SML Ch 73

Chapter 73

11. The Bustling Picnic to the Graveyard

“…So all that happened while I was asleep—ah, no. That was no trivial fun, but an important talk, wasn’t it? Then all the more reason you should have woken me!”

“It isn’t proper to call another’s personal hardships ‘fun,’ Serna. And for the record—I did try to wake you. Twice. You didn’t so much as stir, buried in sleep. So the fault is yours.”

The next morning, when Serna was told the events of the previous night with the doll, he showed not disappointment, but blatant dismay. Volant and Alex exchanged awkward smiles with glances that plainly said, ‘The youngest prince is better off left asleep.’

Indeed, had Serna been awake, he likely would have scrambled even up to the roof of the keep to seize the doll and fire off endless questions for his curiosity’s sake—probably rousing everyone in the castle in the process.

Because of last night’s near-disaster, especially Volant’s boiling frustration, the group agreed they would all question the doll together today. Volant’s private queries had revealed unexpected truths; so too, others’ questions might yield important insight.

Arun said he wanted to ask about the Swine Forest, didn’t he? Since he spoke openly of it, it can’t be too secretive a matter. More a thought that struck him when awake at night, rather than something he hid away like Volant.

Still, before they could pose their questions, an unexpected voice intruded.

“My lord! Huh—what’s going on? Everyone’s gathered together today.”

“Lyndon? It’s been a while. And what brings you here?”

Reynald turned—and there was Lyndon, with several villagers behind him, carrying tongs and empty sacks. From his chair, the doll abruptly floated up into the air, landing squarely atop Lyndon’s head.

It seemed the doll thought their errand of more importance than its chosen’s questions. Reynald felt a twinge of unease at its evasive air, while Lyndon eagerly explained.

“Well, my lord, we’ve a request. And with both Volant and Alex here, it’s perfect timing.”

“…Us? Why us?”

“This year the doll chased off so many monsters that we’ve been left with unusual free time. So we thought—if we put in just a little more work, maybe reap a bit more from this harvest.”

They clearly wanted to try something new. Reynald tilted his head, bidding him continue. Lyndon’s eyes shone.

“So we thought, this year—we’d fetch materials to make better fertilizer!”

“A fine idea.”

Reynald had feared some reckless scheme, but the desire was surprisingly modest. Indeed, good fertilizer was vital. These lands had little natural fertility; they were wastelands clawed and wrung into service. Even if spared monsters, crops fared poorly.

But monsters abounding meant there was no lack of latent mana. If that energy could be awakened through the right fertilizer, crops would flourish and yield better quality. And as Reynald knew…

“What you need is monster bone. There must be a graveyard of sorts around here where heaps of it lie.”

“Eh? Spot on! But…how did you know there’s a graveyard of that kind nearby?”

“Isn’t it obvious? There are skeletal wolves roaming about. One doesn’t appear unless there’s a concentrated pile of monster bones.”

For skeletal wolves arose only where bones saturated with mana accumulated. Bones too decayed to walk still pulsed with energy enough to serve as premium fertilizer. These would be gathered by special “gravekeeper” monsters, leaving behind entire cemeteries of bones.

“Exactly! To the northeast of the Ratmen’s village lies one such heap. The ratmen go there, hauling bones to crush into powder and spread on their fields.”

“So that’s why those vermin live so plump and well-fed—making thrifty use even of fertilizer.”

“Precisely. We’d like to try the same. But we’d rather not cross paths with ratmen…and sometimes foul-looking monsters known as gravekeepers wander there.”

“Ah—I know the type.”

Without gravekeepers, no graveyard of beasts could exist. They scoured the wastes for carcasses, hauled bones back, and guarded the heaps. Anything less, there’d be only scattered remains, not the mountain Lyndon described.

“So—we thought to bring the doll, so it can aid us.”

“I see.” Reynald stroked his chin.

“With luck, maybe we won’t need it. But unlucky, and if gravekeepers spot us—they hound prey without relent. Also, best go in daylight. Ratmen work their fields by day, only visiting the bone heaps come evening.”

Though Lyndon said “the doll,” his eyes made plain he hoped Reynald himself would also join. Sure enough, Volant and Alex quietly picked up empty sacks already.

“Prince Arun, Prince Serna. It seems today isn’t ideal for questioning the doll.”

“Well, yes. It looks more absorbed in aiding these folk than fielding our questions. No point souring the mood with talk of grim futures in front of everyone here.”

Serna conceded cheerfully. Reynald’s eyes lingered on the doll—as it waved its arms ridiculously atop Lyndon’s head, dancing.

Most villagers knew little of the truth of “selection.” They’d only heard some mossy knights tested whether Reynald’s company was fit to take the doll away. Talk of “future incidents in this domain” had been shared, but who could take so vague a warning seriously? The people treated it like mist. Better to enjoy the doll’s help now than brood on intangible disaster.

And so, Reynald decided: no troubling them with uncertain portents. First, accompany them, fetch the bones, then regroup in the evening to question.

“Then Your Highnesses—you should rest here in the keep while I go. I’ll handle it.”

“What are you saying? We’ll join you.”

Arun’s puzzled voice interjected—and Reynald noticed the prince already armed with longsword, sack and tongs in hand. Serna blinked at his older brother, and Arun thrust sack and tongs upon him.

“Us? We’re coming too?”

“What, you weren’t? Gravekeepers may look sluggish, but they’re deadly. Every extra way to counter them helps.”

Pointing to his brother’s chest, he added. Serna caught his meaning. The golden mirror would surely aid them. Setting out early, with sun ample for its light, was an advantage.

“Well…better than lazing in a castle, I suppose. Graves make me uneasy, but in daylight…”

“You’re still afraid of graveyards, Serna? I’ve told you often, there are no ghosts.”

“Af-afraid?! Not me! I know perfectly that every so-called ghost sighting is but some monster’s trick!”

Despite protest, his trembling voice betrayed him. Still, unwilling to be left behind, he buckled on his sword and tied a sack at his belt.

“Then we’re ready. Let’s set out. Near the ratmen’s village, you said?”

And so Reynolds, the princes, the villagers, and their escorting knights departed. Their aim: to gather as swiftly and safely as possible, before noon if they could.

Soon after leaving the ratmen’s territory, they saw it: the “graveyard.”

In truth it was no ordered graveyard, but a colossal mound of monster bones. Gravekeepers cared little for grace of interment—they only heaped death together. And in this land of monsters, the mound was immense indeed.

At least, visible to them was no gravekeeper. Likely gone scavenging afar. They might be safe—for a time.

Yet at the bone-heap’s foot, they met a wholly unexpected obstacle.

“…Squeee, squeak.”

“What the—what are they doing here? Didn’t you say only ratmen came?”

There, before them, stood nineteen hulking Swinefolk. Twenty humans froze opposite, staring. Neither side drew weapons, nor fled.

An uneasy standoff hung in the air.