out here I made sure to look her in the eye because right behind her was…
"I said, remind me what level you are." she repeated sternly as Amy emptied out a rucksack nearby.
"Five, sorry." I swallowed again and tried to reply in my manliest, not at all sounding like a scared toddler voice.
"That's what I thought. Tomas is going to be here with the cart before long. Stay with Amy, keep watch, and stay SHARP." she emphasized with a sharp poke to my forehead. "And head back with them once the guild crew is finished loading up. Turning to Amy, who had taken over watching the treeline and edges of the clearing, she continued. "I'm going to try and track this thing again. This is the second party lost this month near this area, so its den must be close by. I'll be back in a couple hours, if I'm not you load up and run for it as fast as you can go. Understood?"
I nodded wordlessly, Amy wished her luck as the ranger strode off.
The next two hours were the boring kind of tense. The wagoneer and his assistant showed up about half way through, we took turns watching the perimeter while freeing the third party member from the toad and getting everything packed up. Melissa returned on time as we finished up, spitting to one side in frustrated disgust, not only another miss but there were likely two Banes now.
After that, we rolled out, a somber silence hovering over the cart as we made our way down the dirt road back to Axel. It should've been a dream come true for my old self, before I started over, riding through the picturesque countryside on a beautiful late spring day with a pair of gorgeous older women.
Be careful what you wish for is something my parents used to say I should have tattooed inside my eyelids. Some days I think they were on to something.
Like most of my countrymen, bathing and laundry are not optional for me. I gladly skipped meals for weeks to afford a second set of local clothes to wear besides my steadily more threadbare tracksuit. Though heaven knows I do have a lot more sympathy for skipping it than I used to, when washing an outfit takes most of an hour with a scrub brush and bucket instead of 'push the button'. Not that I ever did that either before.
That said, after a side trip to the cot I rented, in a storage shed one of the grocers lent out for a slightly more upper class experience than the stables to change, and a stop at the public bathhouse, I walked into the guild far fresher than I was after the afternoon long ride on the cart with the 'cargo' to hand in my report and the cards while Amy took the fallen to the local Eris temple and Melissa reported the bad news at the city guardhouse.
It turned out my second favorite clerk was on duty. Not Luna, she was my and most of the men's top pick, but a countryman of mine who went to work for the guild after a healer didn't line up his hand quite right to reattach it, and he refused to have it cut back off so the priest could have another go. Tatsuya was a man of few words about my dad's age, just barely turning gray at the temples over a narrowish face, but his line was usually the shortest and not just because he wasn't a F cup. Right then I was a lot more interested in getting this over with than a peek, the quicker the better.
Returning his nod of greeting, I handed the adventurers' cards over. Grimacing, he shook his head. "Good kids," he grumbled on reading the names. That was the other reason I liked him. He made an effort to know everyone's face, and with hundreds of us in town that was no joke. Genuflecting Eris faith style, he handled things like the pro he was, briskly wiping each one down before slotting it into the machine to remove the data, then placing them on the stack of blank unissued cards. Waste not, want not.
"Deposit on account?" he questioned once the job was done, and I agreed. With most of us having security on our 'homes' that was laughable on a good day, pretty much everyone kept everything but a little pocket money in the guild vault.
Bidding him farewell, my other stop was the notice board, pretty much the whole building's reason for existing really. Covered in flyers and quest offerings as usual, we used to check it at least once a day because things turned over so quickly. So it was unusual for a notice to be on the board for so long it was starting to fray a bit around the edges from being brushed against and pinned through with other offerings. Curious, I took it down.
'Recruiting party members. Must be gentle and willing to patiently listen to boring chatter. Must not mock people with weird names. Must be able to stay together even on days with no quests. Must be a frontline fighter. Preferably close to my age. I'm a 13-year-old Archwizard—'
Biting my lip in thought, I turned it over in my hands. Maybe this time I'd get it right…?
Early afternoon is a fairly slow time in the common room, so I didn't have any trouble spotting the author based on the description at the bottom. Shrugging, I padded over to the small table in the far corner, from behind it looked like they, she I saw now, was playing Solitaire waiting for the rest of her party to show up. I cleared my throat, and immediately felt awful as the cards went flying with a shriek like a shapely tea kettle left to boil.
"SorrysorryIsnuckuponyoudidn'tIbadhabitofminecomesfrombeingamonkclassIhaveSilentStepasaskillbecauseitjustsoundedtoocoollikesomethingrightoutofamangasoofcourseItookitbu it'sbeensomuchtroubleIforgettoturnitoffand…"
I looked up from bending over to gather some of the fallen cards and my verbal cascade slammed to a halt as I made eye contact for the first time.
Red is a warning color in every human culture supposedly, the color of blood and deadly danger. Locked onto me from a distance of centimeters, close enough I couldn't see the rest of her face without breaking eye contact, were two balefully gleaming crimson irises staring back into mine, glowing enough to highlight the shadows under her cheekbones, brightening and dimming slightly in time with her breathing while making me squint as my eyes adjusted to the unexpected light.
Meanwhile, the rest of my poor exhausted body immediately went to battle stations. Just as I was about to turn and make a sprint for it she closed her Eldritch Eyes of Doom and placed a hand on her chest, breaking whatever had gripped me from daring to move a millimeter.
"D-did you need something?" she asked in a soft, high pitched voice, having gotten her breathing back under control.
Slowly, cautiously, not at all like I was dealing with a Beginner's Bane right in front of my nose, I raised the recruitment form I suddenly and desperately hoped wasn't actually hers. Because if so, I'd probably just blown this interview like a tuba, again.
The girl tilted her head and stared at me open-mouthed in disbelief, like I'd just spoken Swahili at her, and may all the eight million gods help me her eyes glowed even brighter.
"Well," I croaked out and began to stand up, again VERY carefully. "ItwasanoldnoticesoI'mnotsurprisedifyouaren'tlookinganymoresorrytobotheryou." With that, I turned on my heel and quickstepped right out of there.
Once I was out on the street I grabbed tomorrow's breakfast bread at a street stall before deciding to head back to my swanky shed for the evening.
And that was a typical day.
Not the life of glory, wealth, and love or something like it I was led to expect starting over in another world, but it's honest work I guess. Mom and Dad would be proud, at least I hope so.
I told myself that a lot. Maybe one day I'd be able to tell them too.
