CHAPTER 105: THE MERCHANT'S TRAP
Garfiel: “—”
Scrunching his nose, the sudden awriness leads Garfiel to stop moving.
His body had been wind as he sprinted great steps over the earth, him now slamming the breaks on his travel. He jams his right foot into the soft dirt, dust clouds billowing as he stoops his posture low, turns his head to and fro. Sniffing and scrutinising the scents in the air, Garfiel is inside the forest surrounding SANCTUARY. He has been dashing around within the scope of the barrier, searching for the missing Lewes.
He has already checked all the places he thought she might have been, pumped his legs more times than he can hope to guess, in search of her small, familiar form. The acceleration of his heartbeat originates from the panic that this sense of foreboding provokes. Garfiel senses that a development which is horrifically inconvenient for him is unfurling. Outsiders have been pushing their weight around inside SANCTUARY, and even LEWES is acting different from usual—she didn't even consult with Garfiel before making her decision.
Garfiel: “These fucking... what the shit is happenin'!?”
Clawing at his short, blond hair, Garfiel traces his finger over the white scar on his forehead. It was Garfiel's habit to touch this injury when he was confused, when he was lost, when his heart was close to losing its calm. It was something of a trigger, to stabilize his mind. Tracing his finger over the scar always made him remember when he got it. And remembering the time where he sustained this lifelong wound, where he was at his most foolish, let him regain his composure.
Many people who know this character named Garfiel judged him as being quick-tempered, and the possessor of a crude personality. That appraisal resulted from his usual conduct and attitude, his appearance and so on, but actually that judgement would be a mistake. The character named Garfiel Tinzel was unexpectedly coolheaded and determined, perpetually urging himself to think.
This too resulted from Garfiel's creed—for he knew that brute strength alone would not be enough to see his beliefs through, and had indeed keenly realised such. What did he need to know, need to do, to fulfil his wish? Garfiel allocated all his focus into considering these questions, and such was how he fostered his obstinate credo. However—
Garfiel: “And even with all that... why th'fuck is goddamn everybody goin' round doin' whatever th'shit they like... hk,”
Garfiel howls—in frustration, in agony, his sharp canines bared. Indeed, the situation had continuously strayed from what Garfiel intended. And because his stubborn beliefs are the basis for his ideas when he thinks ahead, Garfiel is hideously weak when it comes to flexible thinking.
Garfiel infinitely possessed only one solution, one stance in regards to SANCTUARY. And even supposing that the track to reach that answer split into countless branches, it alone remained the point he would never concede on. And so he felt that he had paid heed to all the branches he could conceive. But Lewes's independent activity and the outsiders' undercover operations had not been included in those possible considerations.
And sadly, although Garfiel never stopped thinking, nothing meant that had experienced anything that made him superior to others, or made him especially wiser than any normal person. He was merely frantic, desperate, and only that.
Garfiel: “—hk”
Taking a deep sniff, Garfiel narrows his golden eyes. The light fuzz on his back stands on end, confident that he has caught the scent, as he fleetly bends his legs to leap—and resumes his migration. His feet land on the branches of trees as he uses their snap-back elasticity to get higher, to go faster, to soar freely through the foliage, chasing after the scent.
Garfiel: “Group'v 'em... hell're they planning, huh!?”
Clicking his teeth, Garfiel roars as he puts his irritation to sound. The bellow he looses is close to that of a feline beast, his eyes filled with rage.
What Garfiel scented was the stench of excessively many living beings. The stench of sweat, the stench of trodden grass and dirt, the stench of tension seeping out from anxious human bodies, the stench, the stench, the stench—
Garfiel: “—!!”
This was perfectly the stench of a mass migration of humans. The dense smells numbered to over ten, closer to fifty. The possibilities of that high a quantity, at this exact timing, migrating in the present SANCTUARY belonged to only one group.
—The evacuees from the village near Roswaal's mansion.
The bunch who'd evacuated here to escape danger. What where they planning, acting in ingratitude and starting to move at this timing?
Garfiel: “That, son of a bitch... fuckin' pissin' around with me!”
What skims though Garfiel's mind is the sight of boy who Garfiel intensely disliked—a boy with short black hair. He was a character with sharp eyes in opposition to his conspicuously frivolous, blithe attitude. But despite that, he was also a man with a gaze that was occasionally lucid and piercing, as if he had seen right through Garfiel. That look of his, as if he were here but looking elsewhere, reminded Garfiel of another man that he disliked. Inevitably he loathed it.
And this man who he disfavoured even in peaceable times had unmistakably perpetrated this. This sudden migration of the refugees was obviously happening because that guy stirred them up. For some reason these evacuees placed exorbitant trust in the boy.
He had no strength, no special powers to be seen, and seemed only proficient at insincere prattle. As far as Garfiel cared he was the most loathsome, stupid, weak, and selfish breed of creature in the world.
Garfiel has to find himself thinking that truly, he should have dealt with him sooner. There were multiple chances for it, and he was so incredibly open—but his resolve to face pain alone possessed something unnerving, eerie, and inadvertently Garfiel wound up holding back. His reward for his hesitation was this present predicament.
And most importantly he had been made to lose sight of what he should most prioritize—his family, Lewes—as the mob threatening SANCTUARY's peace went off doing whatever the hell they liked. No matter what, he had to keep the evacuees from exiting the barrier. It would've been a different thing a few days ago, but the situation has changed.
Garfiel: “Fuckin' prick knows that granny ain't normal.”
There is a crystal in the place that Garfiel calls a test site, that Lewes calls the progenitor room, where the forbearer for Garfiel's family member Lewes, Lewes Meyer, sleeps.
Honestly, Garfiel doesn't harbour much interest in that crystal. The girl sleeping in the crystal looks identical to his family, but if her insides are different, then she's something entirely separate. If on the topic of beings which look the same but have differing insides, then Garfiel would already know the existence of over twenty Leweses. It was impossible for Garfiel to feel the same love and attachment for each individual Lewes, and he didn't intend to try, either.
Garfiel possessed the right to command the duplicates who shared the same face as his grandmother. And Garfiel would not shirk from utilizing that privilege. That he regardless endeavours not to use the command right results from Garfiel's own disposition. Teaming up with others and ordering people around was nothing to Garfiel's liking. Doll-like creatures which followed his instructions without complaint annoyed him indescribably.
Those were the only sentiments Garfiel held about the girl in the crystal. He possessed no further emotions about her. And while Garfiel did think himself broad-minded, he did not consider himself someone with wide reach. There had always been little he could give. Two arms, two legs, one body. What he could present was limited, and necessity existed for him to limit who he presented to. And so, Garfiel would only give what he could to those who he favoured.
Garfiel: “'N so... 'F y'think my amazin' self's gonna be cordial t'all yer fucks, that's yer misunderstandin' it perfectly, a rookie's assumption.”
He kicks hard off the trunk of a tree, leaping above the forest. Garfiel hugs his knees as he spins through the air, leaves swirling up in his wake as he makes incredible touchdown. The earth caves in beneath his feet, the roars of ground dragons pealing out from between the trees.
The impact from his landing courses over the earth. Garfiel slowly straightens his back. That he scrunches his nose is not because he is scenting anything, but because he is furious. He clicks his neck, rattles his pointed teeth, his eyes sharp and wrathful as he glares ahead.
Standing before Garfiel is a line of two carriages. The dragons pulling the carriages are shocked by Garfiel and his murderous presence, going into a state of extreme agitation as the coachman frantically calls out to calm them. The coachman is a familiar character to Garfiel.
Garfiel: “Just when'm wonderin' who it is, turns out it's th'wimpy guy. Ha! Suppose 's only what yer'd expect, yer are the chief in gettin' led around by that asshole.”
???: “That statement is very... no, nevermind, I know all too well what people's opinions of me are.”
Garfiel plunges his hands into his trouser pockets, as the coachman—a troubled-looking man with longish grey hair who is named Otto, gives him a wry smile. Otto controls the reins skilfully, beautifully calming the upset dragons down as he sighs.
Garfiel: “What, y'think it ain't no big thing? 'F my amazin' self got serious 'bout threatenin' 'em, wouldn't be weird fer yer freaked dragons t'vegone runnin' off n' outter control.”
Otto: “And so was the vigorous persuasion to keep that from happening. And furthermore, I'd already informed them beforehand that you'd likely be coming.”
Garfiel: “Eh—?”
Garfiel's ears twitch as he listens to Otto's important statement. His fingers reach out to touch his forehead scar without his notice as he steps forward, intending to question Otto as to his motives.
Garfiel: “Whatter yer mean with that? Yer fuckin' came here thinkin' yer'd use th'ruckus t'escape outta here, then my amazin' self found you n' now yer glarin'ly blocked. Ain't that what goddamn happened here?”
Otto: “Indeed, it would be. Taking advantage of sudden troubles while thinking to secure the greatest profits is orthodox for us merchants. But just when I'd been promised a considerable reward, and had been intending to succeed in this without any incident...”
Garfiel: “...”
Otto buries his face in his hands, his schemes ruined. But, perceiving a kind of calmness in both Otto's gestures and words leads Garfiel into confusion. This is not the attitude of someone whose big plans have been crushed. In fact, is this disposition of Otto's not entirely identical to Roswaal's, when having someone play right into his hands?
Garfiel: “Yer face n'yer attitude... look exactly th'same 's the asshole I hate most.”
Otto: “That would be yet another horrendous opinion of me, but... for reference's sake, would you mind me asking who you are referring to? Since I'd like to establish good relations with yourself from now on.”
Garfiel: “Ha! You, n' my amazin' self? 'M gonna goddamn snigger, moron. —The asshole my amazin' self hates most 's loungin' 'n th'nicest room n' SANCTUARY, gettin' waited on professionally even now, this very second.”
Otto: “I see, very much understood. When the one you have feelings for is so enraptured by a rival in love, I'm sure it must be difficult for you. I sympathise thoroughly with your plight.”
Garfiel: “I got no goddamn problems with usin' muscle t'shut yer loose mouth.”
Garfiel clicks his tongue in annoyance as Otto mocks his feelings for Ram. And truly, Garfiel could use his muscles to overturn this situation. This flight of the evacuees ended in failure the moment that Garfiel found out about it. They are not getting outside. But so long as they refrain from attempting to force themselves out anyway, Garfiel doubts there is any need for violence.
What he has to do right now is settle this problem down swiftly, and return to SANCTUARY. His priorities are entirely to preserve SANCTUARY, and this present problem is undoubtedly just surplus.
Garfiel: “Anyway, as of now yer escape plan's failed. 'F that son of a bitch's here get him out. I'm makin' him apologize for pullin' th's stupid fucking bullshit, n' dependin' what he says he might havet'a see some pain.”
Garfiel needed to have him clear some of this resentment pooled up in his gut. And additionally, it was necessary for Garfiel to know what that boy—what Natsuki Subaru—was thinking in pulling this. He had blustered that he would beat the TRIAL and free SANCTUARY only a couple days ago. Even saying he had lost heart, it was happening excessively quickly. Said more frankly, it was an excessive lack of willpower.
Garfiel would take those screwy ideas of his, slap them into better order, and—
Otto: “Ah, well I truly am sorry, but I'm afraid I cannot even attempt to observe your request.”
Garfiel: “Eh?”
Otto: “Haven't you noticed? I am presently wearing an identical face to that of the man you detest most in the world. Then surely must you not consider this the face of someone liable to do something that that detested person is liable to do?”
Garfiel: “—”
Indirect and roundabout, Garfiel cannot perceive the intent of Otto's statement. But Garfiel does judge these statements as ones that he must not ignore. Most importantly, wearing the same face as the man Garfiel hates—the same face as Roswaal—means planning something and trying to jangle people around in the palm of your hand.
Garfiel: “...Fuck're you plannin', oi.”
Otto: “Indeed, about that. If I'm to speak while wearing the face that you and I both know, then I'd suppose you'd call it a nefarious plot?”
Otto rubs his nose as he speaks, his expression one of being influenced by something bad. Garfiel narrows his eyes, only now noticing the strangeness of this scene.
There are two carriages before him, two dragons, and Otto. —But upon the driver's platform for the rear carriage, there sits no coachman. Or no. The full extent was far greater than that.
Garfiel: “How come, even when th'dragons got that damn freaked n' jolted the carriages, none'f th'bastards inside're showin' up?”
Otto: “Now, why could it be?”
Otto shrugs as he plays stupid, doing nothing to stop pale-faced Garfiel from approaching the carriages. Garfiel nimbly hops onto the carriage's rear, and wrenches the door to the passenger car open. Witnessing the scene in the carriage, Garfiel gives a shrill click of his teeth.
Otto: “—You realise that there's nobody inside?”
Garfiel: “Look'n 's fuckin' obvious...hk. Th'fuck is going on! My amazin' nose smelled th'stink'v a bunch of people inside these moving carriages, 'n—!”
Spit flying as he steps into the passenger car, Garfiel aborts his sentence halfway. At his feet, where he has tread into the car, there is sprawled a pile of clothes. Many clothes. Men's, women's, adults' and children's all dumped here together—and seeing it, Garfiel recognize that his nose has been deceived by a remarkably simple trick, his cheeks twisting.
Garfiel: “By this stupid, children's dupe...!”
Otto: “Around this time, the other carriages which departed late from locations separate to these two will be aiming to escape SANCTUARY. Not even your legs will be able to catch up with them in time.”
Garfiel: “From other places? Th'fuck're you sayin'. It ain't fuckin' easy t'fuckin' run away from here without usin' this forest path, this road! Th'joke here is they get lost 'long thway, and my amazin' nose catches them. Y'don't even fuckin' know that I can cross th'barrier.”
Otto: “You're correct, there is a lot that I do not know about your capabilities. However.”
Garfiel alights from the carriage, standing to face Otto. Garfiel's chest burns with panicked impatience as Otto approaches.
Otto: “I doubt you know about me, either.”
Garfiel: “—”
Otto: “You are the type to pay no heed to people like myself. You are the type which most detests people such as me and Natsuki-san, who are proficient only in prattle. And so you paid no mind to the actions I have taken thus far, and neglected to realise what it is I have done here.”
Garfiel: “Fuck're, you goin' on about?”
Otto: “I mean to say that I did not walk around the forest and spend late nights in the stables with the dragons over the past few days without purpose. I have uncovered escape routes which do not rely upon this road, and thoroughly instructed them.”
Otto hoists up both his arms, his expression triumphant. Garfiel's sharp eyes widen. His mouth gapes open.
Instructed. Instructed who? The drivers of the carriages? That doesn't really connect with what he's saying. He spent time in the stables talking to the dragons? Is that what he's trying to say? If this is true, then,
Garfiel: “Yer really are that bastard's accessory...”
Otto: “Wheh!? I am having some trouble agreeing with your methods of agreeing at me!”
Garfiel gives a sympathetic gaze as Otto kicks up a noisy fuss. This is familiar behaviour from him, the kind of thing he's always doing when Garfiel spots him around SANCTUARY. This entirely normal behaviour is indeed, in this context, abnormal.
Garfiel: “Either way, yer goin' back inside now. I'm gonna be findin' th'others n'draggin' them over.”
Otto: “They've dispersed in separate directions, to keep that from happening. It is impossible for you to catch them. But if you nevertheless intend to run and capture them, I've been told to tell you this: —The evacuees know nothing about the truth of SANCTUARY or about Lewes-san. You lose nothing by letting them flee. ...How do you find that?”
Garfiel: “Ain't you just fuckin' great at the groundwork.”
The message is almost unmistakably from Subaru. He had seen entirely through why Garfiel did not want people to leave. The feeling of being more and more entangled in another's plots does detonate Garfiel's irritation, but indeed, he has lost reason to go chasing after the evacuees.
Garfiel: “'F what yer sayin's real fact, yeah.”
Otto: “Truly suspicious, aren't you? I will state that we—and that includes Natsuki-san—do not want to worsen relations with the people of SANCTUARY. In fact, we would like to elect for liberation while having preserved friendly relations... and I must wonder whether the thing impeding a mutually cordial relationship is yourself.”
Garfiel: “...Whatever, I ain't thinking t'make friends er get'n th'way even 'n th'slightest. So long's we're talkin' bout the inside.”
Otto: “So staunch in your opinions.”
Garfiel: “This's the only thing I ain't ever givin' up.”
Otto's face is one of astonishment as Garfiel gives a heavy sigh. But, even though he's displayed suspicion about it, Garfiel judges that the message is probably truthful. There's the fact that he purposefully bothered to give the warning, but moreso if we're talking about Subaru—who recognized Garfiel's reasoning for wanting to keep people inside—then for him to keep the evacuees from possessing information liable to hinder their escape was logical.
Garfiel: “But, still. 'F that's it, then... I don't get why he's trying so hard t'get them outside SANCTUARY that he's pulling these tricks n' monkey business. If he's doin' it 'cause he think's they're gonna get injured stayin' inside, that sure ain't puttin' any trust in people yer wanna be friends with, huh.”
Otto: “Assuming hypothetically that that is the case, what an impressive statement that is to hear from the one most likely to lead the charge. I too had my questions about it, but according to Natsuki-san, this is reliable insurance. And also, I'd say it works for purposes of buying time.”
Garfiel: “—”
The moment Garfiel hears the words 'buying time', his expression stiffens. What was the significance of the term 'buying time' in this situation? Garfiel's tongue wets his lips.
Garfiel: “What fuckin', nasty plots're you...”
Otto: “Ensuring that a man and a woman will be alone together with no insects intruding on them, I'd suppose.”
Otto shakes his head, his expression one of exhaustion, but also one of accomplishment. Garfiel moves to refute him, ask what the fuck he's pissing around about, but seeing that expression makes him stop. That was not the face of somebody telling a lie. Meaning that he is speaking the truth. And the man and woman he means practically have to be Emilia and Natsuki Subaru.
Garfiel: “—”
Intuitively, Garfiel realises that these two must not be allowed to meet. The beastman blood coursing through his veins senses something instinctively.
He springs his head back up, turning to glance toward the village. If he leaves Subaru and Emilia alone to interact with each other, that will cause the worst of situations for Garfiel. SANCTUARY's liberation will be achieved, and—
Garfiel: “—”
There's no way they can do it, says Garfiel's rationality. He himself had witnessed Emilia, overwhelmed by the harshness of the TRIAL, her spirit broken. And yesterday she had lost some mental support of hers, lessening her strength even further. Could that girl, her heart so incredibly abraded and kneeling before a nightmare, truly get back on her feet after only a couple days?
But his instincts scream that he must sprint over there and stop them. The PAST shown in the TRIAL. Garfiel knew the pasts differed, but the common point between them was that they would unseal the lid on the challenger's most unpleasant memory. Garfiel had ignorantly stepped into that tomb, and been forced to see the PAST.
When he thought back on that event he would go pale, and some unbearable and hollow thing would seep into his heart. After that he had lived constantly thinking to be strong, so strong that he would never betray his decisions. That was how wounding a thing the TRIAL was on the heart of the challenger, cutting, deep, gouging.
Garfiel: “Situation's changed. My amazin' self's gettin' back to SANCTUARY right this instant. I gotta find th'two yer talking about, make them change their minds immediately, or else...”
Otto: “Do you believe that I will simply let you escape from under me?”
Garfiel: “—”
Just as Garfiel turns to head for the village, Otto calls him to a stop. But Garfiel's response is a stern one.
Otto: “—Oueg, ghuh”
Garfiel: “Shut up, take a nap. I ain't got the time t'be playin' with you.”
Closing the distance with one step, Garfiel drives his fist into Otto's stomach. He avoids the bones, boring into Otto's guts. He goes flying, dribbling as he is hurled away to hit the ground.
Garfiel had gone easy on him. He had put in too much force to just be stealing Otto's consciousness, but considering this a repayment for how beautifully he had been swindled, he was actually being lenient. Garfiel clicks his tongue at the prone Otto before digging his sole into earth, and—
Otto: “—Now where do you, think you're going?”
Garfiel: “—!?”
—Just when he intends to start running, he stops. A dumbstruck Garfiel glances back. His gaze lands on Otto, standing. With his hand to his stomach, coughing up spit, but nevertheless not unconscious.
Garfiel: “Fuck? Not that I was tryin' t'kill you, but I ain't got any memory'v throwin' a punch so weak it wouldn't knock yer out, oi!”
Otto: “Really, don't you? Then, it would seem my endurance has exceeded your powers of imagination. Ahh... stern and daily work-outs truly did have benefit. ...A merchant's body is their capital, and so there is nothing greater than, being in health...”
Seeing Otto laugh in pain, the foreboding that Garfiel feels leads him to properly turn around. He would strike again, and shear away his consciousness.
All he has to do is go harsher than last time, and aim for the head. This is highly likely to leave damage, but it will surely knock him out. Garfiel: “'S gonna hurt more this time, y'better grit yer teeth'n—”
Otto: “You're still attempting to end this by going easy on me? That contempt is why you will lose!” Garfiel leans forward, stooping his posture low, when Otto screams. He glares at Garfiel with bloodshot eyes, swinging his limp arms up with all the strength he can muster.
The next instant, a screen of up-flung leaves obstructs Garfiel's vision, birthing a momentary opening.
Garfiel: “Th', f—!?” Hit with a spur of the moment happening, Garfiel winds up freezing, going still. And—
Otto: “Eat this!!” Simultaneous to Otto's piercing shriek, through the curtain of twirling leaves does that thrown object rip, glow—
—For a light of blazing red to consume Garfiel.
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