Grimgal of Ashes and Illusion - Volume 8 - Chapter 12

12. A New Feeling

The word “campfire” suddenly came to mind. Vaguely, he felt like he’d seen this scene once before. He’d probably been part of it himself. 

There wasn’t just one fire. There were a number of them, spread out. It was loud and boisterous. 

While drinking together, the orcs were talking about something. Laughing occasionally. Arms around one another’s shoulders. Little fights would break out, but all in good fun. They only looked rough because they were so big. 

The things they were doing were no different from what humans would. 

It was surprising to see, but the undead ate and drank, too. Though there were some groups of orcs or undead who stuck only with their own kind, they weren’t the majority. Most of the orcs and undead didn’t make distinctions as they told stories, drank booze, and ate fried meat and fish. 

Though Onsa the goblin kept his distance, surrounded by his wolves and nyaas, he didn’t reject the orcs or undead who occasionally came over with drinks. He’d talk with them for a bit, and smile, too. 

There weren’t many, but there were races other than orcs and undead represented here, too. A half-man, half-horse centaur. That thin, pointy-eared guy with the ashen skin had to be an elf. There were a number of dwarves, too. There were guys who looked like humans shrunk down to less than half the size, and even guys who looked so inhuman they wouldn’t have been out of place in Darunggar. It didn’t look like they all got along, but they were partying without any trouble. 

Ranta turned his eyes away from his jolly new comrades, sipping at a cup of spiced mead as he walked. Two or three nyaas were watching him from a distance. Ranta was being monitored. 

Was Onsa the beastmaster using the nyaas to watch him on his own initiative? Or was someone like Takasagi the one behind it? He didn’t know, but they didn’t trust Ranta yet. Of course not. 

“Hey.” Ranta came to a stop, looking down at the woman who was hanging her head. “...I said, ‘Hey.’ You could respond, at least.” 

Not far from his jolly comrades around the campfire, there was a woman sitting still, not moving. Though she was handcuffed, her hands were no longer bound behind her back. She was chained to a stake, so she couldn’t move around, but she could at least stand up. Despite that, the woman was sitting with her legs to one side of her, practically motionless. 

There was a canteen filled with water and a plate with food sitting at her knees. She hadn’t so much as touched either of them. 

“Drink some water at least, Merry. You’re gonna die.” 

Merry just shook her head a little. 

Ranta sighed. “...You’re so stubborn. Give up already. If you’ll just be my woman, I can get you untied.” 

“...I’d sooner die,” she said weakly. 

“You would, huh? Well, go ahead and die right there, then.” 

“...Traitor.” 

“Call me what you want, but it doesn’t hurt, or even make me itch.” 

Ranta turned around. How would he get along with that jolly bunch? 

What did he have to do to meld into the group? Most of them didn’t speak the human language. That was the first problem. 

Well, back in Darunggar, he’d managed to get reasonably close to the people in Well Village. If he just got fired up, threw himself into it, and partied like a fool, he could make most things work out. 

“I’m not getting fired up, though,” Ranta muttered. 

Guess I’ll go find Takasagi,  he thought. 

But Takasagi was having a grand old time drinking with some orcs and undead. The centaur, dwarves, elves, and midgets were with him, too. For a human, they showed him a lot of respect. He might not have been quite a father figure, but maybe he was like a big brother to them. 

For some reason, Ranta just couldn’t convince himself to join the ring that had formed around Takasagi. He was being uncharacteristically passive. The way he was acting just wasn’t like him. 

When Ranta happened to glance over, a number of undead had surrounded Merry. Merry was looking down. What were they planning to do? 

He wanted to rush over there right away, but he held back. 

This was her fault. Wasn’t it, though? If she wanted to survive, and wanted to avoid bad things happening to her, she should have just joined Jumbo. 

She would’ve been the lone woman in an otherwise all-male group. Sure, it’d be a bizarre situation to be in. Still, Jumbo would probably have said, That, too, could prove entertaining,  or something like that, and accepted her. 

If Jumbo agreed to something, all of these guys would go along with it. 

She had come right out and said clearly that she’d never join Forgan. She had to be an idiot. Letting an opportunity like that slip by—she was too damn stupid. Ranta’d snapped. 

Fine, let her have it her way,  he’d thought. Let them screw her, beat her senseless, kill her, and throw away the body. It’s no skin off my back.  That was what he thought, but then he’d had to go and open his mouth. “I’ve been meaning to make this woman mine for a while now. So, please, don’t let anyone else touch her for a while. If she keeps insisting she won’t be mine, then you can do whatever you want with her. I won’t have any regrets.” 

She was technically his comrade. If he abandoned her without at least trying to do something, he’d have trouble sleeping at night. He’d known they’d probably reject his request anyway, but he’d figured he had to try. 

He’d been in for a surprise. 

“Very well,” Jumbo had responded all too easily. “You may keep the woman tied up until you are satisfied.” Then, “Leave the human woman alone,” he’d ordered the others. 

It was Jumbo’s order. Those undead probably weren’t going to eat her or anything. Well, they might mess with her a bit. 

—Mess with her?  Ranta wondered. How? Do a little of this, a little of that...? 

“This’ll be something to see.” Ranta forced himself to laugh. “She’s got it coming to her. I went out of my way to try and save her. Screw that ungrateful bitch...” 

As he watched with bated breath, the undead walked away from Merry. 

Ranta felt a sense of relief, but also irritation at himself for feeling relieved. 

Why should he have to worry about that bitch? This was stupid. 

Suddenly, there was an outburst of laughter. The giant orc had put Takasagi up on his shoulders, and the guy was shouting, “Hey, stop it! Let me down!” in a panic. 

If Ranta remembered correctly, that orc who was too big even for an orc was called Godo Agaja. Looking at his clothes, his weapons, and the way he acted, he was clearly trying to imitate Jumbo, but at times like this, he was completely different. The way he fooled around more than anyone didn’t quite put a smile on Ranta’s face, but it was so innocent. Even with the way he looked, he might be surprisingly young. 

It looked like they were having a lot of fun. He wanted to join them. No, it wasn’t that he wanted to fool around with them—it was that he thought it would be best to join the group. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to. 

Jumbo was sitting atop a little hill, drinking. It might have been a coincidence, but he was alone. 

Ranta said, “...Okay,” quietly trying to motivate himself, and approached Jumbo. 

He’d thought the man was alone, but he wasn’t. Ranta was shocked. There was someone sitting there, near the foot of the hill, cowering before him. 

The other person had his four arms out of the sleeves of his robe, leaving him unclothed from the waist up, but, because his whole body was wrapped in blackish bandages, his skin wasn’t exposed. The mouth that peeked through those bandages was nothing more than a gash. There was no life in his eyes. They were like the eyes of a dead fish. He was an undead, so that was to be expected—or was it? Still, from the looks of it, the other undead weren’t like that, so it seemed fair to say his eyes were especially dead. 

“H-Hey, there, Arnold-san,” Ranta said nervously. 

It seemed like he was a pretty big deal, so Ranta figured he should at least greet the guy, but he got no response. 

What, you’re ignoring me?  he thought. 

When he somewhat timidly tried to walk past Arnold, he felt a cold, damp wind blow past him. 

It went, “Ohh...” 

Was that a voice...? Maybe? Did Arnold-san respond? 

Ranta laughed, saying, “N-Nice to meet you,” then climbed up the hill to sit next to Jumbo. 

That was scary, just now. 

No, maybe not? 

Yeah. There was nothing to be scared of. That was just the undead Arnold’s way of reacting. It was an Arnoldian answer. That was all. Ranta had just been a little startled by it, that was all. 

He cleared his throat, and then it was time to decide how to address Jumbo. While he was thinking... 

“Have you been drinking?” Jumbo asked him quietly. 

“W-Well, yeah.” Ranta hurriedly took a sip of mead. “Um, er... So, you aren’t gonna go hang out with the rest of them?” 

“I’m too much of a snob for that, you see.” 

“...Huh?” 

“I’m not good at letting loose.” 

Jumbo wasn’t the type to get out there and mingle. Was that it? But if he were really a snob, he wouldn’t go calling himself one, would he? Besides, Jumbo was smiling. Occasionally, he would let out a low laugh. He enjoyed watching his comrades drink, talk, and play around from the bottom of his heart. That was what it looked like. 

“Arnold and I are alike,” said Jumbo. 

“Ohh. Y-You are...?” 

You’re not like Arnold,  Ranta couldn’t help but think. 

He got the feeling that, left to his own devices, Arnold would always be alone. That was why Jumbo was going out of his way to be like, I get you, I get you, I’m the same way and sticking with him. 

Ranta would never do something like that himself, but he knew some guys who cared too much about others that would. He hated their type. If someone was alone, let them be isolated. If they found themselves tormented by the feeling of loneliness as a result, it was their own fault. 

Was Jumbo a surprisingly sensitive man? 

That was kind of a letdown. Despite his appearance, he was way too normal. 

There was a saying, “If you want to shoot a general, start by shooting his horse,” but, really, if you just shot the general to begin with, the rest would more or less fall into place. Forget the small fry. If he was going to curry favor with someone, it was gonna be Jumbo. 

“...Erm, how about trying to join them, maybe?” Ranta asked. “Everyone would like that, wouldn’t they? I think so, at least.” 

“I don’t want to ruin their fun,” said Jumbo. 

“Nah, I don’t think you would be. No way. I think just having you there, it’d get them excited—like, everyone’d get all fired up, you know?” 

“This works best for Arnold and me,” said Jumbo. “My companions understand that, too.” 

“...Ah.” Ranta felt himself grimacing. “Was I out of line there, maybe...?” 

“You needn’t be so guarded.” Jumbo’s tone was gentle. “You, too, are one of my companions.” 

“Yeah, but I’m a total newcomer...” 

“A companion is a companion.” 

“Well, yeah... Sure, but...” 

Ranta rubbed his face with his left hand. This was weird. 

If Arnold was a big deal, Jumbo was obviously an even bigger deal. He could do more to act the part. If he had been more arrogant, Ranta would be able to tolerate that, and it might even be easier for him to accept. 

But what had he done instead? The way Jumbo spoke was always frank, never keeping him at a distance. There was even a warmth to it. 

“...So, like, why are you so darn fluent in the human language?” Ranta asked. 

“I was raised by a man.” 

“Oh... I see, you were raised by a man, huh...” Ranta’s eyes nearly shot out of his skull. “Whaa?! By a man?!” 

“Yeah.” 

“By a man, you mean, like, a human... right?” 

“Of course. In my earliest memories, I was already with that man. I don’t know his name. To the day he died, he never gave me his name. I, myself, had no sense that I was an orc. I thought myself the same as that man, and never questioned it.” 

The man had never even told Jumbo his name, so, of course, the man never said anything about where he came from, his history, or anything else about himself. 

Anyway, the man had walked all over Grimgar with the young Jumbo. 

According to Jumbo’s recollection, the two of them spent a little over ten years traveling together, from the frozen lands of the north to the Tenryu Mountains in the south, from the blue seas of the east to the rusty seas of the west. 

The man may not have spoken at all about himself, but that didn’t mean he had been the silent type. Whenever there was time, he had told Jumbo the legends, traditions, narratives, stories, and histories of each place. The man could speak many languages. He was fine no matter where he went, from steep mountains, to deserts, to wastelands, to major cities, yet he never got careless. The man had been well versed in the ways of avoiding danger, and getting out of a crisis when he found himself in one. Naturally, Jumbo had learned from him, and mastered such skills himself. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to stay with the man. He’d have been left all alone. 

Traveling with the man. For Jumbo, that had been his entire life. He’d believed, if he just followed the man, the journey would go on forever. 

Then, one day, the man had lain down complaining of a headache, and he’d never risen again. The next thing Jumbo had known, the man’s heart had stopped. 

Jumbo had known the proper way to bury the dead. So he’d done it. Then he’d been left with only himself. 

“I... see...” Ranta said slowly. “So you learned the human language from him.” 

“I’ve probably inherited nearly everything he had.” 

“You have to wonder, though, who was that guy?” Ranta asked. He noticed that, at some point, he’d started talking to Jumbo like an equal. But he didn’t feel like correcting himself, and he didn’t think he ought to. 

“There’re all sorts out there, huh. So many people, living lives I couldn’t even imagine.” 

“And your path, too, is one no other can walk.” 

“Well, yeah, if you put it that way.” 

“Each of us lives and dies in a myriad of different ways.” 

“...You lost a number of comrades today, huh.” 

“I mourn the loss of my companions. I was just offering a drink to them earlier.” 

“Everyone else, they don’t seem that sad,” Ranta commented. 

“We are all equal in death. Even the undead, who are without life, will lose their forms and be destroyed. What is there to be sad about?” 

“But still.” Ranta hung his head. 

What is this?  he wondered. He’s making me want to say how I really feel. 

Or rather, I can’t say anything else. 

No, that’s not it. 

I don’t want to tell him anything but how I really feel. 

“But if you can’t see your friends, your comrades anymore, doesn’t that make you feel lonely?” Ranta asked. 

“We all must part eventually,” Jumbo answered. 

“Even so, if I don’t want to part just yet. Is that selfish?” 

“Many orcs think like this,” said Jumbo. “We are each born fated to die. 

When death inevitably comes, our bodies rot away to become the soil, and we go through the cycle to be born once more.” 

“Do you think that, too?” Ranta asked. 

“I don’t know how this world works.” 

“Ohh. So there’s stuff even you don’t know, huh. ...It’s just, somehow, it feels like you know everything.” 

“I don’t know what I don’t know,” said Jumbo. “We can only learn a small portion of all there is to know in our short lives. That is true for all of us.” 

“Jumbo.” 

“What is it?” 

“...Sorry for asking you for that favor, about the woman,” Ranta said hesitantly. “I...” 

“Drink.” Jumbo lifted his glass and smiled to Ranta. 

There was something weird happening here, if Ranta did say so himself. 

When he saw Jumbo smile, he felt his chest squeeze tight, and he teared up, without understanding why. 

This was—love...? 

No, no, no. That wasn’t it. Obviously. As if he’d fall in love. But he felt his emotions being shaken intensely. That was a fact. 

Ranta knocked back his wooden cup, downing the rest of his mead. 

“...Damn, this stuff’s sweet.” 

“Is it not to your taste?” asked Jumbo. 

“It’s not like I hate it or anything. I figure, soon enough, I’ll get used to it, and I’ll be able to think it tastes good.” 

“You will?” asked Jumbo. 

“Hey...” The voice that spoke was like a damp wind blew up from below. 

When he Ranta glanced over, Arnold was looking up at him, about to throw something. It was a container with a cork in it. 

When Ranta stuck out his hand without meaning to, Arnold tossed it up to him. He managed to catch it without dropping it somehow. He gave it a little shake, and there was a splashing sound. 

“Juin,” Arnold said, making a drinking gesture. 

“Huh? For me? Drink it?” 

“Ahh... Yah...” 

“Well, just a little, then.” 

Ranta uncorked the container, pouring its contents into the wooden cup. 

His mead had been an amber color, but this was whitish. When he took a sip, it was a bit sour, but not too harsh. It was a fairly dry taste, and he downed it in no time. 

“...Yeah,” Ranta said. “This is good stuff.” 

Arnold let out an unnerving “Hee...” sound. It might have been a laugh. 

Ranta naturally laughed back. “...Thanks, Arnold.” 

“...elcome...” 

“Heh...” Ranta looked down, whispering to himself. “If that doesn’t beat all. Damn...”