AuthorPalt
patreon
Tutorial Rewrite 132
🕑 Added 2023-05-25 07:54:07 +0000 UTCI wave in the air. “That’s only if I’m really hurt, though.” He doesn’t look like he agrees much. “Th—that’s how it works, right?”
Moleman pulls his lips tight. “Listen, Kitty… If you accidentally see a guy stub his toe, that’s a bit upsetting even if he didn’t really get hurt, right?”
“I, well, uh… I suppose so?”
“It’s the same with you. Even though I know you’ll make it out of it just fine, seeing you a gory mess isn’t a pretty sight, even if you don’t mind it yourself.”
“So, what you’re saying is…” To give me enough time to pull my thoughts together, I speak slowly. “...I shouldn’t show you my RED?”
It takes him a second or so to digest what I just said. “Erm… pretty much?”
I nod gravely. Okay. So the no-RED rule also applies to Moleman? Right, got it. Speaking of no Red… I lock my eyes onto Moleman’s. “Moleman, I need your advice.”
He scratches his chin. “How about we take it over a cup of honey water?”
I stare at him.
…Honey water?
My mouth begins to drool. “Yes,” I say breathily. “I would love a cup of honey water.”
He smiles at me and starts walking. It takes me almost a full second to realise the social implications of this, which is just as much time as it takes for me to scramble to catch up with him. Thankfully, he didn’t notice my mistake. As he walks, bringing me up a nearby stairwell, he starts talking. “I forgot to tell you earlier, but I’ve actually almost finished the Purgatory section.”
I stumble on a slightly raised bit of stone but catch myself before I fall. “Y—you have?”
His chest puffs out a little. “Purgatory is really different. And, honestly? I’ve come to enjoy it. Maybe that’s a bit ridiculous to say considering the position we’re both in, but being in purgatory has genuinely been fun at times. Camping with friends, meeting new people, exploring undiscovered cultures… It’s like being a true explorer!” The excitement in his voice is palpable. “It took a while, but I’m actually starting to learn proper goblin-speak. They have a lot of different accents, and some dialects are near incomprehensible, but it’s still satisfying to be able to finally understand what someone is saying, and to have a real conversation.”
I lumber after him, hunched down, looking up at him through furrowed brows.
“The last town we were in was this desert city. We had trouble finding an inn at first—most places won’t accept humans as patrons—but we eventually found a room living with an acquaintance of a man whose life we saved a while back. It’s funny; the world they live in feels so small. You’d think they wouldn’t be so connected, what with the lack of modern technology, but they make do. I’ve actually been keeping a notebook on all the noble lineages and aristocratic houses and whatnot we’ve come across. There’s so much to know. So many intricate rivalships and alliances and everything…” His voice is so wistful talking about it all. Dreaming. “It’s really interesting.”
“...Right,” I mumble.
Stepping out of the stairwell, he pauses for just a moment. I only notice it when I bump into his back, making the strap around his folded-back arm loosen. He doesn’t notice. Rather, he turns around to look at me. “I’m not sure if you want to hear this, but…” He compresses his lips into a tight line. “I looked a bit into the shore city of Acheron.”
I freeze where I stand. “You did?”
He turns away from me again. Facing the dark corridor ahead, he gives a small, almost unnoticeable nod.
I take a small step back. “What did you find?”
He takes a step forward, then another, eventually finding his way over to a nearby glassless window, overlooking the court outside. I slide up to him, taking my place at his side. Down in the courtyard, there’s a fair bit of activity. A group of challengers are standing off to the side, playing music. A larger group is gathered nearby, dancing together, some coordinated, some moving by feeling alone. On the other side are a few groups duelling, testing their skills, challenging each other. Yet more are simply sitting on little blankets on the grass, eating good food and sharing words and laughter.
My grip tightens on the stone window.
“There wasn’t much left,” Moleman says, his voice neutral, as though he’s giving a report. “Mostly ash and blackened rocks. The castle was the only part still standing, with all the towers and the… the bodies intact.”
“I never lied,” I say sharply, my head whipping to face him. “I never said a single lie—you know that, right?” I try to swallow to make my mouth and throat feel less dry. “I would never lie to you.”
He continues without turning away from the courtyard. “When I went there myself, they’d already rebuilt most of it, and the streets had been cleaned. But it still reeked something foul, even months later.” His eyes flutter closed for a few seconds. I want to say something, but I don’t know what. I don’t think there’s anything I can say. He lets out a long breath and I wonder if he’ll say anything more. He meets my gaze.
His eyes aren’t like that of Simel. There’s no blackness in them. No firm repulsion. No terror. Just a shimmering little gleam of pity that I somehow vastly prefer to the aforementioned. “You did what you thought was the right thing to do.”
“I did?”
He takes a hold of my shoulder and his eyes grow harder. “You did. You didn’t think you had any other choice. The system told you to do it.” His eyes, firm as that of a lawmaker, shine oddly in the light. Something deep inside, some little part of him I couldn’t remember seeing before, trembles. “That’s how it was, right?” I stare at him, helpless. “Because if that wasn’t how it was, then…” His lower lip trembles.
Reflexively, my head begins to nod, up and down, quickly. “Y—yeah,” I say, “that’s how it was.” I gulp. “That’s exactly how it was.”
I feel his hand squeeze my shoulder tighter and for a second he just stares at me, his eyes penetrating deep into my soul. I want to look away but I keep my gaze steady. And after a second or two, he lets me go, turning back to look down at the courtyard. “Good,” he sighs. “In that case…” With a wave of his hand, a pair of crystal cups alongside a glass pitcher of water and a small jar of suspiciously brown honey appear, all of which he places on the windowsill. Then, with another movement, he brings out a pair of small spoons and a tiny plate of what appears to be cookies.
My previously dry mouth instantly fills with drool and I stare wide-eyed at the stuff presented. Some water would be very nice right about now, thankyouverymu—
He effortlessly stops my hand mid-snatch. I resist the urge to growl at him.
Like the tease he is, Moleman waggles his finger at me, which does not douse my bestial instincts. “Have some patience, Ho-Jae. Don’t you want to enjoy this like a proper human?”
My scowl recedes. Slowly, I cross my arms. “—I suppose I do.”
Saying nothing, he gives a temperate smile and reaches for the pitcher. First, he pours us each a cup of water, which by itself looks so yummy I’m left to drool. Now that I think about it, when was the last time I drank something that wasn’t blood? Follow-up question, does the soup I got on the third floor count? I can feel my brows furrow again. Is soup a drink or an eat?...
While I descend into such madness-inducing pits of thought, Moleman grabs the little jay of brownish honey, humming as he does. Surprisingly, when he opens the lid, what erupts isn’t merely the scent of honey, but also that of numerous other spices as well. It smells vaguely cinnamon-ish, but not quite. Curious, I lean closer, sniffing as I go. It smells very spiced, but without any truly recognizable smells.
No, that isn’t quite true. I do recognise the smells just a little. However, not from my time on Earth. Rather, it smells like the aforementioned stews and soups the goblin soldiers served me. That’s kind of what it smells like.
Since I’m basically inches from the cups and honey, it’s no surprise when Moleman notices me and gives a little chuckle.
“You noticed it, huh?” In response to his words, I perk an eyebrow. He holds the little jar higher so I can see it better. It’s made of uneven glass and unlabelled, with the lid being made of some sort of ground-up wood cork substitute. “I got it from a villager we happened to save. I couldn’t understand the word she called it, but I understood what it was by the description.” As he explains, his voice becomes distant and wistful again, like a real adventurer. “It’s not quite honey, but it is made by the same sort of process, though by birds rather than bees.”
“Birds?” I repeat, stunned.
“Yeah, birds!” he says, voice perking up. “Little hummingbird-like things that made nectar into honey to feed their young and to store during the winters in the stems of trees. So they’d bore holes, barf up the nectar… Pretty much like bees.” Swivelling the jar, he made the ‘honey’ go around and around, glimmering in deep amber in the outside light. “This is actually not only honey, though. It also contains a few spices that were boiled in the honey to season it.” Grabbing one of the spoons, he carefully pours a little dollop into each of the two glasses. “Which means that, technically speaking,” he said, stirring both glasses, making the water as a whole take on a slightly orange-ish colour, “it’s actually clarea of water—not honey-water.” He hands me one of the glasses and smiles. “Personally, I prefer this a lot better.”
I accept it. Looking down into it, I see my own deeply sceptical face reflected in the surface of the clarea. “...A bird barfed this up?”
“Pretty much!”
“This is bird barf?”
“Yup!”
I look at Moleman. I look down at the amber water. Well, if it’s bird barf, it should give me at least a few resistances, right?
He holds out his glass to me. I put the rim of mine to his and clink it.
Bottom’s up!
