Sorcerous Stabber Orphen: The Wayward Journey Volume 14 E-Book

Yoshinobu Akita

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Club
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Sorcerous Stabber Orphen: The Wayward Journey
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Seitenzahl: 180

Beschreibung

Sorcerous Stabber Orphen: The Wayward Journey Volume 14

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Cover

Color Illustrations

Prologue

Chapter I: Four Days Until—

Chapter II: Twenty-Four Hours

Chapter III: Fifteen Hours

Chapter IV: Twelve Hours

Chapter V: Ten Hours

Chapter VI: Six Hours

Epilogue

Afterword

About J-Novel Club

Copyright

Landmarks

Color Illustrations

Table of Contents

Prologue

Populating that night was the usual dark sky, the natural light of the stars, the moon, clouds...and the completely inconsequential surface world. That was everything.

There was nothing standing between the earth and the sky. Even a dividing line between them was impossible. There was no sound of music, no whispering, and no watching eyes. It may have seemed like insects, or possibly humans, were making sounds, but in actuality, there was only silence. When humans gathered in these numbers, it made it impossible for wildlife to exist, but those humans didn’t so much as whisper, since the people of this town seemed to believe that even gossip was a sin. The only words exchanged were empty greetings. Meaningless gestures, hollow smiles, weak physiques, compromised flesh, both necessary and unnecessary wisdom. Then there were things like love and emotion. The town was full of such things, and anyone could obtain them without trouble.

Jack Frisbee looked up at the night sky and confirmed to himself something he already knew full well. This place was full of freedom and, naturally, the acute danger that accompanied that freedom.

“That’s right. This must be what it means to be free...just like you.” There was no need to put it into such concrete words. In fact, that was actually rather dangerous, as mere gossip was a sin here.

“I’m free?” What answered him was neither the darkness, nor the night, nor the void. Though it might have been hiding in the shadows. It was nothing more than a man with a lanky aspect to him. He had a physical form, and as such, there was nothing to fear from him. Or so Jack believed.

The moonlight made the shadow of the buildings stand out in the night sky. Compared to those shadows, the night sky was entirely too blue. The well-defined shadows, which would never blur with the submerged blue sky of the night, almost seemed like sharpened blades. Unlike real blades, however, the tips of these shadows had unnecessary embellishments—the holy sign.

The symbol atop the roof, of a cross with arms pointing at both heaven and earth, would normally be maligned as a false idol. But the church worshipped this symbol, and he, rotting away in this cursed land, was no exception. This church belonged to no large-scale religion like the Kimluck Church whose headquarters lay in the northernmost reaches of the continent, but it had still saved many people—and had likely led even more people to their doom. There were probably an almost infinite number of minor faiths such as these on the continent.

“More free than I am,” Jack murmured with a wry smile on his face. As he did so, he tapped his arm against the black wool holy robes he wore in a gesture like a salute.

He could predict the man’s response. And when the man veiled in shadow spoke, he said exactly what Jack expected him to, other than the second half of his remark.

“You’re very free, Jack. You can always say no.”

The words themselves weren’t surprising. What was surprising was that he would go out of his way to lie. No, it wasn’t out of ill will, he was sure.

Heaving a dry sigh, Jack thought to himself, I can’t say no. Not when I know about them. The price for such a privilege was extremely simple. We’ll get nowhere simply rehashing all this... He kept his face neutral as he thought these things.

How much of the man was intentional, Jack wondered. Was he really a fool, as his first impression implied? Or was he something else, as was made amply clear after that? Was he foolish, was he bright, was he actually brilliant...or was he just cruel? Could all of those things apply to him, or was he simply foolish and cruel?

Such things were like puzzle pieces, and though they might have only had one correct way they fit together, if you weren’t actually interested in the completed picture, then the pieces themselves may have been meaningless. They were nothing more than amusement built off of fruitless effort.

He felt like he’d been thinking on this for a long time, but in reality, only the amount of time it took for a breeze to blow by had passed.

Swallowing the bitter feeling he was experiencing, Jack finally asked, “So, who do I have to kill?”

“Likely the greatest killer of the day.”

“...Are you sure you’re not overestimating me?”

“Rest assured, we have an even more difficult task.” The man seemed to shake his head as he lounged in the shadows. After a moment of silence, he went on, “We’ll be killing two women and a child. Would you like to trade?”

Jack didn’t answer. He wanted to give the man time to explain himself.

But the next response came not from the man...

“Do we need to make him our ally? Ryan... Ryan Killmarked.”

The newcomer had made no sound and possessed no presence, but that was nothing surprising. In fact, if Jack could actually sense the figure’s approach, he would have been rather bewildered with himself.

He turned around at the voice and, behind him—neither too close nor too far—another man had appeared. He as well was framed by the night, but not enough to hide himself. He had faded blond hair and wore a wrinkled suit. He stood with his hands in his pockets, pointing a hollow look Jack’s way. Of course, there was no guarantee his kind actually used their eyes for sight.

“I’d prefer for you to call me Ryan Spoon... Helpart.” The man in the shadows, Ryan, called out to this new man—no, his actual gender was just another mystery. Rather than an objection, Ryan’s words seemed to be nothing more than a reminder. “We simply don’t have enough pieces on the board on our side. And you’re the one who suggested that a showdown might be necessary.”

“Was their sudden appearance really so important? I believe you were the one who most clearly answered that question, Ryan.”

“And I have no intention of changing my personal theories in that area,” Ryan said, his tone cloying. “We have a choice we must make, but I believe this is not the sort of choice where one agonizes over one thing or another.”

“Would you even call it a choice, then?” Helpart retorted, tone utterly serious.

Jack couldn’t help but think—couldn’t help but laugh... The snicker that spilled from his nose burst like some sort of half-formed sneeze.

Still, Ryan was utterly calm. He probably would have reacted the same way even if it was Helpart who had snickered.

“It’s really extremely simple.” His voice came from the shadows, almost as if he was sinking into them.

Jack was sure that he was going to explain his reasoning, but Ryan suddenly stood without doing so. His disheveled light blond hair seemed to have even less color than usual in the cold light of the moon. He wore a brown jacket with no buttons on it, black pants, and leather boots. Under all this, he wore some strange green tights that covered everything but his hands and head.

And in those hands, he carried a single sword. Though maybe the object couldn’t really be called a sword.

In the dim nighttime light, it almost looked like a brass instrument. A crimson metal sword decorated with ornamentation. Its scabbard almost seemed fused with its grip such that drawing it appeared to be impossible.

Ryan wandered over to the silent, unmoving Helpart and held the sword out to him. “You should use this.”

“The Sword of Korkt?”

“Indeed. I already have one, after all...”

Ryan was no doubt referring to the Green Gem armor he wore. It almost made you wonder if it was the Celestials’ taste to make killer weapons with comical appearances. Jack narrowed his eyes and pondered. No, they likely had very little of interest to say about weapons.

“As for how to use it, well, you can just ask your master, can’t you? I don’t know myself, of course. Though I’m confident that with enough time, I could figure it out.”

“If it will be faster to use the Network, I’ll do that,” Helpart said simply, taking the sword. He almost seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, “What we’re short on is time. It’s not pride.”

“I admire your self-restraint.” Ryan gave Helpart some perfunctory applause and looked up exaggeratedly at the sky. After waving his hand theatrically so that anyone could tell he was about to leave, he said, “Well, this isn’t something so grand as a plan—just the same as before. We’re just waiting so that we don’t miss an opportunity. That’s all it is. I hope for the best effort we can make and the bare minimum of an outcome. Now, my friends, I’ll see you—”

However...

“You haven’t answered my question yet, Ryan Killmarked.” Helpart’s whisper was sharper than any weapon within the night’s domain. “What is the choice that we must make?”

There was a moment of silence as Ryan, who was about to leave, turned around and raised his head.

“It’s simple. Extremely simple.” His answer seemed more fragile than anyone who existed in the night. “Who is right, and who is wrong? We must choose whether we are right or we are wrong, by our fates.”

“No.” Jack interrupted their conversation for the first time. It wasn’t conscious. He’d just found his mouth opening. “You must know what that’s called, Ryan... At the very least, it isn’t a choice.”

The two Doppel X—though there were hardly any left on the continent who knew the significance of that symbol—turned their gazes to him.

Jack rubbed his lips together, his heavy throat trembling. “It is by no means a choice,” he repeated. “It is judgment.”

Chapter I: Four Days Until—

The water was lukewarm, but it still stung her wounds. She knew she was fortunate enough just to get a basin of water at all—very cheap too—at one of the many inexpensive inns on the highway, so she couldn’t ask for more. Still, Lottecia grimaced, feeling something smoldering inside her. Something like a thin film slowly separated from the washcloth in the basin. It was blood.

She was surely injured somewhere. Such a thought was ridiculous, of course. When she looked down at her arms, they were completely covered in bruises. She was injured everywhere. It was probably her condition that made the owner of the inn bring the water to her.

In her inn room, she was mustering what little strength she had remaining to wipe her body down, but it wasn’t just bruises she had. There were lacerations in places too, which meant that she had to keep the cleanliness of the water in mind. She decided to avoid her cuts as she wiped.

She raised her left arm and looked down at her side, finding a wound in no time. It was just behind her hip. She had no recollection of being hit there, but then...she could hardly remember what she’d done today either.

“I’m so pathetic...” She’d thought she wasn’t the sort of person to talk to herself, but she was doing it before she knew it.

She stared down hazily at her wound and...lowered her arm, exhausted. The arm naturally wrapped itself around her shoulder, over her chest. There was no scar there, but she felt a stinging pain like an invisible line had been carved into her body. She slid her fingers over her skin, savoring the irony.

Who would even believe her? If she complained, who would believe her with that completely unharmed body of hers? That she’d been split with a sword from the shoulder to the chest, enough for her shoulder to separate from her body.

She’d rolled around on the ground, and her dirt-stained jacket was hooked on a nearby chair. She was so tired she didn’t want to wash it, but she couldn’t put it off forever.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Fatigue washed over her.

As she felt all this, she muttered to herself, So this is...

Warm water. An injured body. Dirty clothes. A cheap inn on the highway. Her unscarred body. Blood. Exhaustion. Irony. Her arm, wrapped around her own body. Fatigue. The world she saw looking up with her eyes closed. All of it together was...

An urge to kill someone.

She’d finished washing up, so she should change her clothes before she caught a chill. Her reverie was immediately replaced by such practical thoughts.

She was tired. She didn’t have the energy to sustain her anger.

◆◇◆◇◆

“Uhh...”

“...Ugh...”

“Err...”

“Hmm...”

“...”

He wasn’t actually lying on the sandy ground with patches of grass here and there groaning meaninglessly for all that long—it wasn’t as if he wanted to be doing it all that long, anyway. The same probably went for Majic, who was doing the same thing a slight distance away.

Unable to muster the will to get up and frankly too lazy to even move his head in that direction, Orphen nevertheless turned to look in the direction of his apprentice, seeking him out through instinct.

The weather was neither good nor bad. It made him miss the blue skies in Nashwater. They’d gone down the mountain and were looking up at the whitened, cloudy sky from the side of the highway now. That said, there were no signs of rain. The wind pulled up dry sand from the ground, blowing it through the short grass. Orphen breathed slowly, feeling almost like that wind was taking his consciousness away with it too.

His hair was damp with sweat, but the wind was drying it. He ran a hand through his dark hair, fatigued. There was sand in it as it clung to his fingers.

His clothes were soaked with sweat too. He’d taken off his usual leather jacket, which was laying on the ground nearby. A crest of a one-legged dragon curled around a sword lay buried in the creases of the damp black shirt wrapped around his chest as it rose and fell in time with his breathing. A silver pendant. The proof of one who’d studied at the pinnacle of black sorcery on the continent, the Tower of Fangs.

Orphen suddenly realized that he was listening closely to the sound of his breathing and the beating of his heart, and he smiled wryly. He’d had no intention of falling asleep here, but even if his brain rejected the thought, that might have been exactly what his body was trying to do. The back of his neck hurt, since he was lying on the ground.

“Umm...”

Orphen opened just his right eye when the voice got his attention. An upside-down blond boy was reflected in his narrowed vision.

He didn’t know when the boy had come over to him, but from that position, head hanging over him, Majic said, “I just thought of something. A way to win, maybe.”

Orphen didn’t answer him, instead just twisting his heavy body and standing up. He looked over and found Majic already in a fighting stance, both fists clenched. Orphen just stood there, not in a stance, and urged Majic on with his eyes.

There was a familiar silence. He moved his center of gravity slightly back and waited to see what Majic would do.

But Majic opened his mouth instead, as if putting it off for a moment. “See, I was thinking.”

“Thinking?” Orphen asked for whatever reason. He was aware that the boy was stalling.

In his self-taught stance—though it resembled Orphen’s own, of course—Majic continued, “Charging in head-first is pointless...but if I go around from the sides, you see through that right away too. So I’ve been thinking about what I should do.”

“Uh huh.”

That was apparently the sum of his explanation. A severe look entered the meek boy’s eyes.

Orphen leaped back when Majic rushed at him. It wasn’t quite a jump, more like a quick step backward.

When the world started moving, he saw a strange afterimage, like his consciousness alone had been left behind. This happened sometimes when he moved—he almost felt like a bystander watching the action from above. Of course, it wasn’t as if he could actually see outside of his field of view, and there shouldn’t have been a way for him to sense people by their presence alone. But somewhere in his perception, he could sense the direction from which people were going to attack him.

He knew the mechanism behind this. It was something extremely simple—merely a culmination of experience.

That was enough boasting. He wasn’t too on guard as his apprentice rushed toward him. The last month or so of their training had been enough for Orphen to grasp the boy’s speed, his strength, the way his eyes moved when he went into action, and his imagination. Even the unknowns—for there was always an element of the unknown—he already knew. That was just another thing that his experience allowed him to predict.

Come to think of it, it is a little strange, though...

Several things had happened in the few moments that shouldn’t have even made up one second. Majic had raised a yell, lifting his arm up and throwing his fist forward like he was throwing a tantrum. Orphen was already far enough away from him that he didn’t even have to dodge, but Majic stepped forward again after swinging his fist. This time he swung his other fist up from below. By this point, Orphen had stopped moving his feet. He dodged the fist by shifting his upper body.

The advantage of using your entire body to dodge was that you could continue the movement to get into your opponent’s blind spot—as long as you had the courage, that is. There wasn’t really a need to do so in this case, but Orphen slid over to Majic’s right side without letting his feet leave the ground anyway. Majic went straight past him, revealing his unprotected side as he did so. If this was all he was scheming, it wasn’t any different from anything up until now. From what they’d done hundreds of times, maybe even thousands of times before.

The change was small.

As he slid his feet, Orphen noticed from his detached point of view that there was an obstacle in his way. His gaze moved toward it. There was a shoe in the direction his left foot was sliding.

To be more accurate, there was a foot there. Majic lunged forward with his legs spread wide to block Orphen’s path.

That was probably his plan; he was used to Orphen circling around him, so he was blocking his master’s movement. And Orphen did have to stop there. Majic spun around toward him, his expression all too clearly showing an elated “got you!” and—

Orphen immediately spread his feet apart and kicked the boy between his legs. Majic’s expression changed immediately.

Naturally, Orphen’s attack had a significant effect. Majic crumpled on the spot without even a scream, just a strained sound squeezing out from his throat.

Looking down at him, Orphen muttered in disgust, “What kind of idiot exposes a weak spot right in front of his opponent?”

Majic didn’t seem like he would be getting up anytime soon.

Orphen patted him on the back and sighed. “Well, it’s not bad that you’re thinking for yourself a little, but...maybe I should start teaching you some forms and stuff.”

“Uuugh...” Finally recovering enough to raise his face, Majic looked up at Orphen with a pathetic expression. Tears in his eyes, he whined, “That was a little harsh, wasn’t it, Master...?”

“I dunno what to tell you. If you don’t protect your vital spots, they’ll get attacked; that’s just how it is. ’Course, depending on how you look at it, the human body is really nothing but vital spots.”

“...Is it?”

“Well, we’ve got joints, muscles, and organs everywhere. And no matter where your skin’s split open, you’ll bleed. In the end, all we can do is take attacks in places that aren’t as fatal as we guard the truly fatal spots.” He shrugged.

Lending Majic a hand as the boy tried to stand, Orphen continued, “Really, sorcerers are supposed to be able to defend themselves completely, but...”

“What do you mean?”

Orphen nodded. “Because they have sorcery. That should allow them to defend themselves perfectly without relying on their bodies. However...” Orphen shook his head as his pupil listened intently to his words. “However, no matter what, weaving a composition for a spell, deploying it, and activating it takes a period of several seconds. It’s easy enough to defend against sorcery with sorcery—when your opponent deploys his composition, you have time to read it and form your own defensive composition. But that means that when two sorcerers fight, it’s hard for the battle to reach a conclusion. So, what do you think sorcerers do?”