Grimgal of Ashes and Illusion - Volume 9 - Chapter 6

6. If You Can Chase After it, it Isn’t a Dream

I won’t lose, Ranta thought furiously. Not to that damn wimp.

He shouldn’t have lost.

That was the first time the two of them had fought for real. He’d known they’d come to blows eventually... was one thing he absolutely could not say. He hadn’t even considered it. But, if it came to it, he’d known he’d win. Ranta had been confident of that.

I mean, the guy’s a thief. Fighting’s not his specialty. I’m a dread knight.

“All is born from darkness, and to darkness will return. All who live, will equally be embraced by death.” This was the creed of the dread knights.

Conflict was the duty of those who followed the Dark God Skullhell, as was bringing death to the defeated. Every dread knight magical or fighting technique existed to that end. The lords had beaten other unique techniques that would bring death to their enemies, irrespective of the means they had to resort to, into the dread knights.

Only a servant of Skullhell could understand, but in abandoning morals and emotion, and sharpening the spirit, a dread knight reached a peak of purity. In that place, a battle was no longer battle, but something no different from breathing. Fight as you breathe, emerge victorious, and bring death. This was the ideal for a dread knight.

There was no way that a dread knight like Ranta would come up short against a mere thief.

The fact was, Ranta had been toying with the thief. When he closed his eyes now, his senses from that time returned to him. The more that thief’s stiletto and dagger had clashed with Ranta’s RIPer, the more fired up he’d gotten.

The thief had known Ranta, so it wouldn’t have been easy to finish him with a single blow. Ranta had known that, too. However, because he thought he’d known that, Haruhiro had been surprised.

Is it this different? he’d been asking himself. Every time he’d sensed Haruhiro’s shock, Ranta had wanted to say,  Have you learned your lesson?

He’d barely been able to hold it in.

Know your place, Haruhiro. In the end, you’re no match for me. You can’t beat me. Just accept it, and surrender.

Exhaust.

Leap Out.

Then, Missing.

The movement-type dread knight skills weren’t just about footwork; they also involved shrinking, stretching, bending, and twisting the entire body. For Ranta, who was on the small side for a combatant or a dread knight, and whose athletic abilities weren’t significantly better than other people’s, movement skills were the main focus. Basically, if he couldn’t move, he couldn’t fight. If he stopped to trade blows, he was sure to lose.

He had to move. Just keep moving. The more he moved, the more victory came into sight.

That was why, in actual combat, he went around constantly using his movement skills, like he was an idiot and that was the only trick he knew. Even once he’d used them, and used them, and used them some more, he would still keep using them. If he didn’t go that far, Ranta the dread knight had no future. Ever since he’d learned Exhaust at the guild, Ranta had thought that. No matter what anyone said to him, he’d fought his battles with an excessive use of movement skills.

He did it to win.

This was the only path to becoming stronger.

You get that, Haruhiro? he thought furiously. I’m not like you.

I’m no leader, after all. Your job is keeping the party together. Even when you’re fighting, you need to keep tabs on everyone else, and control things. I’m different. The one thing I have to do, more than anything else, is kill the enemy. I’ve gotta get stronger.

I’m a shrimp, but I’ve gotta get tough. Do you know how hard that is, Haruhiro?

I’m gonna get stronger and stronger. “I’m strong,” I tell myself. D’you know what happens when I do? I hear it. That mocking laughter.

“Hey now, come on, are you serious? Do you seriously, seriously, seriously think that? Look around. Every one of these guys is bigger than you, and they swing around these huge weapons like they’re nothing. Even among the guys who enlisted at the same time as you, there are Renji and Ron. They’re on another level. How many centimeters did Moguzo have on you? There’s no closing that gap, you know? If Renji hit you with everything he has, Ranta, man, you’d die in one shot, wouldn’t you?”

The more seriously I think about it, the more I’m forced to think the gap is huge. Too huge.

“Don’t let it get me down”? That’s impossible, and you know it, don’t you? It’s normal for that to get me down. It’s easily enough to make a guy despair.

I mean, we aren’t playing around here, you know? Lives are on the line, okay?

“If I die, I’ll just be embraced by Skullhell”? Well, yeah. But you think I’m gonna be able to accept that? So easily?

I don’t wanna die.

If I die, that could be the end.

I know that.

I’ve seen it.

The guys who died turned to ash, and now we’ll never see them again.

I can’t die yet.

I mean, I’m not done yet.

“This is as far as I go, this is my limit, I can’t go any further”—I haven’t hit that point yet.

You get that, Haruhiro?

I’m not burned out yet. I’m not going to end here. Not me. That’s what I tell myself to get going, and I move forward. I’m not a pathetic, indecisive loser like you. Like, playing nice with our comrades? That’s dependency, and you know it. It’s relying on other people. If I do that, I’m gonna get weak.

Haruhiro. I’ve gotta be stronger than you. I’ve done everything I can to be that way, and I’m still doing it. That’s why I’m stronger than you.

Now’s a good chance, so let me teach you a lesson!

That had been his intent.

Haruhiro had been sure to go save Merry. Given the situation, Ranta had known he’d probably do it alone.

Ranta had two options. Stop him, or don’t.

No, there’d been no choice. He’d had to stop him. Old man Takasagi would have surely noticed Haruhiro going on the move. And Takasagi had suspected Ranta.

Ranta hasn’t truly joined Forgan. He’s sure to try to make things easy for his comrades. That was what Takasagi had thought. So he would have been watching Ranta, and paying close attention to Haruhiro and the others, too.

Takasagi never missed a trick. If Haruhiro’d moved, Takasagi would’ve been guaranteed to detect it.

Ranta had to stop him. He’d had to do it, on his own.

Naturally, he’d known Takasagi would come, too. He hadn’t trusted Ranta, after all. In fact, that was exactly how it’d gone.

Now that it had come to this, Ranta had known he couldn’t let Haruhiro go. He’d known how good Takasagi was. That old man was incredibly skilled. He only had one arm, and he only had one eye, but none of that even mattered. Even if Ranta, Haruhiro, and Kuzaku ganged up on him, they wouldn’t stand even a slim chance of winning. Even if Yume, Merry, and Shihoru the mage joined in, it would be dicey. Takasagi would kill Haruhiro easily.

We were comrades once, Ranta had said. I’ll do him the decency of killing him myself.

Saying it that way, Ranta had expected that Takasagi wouldn’t refuse. Why? Because, judging by Takasagi’s personality, he’d want to test Ranta.

In a way, that might have been Takasagi’s weakness. Takasagi was too good. He was too perceptive, and could tell the clear difference in their skill levels. Takasagi knew Ranta was beneath him. He was a kid. Not worth fighting. Because of that, Takasagi had thought he could take care of Ranta any time he needed to. He hadn’t really been looking down on him. It’d been an accurate assessment of reality. So that was the one opening Ranta had to work with, that Takasagi would let Ranta do his thing, even while suspecting him.

If Ranta had turned out to be fully loyal to Forgan, good. If not—if Ranta had tried to betray Forgan—he would’ve been dealt with then.

In the end, Ranta had gotten into a one-on-one fight with Haruhiro.

After that, he’d just had to win it. To beat Haruhiro down. Make him surrender.

They won’t kill you, Haruhiro, he’d thought. There’s a path. A way to make this all work out.

I show you what I’m made of. Then, when you’re good and beaten, I’ll make a proposal. All you have to do is say, “Okay.” It’s simple.

Joining Forgan will solve everything. No, not just me joining. All of us. We’ll become members of Forgan. For now, there’s no need to think about whether that’ll be a permanent thing or not. Just join. Live with the orcs, the undead, the elves, and the other races here. Just once, try talking with Jumbo. You’ll shit yourselves. The man’s huge. Oh, I guess he’s an orc, not a man. Well, you’ll forget that in no time.

It’ll broaden your horizons. We don’t know a thing about Grimgar. You’ll realize that so bad it hurts. You’ll find out the human world is small, damn small. We became volunteer soldiers out of necessity, and we’ve been living that life, but I seriously question whether that’s okay. Did we choose this for ourselves? Weren’t we just forced to make that choice? Maybe we’re just being used, you know?

Haruhiro, I know you won’t believe this, but I’m wracking my brains, too. I’ve thought about a whole lot in a short time. I want to tell you, and the others, what I’ve been thinking. I want you to hear me out. What do you all think?

Just because they’re orcs, does that make them our enemies? Sure, undead are creepy, but they can drink and party, too, you know? They sit shoulder-to-shoulder with comrades, telling stories. For me, if I set my mind to it, I think I could get by here. I want to talk it over properly, and hear what you guys have to think.

You especially, Haruhiro.

I want to hear what you think.

I mean, you mull things over forever. You’re not the type to decide on intuition. I won’t say we’re polar opposites, but we’re pretty different.

I hate you, and I bet the feeling is mutual. Frankly, we just don’t get along. Even after all this time working together, you and I aren’t friends. I can’t be your friend. If you weren’t doing a bang-up job as leader, I’d have ditched you long ago. That’s all you’re worth to me, after all.

I’m sure you see things differently than me, and you think things I never would. You think differently. In ways that irritate me. You say things that piss me off.

That’s exactly why I wanted to show you this world. This is another world that exists. Even without going to another world like the Dusk Realm or Darunggar, there are worlds out there that we don’t know. With the long time we spent in Darunggar, don’t you think we could accept another side of Grimgar? Don’t you think we should?

Haruhiro, what do you think...?

“...Geh,” Ranta muttered. That ass.

Ranta pressed down on his right shoulder with his left hand.

He’d known that Haruhiro was going to pull something. If he hadn’t done something drastic, Haruhiro would’ve stood no chance of winning. He was normally cautious to the point of cowardice, but sometimes he could be bold.

What is he going to try? Ranta had wondered.

His most special of specialties, Backstab and Spider, had both been completely locked down. Keeping them locked down only required not letting Haruhiro get behind him, so that was easy for Ranta, with his superior mobility. He’d known that if he stayed on the lookout for that combo of Swat, Arrest, Shatter, Slap, Hitter, he could defend against it, too. Outside of that, any distractions or feinting maneuvers wouldn’t work on Ranta, who knew all of his tricks.

He’ll try to take us both down. Ranta had thought the possibility of that was high. Even if Haruhiro hadn’t tried something that would kill both of them, he might’ve sacrificed an arm to land a lethal blow on Ranta. It was exactly the sort of thing that guy would think to do.

Assault.

Ranta had known about it. Haruhiro didn’t use the skill often. It was too exhausting, and it required him being prepared to die with his opponent, so it was only a valid move in a limited number of circumstances. But Ranta had known he might try to bet it all on that.

He’d predicted it.

Haruhiro’s Assault had been beyond what Ranta had expected. He hadn’t calculated for that.

That momentary burst of speed. To be specific, the start of it. That was what had settled it.

No.

He settled it.

Haruhiro had decided this was the only way he could beat Ranta. He’d resolved himself to do it, and he’d bet on that one moment.

That had probably been all Haruhiro had. If Ranta had just lasted through it, he’d have won. There would’ve been no second attempt.

If Haruhiro tried it again, he’d be able to respond.

It was true, Ranta had lost. But if you asked which of them was stronger, it was still Ranta. Haruhiro would probably acknowledge that, too.

Ranta was stronger than Haruhiro, but he’d lost. Haruhiro had stolen the win from Ranta using a method that was so very like him.

“...Didn’t I know?” Ranta muttered. “That he’d pull something like that. Why’d he manage to get me? Was I underestimating him?”

He’d had an elf shaman heal the shoulder that Haruhiro had stabbed with his stiletto. The wound was closed now. It couldn’t hurt, but there was a dull throbbing.

“Hey...” came a voice like a damp breeze.

Ranta’s eyes snapped open. Arnold was sitting across from him at the campfire.

Arnold, who was half-naked, was a type of undead called a double arm, and he should have had four arms, but one of his left ones was missing. His whole body was wrapped in blackish leather, so Ranta couldn’t see how bad the wounds were, but he had to be all beaten up.

From what Ranta had heard, so long as the undead didn’t leave their wounds open, they’d heal. That said, it wasn’t immediate. It would take some time. They could apparently stick another arm on, or something like that, too. However, it had to be held in place until it took, and—Ranta didn’t really know anything about how this worked, but there was an element of compatibility between the undead and the other creature’s body, so there were times when it wouldn’t take at all. In bad cases, the arm or leg would just hang there limply until it eventually rotted and fell off.

The undead were without life. That was why they wouldn’t die. Their bodies were not their own. They were based on other living creatures. The undead were markedly different from other living creatures. In fact, they weren’t living creatures at all.

I wonder what it’s like living as an undead... Well, not that they’re alive to begin with.

But it was hard to see them as anything other than alive.

He was probably being misled by his fixed preconceptions. If something moved like a living being, that meant it was alive. It has to be alive was what he’d decided in his head. However, he had the undead in front of him, and they didn’t fit into that classification.

“...Yo.” Ranta bowed his head a little. What sort of expression should he make?

Arnold had faced Rock, the head of the Typhoon Rocks, a group within the Day Breakers, one-on-one, and it had ended in a tie because Jumbo had put the match on hold. Ranta had only seen part of the fight, but it’d been an intense back and forth brawl, and either of them could have emerged victorious.

It had been guaranteed that that the match wouldn’t be decided until one, or perhaps both of them, died or was destroyed. Jumbo hadn’t liked that outcome.

Ranta didn’t really get it. Isn’t that what fights are like?

What did Arnold think about it? Was he satisfied?

“Hey there.” When Ranta finished wondering what to do, he ultimately settled on smiling. “Arnold-san.”

Arnold said, “Heh...” his face distorting slightly. It might have been a laugh. Then he threw the container in his right hand over to Ranta.

Ranta caught it. It wasn’t porcelain, or wood, or metal. The container was made of a material similar to leather, but it was awfully hard for that to be the case. It had a narrow mouth, and a stopper. He knew what was inside. Alcohol. Though, sadly, he didn’t have a cup handy.

How much time had passed since sundown? Takasagi had apparently taken around half of Forgan to go chasing after the Rocks, Haruhiro, and the others. The other half that stayed with Jumbo were resting in this general area, or they were around the fire having a good time.

Ranta had built the campfire in front of him by himself. The elf shaman who’d treated him and a number of others had called out to him, but Ranta hadn’t even given them a proper response. He hadn’t known what they were saying, and he wasn’t in the mood to wildly gesticulate in an attempt to get his intention across. Honestly, please, just leave me alone, was his attitude right now.

“Aw...” While holding the container in his right hand, Ranta shook his left hand, indicating to Arnold that he had no cup.

“Dwin,” Arnold said, gesturing with his chin. Just drink it already, was what that apparently meant.

“Don’t mind if I do, then.” Ranta uncorked the container and drank directly from it. When he tilted it back, the dry liquor with just the right amount of sourness poured down his throat. “...Yeah. This is good stuff. I like it.”

Arnold said, “Gimme to me...” and bent one finger.

Once Ranta put the stopper back in and tossed the container over, Arnold took a drink, too, and chuckled.

His eyes are totally dead, though.

There was no life in Arnold’s eyes. It still felt bizarre to see an undead drinking, eating, and laughing. But it didn’t surprise him anymore. More than that, when Arnold was considerate like this, he found it calming, if strange.

What is this? he wondered. Huh, Haruhiro? Would you guys feel this way, too? Or is it just me?

He’d wanted to find that out, to know.

If Haruhiro and the others felt similarly to Ranta, it might mean there was something here that the human society in Alterna lacked.

But what if they didn’t?

What if Ranta were the only one to feel this strange sense of calm?

It’d mean I was different, of course. It’d mean the place where you guys are isn’t for me. Because I spent all that time in a place where I didn’t belong, I always felt irritated, and unable to settle down. Is that what it’d mean?

Ranta had started to think he couldn’t be friends with his comrades. He was probably right. It required mutual understanding. But they didn’t have to be buddy-buddy. No, it was the opposite. It was best if they weren’t. Instead of being clingy, they should keep an appropriate distance. That way, they could fight about what they were thinking. Hating one and other was just fine.

Ranta hung his head. But was it really like that from the beginning...?

“Ranta-kun,” Moguzo had said.

He had such a great look on his face then. It was a long time ago now, but I remember it so well.

“Someday, let’s do it. Open a restaurant.”

Moguzo...

No doubt about it, he’d been serious about that. Damn straight. Even if the whole world got turned upside down, Moguzo wasn’t the sort of guy who’d say a thing he didn’t mean.

He hadn’t been just a comrade. He’d been a partner.

Was Ranta scared? Of losing someone again? Was that why he didn’t want to get close to the others?

Thinking about it, back when Moguzo’d been alive, for all their bickering, the three guys had hung out together a lot. Ever since Moguzo had died, unless Ranta had some business with the others, when he’d wanted to drink, he’d gone out by himself.

It hadn’t been a conscious decision. He’d probably been distancing himself from his comrades on an unconscious level. It hadn’t caused any particular problems.

It’s not like I need friends, you know?

Was that true?

It would be fine to have people he could open up to. Didn’t he want them?

Still hanging his head, Ranta stretched his right hand out in front of him. He heard Arnold standing up.

Arnold approached, and put the container of alcohol in Ranta’s hand. Ranta knocked the container back and gulped down its contents.

It stung.

“Heh...” Arnold laughed, but not to mock Ranta. He wasn’t the type to do that.

Haruhiro. Why didn’t you just go down quietly for me...?

I had to do that. Yeah, I was serious. I went at it hard enough that I might’ve killed you. Damn straight I did. If I didn’t, Takasagi might’ve finished me. Besides—you aren’t who you used to be, either. If I don’t go all out, I can’t beat you.

But, man, you know there’s no way I’d kill you, right?

We may not be friends, but we’re comrades, okay? You understand that much, don’t you? You’re supposed to be Haruhiro, but you couldn’t read what I was thinking? We’ve been together all this time, so why didn’t you get it...? Then, to top it all off—

You tried to kill me, didn’t you?

If Merry hadn’t stopped you, man, you might’ve killed me, huh?

That means—yeah, you don’t trust me.

Not that I’m disappointed. It’s just an, “Oh, yeah, that figures.” It’s nothing. That’s all we were, in the end.

I just feel a little pathetic, that’s all. That I tried to put my trust in someone who doesn’t even trust me. I was an idiot. A total idiot.

“Hey...” Ranta muttered.

He’d only drunk from the container twice, but he could already feel the alcohol taking its effect. Arnold had already returned to the opposite side of the fire and sat down.

Ranta smiled to him. “Arnold.”

Even when he addressed him without an honorific, Arnold didn’t seem offended in the least. He looked at Ranta with those dead eyes, as if to say, What is it?

Ranta didn’t fully understand what it was he was trying to do, or what it was he wanted. “O darkness—” He started to chant, then, Oh, right, he realized. He might be trying to reveal himself. He might be planning to open up, to have a heart-to-heart. That might be something that he wanted.

“Heya,” Takasagi broke in.

If the guy hadn’t suddenly appeared, Ranta probably would have summoned Zodiac-kun. Why had he not used Demon Call even once since joining Forgan?

Because he hadn’t felt like it. He hadn’t had the opportunity. If you said that, then that was all there was to it, but there had likely been an element of fear involved, too.

The nature of a dread knight’s demon was difficult to explain succinctly. They weren’t what you would call a familiar, but they weren’t a part of the dread knight, either. Demons were unquestionably sentient. They had a will of their own, too. They wouldn’t appear unless called by their dread knight, and they were bound tightly to their summoner, but they were independent, in a way, too. The dread knight couldn’t control the demon. They couldn’t move them about at will, but the dread knight was connected to their demon.

The demon grew, or changed, as the dread knight accrued vice, and the way they developed was up to the dread knight. Furthermore, that growth and change was irreversible. There was no turning back. A dread knight couldn’t remake their demon, and they couldn’t cast it away. The precepts stated that a dread knight’s devotion to the Dark God Skullhell lasted a lifetime. The demon would be with the dread knight until they were embraced by Skullhell. The demon was their partner of the journey towards their inevitable death.

From experience, Ranta knew. A dread knight couldn’t deceive their demon. Even if he could lie to himself, his demon would never be tricked.

Ranta’s demon, Zodiac-kun, was very different from him. It was said that most demons didn’t resemble their dread knights. It was apparently common for male dread knights to end up with female demons. There were cases where burly muscle men had little puppy-like demons serving them, too.

Despite that, the demon really did reflect their dread knight.

If he called Zodiac-kun, how would the demon act? Ranta had no idea, and that was scary.

The uninhibited Zodiac-kun might hit him where it hurt. Ranta might let how he really felt slip when he was with Zodiac-kun. Zodiac-kun might spill Ranta’s real emotions, which even he himself was unaware of.

There was also the reason that he didn’t want to go out of his way to reveal that he was a dread knight. He was hiding his Skullhell necklace, and the armor he had been using didn’t have a brand that stood out, so it wasn’t apparent from his appearance. Though, that said, Takasagi might’ve discerned it from his fighting style. Ranta never knew what might happen, or when, so he didn’t want to tip his cards. More than that, though, he didn’t want to give away what was in his heart.

With an “Oof...” Takasagi sat down next to Ranta, bending his head left, then right. His joints cracked.

When Ranta handed over Arnold’s alcohol like it was no big deal, Takasagi said, “Oh, thanks,” and took a swig.

“...So, you were back,” said Ranta.

“Just now. I just got in.” Takasagi scowled and clicked his tongue. “No luck, I’m afraid. Worse yet, Onsa’s not coming back. I’d like to think they can’t have taken him out, though.”

“That’s—” Ranta rubbed his nose.

The words wouldn’t come to him. What am I thinking?

No luck. That meant the others hadn’t been killed, or captured. Assuming Takasagi wasn’t lying to him.

He couldn’t be sure about that. Takasagi was probably capable of being as underhanded as he had to, and wouldn’t hesitate to resort to deceit or anything else. Furthermore, he didn’t trust Ranta. Takasagi might be dropping hints about Haruhiro and the others’ fates to see how Ranta would react. That was entirely possible. If so, he was best not to show too much interest.

Maybe he should show concern for Onsa, who hadn’t come back? That seemed too forced.

Ranta sniffled without a word, and shrugged.

“The Rocks, was it?” Takasagi threw the container of alcohol over to Arnold, then pulled his pipe out of his pocket. “They’re pretty good. Ranta, your comrades still have a ways to go, but they may be surprisingly stubborn.”

“Former comrades, you mean.”

“You’re not completely without compassion for them, surely.”

“For guys who tried to kill me?” Ranta shot back.

“What, are you sulking about that?”

“I’m not—” Ranta narrowed his eyes and scrutinized Takasagi. “Huh?”

“That thief.” Takasagi filled his pipe with ground tobacco. “He could have killed you, but chose not to. That’s how it looked to me.”

“...I dunno about that.”

“You have the cheek to resent him?” Takasagi took a burning branch from the fire, and lit his pipe. “To him, you’re the traitor. You’ve got no place to resent him, have you?”

“Don’t be silly. I don’t resent him.” Ranta nearly raised his voice, but he just managed to restrain himself. “There’s no way I would.”

Takasagi blew smoke. “It’s a shame your plan didn’t work out, Ranta.”

Ranta’s heart went cold. Had Takasagi seen through him? If so, how far? Or was he just acting like he knew something? Takasagi was trying to shake Ranta up. To tear off his disguise?

Though, if he wasn’t wearing a disguise, it couldn’t be torn off. He’d thought he was wearing one, but maybe he’d been naked all along. What if he were wearing another disguise beneath the disguise?

Honestly, Ranta wanted to know the answer myself.

How do I really feel...?

“Things never go as planned. That’s life.” Ranta forced himself to let out a nasal laugh. “That’s what makes it fun.”

“You act like you’re so experienced.”

“What, has your life gone as planned, then?”

“Mine?” Takasagi took a puff from his pipe, then another, then, phew, he blew smoke and emptied the ashes out of the pipe bowl. “Well...”

When, and how, had this middle-aged man lost his left eye and right arm? He said he’d once been a volunteer soldier. Why was he in Forgan now? Would there come a day where he’d be able to hear Takasagi’s story, from the man’s own lips?

“Old man,” said Ranta.

“Huh?”

“Me, I want to get stronger.”

He’d thought he might get laughed at for saying this. But Takasagi merely snorted and said, “And?” indicating he should continue.

“Do you understand? ...Well, not that I need you to. I wanna get strong. I’m sure you know this, but damn, I’m weak. Even this is better than I was before, though, you know? Still, I’ve got a long way to go. I dunno how to say it, but living when you’re weak, you wouldn’t understand, but... It’s tough. You’ve gotta give up on all these things. It’s lame.”

“Listen, Ranta,” said Takasagi.

“Yeah?”

“You may have trouble imagining this because you’re young, but even an old man like me was young once. While I had both my eyes and arms back then, I lacked skill with the sword.”

“...I’m sure you did, yeah, but I can’t imagine it.”

“As far as I know, only a handful of geniuses are able to get strong without seeking strength for themselves. Our boss, for instance. I’m not like that. Even if there were ten of you, you couldn’t beat me the way I am now. But the me of ten years ago, you could.”

“You’ve gotten stronger.”

“It’s like you said, Ranta. It’s tough being weak. It narrows your path.”

“...It’s suffocating.”

“Strength doesn’t only come in one variety, though.”

“There’re lots of types of strength.” Ranta nodded. “Even I understand that. Vaguely. But what I want is to be able to fight earnestly, and not lose. That sort of easy-to-understand strength.”

“There’s always someone above you,” said Takasagi.

“I know that... I know so bad that it hurts. But if I don’t have enough room that I can stand up without hitting my head. That’s tough.”

“There’s too much that you’re lacking.”

“I don’t have the height, after all.”

“Even with that, those who are strong are still strong.”

“You’re saying I lack talent, right? Basically.”

“That’s right.”

“...You’re blunt about it.”

“I don’t lie when I don’t have to.”

“I know that already.” Ranta strained his neck, which had been about to droop down. “Everyone’s got a limit. But they’re not all the same. It’s different for all of us. There are guys who start at one and can go to ten, and there are guys who end up stuck at five. There are guys who start at ten and go to one hundred, too. For the guy stuck at five, no matter how he tries, he can’t even hit ten. The best he’ll do is a six, maybe a seven. That’s all he’s good for.”

“Listen, Ranta.” Takasagi started filling his pipe again. “Having gotten to my age, there’s something I think whenever I see younger folks. That’s, Don’t do things that are futile. Generally, you can’t see yourself. Even in a mirror, the image is distorted. There’s no helping that. If you live wanting for this and that, eventually you learn your place. Up until then, all you can do is struggle. If you bite it while struggling, well, that’s interesting in its own way. You have to take it as it is.”

“I’m not gonna bite it,” Ranta shot back. “I have no intention of learning my place, either.”

“I see guys like you sometimes.” Takasagi lit his pipe. “Morons, basically.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“You wanna get strong, Ranta?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Rahntah...” Arnold suddenly called his name, which surprised him. When he looked over, Arnold was smiling with his gash-like maw.

When Ranta smiled back, Arnold let out a “Heheh...” and took a drink.

“There’re a lot of morons out there.” Takasagi twisted his neck around as he blew smoke. “They’re everywhere.”

“All right!” Ranta jumped to his feet. He bent his knees and stretched. He moved his shoulders up and down. He spun his arms in circles. His right shoulder didn’t hurt one bit. It was in great shape.

The fog in Thousand Valley was thin tonight. Almost nonexistent, you could say.

Looking up to the night sky, he could see the red moon.