Chapter 8, Episode 20: The City at Night
Light lingered on the city as the edge of the sky began to darken. Closer to the center, some early rising Undead monsters were crawling out of the woodwork, which meant it was time to get to work. We’d set up everything we needed after lunch, and after a vial of magical potion and a power nap, I was fully recharged with physical strength and magical energy.
“Like we discussed, leave the defense to us and the slimes,” Sever said.
“No sweat, Ryoma. Focus on your spell,” Remily added.
Those encouraging words kicked off our operation.
From a bird’s-eye view, the section we had cleared in the City of Lost Souls looked like a mirrored E with three horizontal lines crossing one vertical that was the central stairs. Our first step was to block all eight entrances to our perimeter—where the zombies and skeletons would most likely come through—with grave slimes. They had multiplied to a total of 1,745, now combined into seventeen big grave slimes. I placed two at each entrance and one next to me, ready to jump in where extra defense might be needed. The only defenses on our perimeter, by the way, were the grave slimes and the Holy Space itself. Since our plan was to retreat to last night’s base camp if our operation failed or some unexpected situation arose, I had the goblins sit this one out to keep our numbers low for a swift retreat.
When dealing with Undead, no ally was as reliable as a grave slime. If we were only here to wipe out the Undead, rather than experiment with magic or pay our respects, we probably could have just multiplied the grave slimes and set them free into the city.
“Now then...” I placed the dishes I’d prepared on a stone dais—well, more like a large table—in the center of the stairs. These were offerings to the Undead, similar to the food offerings at La Ofrenda during the Day of the Dead. On tonight’s menu: sautéed potatoes and dried meat, a simple ham and veggie sandwich, instant soup, and a salad. To drink, I offered water and goblin-made white liquor. I did offer a few sweets and some fruit too. Maybe any food was good enough for the starving Undead, but a proper meal might bring them peace a little more easily.
The spell I was about to cast was all based on my own memories and concepts of religious ceremonies from my previous life, so not even Remily and her experience as a former royal sorcerer could provide me with any advice. The only way for me to improve it would be to contemplate how each casting went and adjust accordingly. I’d construct each element of the spell and then combine them, similar to the process of agile software development.
“Here we go,” I announced, and started a fire before the ofrenda.
Five grand bowls—modeled after the ceremonial goblets used for sumo champions—formed a line above the fire. If the dishes on the altar were like pictures on a menu to the Undead, this ritual would serve them the edible versions. Focusing on the image of the dishes, I infused the additional ingredients with magical energy and prayers to sate the hunger of the Undead as I started by putting the meat and potatoes into the first bowl.
“They’re already coming,” Sever said.
“Copy that. I’ll put a rush on it,” I said.
While I watched the smoke begin to rise from the bowl, I pulled another trick from my sleeve. Reaching for a few bamboo sticks I’d set up along the ofrenda, I called to the smoke slimes waiting within them.
“Can you carry the smoke out?” I asked them.
Smoke slimes were literally composed of air particles. In battle, they could be turned into a remote-control smoke screen.
Tonight, I’d send the food smoke into the smoke slimes so they could carry the scent and magic farther. I supposed the smoke slimes were the wait staff of my restaurant metaphor. One thing I’d have to look out for was the wind—a strong gust could scatter the smoke slimes. While that wouldn’t kill them, and I could retrieve them later, I didn’t want to put them through too much strain. If strong winds were expected, we’d planned to perform this ritual in one of the structures we’d cleared. Fortunately, only a gentle night breeze blew through the city. The fire and smoke rising to the cloudless sky made for a mystical picture.
“Go crazy,” I said.
The smoke slimes blended with the food smoke branched out in the air and flowed to the eight entry points, passed the grave slime blockade, and enveloped the approaching Undead, drawing a noticeable reaction from them.
“There’s no rush. I have plenty of food,” I communicated through the slimes.
I’d heard that, in Buddhist philosophy, offerings are multiplied a hundredfold in the spirit world; it wasn’t important to offer a lot of food, but to offer it consistently.
Once I cemented that mindset, the torrent of Undead slowed. A moment ago, there was a sense of desperation as they made for the ofrenda. Now, they seemed much calmer. Some Undead had even halted where they stood, letting the smoke flow over them. Just cooking the meat and potatoes tonight seemed more effective than the whole ritual had the previous night.
“Just streamlining the process makes a huge difference,” I noted.
Remily—who stood by the altar in case of an emergency—said, “It’s not your first time either. Magic is controlled by the mind, so your mindset has a lot to do with it. Just trying it once can give you a big confidence boost. Every spell improves with repetition. If you want to get really good at it, you definitely need to understand the spell and study spellcraft, though. Keep it up, Ryoma.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I focused on the spell again, adding a dash of ground black pepper to the meat and potatoes, which turned into a puff of pungent dust.
The Undead seemed to smell it too. While more and more Undead stopped in their tracks, they seemed more restless. Not in an agitated way like they were during combat, so they must have been appreciating the offering. They were definitely more strongly attracted to the offering now that it was seasoned. Undead from farther and farther away were beginning to take notice.
So, I added the sandwich ingredients—flour, ham, and vegetables—to the next pot. This was a hit with the Undead too. Many zombies and skeletons stopped their march, basking in the wafts of smoke slimes. Wraiths also floated in the smoke, but in a leisurely way rather than rapidly flying around.
“More Undead are approaching from farther in the city, Master Ryoma,” Sebas warned. “The flying wraiths won’t pose a problem, but the entry points on the ground are about to become crowded.”
“Got it,” I said, commanding the smoke slimes to send smoke into the structures outside of our Holy Space perimeter. Hopefully that would alleviate the traffic, at least for a little bit. Once some of the Undead started to feel satisfied and moved on, there would be more room for the still-hungry ones to take their place.
Their next course was the instant soup, though I could only use the vegetables for the ritual because I couldn’t exactly burn water... Maybe they could think of it more as a roux, with the little water left in the greens.
I moved on to the next bowl, where I put in the fruits and sweets. The adults had contributed their dried fruit rations for this course. Refreshing notes of citrus and the heady aroma of burnt sugar burst into the air.
Judging by the reactions, the sweets were the biggest hit yet. As it’d been with the black pepper, strong aromas seemed to elicit the best reactions. When I watched them closely, I could see that each individual Undead reacted differently. Whether or not that was because of their personal taste...that would be a difficult hypothesis to test, since there was no information about who the Undead had been in life.
In a change of pace, I’d prepared a spirit for their final course. Just like the soup, this wouldn’t burn as is. I could have extracted its alcohol with alchemy, but that would have left out all its flavor too. So, I’d brought its lees—a byproduct of liquor distilling—to burn.
As soon as the leftover alcohol evaporated into the air, the Undead all made a sound at once. They’d been groaning here and there since I’d started, but this was like a primal roar.
The burst of reaction put us on our toes until we reassessed it.
“Hm. Apparently, that was their scream of joy,” said Reinbach.
“That was a little unsettling, but it seems like they barely notice us,” Sever added.
Some Undead were moving faster now, but they seemed to be trying to gather as much smoke as they could, rather than aggressively thrash about. Besides, once I burned the alcohol into the air, the Undead began moving on at a much faster rate. In the Shinto religion, sake has always been used for rituals and purification. A popular belief is that spirits offered to the gods became powered with spiritual energy capable of purging darkness. Because of those factors, I’d had high hopes for the liquor. Turns out, the Undead were enjoying it even more than I’d hoped for.
“I was just getting started with the alcohol,” I said.
“It already looks effective enough...” Sebas noted. “Is it some sort of special spirit?”
“Not that I know of. Locals in Fatoma taught me how to make this white liquor when I last visited. I’ve been fine-tuning its flavor, but nothing with the intent of using it for this spell.”
If there was something special about this spirit, that might be how complementary it was to the concept of this spell. Fatoma white liquor was made by steeping grainspear grass seeds—found in abundance by bodies of water—and mixing in an herb local to Fatoma before letting it ferment in a cool, dark place. Although it was so simple that many households in Fatoma used to make it themselves, there were a few tricks to smooth out its flavor. The first was to grind the grainspear grass seeds and soak them in water first to extract their starch. The second was to use only the stem of the local herb by peeling the outermost layer. Even after taking those steps, the first batch would still come out with a grassy taste to it. The final trick was to use that batch as a starter for the next one in lieu of the herb. Each subsequent batch came out smoother, with a more noticeable sweetness from the grainspear and an aroma associated with distilled liquor. I’d progressed far enough that my batches were tasting more like the white liquor sold in shops in Fatoma rather than a home brew.
Actually, this process was very similar to that of making sake. That started by malting white rice or potatoes then mixing it with water to make a yeast starter, then adding more rice or potatoes until it became a mash. That mash served like that was called a doburoku, and the liquor produced from squeezing the mash through cheesecloth was called a nigori. It seemed pretty similar to Fatoma liquor to me. Improving sake involved a process of shaving off the husks of rice and only using the starch-rich core of the grain, along with using generationally cultivated or scientifically engineered starters.
That was just my interpretation of the process, so I was sure a professional sakemaker would have plenty of pointers for me. For one thing, I could improve it by storing the liquor at a more constant temperature—the quality of my batches was still inconsistent. Still, I had elevated my recipe by taking hints from sake distillation. Because I knew that sake was used in Shinto rituals and that my white liquor was similar to sake, that association could have boosted the effectiveness of the spell when I burned its lees. It made me wonder what would happen if I’d used akumochizake—sake infused with ash—containing parts of ash slime or sake filtered by filter slimes... Or if the effect would be any different if I’d offered it to the gods beforehand. That, I might have to ask the gods about. I had a feeling they would help me out as long as I brought my best batch of Fatoma liquor. That being said...
“Since their reaction differs so much based on what I burn, I’ll be more selective about my ingredients next time. Fragrant food that is easier to burn and carry would be best suited for a spell like this, and could be prepared in advance,” I said.
What came to my mind was incense. Different cultures had their own versions and ways of burning it, but some form of it was a part of many customs around the world. I took it for granted in my previous life, but incense was one handy invention.
Letting my mind wander here and there, I continued stoking the flame, praying for the Undead to find their peace. As the night grew darker, more and more Undead converged at our base, both on the ground and in the skies.
“It really is strange that none of these Undead are attacking us,” Sever said.
“Ryoma’s spell must be more satisfying than attacking us. Why would you go out of your way to eat something mediocre when you have a feast being served to you?” said Remily.
“Unlike when they were alive, most Undead are driven purely by instinct,” Reinbach offered.
“If they are able to sense the intention of the spell, that Master Ryoma is casting it as a tribute and not to harm them, they may be letting their guard down.”
The adults—currently guarding me in all directions—seemed to sense tranquility in the Undead. Yet, they still remained vigilant enough to jump into action. Their composure was forged through years of experience. Their discussion gave me hints for improving this spell too.
Just when I moved to add more food to the fire, a sudden burst of screams tore through the peaceful night air.
No Comments Yet
Post a new comment
Register or Login