SML Ch 81

Chapter 81

A Resting Interlude (6)

The clockwork doll, which had been twisting its body this way and that as if desperately avoiding Reynald and the mage, visibly relaxed once the mage had vanished with the Swines. Only then did Arun release it. Volant, staring in disbelief, asked:

“Why are you acting like that? You don’t like that mage?”

[X]

“Then what’s the problem? Did you, I don’t know, borrow money from her and not pay it back?”

[X]

“So—is that mage actually a bad person?”

[X]

“Or is it—you’re the bad one, and that’s why she doesn’t like you?”

The doll, having only drawn X’s until now, finally lost its temper and tried to kick Volant in the stomach. But Arun held it firmly in place, stopping the attempt. Reynald chuckled faintly at the sight, then approached.

“For something you supposedly dislike, the mage didn’t seem too hostile toward you. Complicated relationship?”

[…….]

“No intention to answer, is it? Yet there’s much I want to ask you. For instance, that mage—called Solden—said I might ‘end up like her.’ Do you know what she meant?”

[…….]

The doll narrowed its eyes in sour defiance and suddenly raised its hands as if covering nonexistent ears. Didn’t hear you. Don’t know what you asked. That was clearly the gesture. Reynald snorted wryly.

“Well—so be it. If you won’t tell us, we’ll have to look for answers ourselves.”

“Huh? You mean, look into it directly? But how?” Volant tilted his head.

“We’ll trace the past. That mage gave us something useful: this ‘Selection’ has repeated itself roughly every century.”

Volant had overheard that much of the mage’s long explanation, though most of it was too complex for him.

“I don’t really get it, but… a hundred years ago too? That’s news. If something so bizarre had happened back then, surely stories would’ve been passed down.”

“A hundred years is longer than you think. Add to that—this land is monster-ridden, lives short, newcomers frequent. How many stories from a century ago do you know firsthand?”

“…None, now that you mention it.”

Few youths cared about events that old. Still, it made Volant think: wouldn’t this mean no written record either?

“Would a trace even exist? Hardly anyone in the village can read. You don’t mean writing, do you? If there aren’t even spoken stories, there’s no way they would have written them down.”

Indeed, in the village only Heide and Alex could read. Alex, as an outsider, had learned it abroad; Heide from his father, a steward under the former lord. No one else had need or leisure to learn. Reynald smiled lightly, acknowledging that point.

“Stories and writing aren’t the only traces. Think of the ship in the lake.”

“The ship? Why?”

“It was unnaturally sound, finely built. Centuries past, folk had rougher means. Why would they craft such a fine vessel from costly timber—unless purpose demanded it?”

“…Now that you say it—it makes sense! We used it as a fishing boat, true, but honestly… no one builds that kind of vessel just for fishing.”

“Exactly. So perhaps the so-called ‘strangers’—let’s call them Invaders for now—built it for their own purpose. Or maybe your ancestors made it to oppose them. Even if memory is lost and no writing remains, such material traces endure.”

Volant nodded, fascinated by the idea. Even if stories failed, action left marks.

“First, we start locally. The castle library has tomes. Perhaps a forgotten record remains. If not—we walk the land, noticing places that don’t fit. Anomalous traces waiting to be found.”

“It’s like treasure-hunting! I know it’s serious, but, honestly… it sounds exciting.”

“Exactly. Better to treat it with spirit than fear. No need to drain yourself with dread before the real trial even begins. If we uncover enough through remnants, we’ll know what Invaders are—and how to meet them.”

The doll frowned petulantly at this talk, but did not object—no X this time. It would not answer, yet it permitted their searching.

“Enough for now. We should return before something else finds us.”

Volant then grasped Reynald’s intent. The graveyard, once emptied of Swines, was no longer barren—its keepers were returning.

And indeed, on the horizon, grotesque monsters rushed swiftly near: gravekeepers. Their bodies were enormous centipedes plated in bone, but along their length protruded a hundred pale arms like warped human limbs. Worse, where their heads stood, clusters of old, fungus-encrusted faces of decrepit men multiplied.

They had clearly been out gathering bones—and now returned for their meal.

“Run!”

They had no strength left for such foes. Carrying sacks of bone, the party sprinted away. Fortunate indeed—gravekeepers had not noticed intruders, and never pursued. The group laughed in mingled relief and exhaustion on the way back.

They soon reached the castle. Reynald, the princes, Alex, and the knights went within, while the villagers stored the bone haul in the communal granary before dispersing home.

Amid this busy shifting of bones, Reynald glanced quietly at Volant. He led the youth aside, away from listening ears.

“Volant. One moment. I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“This necklace.”

He drew forth the jewel: only the stone remained, string broken, almost like a brooch.

“Have you seen one like this before?”

The stone’s deep green hue struck Volant with eerie recognition. He felt sure—he had seen it once. But where?

When…? The only time could be—

That night. A year ago. The murder of his family.

Yet—his memory faltered.

…Why?

The scene should have been seared into him. The house blood-soaked. The murderer’s smiling face. And yet—when he tried to picture it clearly, the details refused to align. A haze covered it.

“…At last, a first success. Now—I’ll let you choose. Which color of gem do you prefer?”

That last whisper. Whose voice? The killer’s? But why…?

In that moment of breakthrough recollection—

[…….]

The doll extended a hand toward Volant. His fogged mind snapped clear. Thought itself dissolved, swept like a sandcastle under waves.

Not clarity—but forgetting. Utter, merciless oblivion.

So when Reynald asked once more, Volant frowned uncertainly but spoke without hesitation:

“…Looks quite like the pendant found in my field, yes. The engraving on the edges, even the magic pattern alike. But this piece specifically? No, I’ve never seen it.”

And since he no longer recalled his moment of recognition—he did not know he lied. Reynald accepted it wholly, nodding gravely.

“Then—next, we’ll bring it to Orthros Serpent. That sea-serpent may trace its magic to the true owner of its mana.”

“So if both necklaces share origin…”

“…There may be more like them across this land. Perhaps the same one crafted and planted them, for some buried intent.”

“Maybe even that same one—an Invader—will return.”

Reynald muttered darkly. Volant, thrall to forgetfulness, nodded emptily and left.

The doll followed, waving goodbye—its spring clicking softly as it tightened within. But none noticed.