Surprisingly, this inn had some impressively large gender-segregated baths. But it would be careless to leave the room empty, so Shihoru and Merry had gone to bathe first. Setora had stayed in the room while they did, then gone off to bathe alone, so now she was returning.

“Y-You... didn’t take long,” Shihoru said.

“Oh. Is that right?” Setora wiped her hair with a towel as she walked over to a different bed from the one Shihoru and Merry were sitting on. She took a seat herself.

They had all changed into cotton clothes bought in Vele’s marketplace. They were simple garments that opened at the front, and unless they tied a belt around them, they easily fell open. They only went down to the knee, too, so they were a little exposed. Shihoru could never have gone for a walk like this.

Setora lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. She took a breath. It might not actually have been the case, but Shihoru had the impression she knew what Setora was thinking.

She must feel uneasy right now.

When it came to Setora, there was always a wall between them. This place, the Golden Goatfish Inn, was a rather luxurious inn, and each room was five silver a night. That said, they had enough money to afford some luxury, and rather than getting just one room for the guys and one for the girls, they could have gotten individual rooms for everyone. Shihoru hadn’t felt the need, but Setora surely felt constrained, so she should have done that.

“Let me just say this.” Setora opened her mouth. “When it comes to the fact that I haven’t managed to fit in with you people, you might think that I am not particularly concerned... but that is not the case.”

Merry let out a slight, “...Eh?” and tilted her head to the side.

It took Shihoru some time to register what Setora had said.

Setora lifted her legs. The hem of her garment slid, leaving her shapely legs completely revealed. What was she doing? She was slowly raising and lowering each of her legs. Was it an exercise?

“I am not good at getting along with others,” Setora said. “Is that a poor way of expressing it? The practice of deepening my relationship with other people is one that I have hardly ever engaged in. Never, perhaps. Unlike golems and nyaas, the creatures known as people are difficult to handle. This may be a poor way of expressing it, too. Yes, I suspect so. I am not good at being considerate in the way I speak...”

Shihoru wondered if, for a start, she should tell her that when you’re trying to word something delicately and be considerate, you don’t tell the other person that’s what you’re doing. Still, it seemed Setora was doing her best to try and be considerate, in her own way, and that didn’t feel bad.

“Um...” Shihoru said hesitantly. “Come to think of it, where is the nyaa?”

“Kiichi? He’s exploring the city, I think. That one’s a bundle of curiosity. It’s unusual for a nyaa. Wild nyaas are not creatures that try to leave their own territory, after all.”

“They’re not suited to traveling?” Merry asked.

Setora stopped raising and lowering her legs. “...No. Not in their natural state. The nyaas kept by the village are used to moving, but they still mark the place they sleep with their own scent. It seems they can’t relax otherwise.”

Merry nodded, satisfied with the answer. She might have tried to think of another question, but she apparently couldn’t come up with one. Shihoru had nothing, either.

Setora went to raise her legs again, but stopped midway. She was left staring up at the ceiling with her knees up.

The silence continued for a fairly long time. Of course, perhaps it only felt long to Shihoru, and it wasn’t in fact that long at all.

“I selfishly brought them with me from the village, and let a large number of nyaas die.” Setora covered her face with both hands, letting out a sigh. “I am a bad master. I broke Enba, too. I’m not sure I can fix him. I’ve no intention of returning to the village for now, so there’s little hope of it.”

Shihoru and Merry looked at one another.

What now? Shihoru wondered. What... do you think we should do?

Yume would have reassured Setora without hesitating. Whether or not the person was one of their comrades, whether or not they were even of the same race, none of that mattered to Yume. She could sympathize with others, and if she felt something, she was quick to admit it.

Shihoru, and also Merry, couldn’t indiscriminately care for others the way Yume did.

“With humans...” Was Setora crying? Her voice wasn’t trembling. It was fixed and emotionless, as usual. “...they have a public face, and a private one. They hide their true feelings behind a facade. They lie. Easily. Even to themselves. I thought it was unsettling as a child, but not so much now. Everyone has things they want to protect, and they’re all desperate. It’s just that I can’t deal with all of that. I’m not interested enough... or so I thought. I had Enba, I was surrounded by nyaas, and that was enough. It should have been enough. Did I make a mistake? Well, I have no regrets.”

Setora paused for a moment.

“I hadn’t realized it, but once I left the village, I was glad to be free of it. The village was constraining, but I had never thought of leaving. Now, I find that strange. I wonder why. Why did I never try to leave the village? Was I afraid? Uncertain? ...Regardless, I have now left the village. I have no desire to return. Unless I go back, I cannot rebuild Enba. Still, I do not want to return. I feel bad for Enba, but not bad for me. How should I say this? I feel alive. I’ve never felt so alive.”

“Is it fun?” Merry asked, and Setora removed her hands from her face.

“...Fun. It might be, or it might not. Despite having lost Enba and the nyaas, I’m not all that disheartened. There is not much I am dissatisfied about.”

“But... there are some things?” Shihoru asked hesitantly.

Setora was monologuing at them, and Merry and Shihoru were just asking questions to confirm what she was saying. It felt like an awkward form of communication, but this was likely the best they could do at the moment.

“...Yes,” Setora said. “I might call it a dissatisfaction. To be blunt, there are times when I feel something like a sense of exclusion. I think, most likely, I am indeed feeling excluded. Having been shunned by the house I was born into, I am used to it, so it’s not that much of an issue. From the time I was born, I was defiant, not submitting to the house as I should have. I knew what would happen as a result, but I did not want to be my parents’ slave, and I would not give in to the ways of the village. Now... I am not so stubborn as I was back then. Though, that said, I am not seeking a compromise from you. To give an example, I find Haru pleasing, but I will not ask that he find me pleasing in return. That would be the wrong approach. Even if I were to force him to obey me somehow, his heart would not turn towards me. Just as I never obeyed my own house. That is because, priest... Merry... Haru, he loves you.”

To think she’d actually come out and say that now! Shihoru looked at Merry out of the corner of her eye.

Merry had gone stiff. A statue. She had turned into a statue.

It was hard to imagine she hadn’t known, but, in a way, Merry might be even more dense than Yume about those sorts of things, so Shihoru wanted to feel her out to be sure.

I just want to be like, “Hey, your feeling are reciprocated, you know.” If I did that, how would Merry respond? She might say, “Why?” with a look of surprise on her face.

They were always together, so she forgot sometimes, but Merry was so beautiful that people found her difficult to approach. She was shapely, too, and honestly, Shihoru was jealous of that, but being so different from the norm must have come with its own troubles.

It seemed Merry had little experience with romance, was disinterested, and was also rather dense. Haruhiro-kun, too. Not only was he not super experienced, he was kind of juvenile, maybe?

Did that mean they were both still children emotionally, then?

Shihoru had begun to suspect, if they were left to their own devices, that maybe things would never go anywhere.

Should I do something? How would I even go about trying?

Shihoru wasn’t exactly experienced herself. Actually, all she had to work with was a one-sided crush and her fantasies, so she wasn’t likely to be much help.

Setora sighed, then mumbled to herself, “...Things just don’t work out.”

“I know, right?” Shihoru agreed, looking over at Merry, who was still completely frozen up.

Honestly, all sorts of things aren’t working out. It feels like I’m walking an endless tightrope, and sometimes jumping down from it would be easier. But I probably never will.

Shihoru had too many things she wouldn’t want to let go of that easily. No matter how she treasured them, she could lose them at any moment. Now might be the only time that she could keep holding on to them.

Yume has her own way of living, so I think she had to go away, Shihoru reflected. But I want to see you, Yume. Even though we only just parted, I want to see you so badly.

“So, to sum things up, each of us are burdened with our own personal issues,” Setora said, smiling just a little.

Without a word, Shihoru mentally added:

Yeah—and we’re alive.

“Haruhiro?! Hold on?! Why’re you crying?! Are you hurt bad somewhere?!”

That wasn’t it. He wasn’t hurt bad enough anywhere to make him cry, but the tears wouldn’t stop overflowing. Haruhiro rubbed his eyes. His hand was shaking. Was he in a state of shock? His whole body felt weak.

“...Everyone?” he whispered.

“Oh! That’s right! Haruhiro, can you stand?!”

With help from Kuzaku, Haruhiro mobilized every last ounce of vital energy in his body to stand. His body felt kind of numb. His legs were trembling. His head was dizzy, and the tears still wouldn’t stop. On top of that, his eyes wouldn’t open. He felt extremely gross.

Shihoru.

Merry.

Setora.

And Kiichi. Where were they?

“Uh oh, we’re pretty far apart!” Kuzaku shouted.

It seemed Kuzaku had a rough grasp of where their comrades were. Haruhiro didn’t know.

What is this? It hurts. Weird. I can’t breathe right. It’s like the air won’t come in. My heart’s beating like crazy. Am I going to die? No, no, now isn’t the time. I can’t afford to die.

He managed to force out, “Go... Kuzaku... go... g-get Shihoru... and the others...”

“No, but Haruhiro, you’re kinda...”

“Go! Hurry! I’ll go, too!”

“Then come with me! You have to stick with me, got it?!”

Kuzaku took off running. Haruhiro tried to follow. But he couldn’t run. He couldn’t breathe properly, either. His legs were unsteady, and walking was difficult.

For now, breathe, he told himself. If I don’t breathe in, I can’t breathe out. So breathe in.

Breathe in.

Breathe in.

It’s sweet. Ohh...

How can it be so sweet?

He had to move forward. What about Kuzaku? Where was he? He didn’t know.

His dagger. Where was his dagger? There. He’d dropped it.

He picked it up, and then what, was he moving forward? He didn’t think he’d stopped.

He ended up in a thicket, or bushes of some kind, pushing through this pink, coral-like stuff, and there were creatures, monsters, whatever they were, things that moved were jumping at him, so he brushed them aside, shook them off, moving forward one step, or a half step, at a time.

Still, it was sweet.

It’s sweet, too sweet, and now I’m getting sleepy.

He wanted to sleep so badly.

I can’t. What would happen if I slept? I have to keep moving forward. Where to? What am I even moving forward for? So sleepy. What am I doing? It’s sweet. Man, it’s sweet. I’m tired.

At some point, he ended up on his belly. He had to get up.

Oh, but I’m so slee—

I can’t see that man’s face.

I don’t know his face, but he’s probably a man, I think.

He’s built like a man.

I am behind that man.

Over his shoulder, I watch everything the man does.

Is it dark there? It’s not bright. But it’s not totally dark, either. It’s kind of, I don’t know, a sepia tone. Maybe the lighting makes it look that way.

The man walks.

His footfalls make no sound, as if he were using Sneaking.

He wears an old, fluffy coat-like garment, and he’s a fairly large guy.

In his right hand, which is covered by a woolen mitten, he holds something.

A blade.

It looks like a carving knife. That, or a butcher’s cleaver.

We’re inside a house, I realize. It’s a familiar house.

The man walks inside with his dirty shoes still on. Ignoring the door on our right, the door on our left, and the door further down on the right, he approaches the door at the end of the hall.

Is this his house, maybe?

No, I have the feeling it isn’t... but I’ve seen it before.

This house, I know it.

The man, he opens the door.

Even when he does, the man makes hardly a sound.

The man is cautious, and more than anything, he’s experienced.

When the door opens, I hear sounds.

Warm sounds.

Chop, chop, chop! Something is being cut up, likely vegetable. Yes, that’s right, with a knife.

This room has an interconnected kitchen, living room, and dining room.

In the living room, there’s a well-used sofa, a table that becomes a kotatsu in the winter, a TV, a TV stand, and a cabinet.

There are figures of characters, and bowls with images printed in them left here and there, and a number of photos on display. Those photos, none of them are new.

In the dining room is the dining room table and four chairs. A cupboard. It’s not a big room. If anything, it’s painfully small. The flowers in the small vase in the corner of the dining room table are not fresh, they’re dried flowers. Poinsettias, if I recall.

The kitchen faces onto the dining room, and a woman wearing an apron is cooking. Preparing a late dinner, probably.

The woman hasn’t noticed the man yet.

Hurry.

Notice.

Hurry.

This is bad. If you don’t hurry up and notice, something terrible will happen.

I want to warn her. I would if I could. But I can’t. I can only watch.

The woman’s hand on the knife stops. She lays down the knife, and turns away.

She opens the refrigerator. Takes out something. She lays it on the food preparation area, and though I can’t see it from here, she must have a pot on the element, and she takes the lid off it.

The woman finally realizes something. As if thinking, Oh, is someone here?

The man has already entered the dining room.

Seeing him, the woman raises her voice. “Ah!” The woman is shocked, and frightened. Well, of course.

The man is awfully big, he’s a giant, and though I haven’t seen his face, I doubt it’s pretty. He must be hideous.

Besides, the man has a butcher’s knife in his hands. He’s not just holding it, but keeping it a chest level, ready to use at any time.

“Nooo, noooooo, stoooooop!” the woman screams.

Backing away, she runs into the shelf behind her, causing the rice cooker, mixer, and coffee maker to shake.

The man is unbothered by this, and he invades the kitchen. The rice cooker, mixer, and coffee maker get caught on the woman’s arm, falling over as she flees.

In no time, she is cornered in the deepest point of the kitchen, next to the refrigerator.

The man does horrible things to the woman who is sitting on the floor, her back pressed up against the wall.

First, he uses the butcher’s knife to — the woman’s —. Next, he — to her —, and then he ties the woman’s — which he — around his neck.

Still, the woman is breathing. Why is that, you might ask? But the man was careful with his work to make sure she didn’t expire.

Each time the woman screams, the man goes, Shhh, shhh! as if silencing her.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Be quiet.

If you’re noisy, it makes my work harder.

You understand, right? Pipe down. Don’t make a racket.

From the woman’s perspective, she has no reason to listen to the man, and she could probably stand to defy him, but each time, Shh, shh! Those vile, abrasive sounds come from between the man’s teeth, she obediently shuts her mouth, and nods her head.

He does this cruel thing, puts her in incredible pain, making her scream because she can’t hold it in, but when he silences her with his, shh, shh, the woman obeys him, as if that were her nature. Like a machine, created to always respond in a fixed way to a certain signal.

Many times the woman closes her mouth, nodding, and eventually, whether from pain or blood loss, she finally faints. When she does, the man’s work is done at last. Immediately, he stabs her once through the heart, ensuring she will never wake again.

What in the world is with him? Who exactly is this man? It’s hard to see him as a person. Not just because of what he’s done. With his woolen mittens, his butcher’s knife, and especially his muscular upper body, with biceps that are unnaturally swollen, and a chest which is too thick, there’s something strange about him.

I don’t know the man’s face. That’s suspicious, and strange.

I feel sick.

How could he kill her?

Yes, I know this woman. The woman who, though I wouldn’t say she’s unrecognizable now, has been broken into a lot of parts, and is lying in a lake of blood, other fluids, some sort of jelly-like substance, and a collection of squishy bits.

I know her as well as I know this house.

The man killed her.

Was that not enough for him?

The man wipes the blade of his butcher’s knife on the hem of his soaked coat, and leaves the kitchen. He walks like before, his footfalls making no sound. Despite that, the man is humming.

It’s a song, one I’ve heard somewhere before.

I’ve heard it once, or perhaps many times before, a long time ago, somewhere other that isn’t here.

I don’t know the title, and I hardly recall the lyrics. Maybe it was a hit a long time ago. It could have been a popular song. Whatever the case, the chorus is stuck in my head, and I can’t get it out.

The man repeats the chorus again and again, humming to himself, as he returns from the dining room to the living room, and then passes through the open door to proceed down the hallway.

The man stops.

He slowly, quietly opens the door on our right. Blood sticks to the doorknob.

The room is dark. There’s a bed. There’s a mirror stand. There’s a bookshelf. It’s a bedroom. No one is here.

The man closes the door slightly, but not fully, leaving it that way as he keeps walking.

...No.

There’s another door ahead on the right.

...Not there.

This hall.

That living room, dining room, and kitchen.

I know this room.

The man stops humming and reaches for the doorknob.

...Stop.

He turns the doorknob.

...Stop it, please.

There’s a click, and the knob stops turning. The man slowly opened the door.

The lights are on. There aren’t many things, but it’s not pretty. There’s just a closet, desk, chair, and bed for furniture, with towels, clothes, scraps of paper, and notebooks scattered around at random. No one comes into this room but family, or rather her mother, the lady the man just killed.

“My mom’s always nagging me to clean up,” she once said when I came here before, to return something I’d borrowed.

“Well, yeah, looking at it, I can understand,” I remember having answered.

“You’re saying it’s dirty?” she asked.

“No, I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re thinking it, though.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“It cleans up quick,” she said, quickly moving the many things off to the side, piling them in the corner of the room.

When she did that, if I just ignored that one corner, it wasn’t impossible to say it looked clean.

“I can do it if I try,” she said, sounding a little proud.

It was so funny, I couldn’t help but laugh.

That made her mad. “What?” she said, and punched me in the shoulder. Just lightly, though.

That’s her, lying in bed, curled up a little.

Her eyes, they’re not closed.

She’s not sleeping, but she still hasn’t noticed the unfamiliar man creeping into her room.

That because she’s wearing noise-canceling earphones as she watches videos on her smartphone.

Stop it. Please.

The man silently creeps towards her.

I can hear the sound leaking from her earphones, though just faintly.

Finally, it seems the man, or probably his leg, has entered her sight, because she gulps and her whole body trembles. Pulling the earphone out of her right ear, she seems to jump straight up. Her eyes go wide, and she looks at the man.

“What?!”

Then, I think she was probably about to let out a high-pitched scream, but the man reaches out with his left hand, the hand wearing a mitten soaked in the blood of her mother, and he covers her mouth.

The man has big hands. Mittens big enough to fit those hands are probably hard to buy, so maybe it’s hand woven. That’s why it covers her mouth so easily.

The bloodstained mitten on the man’s left hand fits snugly over the lower half of her face. When compared to the man’s hand, her head is much too small. Thanks to that, she seems fake. Her head looks like a toy.

...Stop.

If the mood took him, and the man decided to crush her head, it probably wouldn’t be impossible for him to do it.

He could do it, I think.

...No.

She’s screaming something, and crying.

Shh, shh! The man shushes her like before.

Unlike her mother, however, she does not stop screaming.

It’s easy to imagine what the man is about to do. I want to stop him. To cling to him, to beg, to make the man reconsider.

Please. I’m begging you. Please.

That’s Choco.

Choco uses both arms to try and tear the man’s left hand off her, but it doesn’t budge. The man is very strong.

No...

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

Shh, shh, the man orders Choco to silence herself, to be quiet, raising the butcher’s knife, and swinging it down.

Into Choco’s left shoulder the butcher’s knife goes. Almost as if it was welcoming it. Like it was saying, Please, come inside me, as deep as you like. It’s okay to come in.

The man’s butcher’s knife easily cleaves through Choco’s clothes, her skin, her flesh, and even her collarbone. Deeply, and without restraint, it enters her.

Choco’s cries become louder, more frantic. The man smothers them, though not perfectly, with his left hand and its bloodstained mitten.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! Choco is shouting.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

The man turns his head to the side.

He won’t stop.

He won’t stop.

He won’t stop.

He won’t stop.

No way will he stop.

Shh, shh! The man lets out that harsh sound, pulling the knife out of Choco temporarily. This time he takes a horizontal swing, slamming it into Choco’s side.

Choco screams and howls in pain.

When he pulls the butcher’s knife free again, the wound is open, and from inside something, it looks like a hose, her entrails, pour out. From the wound in Choco’s left shoulder, there’s a spray of blood. Choco’s eyes, they’re halfway rolled back into her head.

Shh, shh! the man shushes her. This time he isn’t telling her to be silent. Hey, hey, don’t pass out, not yet, I’m not done, hang in there, he’s encouraging her. More. There’s more to come. The man pulls the butcher’s knife out of Choco, then stabs it into her. Meanwhile, the man’s mittened hand covers her mouth the whole time, holding her head and keeping her in place.

If he doesn’t, it’s not clear that Choco’s still conscious at this point, but at the very least, she’d slump over, collapsing on the bed stained with her blood, entrails, and their contents. In order to prevent that, the man holds his prey, like he might up an anglerfish to fillet it, supporting Choco with just his left hand.

Keeping her suspended, he cuts up his prey, Choco, sometimes shaving off a piece of flesh, and wounding her however he likes. This is worse than defiling her.

You’re not human. You monster. How could you do this?

Stop. Stop it.

But it’s too late. Much too late.

Choco’s already...

Who are you?

What are you?

The man turns.

At last, I see his face.

The man, his identity is...

Me.

The man has the same face as me.

Without everyone, I’m...

“I’m so uneasy... I can’t help myself...” he whispered. “My comrades, they’re gone. I don’t know if they’re safe. I want to think they are... but I can’t. I just can’t. It may be no good. This time... this may be it. No way. Am I... all alone now?”

“You have me, don’t you?” Alice asked.

“Oh, yeah. You’re here. You... I can’t tell if you’re kind, or cruel.”

“The thing about me is, I can be kind at times, and cruel at others.”

At some point, things outside settled.

It was tight inside, and hard to breathe, but warm.

Who and what was Alice C?

“First, we need to find a place to settle down,” Alice said, making many ripples.

“I want to search for my comrades,” Haruhiro said.

“I heard that. You want my help, too, I’m sure. Well, honestly, I doubt they’re alive, and searching for people here isn’t simple.”

“You said it’s a matter of whether we do a thing or don’t, Alice. That being the case, I’ll do it.”

“‘My comrades. Everyone. Everyone. My comrades.’ That’s all you ever say. If your comrades told you to go die, would you do it?”

“If that were the best option.”

“Plenty of guys who’d say that are all talk, but you might actually go and do it.”

“I don’t say things I don’t think.”

“If I help you, what’s in it for me?” Alice demanded.

“Ahiru has a goal, you said. What about you? You just want to get stronger?”

He got ignored again. Alice probably didn’t want to say.

“If you help me, I’ll help you in equal measure,” Haruhiro said at last.

“You?” Alice laughed out loud.

It didn’t even offend him that much.

Alice had said that anyone could use magic in Parano. But Haruhiro had yet to discover his magic. Alice was probably thinking, What can you even do?

“You can decide whether I’m of any use later,” Haruhiro answered.

“No, Haruhiro, I don’t think you’re useless. You were a thief, right? It sounds like something out of a game, but you can use those skills here, can’t you?”

“A game?”

“They show up in RPGs and the like, don’t they? Thief characters. They’re fast, and steal items. Well, I was never into games much. But it’s not like I’ve never played one.”

“I don’t... really know, but if I can avoid panicking, those... Did you call them dream monsters? I think it’s not impossible for me to fight monsters like those.”

“It’ll be up to your magic, I guess. If all you can manage is common dream monsters, there’s a crazy guy out there you won’t stand a chance against.”

Was that “crazy guy” the king?

The clear surface that was not actually a lake was now completely covered in ripples.

In the smoky distance, he could vaguely make out something like a pillar that reached up to the polka dot sky.

“That’s... the Iron Tower of Heaven?” he asked slowly.

“Yep. Think of it as Parano’s navel. If you use the Iron Tower of Heaven as a point of reference, along with things like which direction you need to go in to get to which ruin, you can figure out relative locations that way.”

Just how much longer would they have to walk to reach the Iron Tower of Heaven? He wanted to ask, but he refrained. He could more or less guess the answer on his own. In Parano, thinking about time, or how much longer something would be, was meaningless.

“So, dream monsters, they’re not that common, huh?” he asked.

“It’s my fault. The weak ones get scared, and run off. It’s different when a star falls and everything goes wild, though.”

“You’re famous?” Haruhiro questioned.

Alice shrugged. “I’ll bet that dream monsters can sense ego. They don’t have any themselves—they can’t—but they want it, so they attack people. But when an ego is too strong, it becomes threatening to the dream monsters.”

“When you kill dream monsters... you can steal their ego?” Haruhiro asked.

“Id.”

“You can steal that, and get stronger?”

“It’s not that you’ll get stronger. Your magic becomes stronger.”

It seemed it was the nature of ego and id to fluctuate in order to balance each other out.

If Alice had an ego of 100, Alice’s id would settle at around 100. The opposite was also true. If Alice killed a dream monster with 10 id, Alice would go up to 110 id. From there, Alice’s ego would automatically get stronger until it approached 110. It wouldn’t happen all at once, but grow gradually.

“If my ego were... let’s say 10, would my id be 10, too?” Haruhiro asked.

“More or less, yeah.”

“So if I kill a monster with 10 id, my id will become 20, and my ego will increase to 20, too.”

“That would be the hope.”

Alice was being evasive. Were his calculations off? No matter how he thought about it, ten plus ten was twenty, but maybe not in Parano.

When they reached the edge of the land of ripples, they came to a place with sand that could only be described as pure blue. Here and there, there were yellow, mushroom-like things with their caps spread out. Were they mushrooms?

When the two of them got closer, the yellow things were two meters across, and looked like turtles carrying mushrooms on their backs. They didn’t move, and were hard as rock to the touch.

They were really bizarre, but not particularly surprising. Parano had lots of strange things. Or rather, it was full of nothing but strange things.

“I have to find my magic...” Haruhiro muttered.

“I survived because I had my shovel,” Alice agreed. “Hup!”

And Alice jumped on top of one of the yellow mushrooms that was not in fact a mushroom.

“In that moment, at least, this shovel was all I could rely on. Only my shovel. One way of thinking about it is that something like that may have a possibility of becoming your magic, and...”

“...It might not?” Haruhiro finished.

“Why do you think the dream monster you gave birth to took that form?”

“That’s... I wonder. I feel like I had a dream, but I hardly remember it.”

“That’s how it goes. Even if we’re able to convince ourselves that something’s the answer, it’s awfully hard to find absolute proof.”

In the blue sand where the yellow mushrooms that were not mushrooms were scattered around, the two of them walked, and walked, and walked.

It all seemed like a made-up story. Even when it came to events that were carved into his head and heart, the moment Haruhiro stopped being able to feel they had actually happened, they fell to pieces and slipped through the gaps in his fingers.

Without the other person known as Alice C, even if he had survived, his sense of reality would have weakened, vanished, and he might have lost all his memories.

At some point, the number of mushrooms that were not mushrooms increased to the point that they blotted out the surface, making it impossible to see the sand.

The tops of the mushrooms that were not mushrooms were slippery, making it hard to walk, but the two of them had to press onward.

Suddenly, he felt hungry. His guts were wriggling in search of food. Despite that, his stomach didn’t growl.

His throat was dry. He wanted something to drink. He didn’t know why, but there was a pain in the back of his eye.

“Water,” Haruhiro gasped. “Something to eat...”

“Didn’t I tell you this the first time? Even if you don’t eat or drink, you won’t die. It’s been a long time since I’ve put anything in my mouth.”

“But it’s driving my crazy.”

“Why not drink your own spit?”

Haruhiro decided to try that. He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but if he didn’t drink something, spit or otherwise, this was going to get out of hand.

The garden of yellow mushrooms that were not mushrooms was suddenly replaced by rugged, gray rocks. The rocks had countless little horsetail-like things growing off of them. They’d be edible, wouldn’t they?

He plucked a few, and when he went to toss them in his mouth, he realized Alice was watching him, and stopped.

When he squeezed the small pseudo-horsetails, a golden yellow fluid came out, and it stank like it was rotten. The fact that he still felt an urge to lick it was, he had to admit, terrifying.

The rocks rose and fell, and they found them going down when they tried to climb and going up when they were trying to descend.

When he turned upwards on an impulse, there was no sky. Turning to his right, he saw the sky there. It was like he was walking on a wall, but he didn’t fall.

It wasn’t like that all the time. The ground formed a gentle spiral, with the sky above sometimes, below at others, sometimes to the left, and sometimes to the right.

Occasionally his hunger and thirst made a comeback. He often resented Alice for being perfectly fine with this state.

Hunger and thirst stirred up the heart. Because of that, he tried to extinguish his frustration and hatred. It worked sometimes, and didn’t others.

He was finally starting to be able to see the Iron Tower of Heaven clearly.

“It’s like a radio tower, isn’t it?” Alice said. “Too big and too tall, though.”

Alice was saying things that he felt like he understood, but maybe didn’t. Regardless, the Iron Tower of Heaven, true to its name, was assembled from iron materials, and was a grand structure that seemed to reach up to the heavens.

Looking at it from the spiral hill, it wasn’t just the tower itself that was iron, but the area around it, too. There were tens—no, hundreds—of ten-meter rusty iron walls surrounding the tower.

The iron walls had gates with iron bar doors. When they went through one gate, another iron wall stood in their way on the other side. They followed the wall, and there was another gate. They went through the gate, and then followed the wall again.

There was a gate. They went through it, following the wall.

This repeated for a long time.

“I remember the path, but if I didn’t, we’d get lost,” Alice said. “There are a lot of dead ends.”

“It’s practically a maze.”

“That this place doesn’t change is its one saving grace. If it changed every time, we’d have to go by trial and error.”

Slowly but surely, he was becoming more able to cope with the hunger and thirst. In place of those discomforts, or maybe not, his longing for his comrades grew stronger and stronger.

Whenever it got to be too much, he asked Alice for permission, and then screamed his head off while rolling around.

Alice didn’t say, Are you an idiot? or What are you doing? or anything like that.

When they were through the iron maze, there was a mountain of old iron scraps piled up, and on top of them, the Iron Tower of Heaven rose into the sky.

The Iron Tower of Heaven had an external set of stairs. It was just an iron frame with steps about a meter wide and no hand rail, so it would have been tough on someone with a fear of heights.

The steps were made of iron, and thin enough that they warped a little if you stepped down on them hard. The whole set of stairs shook a little, too.

When they had gone up about a hundred meters or so, the stairs stopped. There was a ladder. A long ladder. It had to be fifty meters, at a minimum.

The wind picked up, and it tasted sweet even through the mask. He was a little scared, but he somehow made it up the ladder, and then there were more stairs to climb.

He climbed stairs, climbed a ladder, climbed stairs. Climbed a ladder, climbed stairs.

Alice came to a stop at a landing on the stairs.

It was a strange landing. If one were to name this landing, it would probably be for the statue of a man, sitting with his legs over the edge of the landing.

Was this statue iron, too? Or had it been made just by packing rust together? It seemed like it could have been. That was how rusty it was.

The man was medium weight, medium height, and in his twenties or thirties. His hands were on his thighs, and he seemed to look off into the distance.

Bam! Alice whacked the statue in the head.

“When something’s here too long, this happens.”

“What happens?” Haruhiro asked hesitantly.

“It rusts. Yes, humans do, too.”

“Then this guy was...”

“Before he rusted, he was living and breathing.”

“Someone you knew?”

“He’s been here whenever I’ve come, you know. Rusting a little at a time. I warned him he was in trouble, but he insisted it was fine, so... he got what he wished for.”

The man, of course, didn’t move a muscle. Was he still alive? He didn’t look it. But this was Parano. It might be that even with his whole body turned to rust, he wasn’t dead.

“We can’t stay here long,” Alice said. “If you’re fine with rusting, it’s another matter, though.”

“It’s dangerous, you mean?”

“You’ll be fine if you don’t stay. I’ve come several times, and even gone up higher, but I haven’t rusted.”

“Whether we’re here a long time or a short one, this is Parano. I thought time didn’t matter...”

“It shouldn’t, no. But the fact of the matter is, he’s turned to rust, hasn’t he?” Alice said, patting the man on the head. Then Alice pointed in the direction the man was looking.

The majority of the ground was covered in a milky white haze. It was like a sea of clouds. However, there were places dotted around where the terrain was exposed.

When he looked in the direction Alice was pointing, were those flowers, maybe?

There were flowers of many colors blossoming.

“That’s Ruin No. 2,” said Alice. “Or it used to be. Bayard Garden. I’ll be going there to play next.”

Alice started descending the steps they had climbed with light steps.

Before chasing after her, Haruhiro tried touching the rusted man’s cheek. It was cold. The rust got on his fingers.

While he rubbed his fingers together to get the rust off, he muttered, “I will find my comrades” to himself repeatedly.

And in order to do that, he needed Alice. That was why he’d follow for now.

He was just buying time, right? He didn’t really want to search, did he? He was afraid to search for his comrades, and afraid to be forced to accept the results. This was just him putting that off, wasn’t it?

Besides, even if he looked around for them, he might never find a thing.

He felt his knees going weak. He nearly ended up crouching.

Alice was going down the stairs. They’d be out of sight soon.

He was struck by an urge to sit down next to the man.

Of course, he wouldn’t do it.

Not for now, at least.

Afterword

Now then, Grimgar of Fantasy and Ash is on its 13th volume now.

Writing it, there were times I went, Oh, I see, so that’s what’s going to happen, but I wonder how the next one will turn out.

That’s one thing I just can’t know until I write it. I’m hoping what happens afterwards isn’t too terrible, because no matter what it is, I’m the one who has to write it, after all.

By the way, there was a special version of this book with a drama CD that released at the same time, and I wrote the script for it.

From the beginning, I wanted to have Director Ryosuke Nakamura of the Grimgar of Fantasy and Ash anime be the audio director for it, so I made it a story that took both the anime and novel into consideration.

Director Nakamura’s Grimgar really distilled the essence of Grimgar, and I felt, “This is Grimgar,” watching it, but there were also parts that were different from my Grimgar.

Director Nakamura has the sense, technique, and talent that I lack, and he portrayed a Grimgar I couldn’t have in the anime.

I wanted to try writing a script that took advantage of that, and I personally had a great desire to hear a drama CD directed by Director Nakamura and featuring the cast of the anime.

While writing this afterword, I’ve yet to hear the final product, but I was able to be there for recording, so I have a vision of what it will sound like. Without a doubt, it will be something incredible. The members of the cast were really enjoying their acting, and they told me the script was good.

I think they weren’t just being polite, probably. If you’re interested, please listen to it. For fans of the anime in particular, you’ll be missing out if you don’t.

Ever since getting involved in production of the anime, I’ve had more opportunities to work together with many people to create something together. I like the work of a novelist, in which I can create a nearly complete work all by myself, but this showed me once again how I have only been able to continue doing that because of the support of a variety of people.

These days where, by borrowing the power of others, I can climb mountains I couldn’t have otherwise, and see new vistas, are highly stimulating.

I think I will be able to use this experience in my main profession as an author, so look forward to the next volume, when Haruhiro and the others go wild... or maybe don’t... in the other world.

To my editor, Harada-san, to Eiri Shirai-san, to the designers of KOMEWORKS among others, to everyone involved in production and sales of this book, and finally to all of you people now holding this book, I offer my heartfelt appreciation and all of my love. Now, I lay down my pen for today.

I hope we will meet again.

Ao Jyumonji

Bonus Short Stories

Scene #8: Curly and Silver

Ranta sighed with his head down on his desk. “I dunno...”

“Wh-What’s up, Ranta-kun?” Monzo asked from the seat beside him, but Ranta stayed quiet for a moment.

Monzo started mumbling. “U-Umm...”

Tired of keeping his mouth shut, Ranta turned to Monzo. “Listen, man...”

“Huh? Uh, sure.”

“Don’t you have something?”

“Wh-What?”

“Like a clever saying, or a little story that’ll grab my attention. Or you could play stupid, so I can be the straight man.”

“Oh, no... I’m not good at that kind of stuff...”

“Yeah, that figures. You’re kind of boring, man. But a good guy. It pisses me off that your cousin, your childhood friend, and even your little sister are all cute, though.”

“Hm? Hmm, well, uh, my sister doesn’t look like me, so I guess she is cute...”

“Now you’re bragging?!”

“Huh? No, she’s my little sister. I may be seeing her in a better light because of that...”

“Nah, you’ve got it right. I think she’s plenty cute. Your sister, I mean. Like, isn’t she gonna get even cuter? When she grows up a bit, those boobs’ll grow, too.”

“...I’ll kill you.”

“Huh?”

“If you look at my sister funny, friend or not, you’re dead!”

Monzo was shouting awfully loudly. No, it wasn’t just his voice. Monzo’s face was a mask of rage.

The classroom was silent. Well, of course it was. People thought of Monzo as a quiet guy. Ranta, too. Monzo sometimes got oddly worked up about food, but he was by and large a gentle giant.

Who knew he’d be so scary if you got him mad?

Ranta swallowed. “You made me piss myself a bit there.”

“O-Ohhh! S-Sorry. Wh-When it comes to my sister, I lose my senses a bit.”

“You made me piss myself! I’m not sure how that’s just ‘a bit’! You really lost it!”

“You really... wet yourself?”

“Just a little, okay?!”

“O-Oh... Do you have a change of underwear?”

“I told you, it’s just a little! Less than a milliliter, I’ll bet! Look, man, we’re weirding everyone out, okay?! This is your fault, Moguzo!”

“S-Sorry...” Monzo shrunk into himself as if trying to make his big body as small as possible. No, even doing that, he still wasn’t small.

“Pfft...” Ranta burst out laughing despite himself.

“Huh?! Wh-What?!”

“Nah, it’s nothing.”

“B-But you laughed...”

“It was just a little funny. Tickled my funny bone just a bit. Not hard, mind you. Listen, man, if you could just pull off the funny man act a little more naturally...”

“F-Funny man? Like, in a comedy routine?”

“That’s it. That’s the one I’m talking about. Okay? Lately, I’ve been thinking. I wanna live as fun a life as I can. So, the natural conclusion is that I should be a celebrity, right? Girls dig celebrities.”

“They... do?”

“If I were famous, with my looks, they’d be all over me. It’d be something else. Seriously, seriously.”

“Uh, yeah... Well, I g-guess... Maybe...”

“You’re not up to it, though. You can’t be the funny man or the straight man. I mean, I’m obviously the straight man. So my partner needs to be a funny man. The natural dunce type, the weirdo who doesn’t fit into society, or the clever guy who can play the fool... I’m gonna go hit the washroom. Gotta check out the state of my pants, after all.”

“Oh. S-See you later...”

Ranta left the classroom and headed for the washroom. Focusing on his somewhat damp crotch as he walked, he almost bumped into someone.

“Whoa, sorr—” He started to apologize, but when he saw who he’d nearly walked into, they were tall, with silver hair. “Eep!”

“Huh?” the guy asked.

“Ohhhh, no, no, no! I-I-I-I-I-It’s nothing! Forgive me!”

Ranta was about to perform a kowtow, but if he did, he had the feeling the guy would stomp the back of his head, killing him instantly. He took off running.

“Th-That was Renji! Damn, he’s scary!”

Why did I have to run into Tanaka Renji, the terror of the school, of all people? Like, wasn’t it bizarre that guy was the same age as them with the aura he gave off? He had to be over twenty. He had way too much of an intensity that transcended his age.

“Aw, crap. I think I wet myself again!”

At this point, neither of them could ever have predicted that, one day, they would form the comedy duo “Curly and Silver.”

Scene #9: A Man’s Journey

It happened one day after school, not long after they were first admitted.

“Hey, hold on, Tanaka,” their homeroom teacher called on him, apparently with something to discuss.

Renji sensed it was a rude way of addressing him. But he couldn’t snap at the guy. He just responded to rude with rude. That was all. “Yeah?”

“Uh... No... It’s... nothing... I’m sorry.” The teacher sounded more and more hesitant, and then finally he vanished on his own, beating a hasty retreat.

The lively classroom fell into an uneasy silence. When Renji looked around, people looked tense, and his classmates recoiled from him. Even Renji got irritated by this.

What’s their problem? he thought. Then, despite himself, he clicked his tongue. One of the girls started to cry.

Deep down, Renji was surprised, but he knew asking her “What’s wrong?” would backfire. He hadn’t done anything that merited an apology, either, as far as he was concerned. So Renji left the classroom.

From then on, as it had always been, Tanaka Renji was alone.

It wasn’t that Renji favored solitude; he simply didn’t abhor it. He hated fools. More than anything, he couldn’t stand those who got in his way. If he had to force himself to fit in, he’d rather be by himself.

He wasn’t going out of his way to intimidate others. He just wouldn’t butter people up, pander to them, or try to ingratiate himself to them.

He did not abhor solitude.

However, he was aware that his heart was frayed.

Why am I so frustrated? he wondered.

If he took out his anger on something, that might be a temporary solution, but the ugliness of that act would leave him sore. The memory of having done something so foolish would follow and torment Renji.

While he was feeling depressed, a path opened in front of Renji. Whenever Renji walked the halls, the students parted left and right to clear his way.

“Am I Moses now...?” he whispered.

Those words tickled his funny bone in a weird way, and he nearly burst out laughing despite himself. They came back to him again and again in class, and every time, he came close to laughing.

Damn, it was annoying. If he started laughing in the middle of class because he remembered something, he’d look like a total weirdo. He managed to hold it in somehow, but he reached his limit once he was back home and alone in his room.

He laughed so hard that his face became a mess of snot and tears, and his sides felt like they were about to burst.

When the impulse to laugh finally faded, he felt better than he ever had before.

“Is this it?” he wondered. “What I was looking for?”

Laughter.

No, comedy.

From that day on, he spent a lot of time searching the web for manzai comedy and comedic skits. He checked out all the comedy programs on TV. If he caught wind that a comedian on his radar was doing a live show, he got tickets and transportation to go see it. He even started working harder at his part-time job to do it. When something struck him as funny, he’d jot it down, and read it over and over. He only read the lines out loud at first, but eventually he started doing imitations, as well.

“I could write my own material, couldn’t I?” Renji wondered.

Renji had no end of respect for the comedians who were able to repeatedly hit his funny bone. That was why he wasn’t conceited enough to think he could write funnier stuff than they had. However, he didn’t just want to enjoy the work of others, he wanted to analyze it. To see what was funny, why, and how. As he did that, he naturally came to his own theory of comedy. Was it right, though? He wanted to test it.

Renji wrote material. Skits and manzai. He swore to himself he’d write at least one thing a day, and sometimes even stayed up all night writing.

It felt right. He might not be on the level of the comedians he admired, but it was still decently funny stuff. At the very least, he thought his own jokes were funny. Even if it was him performing them, they were funny. But would they get a laugh out of others? He wanted to test it. But how? Was he going to perform on the street? That would be embarrassing. Intensely. Still, though.

I want to try it.

He couldn’t deny he had that desire. If he went to a faraway town, one where he was unlikely to encounter his classmates, family, or relatives, just maybe...

There was one problem.

The majority of the comedians he respected were duos, so all of Renji’s material was meant to be performed with a partner. There was no way he could play both the funny man and straight man.

“A partner...” he murmured.

Renji Tanaka’s journey had only just begun.