Light seeped across her face. Black hair mingled with the glow, and behind her another Esther appeared.
Only, that Esther was formed of line and shadow, entirely dark, so one could only call it a shadow.
Yet even the shadow of a beauty seemed different, as though it were a work of art drawn with graceful lines.
"Feels like someone's going to come looking for me."
Esther spoke.
"Who?"
"Those lost in Oedo—heresy—who've devoured themselves with truth. Beasts who believe themselves superior to all while trapped in a well of foolishness."
Lofty words. But fitting enough for the ones so called. Enkrid blinked once and answered.
"You mean some addled mage or witch is coming?"
Enkrid's way of distilling the situation was always masterful. After a short pause, Esther let out a faint laugh. Her blue eyes curved pleasantly. For those kinds, his words weren't wrong.
"Yes."
The witch who had once been a leopard nodded. Danger approached, and it was aimed solely at her.
'Unnecessary danger.'
A threat that would dog her all her life, but not him. Was there any reason he should have to shoulder this risk?
Should she heap another burden onto the man already standing beside the Devil's lackey?
In a similar situation, Shinar had gone alone, almost becoming the Demon's bride.
Addled mages and witches—they were all the more dangerous when one of them became obsessed with a single thing.
That was what they were.
Lost in heresy, believing the truth they clung to was the only truth.
Through Fantasia, through the experience of illusion, Esther had built a new world of spells. Even so, she judged them threatening.
Esther could have drawn all this danger away from Enkrid and ended it. All she had to do was leave the Border Guard.
The golden sunset shone on the face of the man with eyes of a similar hue. Esther's gaze did not leave that face. Orange and gold in harmony made his features shine brighter than usual.
'A face eight out of ten city women would fall for.'
Esther still knew of the letters noble ladies sent to him. If they saw this face now, all of it would feel inevitable.
That Enkrid, watching the golden sunset, turned his gaze to meet Esther's and said,
"Yeah. I'll fight with you."
A short, firm, steadfast reply. Words without room for debate.
"What?"
Esther asked back.
"Wasn't that what you were about to say?"
Enkrid's eyes stayed on the golden sunset.
"Yes."
Esther wasn't flustered. She didn't argue. She simply agreed.
She already had the answer when he asked if she was behind him.
If she left the Border Guard alone, she could face those lost in heresy. But it would take a very long time.
In that time, she would have to leave this man's side. Esther now knew what she desired.
'Not someone who stands and walks alone.'
As her teacher had looked at the stars, Esther sought those who would embroider her life. People. Friends. Acquaintances.
There were those who watched her and learned spells, and merchants who handed her marmalade with a humble smile.
They had all become her purpose.
Spells were only the means, never the end.
The man who once dreamed of becoming a knight had become one, yet did not stop.
For what he sought was not to be a knight, but something that could only be achieved by being one.
'That doesn't mean studying spells isn't fun'.
To study magic didn't mean you had to shut yourself off from the world.
There was no law that said you must hole up in a chamber or hide in a hut in the woods.
Mages were linked to two disasters.
One, they summoned the Devil known as the Father of the Dead. The other, they loosed the flame-beast called Salamander.
It was the Demon Sanctuary Church that led the summoning of the flame-beast, but surely spellcasters had a hand in it.
That history drove them into hiding.
"Burn them."
There was even a time when it was a fad to burn witches and mages at the stake.
Of course, anyone who was truly an Observer wouldn't have been so easily caught, so all the more innocent people died instead.
Esther thought,
'There's no need to walk the same path as everyone else.'
The philosophies born of the experiences of mages and witches of past ages no longer held meaning for her.
'Handling the world of spells is fun.'
The pursuit of knowledge, the discovery of something new—these gave her a thrilling joy.
She did enjoy the act of handling spells, but she kept means as means. Therefore she didn't hesitate to keep walking toward what she truly desired.
The two of them stood side by side, watching the setting sun. The colors of twilight shifted—violet mixing in, orange streaking across, touching their faces.
"What are the two of you doing?"
And then the fairy came.
She appeared suddenly and said it just like that, though why it made one want to laugh was unclear. Shinar, coming with nimble steps. When Enkrid laughed, she spoke again in her calm tone.
"Feels like watching a fiancé patching over some trouble with a smile."
A fairy who could not tell lies knew how to twist truth. Her words meant she distorted what she saw with her eyes, presenting it as truth.
"How's your body?"
The final kick that slew Balrog had been hers.
"I'm all healed now. If you like, I can prove it to you in bed."
The joke's pitch rose higher. Enkrid laughed as he heard it.
And so the sun set. Gold turned orange, pale violet deepened, then shifted into navy.
After the sun vanished, Rem brought out some precious liquor from who-knows-where and set up a drinking bout.
For whatever reason, everyone gathered to take part.
"A celebration of my return, is it?"
Shinar said.
"What the hell you on about? You hit your head or something?"
Rem fired back, and Kraiss, saying he'd prepared barbecue, began roasting a whole pig marinated in spices.
"Let me tell you the life story of the West's most handsome man."
Downing drink after drink, Rem spun a tale woven of imagination. Enkrid listened closely. A story was always entertaining to him. No matter how far-fetched, he was the kind of man who found enjoyment inside it.
Jaxon chuckled faintly at Rem's words. The real ones always stayed composed.
"Forgive me for saying so, but the God of War is lenient with love, and never commanded us to spurn those who approach."
Audin broke in then, bringing up something from his youth.
"Is this the story of when you met the she-bear?"
Pel, cheeks flushed, asked as though he'd brought the strongest liquor. Enkrid stared at his face for a moment.
A face he might never see again after today.
Just earlier, Pel had spoken the same way as Rem. That was the kind of offense that could get your head lopped off straight away.
"Are you saying you want to go stand by the Lord's side, brother?"
At Audin's words, Pel blinked. For a moment, he seemed sobered.
"Ah, that's not what I meant."
Seeing it, Rem snickered, meaning: admit it was a beastwoman.
Audin swung a knife-hand, and Rem caught it barehanded. Just horseplay.
The liquor wasn't ordinary liquor either. Everyone was getting drunk.
"They say if you drink this every day, you die."
Rem waved a hand in midair as he spoke, referring to the drink he'd brought.
"Hoo! Anxiety? Worry? That's not me, eh? Let all those Devil bastards come! I'll kill 'em! I will!"
Even Kraiss was drunk. Enkrid silently took it in.
"Shall I sing a song? Come, clean your ears and listen."
Suddenly Teresa stood and began to sing. Her bare arms showed their muscle.
By blood, she was half-giant. With those arms and fists she could strike down an opponent, strong enough to serve as instruments.
Yet her voice was nothing but pleasant to hear. Raspy and rough, yet clear.
A double-toned voice, one might say.
It brought to mind the founding liquor. The best spirits were rich yet subtle.
Her voice was like that.
The song Teresa sang was called "Wandering Jack." The lyrics differed from place to place, but it was sung across the continent.
It told the tale of a fellow named Jack, who found true love and settled down.
Her voice spread softly, unwinding tension across their bodies, leaving them slack. Audin said it was sacred chant, didn't he?
She had, while drunk, expended her divinity. Just listening to that song shed some of the fatigue lodged in their bodies.
Showing off even in drunkenness.
"Why are you all such lightweights?"
Lawford shook his head, took off his shoes, then folded his pants and lay down in a corner of the drill yard to sleep.
"And why is everyone doing this in front of someone else's room?"
He clicked his tongue and lay down. Muttered that the ground felt as soft as a bed. Then promptly fell asleep.
No one stopped him.
There was no one to stop him.
Ragna, sipping steadily, had already passed out.
Even for Enkrid, born with a drinker's constitution, the liquor was enough to make his head swim.
Though the sunset was gone, the starlight shone bright. Under moon and stars, Esther warded off night insects with a spell.
Shinar, drunk, declared her ambition to bear no more than twenty children.
Luagarne dug into the ground and lay down in it.
"Feels good."
She seemed to enjoy the damp rising from the earth.
The Devil's lackey had come. Yet everyone was the same. Enkrid was no fool. Nor was he ignoring the situation.
Beyond the waystation, something greater had already greeted him.
In the Demon Realm, Devils awaited. Across the continent, threats still bristled.
Enemies that couldn't even be compared to the Black Blade bandits or a colony of gnolls.
Naurillia faced the South, that greedy foe. The tricks southern spies had played in the capital alone proved the threat clearer than before.
Esther had spoken of the existence of the unpleasant group coming for her.
Tomorrow, several absurd colonies of monsters might suddenly target this place.
Even named monsters from history and legend could appear without warning.
All of that could grow into a tree of unease, but not one of them wavered.
Straightforward and steady, they lived this day.
"Hoo, that mad barbarian brought mad liquor. Mad captain. Mad day. But also madly good."
Even Jaxon was drunk, and saying things like that—so maybe it wasn't right to say no one wavered.
Enkrid smiled. Because they didn't linger in today, but kept moving toward tomorrow.
There was no day that wasn't precious. The reason this moment was precious was because today would never return.
From the very first day of repetition to now, Enkrid had not changed.
He was the same.
Closing his eyes, savoring the calm, he resolved to gift this peace to all who stood behind him.
So it was, drunk, that Enkrid slept—and the moment he realized he was on a rocking skiff, he leaned halfway over the side.
"Uuurgh."
"…In all my life, you're the first man to vomit over the side of this boat. What on earth did you drink?"
It was liquor strong enough to intoxicate not only the body but the mind.
Enkrid let out a long breath, and with it felt the drunkenness ebb. It was only because he'd drunk himself to sleep—this was the Ferryman's summoned realm of thought, a dream. Here he could not truly be drunk.
And yet the retching had come first. It was reflex.
The rocking skiff, mixed with the burn of strong liquor and the faint night air, had turned his stomach inside out.
"Hwah."
Enkrid exhaled a long sigh.
"Smells like alcohol."
The Ferryman spoke. Tonight's Ferryman was gentle. Softer, kinder than before, one might say.
That was simply how it felt.