SML Ch 74

Chapter 74

“It seems those creatures’ purpose is the same as ours.”

Reynald clicked his tongue as he muttered so. Like his own party, the Swines’ equipment was simple: crude axes that looked more for self-defense than battle, empty sacks, and long tongs fit for picking things up.

When he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Fertile fertilizer was as necessary to them as to humans. After all, Swines were farming folk as well. To avoid both the Ratmen’s interference and the gravekeepers’ attention, of course they too would come at earliest dawn.

The Swines, for their part, were eyeing the humans warily, as if thinking the same. The land belonged neither to one nor the other; both were bone-thieves trespassing on neutral ground. Neither side had grounds to bare their teeth first. Still, history of clashes remained, and the slightest spark might light battle.

“Still—they don’t look about to attack.”

Alex whispered, watching them cautiously. He was right. Their hands only hovered on their axe handles, no aggressive stance taken. So long as the humans made no hostile move, likely the Swines would not either.

Therefore—Reynald, after brief consideration, simply turned and walked calmly toward the mountain of bones.

“…!”

All Swine eyes widened in alarm at his sudden movement. But Reynald was careful, calm, and intent only on his task: using his tongs to sift bones, wary of insect monsters possibly hidden amidst. With long tools, better to keep a safe distance.

“My lord? W-what are you doing?”

“What else, Alex? Why are we here?”

“Well…to collect bones for fertilizer, but—”

“And so are they. Then we should all do our own work, nothing more.”

Alex blinked, then nodded and awkwardly began gathering beside him. The tactic proved wise. One Swine croaked out a signal, and soon their group, too, began sifting bones with their tongs.

Thus was struck an unspoken truce.

“This is a first. Working side by side with Swines, not fighting them.”

“Don’t stare so much, Your Highness Arun. Best not to provoke.”

Under warm sunlight and soft breeze, humans and Swines each kept their heads bowed, laboring as if the other did not exist.

The graveyard was wide enough that there was no need to contest space. It sufficed to keep distance, for each person was already too busy: ensuring bones were properly aged for fertilizer, and that scuttling centipede- or gnat-like monsters weren’t about to swarm from beneath.

Prince Serna, however, was studying their counterparts with animated fascination.

“Strange to see them so tame. Not just because they caught me once before—every summer they go mad, slaughtering villages, don’t they?”

“It’s spring yet. Come summer, I expect no different.”

Indeed, they were like lycanthropes—docile until full moon, then savage demons. Swines, too, were seized by frenzy each summer breeding season, shifting into wholly other selves. Their numbers compared with Ratmen remained smaller for this reason: uncontrolled violence forced onto neighbors when not vented within.

“Even so, the Swines here in this land do seem unusually mild. Monsters usually lean aggressive.”

“The land is benign. Environments shape behavior as well. Harsh ground breeds harsh folk.”

Though he said so, Reynald agreed with Serna. No matter how this territory favored monsters, the fact remained: these Swines were sharper and more reserved than average. Typical ones would already have tested human strength, if only out of crude impulse.

And come to think…Arun meant to ask questions of the Swines yesterday. Was this what pressed on his thoughts?

Eyes turned toward the doll. The clockwork creature hovered busily about, interfering whenever villagers scooped up unsuited bones, swiping them away with indignant gestures, sometimes shielding them with translucent barriers if insects struck.

Reynald narrowed his gaze. Helpful, yes—but the fuss it made was far above the necessity.

Is it my imagination…or is it carefully dodging any attention involving the Swines?

Indeed—yesterday it darted off the moment Arun broached the subject of the Swine tribes. Today too, whenever Reynald looked toward it, it craftily tucked itself behind others’ shoulders, away from sight.

“My lord? Something wrong?”

“No, Volant. Nothing.”

With no firm handle for suspicion, Reynald only shrugged and returned to labor. The doll already avoided him constantly; perhaps this was coincidence. Or simply that the strange servant disliked the dragon slayer, regardless of topic.

So the work went on for hours until all their sacks bulged full of bone.

“Phew…that should last us through the year.”

By chance, the Swines too finished then. Sitting down where ground was bare of bone, they drew out bread and fruit from their packs. A break for their meal.

The bread looked hard, dry, unpalatable—but the fruits glistened, rich and juicy. Several human youths swallowed spittle staring.

“…Smells good. My lord, should we too rest and eat?”

“Beside a graveyard? …Though, with full sacks to bear home, a meal first would lighten the march.”

Bone seemed light, yet burden enough in a crammed sack. Better strength after food.

“Yes! Let’s!”

Cheerful like children on picnic, the villagers spread their fare. No fruit, but their bread was soft, and fresh meat and vegetables gave flavor. Sauces—supplies sent from the capital for the princes, shared kindly throughout the village—added savory depth.

Amid this cheerful din, Serna rose suddenly, half-eaten sandwich in hand, bright with some whim.

“Prince?” Reynald frowned.

“I…want to try something.”

Before Reynald could stop him, the prince walked straight toward the Swines’ circle. They bristled—until he raised both hands, showing no weapon. Indicating his sandwich in one hand, their fruit with the other, he tilted his head inquisitively.

“Grunt?”

“This for that? I want to try yours.”

“…What are you doing, prince?!” Reynald hissed, half rising.

Yet the Swines swiftly understood. One curious fellow tossed him a piece of fruit; Serna calmly passed him his sandwich.

A trade. So simple. So shocking, even the villagers blinked in surprise.

“…Doesn’t he fear? After what they did to him before?”

“Brave—or foolish. But then again…that fruit looked delicious.”

“And see—they accepted! Guess our soft sandwiches tempted them.”

Beaming, Serna returned, split the fruit, and offered half wordlessly to Reynald. Reynald accepted—only to flick his knuckle sharply atop Serna’s head.

“Reckless prince! What if—”

“Ow! It worked though, didn’t it! Think: even with Anura we managed rough sign-language. And look—this fruit, doesn’t it seem rare here? It looks half apple, half peach.”

And indeed, it did. Apple-hard skin, peach-red interior. Reynald bit, and fragrance of roses, sour and sweet, filled his tongue.

“…Truly unfamiliar. Perhaps a fruit unique to this region.”

“Good enough to tribute to the throne, I’d say. Ugly to look at, but taste fit for kings.”

“All fruit look ugly, prince. It is court practice to pick only the prettiest for offering.”

While they spoke, the Swine who had eaten Serna’s sandwich crept back awkwardly, one claw out, fruit in hand. The sandwich, evidently, had delighted.

“…Shall we trade more?”

“Why not? Sandwiches we have daily. Fruit—they alone can bring.”

So youths bartered freely, passing sandwiches for bright fruits. Laughter grew easier. Words none could share, yet through a meal, they met.

Reynald sat back, bemused. Surrounded by heaps of death, men and Swine knelt in picnic mirth.

Fitting, perhaps. Every meal is born on another’s death. Even these glossy fruits ripen because their soil was fed with monster bones. Nothing unusual…if one looks that way.

Thus he thought, biting.

And so, distracted in laughter, they missed it at first—

The sky was growing dark.

Not the dusk of day. But some other darkness, creeping unnaturally.