Some days had passed since the peddler’s wagon left. That single remark the peddler had left echoing deep in my ears—that the main roads were overflowing with desperate outcasts—fortunately left no other consequences after that.
Not a single person has come to visit this remote village since then. The wheat waves in the wind while still green, the chickens are noisy as usual, and I am back to my everyday routine of rolling up the sleeves of my frayed school uniform and chopping roots in the old man’s barn. … Bad things come without warning, wearing the face of rumors from afar. After bracing myself so much, what is this—was it just needless worry?
On an afternoon like that, four or five human figures turn off from the direction of the road toward the village.
At first, I thought it was another peddler of some sort. It is a village that rarely gets visitors. It would be unusual for two groups to come in half a month. … I was thinking such carefree thoughts.
However, when I raised my face from the farm ridge and took one look at that group, the bottom of my stomach turned cold in an instant.
… No. That is not the way people who come to sell goods walk.
Four men and one thin person. They are not carrying things that look like cargo. Instead, they have damaged sword scabbards and leather-wrapped sticks hanging from their waists. What they are wearing are travel outfits covered in patches here and there and stained with dirt. They must be types who got desperate somewhere and spilled out onto the main road. … But what caught my attention the most were their eyes.
The village houses, the fields, the laundry hung out to dry—they are looking at them as if appraising them, licking them with their gazes. It is different from the eyes of a peddler measuring the value of goods. Those are eyes counting, “How much and what can we steal from here?”
On my shoulder, Maro stiffened its body with a twitch. This is different from its usual mood of twitching its nose at the color of a canopy. It let out a single low, suppressed cry.
I quietly pushed Maro into my sleeve cuff. … You, stay tucked away. Don’t let yourself get found by guys carrying weapons like that.
The man at the very front, who had the best physique, jutted his chin at village chief Old, who had come out into the square.
“Hey, old man. Which house around here has the most stockpiles? … What, we are just traveling folks passing by. We are just asking you to favor us with some food and a place to sleep.”
His tone is calm. But even while saying to favor them, his hand is already resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist. He is not asking. He is testing to see if they will refuse.
Old made his wrinkled face even more grim, but still did not go against him.
“…It is a poor village, as you can see. We cannot offer much hospitality.”
“Splendid, splendid. I am not telling you to hand over things you do not have.”
The man laughed. Only his eyes were not laughing.
Then the men began walking around the village as if it belonged to them. They peeked into the well, peeked into the livestock sheds, and looked with amusement as the women hid their children behind them. It is an overt scouting mission. Just how many stockpiles does this village have, and how many people will fight back? They are calculating that. … And they probably already have the answer to that.
The second sons who have no fields to inherit have gone out to earn a living in these times of war. The ones remaining to protect the fields are only old folks, women, children, and farmers who have only ever held a hoe since they were born, like Halo and village chief Old’s son Giles. Not a single person used to fighting is in this village.
Even the soldiers of the nominal lord were long since driven off to war, and not a soul comes all the way to this frontier to protect it. Added to that is a single thin outsider who cannot even hold a sword. The fence is just a crude one repaired only from last night’s monster incident.
Resourceless, easy prey.
In the eyes of the men, this village looks like that. There is no mistaking it.
I kept my mouth shut at the very outer edge of the crowd. I gently bit down on my back teeth. But I do not move. It is more correct to say I cannot move.
… Think. The opponent is not a monster. They are humans. Four experienced fellows carrying weapons, and one more. Over here, everything is 1 and I am empty-handed. Even if I jumped out, I would just be a target who simply does not age.
That night when Maro stopped the monster—I don’t think that would go the same way against humans. If there are four people scattered around carrying weapons, that single power won’t be enough to handle it.
If I make a clumsy stand here. I am the one who gets killed. And if they see me rolled out on the ground, the village will cower even more. That is why I do not move. For now, I watch. The number of opponents, their weapons, how they use their eyes—I just memorize them. Running away and holding my breath to let things pass has been my specialty since long ago.
Once the men finished inspecting the village for a while, they chugged the well water, stuffed potatoes drying at the eaves into bags without asking, and retreated back toward the main road.
As he left, the leader turned around and flashed white teeth.
“It’s a good village. … I’ll come by again. Next time, you guys better properly discuss a welcoming gift, too.”
A welcoming gift. … In other words, next time they come, it won’t end with just asking for charity. Today was an appraisal. Customers whose merchandise inspection is finished will definitely return to buy.
Around the time the backs of the men blended into the dust of the main road and could no longer be seen. From within the buzzing crowd, Giles approached my direction. … He is village chief Old’s son, the man who examined the corpse of the monster I and he defeated together under the light at the edge of the village that night. Usually, when coming and going from the fields, he casually calls out, “Yo, Yuu.”
“Hey, Yuu.”
The man lowered his raspy voice, as if it were hard to say.
“You… you drifted in from somewhere else, right. Have you… ever seen types like that? Do you think those guys will come back?”
I was a little taken aback. In this village, this was the first time someone had come to me—a thin outsider of unknown background—and asked me something while lowering his head like this.
… Ah, I see. This man thinks I am the guy who defeated the shadow hound empty-handed. That’s why he believes he can rely on me at a time like this. No. That wasn’t me. I don’t have a single achievement of my own.
I was about to say that—and stopped. Even if I said it, this man wouldn’t believe it. Besides, this was no time for that kind of Q&A.
Maro shifted its body slightly in my sleeve cuff.
… Can I just leave them be? This is the village where my sleeping place is. It’s the village where the old man’s medicine-smelling barn is. It’s the village where Theo runs around. It’s a place to belong that I finally managed to get picked up by.
“…I think they will come.”
I carefully chose my words. I don’t make easy promises. I can’t say I can do things I can’t and make this man rely on me.
“…Their eyes were appraising this village. Guys like that will probably come again. … Probably before too long. I think next time they won’t leave empty-handed.”
The man’s face stiffened.
“However, no actual harm has been done yet. Just a single bag of potatoes. We have time to think. We should have.”
How we will think about it—the path beyond that is still not in sight at all. I don’t even know what in the world I can do. However, there was only one thing I knew.
Before those men come back next time, I must figure out using my head how to handle this village and my own path. Will we run, will we endure, or is there still some other path that cannot be seen yet?
The wind brushed across the wheat with a rustling sound beyond the main road. The something still unseen was no longer just a rumor from afar, but had turned into clear footsteps, beginning to approach this way.