--Rougis, have you ever eaten venison?

　I remember that day, Bruder was polishing his long-handled weapon, muttering something like that. I remember that his tone was lighter than usual, yet his steely eyes were staring straight at the needle.

　The needle was not a small one used for sewing.

　It was as big as the palm of a large man's hand, and if it pierced the flesh vigorously, it would gouge the flesh, and if it hit the vital point, it would kill you. It was unmistakably a tool of Bruder's work as a mercenary.

"How could it be? Venison is the food of the high class. The best I can do is to eat chicken once in a while.

　That's what I said, but at the time, even chicken was a luxury item for me. So those words were probably the best I could do to show off. It's a shameful story.

　Venison. It's something that the higher classes, especially the nobility, eat. The aristocrats use their privilege to the fullest and keep deer in their territory for their own hunting. Whenever they feel like it, they shoot the deer for fun and enjoy the high quality meat to the fullest.

　Lowly commoners like us, past and present, are not allowed to eat deer meat or even to wear products made from its skin or antlers. The deer was a kind of symbol of status, an expression of one's own status itself. A piece of clothing made of deer fur could be exchanged for any number of gold coins.

　And Bruder...

　--Then it's settled. Let's eat venison with our mouths. They say it melts your tongue. I want to try it.

　As soon as I heard that, I felt a cold ice crawl down my spine.

　I think that's when I involuntarily moved my eyes to make sure no one was around. No one was supposed to be there.

　At the time, I had rented a room in a red-light district as a cheap hotel and was using it as my base. During the day, everyone was living in a comfortable dream world, and no one would ever come back to this poor, disgusting reality.

　But I hope you can understand and appreciate my feelings.

　The mere mention of the idea of eating venison to a nobleman is a punishment. I'm sure you'll get a good beating from the rain.

　I remember looking at Bruder with a dumbfounded look in my eyes, because he could say such a thing so easily.

I remember him looking at me like I was crazy. If you want to talk in your sleep, you should go to sleep. When you're dreaming, you won't be talking in your sleep.

　--Ha, ha. It's okay. Do I look like I'm about to fail and be thrown off a cliff?　

　This strange optimism of Bruder's was the least of my worries. I wondered how he could be so bullish, or so confident in himself. As I was far from self-confidence and self-esteem, Bruder's character was incomprehensible to me.

　It was enviable in one sense and depressing in another.

"It's not what you see, it's what you don't see. It's weird. How can you be so optimistic?

　How can you be so optimistic?" He said with a pout of his lips and a roll of his eyes. That was the one thing I remembered strangely. What Bruder said after that was also vivid.

　In other words, the rest of what he said was vague, and maybe the details were different, but that's all right.

　Bruder rolled his eyes as I did, stroked the edge of his hat with his finger, and said, "Of course.

　--Of course. Of course. I'm here and you're here, Rougis. I'm not going to do it.


　◇◇◆


　A silver line pierced the hollow of the back street.

　A long needle, it gouges the flesh in the shadows, in the night darkness. The most efficient way to use it is to conceal even a momentary glimmer and pierce the neck without letting the opponent recognize the object.

　It seems that he followed that method this time, and as a matter of course, the needle was thrown at my vital point. My eyes blinked.

　It must have been a moment. If I misjudged, I would die on the spot. The grim reaper has his white finger on my chin.

　And yet... My brain took in the reality with a strange sense of ease and realization. There were several reasons for this.

　First of all, darkness is not my enemy. No one has ever beaten me at seeing through it without a hitch. So, I'm not going to miss something as big as a needle, or rather, as big as a needle.

　And as another ingredient, I know the trajectory of that needle very well.

　With a slight twist of my body, I turn my body around, and without losing momentum, I pull the sword from my waist. The name "Hero Slayer" sounds great, but at this moment, all I need to do is smash the needle.

　A glimmer of purple lightning crawls through the shadows of the back streets. There was no technique to it, it was just a wild, vigorous blow that ripped through the sky as if it was fed up.

　--Gee, nn!

　The long needle, which had been drawing a line in the air, was shot down and made a noise on the spot, sending itself down to the ground. The needle, which had lost its momentum and power, looked as if it was bored.

　You blink your eyes. There's no time to catch your breath. I saw the silver glint at the edge of my vision.

　I turned my wrist and swung my sword up to the sky. All you have to do is swing it back up in the same trajectory it came in.



　Once again, the sound of iron and steel overlapping echoed through the back streets.

　When I finally let out a breath and looked at the ground, I saw two needles crumbling together on the ground. It's still daytime, but it's quite disturbing.

　I snapped my neck lightly and frowned. I didn't understand what I was feeling.

　It's funny, normally I'd feel fear, or agitation. The mind should be able to sense fear, frustration, or outrage.

　And yet, somehow, my heart didn't palpitate and jump, and my blood felt more normal than ever.

　Yes, normal. Business as usual, no different. Rather, some calculations are pulsing in my head. Should I ask why, try to convince him, or just tell him the whole story?

　All such possibly constructive options are dismissed, and you feel only one thought in the center of your mind.

　--That son of a b*tc* did it.

　My cheeks twitch. My cheeks twitch. It's like a smile is about to appear on my face, and a whole other expression is about to break the line.

I feel weird. It's rather bad. It's rather bad. I'm numb to the idea that I could survive that unscathed.

　With that, Bruder emerges from the alleyway, cowering, as if he's not feeling well. He plays with his wide-brimmed hat with his fingers, and his face looks more interested than depressed.

　Yeah, that's your thing. That look. The ease with which you can see through your best shot, the way you question the sanity of a pseudo-assassin revealing himself.

"So, Lugis. I'm confident that I can beat you in a quick fight.

　I'm sure I can beat you with a quick shot.

I hate that about you.

　It's your nature, your composure, all of it, that got you killed, Bruder.