by Akira Kareno
“No, she hasn’t, but…” The young man’s ears drooped. “A little while back, a branch from a company of vulgar orcs was here. Blackfur, they were called.”
“Nah, don’t say any more. I know how that’s gonna end.”
Those orcs messed with the kids, so Nygglatho went to wherever they were to ruin them. Most likely, it ended with her being seen covered in blood and laughing maniacally.
Willem wasn’t surprised. If anything, he could imagine it easily. She was definitely the person to do just that.
Well, either way, Nygglatho was one of his saviors, one of the few people who knew about him, and was currently a coworker in the same facility. He should cover for her.
“Well, Nygglatho’s not the kind of person to hurt anything and everything. It is easy to get the wrong idea…er, to get scared because of the way she acts. But underneath it all, she’s a normal, considerate girl. If you ignore her short temper and how quickly she strikes out and her low boiling point and how much she wants to eat people, she’s nothing to worry about.”
Ninety percent of the time, when she smiled and said, “Can I eat you?” it was a joke. A bad one. She probably wasn’t saying that because she was actually going to eat him. There was absolutely no reason to worry.
He wasn’t going to think about the other 10 percent.
“You’re amazing.”
For some reason, he was being looked at with admiration.
“Let me call you a Brave.”
When he said that, Willem lowered his head as far as it could go.
“Please don’t.”
The strongest warriors or the strongest weapons—whichever it was—they were actually girls.
That was a common story throughout time and space.
Well, of course it was. Women have always been what raises men’s morale the fastest.
The vanity of men was an unexpectedly formidable thing. The battlefield was a messy place, where the line was blurred, where soldiers forgot all about victory and glory and prestige—but even those soldiers could not just toss that away.
They didn’t want to look bad in front of women.
It was that determination that granted amazing strength to even the weakest soldier facing death.
Outstanding armies knew how to use that effect well. So they sometimes mixed women into a battlefield full of dudes.
It worked fine with the supply troops and the rear relief troops, but it was more effective closer to the front lines. Lady knights who ran through the battlefield with superior swordsmanship, peerless female Braves chosen by the Carillon, tragic girl thaumaturgists with enormous power carved into slender bodies.
It was easy to raise the morale of simpleminded men with nothing more than rumors that women were there.
Even unrealistic settings that sounded like they came from some kind of storybook were the perfect flavor for the battlefield, where any sense of reality had long since disappeared.
Willem knew a girl who had been celebrated as a hero like that.
She was strong, but the men around her made her out to be stronger than she actually was.
The girl enjoyed the whole thing, or perhaps it was her only salvation. She would pick up the papers circulating the battlefield, then laugh off the distant tales celebrating all her feats of arms.
You don’t need to think too hard about it. It’s just as I said.
We are the supposed weapons, as you call them.
But the girls smiling here and now somehow seemed to be of a different breed.
Heroes created for lifting morale had to be a bit more famous, of course. They had to belong to a more popular race, not featureless.
And—well, to put it crudely, they had to be the right age to wholly accept the love of filthy men. The girls here were a little too young to take on such a role.
So something was strange about all this.
He felt as if something wasn’t quite adding up between the female weapons he was familiar with and what was going on with these girls.
That being said, well—
Whatever the weapons here turned out to be and whatever the girls were in reality, he felt like it was none of his business. That wasn’t his job.
He was just the manager with no responsibilities.
All he needed to do in his position during his tenure was stay out of their way.
…Willem spent almost three days telling himself that.
He thought it would be best to just persevere and put up with it. But he was at his limit.
The children were afraid, and the reason for that was none other than himself. Those two facts combined left him unable to handle it anymore.
“Huh? Oh yes, that’s fine…”
“Thanks a bunch.”
He asked the girl in charge of food that day if he could borrow a corner in the kitchen.
Eggs, sugar, milk, and cream. Some berries. Chicken bones for making gelatin. After placing all the ingredients that looked useful onto the counter, he flipped through the recipes for easy desserts popular with small children in his head and reconfirmed the process. He started working. He put on his own apron, then lit the crystal stove.
Little spies clustered together and peeked into the kitchen at him—“What is he gonna do?” The rule in the house was that absolutely no one else besides the one in charge of food that day was allowed inside the kitchen, so they couldn’t do much else but peer at him from afar.
Willem continued working as he felt their stares prickling the back of his neck.
He’d reached one conclusion in his past few days here, and that was that the girls’ appetites didn’t differ much from Willem’s own.
Of course, there were variations in preferences due to their differences in gender and age, but that wasn’t much of a problem. The gap between tastes as a consequence of race (and by extension, physiological differences) were much harsher and tragic.
Once before, he’d gone out to eat with a boggard friend (well, it was Glick). That had been a truly terrible day.
Things that Willem thought were delicious, Glick said tasted like crap; things Glick said were amazing, Willem thought tasted like a nightmare.
Though they could have just given up there and then, Glick announced, “We will find something we both find delicious,” and then the two of them spent a full day traversing beyond that initial nightmarish hellscape. The highlight came at the very end, when they were both gulping down water, tears streaming down their faces, crying, “This shit’s so good.”
Anyway.
He surmised that not only could they sit in the same dining hall while eating the same food, he and the girls didn’t have any big differences in taste.
While he was cooking, he called over the little one in charge of the day’s meals and had her perform a taste test. The girl stared at the caramel in the spoon like it was a mutated animal she’d found on the side of the road, then finally readied herself, shut her eyes, and put the spoon in her mouth. There was a long moment of silence. Bashfully, she slowly opened her eyes. “…Ho good.” The spoon clattered to the floor.
Unable to make a sound out of either joy or fear, several voiceless cries erupted among the spies.
The result was, essentially, a success.
The girls who ordered the “Special Dessert” added temporarily to the corner of the menu made the same determined faces they’d seen earlier when taking their first bites, went stiff for a few seconds, and then their eyes sparkled in the moment that followed.
The whole dining hall was filled with a shining brightness as Willem watched.
“All right!”
This time it was Willem’s turn to check on them, peeking into the room, and he pumped his fist in victory. The way to win kids over was with sugar in their stomachs.
“…What are you doing?”
He could hear Nygglatho’s annoyed tone behind him.
“That recipe was passed down to me from my master. I hate to say it, but kids are fearsome
opponents, and that’s a proven fact. That’s been my downfall many times in the past.”
“No, I’m not talking about that. You won’t get any more money even if you take on more responsibilities, you know.”
“That’s not the problem.” He scratched his cheek. “They’re clearly scared of me, and it feels wrong just leaving things that way. This is the weapons warehouse, and if they’re the weapons, then I’d be a bad manager if I gave my charges unnecessary stress and worsened their condition. So this is… What do you call it…?”
He couldn’t find the words. He wasn’t confident what he was saying was logically valid, but he said what he thought he should be saying anyway.
“I’m not trying to suck up to them. I’m just trying to pull my negative existence here back up to zero. That falls under regular duties for a desk ornament like me, right?”
“…If you say so, then I suppose that’s good enough.” Nygglatho’s eyes quickly narrowed. “But you’re talking rather fast. It sounds like you’re making a lot of guilty excuses. You come across so set on fooling yourself that I want to cringe, but if you really are serious, there’s nothing for me to say, right?”
She saw right through him.
“I’m sorry don’t ask me any more I swear please—”
“When I first met you, I thought you were a cooler, more degenerate, and destructive character.”
“That’s, well…”
That was just because he aspired to be that way.
He’d decided to assume that character, to live without bothering too much with the world around him.
In reality, he didn’t have a very good disposition at the moment, either.
“I’d lost sight of myself. I’ll be more careful from now on.”
“Hmm. Well, I don’t really care. As long as the children are happy, there’s nothing else I can ask for. And…”
“And?”
“You smell incredibly delicious. Like sugar.”
“I will be absolutely more careful from now on.”
He swore that the next time he stood in the kitchen, he would be taking a shower right after, just in case.
2. The Girls in the Warehouse
Moving on—Chtholly Nota Seniorious was a faerie.
This year would be the fifteenth after her birth. She was an adult faerie soldier and the oldest among those in the faerie warehouse. It was confirmed that she was able to activate dug weapons, and so the name of her allotted sword, Seniorious, was added to the end of her name.
Her hair was a light cerulean, and her eyes were slightly darker than that. She didn’t like the color herself very much. There were two reasons for that: First, it was very typical faerie hair, and it made her stand out in town; second, since it was such a cool shade, brightly colored clothes didn’t look very good on her.
“…Why is that?”
It was daytime in the reading room. Gazing outside from the seat by the windowsill, Chtholly murmured.
She was watching the field in the forest. There, happily chasing a ball, were the youngest faeries and a tall, young man.
Though his build, race, and gender were all different, before she knew it, he’d naturally blended in with them.
It was probably because of that special dessert he’d served in the dining hall the other day. He had made it himself and, with that, lowered all the youngest girls’ guards in an instant. By the time Chtholly realized what was happening, they had become completely attached to him.
“What on earth is he?”
When she first met him, she’d thought he seemed…mysterious, kind, with some sort of strange shadow cast over him. He lived in a semifer city even though he was featureless, and he was nice to her the entire time despite all the trouble she’d caused him.
The next time she saw him, Pannibal—one of the youngest—had knocked him over. Now that she thought about it, she’d been sitting on him when they first met, too. For a moment, she wondered if that was a fetish of his, but she quickly shook away the thought. Of course not. No way it was.
And…he was always kind to the children.
Those fussy, pushy, noisy, tiresome, annoying children had even cornered him in his room, and yet without a single sour expression, he’d chatted with them. Whenever she crossed paths with him afterward, he’d treated her the same—
…The same?
She caught herself tripping over the words in her mind, and her contemplation came to a halt.
Could it be that we’re all the same to him?
Was it possible that those children, little and still growing after barely ten years since their birth, and this Chtholly Nota Seniorious, who had reached maturity and believed herself an adult after fifteen years of living, were being treated identically?
Of course, that wasn’t possible—that’s what she wanted to believe.
That man—Second Enchantments Officer Willem Kmetsch—probably wasn’t much older. Though she’d been confused by his enigmatic presence, he was probably slightly younger than twenty. Then they were, at the most, three or four years apart. That was not an acceptable range for error. She would not be treated like a child.
Or maybe it was because of their difference in height. That would make it a serious problem. This Chtholly Nota Seniorious prided herself on being the tallest among the faeries, but to the towering Willem, they were all very much the same little younglings. There was also the important fact that Nygglatho, who was huge in comparison, was close at hand.
“—Whatcha doin’?”
“Eeeek!!”
Arms suddenly clasped her from behind, and Chtholly let out an odd yelp.
“Ooh, I like that sound.”
“H-hey, don’t scare me like that!”
“Nya-ha-ha, sorry, sorry. You weren’t moving at all, so I had to!”
“That’s not a reason, ugh.”
She pried away the arms wrapped around her neck.
Ithea Myse Valgulious was a faerie, too.
This year would be the fourteenth since her birth. She was an adult faerie soldier, and she, too, was confirmed compatible with dug weapons. That was why she bore the name Valgulious.
She had peculiar hair the color of ripened wheat. Her irises were the shade of faded wood. She had slightly slanted eyes, a catlike gaze, and a friendly smile.
“He’s a popular one, huh? It feels like he’s been here for ages. Did you know? I heard he taught the kids the game they’re playing with the ball now because it’s something a lot of people can play, and even the kids that are bad at sports get a chance to touch the ball.”
“Hmm…I see.”
“You wanna know more about him, don’t you?”
“I dunno…”
Of course she did. Everyone who lived in the faerie house was the same. He was an anomaly, and he stood out wherever he was.
“That’s a new hat.”
Clatter. Chtholly almost slipped out of her chair.
“You sure are taking good care of it. It’s all the way in the back of your closet, and you haven’t used it at all.”
“Th-that’s all there is to it! The only thing those are good for are disguising myself when I leave the island, right? I don’t need to hide my face when I’m still on the island! And is that any way to change the subject?!”
She was met with a wide grin.
“What is with that smile?!”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about how much I liked your reaction.”
“My reaction? Anyone would complain if they were startled like that!”
“Hmm, that’s not exactly it, though?” Ithea said suggestively, scratching near her chin.
Then a rolled-up piece of paper sprung up above her head.
“The reading room must remain silent.”
There stood Nephren, expressionless as always.
Nephren Ruq Insania was also a faerie, of course.
This year would be the thirteenth after her birth. She had reached maturity that summer and had
just recently been confirmed compatible with dug weapons.
She had dullish gray hair and eyes the color of charcoal. She was so short that she would be buried standing in a crowd of the little ones. She constantly wore a blank expression, and Chtholly, at least, had never seen her smile or scowl.
After a quick glance around, she couldn’t see any other faeries in the reading room. Everyone was gathered around the windowsill.
“S-sorry…”
Chtholly earnestly bowed her head, and the newcomer sat in the empty seat beside her.
“So what sort of person is he?”
Nephren started with a question. Chtholly’s shoulders dropped in disappointment.
“Didn’t you just tell me to stop talking?”
“I think it’s fine as long as you’re not yelling.”
“And so our conversation continues… You think he’s interesting, too, Ren?”
“Not really.” Nephren’s eyes flitted outside the window. “I only think he’s a strange person.”
So she looks at him the same way, too.
Chtholly was glad knowing that she wasn’t the only one.
Someone who was just kind or just cheerful wouldn’t bother her so much.
He acted so friendly, but it felt like there was a barrier somewhere.
He seemed like he was having so much fun, but they got the sense that he was somehow sad.
At first glance, he was fitting in well, but…
At the oddest moments, he would gaze off, a distant look in his eyes, as though reliving memories of a place far away.
So they couldn’t help but pay attention to him. They wanted to know.
“…How many days left, Chtholly?” Ithea asked as she was spacing out.
She understood exactly what her friend meant because of how the question was phrased. Chtholly was counting down every single day on the calendar in her room, so she knew the number she had to respond with.
“Mm, a little more than ten days.”
“Aww, that’s plenty of time but not enough at all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you enjoying your youth to the fullest, of course.”
