Haah…
Seven's breathing was rough as he ran through the forest, carrying the porter over his shoulder.
The faint sunlight trickled through the thick canopy above, tracing patterns over his pale face and thin arms, making his already frail body look even more drawn out.
"This should be far enough."
He slowly set the porter down and leaned back against a large tree root that stuck out from the ground.
'Fudge.'
He cursed inwardly. After all, he lost the saber that George entrusted to him with words 'take care of my little baby, will ya' while running because this porter just had to trip over and accidentally flicked the saber into a thick bush left with no time to find it.
Thus he looked at the porter beside him.
|| Basic Information ||
|| Character: Nen Joules ||
|| Age: 17 ||
|| Talent: Silver Tongue ||
'Nen, huh…? He's almost the same age as me.'
Seven thought as he stared at him.
'Why the fudge did I even save him?'
If not because of Drake's request, he could have run alone and not worry about the porter.
The porter's body was a bit bigger than his, and his skin was slightly darker. He looked badly hurt despite not receiving any attack from earlier, given that all he did was tremble with fear.
Seven ran a hand through his hair.
"Hey. Can you walk?"
The porter did not reply. Instead, he quietly reached for the small backpack he had kept when he dropped all his other gear earlier.
But.
The moment Seven saw the handle of a knife coming out of the bag, he grabbed Nen's collar and pulled him back, ready to punch him
"W-Wait a minute! P-Please–"
Seven's eyes widened. It was not because of the knife, but because of how loud Nen suddenly got. Thus without thinking, he covered the boy's mouth with his palm and glared at him.
"Fudge. Are you trying to get us killed?"
"N–-No."
The porter said quickly in a hushed voice.
"P–Please, just listen to me first."
"…Speak."
"This is the only weapon I've got. I–I wasn't trying to attack you, I just thought it might help. We don't have anything else to fight with."
Seven did not let go.
"How can I trust your words?"
"I–I don't know… But please, I'm begging you! If that monster comes back, we won't stand a chance if we're empty—"
Slap.
Seven hit him across the face. It was not hard enough to knock him out, but enough to make him shut up.
"...Fudge."
"W-Why—"
Grrr—!!
A low growl echoed through the trees, far but not far enough. Seven pushed the porter to duck down behind the root after him, holding their breath.
"I… I'm sorry."
The porter slowly pushed the bag toward Seven with shaky hands.
"I can't fight… so please, you take it."
Seven took the knife without saying a word. He still did not trust Nen given that his talent, if the system was right, was 'silver tongue'.
Yet he did not have the luxury of saying no either.
"...Fine. But who are you?"
He already knew the name. Nen Joules. It was thanks to the system interface earlier. But what he did not know was the why.
Why was this kid tagging along with mercenaries like Drake?
What was he doing there?
The porter blinked at him as if hesitating whether to tell him or not.
"...Cole."
The porter said.
"Cole Renner."
It was a fake name. Seven did not know whether it was the name he used to introduce himself to others or just a name made up of a second ago.
But then again, he did not react and just stared at him.
"I… I'm not part of their crew or anything. I just signed on yesterday as a three-day porter."
"...Yesterday?"
"Yes."
Nen shifted his weight uncomfortably, clearly feeling the pressure to explain. His voice stayed quiet, but shaky, like he was talking more to fill the silence than because he wanted to.
"I used to work at a stable… out in Durnway.
"The old man who owned it, Gordon, took me in when I was around twelve. He gave me food and a place to sleep in the back room."
He picked at his sleeve.
"He died last year."
"He did not have any family, but he still owed money on the land. They said he never paid off the last loan. He said that he owned the place, but he didn't."
Nen looked up, his eyes wide and a little red.
"I couldn't let them just tear it down.
"He let me stay there for five years and fed me when no one else would. I figured… I'd try to buy it back. …Or at least pay off the debt, so they would leave it alone."
Seven stared at him blankly.
"…So you joined a mercenary expedition?"
Nen gave a weak laugh, rubbed his neck, before he looked for something inside the bag.
"Stupid, right?
"But there aren't many ways to earn that amount of Zevi when you don't have any skills. And I thought carrying bags into a forest sounded easier than breaking my back in a mine."
He then stared at Seven.
"But I guess I was wrong."
Seven said nothing for a while. His face did not change nor his expression, but he looked at Nen just a second longer than necessary.
The story was not special.
It was not that dramatic that would make one cry, and it obviously did not even sound that smart.
But that's exactly why it might have been real: just a scared kid trying to pay off a dead man's land.
"Hmm…"
Seven muttered as his fingers tightened slightly around the knife. But after a while, he turned his eyes back toward the forest.
"You lied."
Nen chuckled nervously.
"Sorry."
But without a word, Seven turned back around and drove the knife straight into Nen's thigh.
Stab.
A strangled yelp escaped Nen's throat. He dropped and clutched his leg, but Seven's gaze did not miss the glint in the boy's hand inside the bag.
Another knife.
After all, just as his foresight had shown— if he had not struck first, Nen would have driven the blade into his back instead a second later.
"You said you only had one knife."
"It's not what it looks like! I just—!"
Stab.
Seven drove the blade toward Nen's chest, but Nen twisted just in time, raising his wrist to block. Steel clashed thus both knives spun from their grip and scattered into the snow.
"Believe me. I—"
Punch.
Seven infused his fist with zaen and punched Nen in the head while sitting above him, pinning him on the ground.
"Nen Joules."
He grabbed him by the hair and forced his head up to look him straight in the eye.
Nen's eyes widened, given that even himself did not know what he felt: shocked, confused, or maybe even afraid that a complete stranger knew his real name.
"You should've lied better."
Seven whispered.
"But I don't trust anyone anyway."
Punch!
He punched Nen in the face again.
After all, how could he?
When even the ones closest to him— his maid and his sister— had once tried and even killed him, how could a lying porter expect mercy?
"Wait! I—I just—I wasn't—! I thought if we got split—! Please, I wasn't—! I don't want to die, I—!"
Punch.
Still, Seven did not care give a fudge to Nen's words.
Punch.
Again.
Punch.
And again.
Until his fists were soaked in red and the snow beneath them, too.
'He's dead…'
He stared down at his trembling knuckles and opened his palms.
"...No. I killed him. I killed… with these hands.'
For a moment, he did not move. He just sat there, breathing hard, and raised his palm slowly to eye level like he could read something in the mess.
He knew the scent of blood would draw the aberrant.
But right now, he did not care.
It was his first time. His first kill. Not a monster. Not a creature.
A person.
But.
'...What if he was telling the truth?'
For a second, he thought.
But then he shook his head. Nen was not trustworthy.
He lied.
Even if his intent was not to kill him just like the artifact's foresight suggested, his dishonesty made him a liability in a kill-or-be-killed world.
Haah…
'I need to get used to this sensation…'
With a soft exhale, Seven slowly stood up.
'…because in this world, I won't survive unless I do so.'
In the process, he wiped his palm and closed Nen's eyes before he picked up the two knives scattered nearby.
Grrr—
Finally standing up, a growling sound echoed behind him. He turned around and the aberrant was now just around twenty meters away standing from him.
Hff…
Seven inhaled slowly, filling his lungs with cold air that burned on the way down.
Then, without blinking, he exhaled through his nose and stepped back with his right foot, grinded his heel into the snow for traction before he lowered his center of gravity.
In his left hand, he held the shorter knife in a reverse grip with the edge facing out along his forearm. His right hand clutched the longer knife upright, with its point tilted slightly downward.
Haah…
"...This story won't end before I get a fudging arc.'