JK Haru is a Sex Worker in Another World: Summer Page 8

  It wasn’t poison. It was the water mixed with poppybat blood that the guards had drunk. I had removed its taste and smell with dark arts, but it was mixed potently enough to send them for a loop.

  The hero’s suffering wasn’t normal, though. Sometimes it didn’t agree with people, but I’d never seen a reaction this bad. He seized and fell over.

  Really?I wondered and felt for his pulse. And yes, really.

  He was dead. The hero died of poppybat blood.

  Maybe that was just another difference between us and the hero from another world. Maybe what for us was a dangerous game was a violent poison for him.

  But now there was no way to check, and it didn’t matter, anyways. Just in case, and to show who killed him, I stuck my broken spear through his heart.

  It’s not the most satisfying story, but that’s how I won.

  Huh? What? This is the first time you heard about that?

  Of course it is. Who would tell a story about how the hero was killed by a cursed child? After we fled the city, those idiots all realized how stupid they’d been and changed their story. That is: The kid who called himself a hero was a fraud. It was all made up.

  Naturally, it was they themselves who did away with him. They declared,The criminal who deceived our citizens and stole our wealth, women, and children has been put to death. On top of that, they added,The criminal was tricking people using the dark arts of a remote ethnic group. They made the whole thing our fault.

  We ran back into the forest. The village had been burned. There was no one there who could fight, and the wall men had all been killed. The wall man who saved me had been one of the first to fight and die defending the village.

  Maybe I should have died there, too.

  But I didn’t know why we had to die. I remembered everything from all the way back to being a little kid through to the present, but I couldn’t understand why we should have to suffer like this.

  The muck always sinks to the bottom. I only just happened to be born down there.

  Hidden in the forest, I kept on thinking. All I had was hate. I bided my time, sharpening my spear and cursing the entire world.

  And then I met that demon again. The same one I had encountered as a kid. The horse with no bones.

  I wasn’t scared. I had seen plenty of things more horrible than a demon. I put up a barrier and twisted it up in the grass to trap it with no problem. Then I killed it. I stabbed my spear into its brain and gouged. I kept gouging the contents of the thing’s head out until it stopped moving.

  Up until then, the demons were terrible beings—and gods. But I killed the hero and a god. Who the heck did I think I was? The demon lord, that’s who. I thought I must have been the demon lord.

  It was raining. I remember that even now. It just kept raining over me when I became the demon lord.

  I killed the soldiers that came in pursuit. I killed the demons and beasts I encountered in the forest for food.

  I made tattoos out of the blood. Day by day I felt myself growing closer to the demons. Eventually, no one came after me anymore. Still, I lived in the forest, teasing the adventurers I ran into and killing any soldiers.

  I wore their clothes plus body parts from the demons I’d killed and made myself look more like the demon lord. I meant to be a creature that was neither human nor demon.

  I must have done that for about ten years. I think I must have looked just like a demon. I abandoned speech and writing and lived my life thinking only of that day.

  Apparently rumors about me had really gotten around. An awful lot of adventurers showed up tokill that monster everyone’s talking about and win a reputation. Of course, they got what was coming to them.

  But among them was one guy who wanted me to be his friend. Naturally, I was going to take out any joker like that. But the thing is, this guy wouldn’t go down so easily. He had a nasty sort of persistence, caution, and cleverness that was different from that hero kid. He was a man with a human sort of strength.

  It was that dumbass Widgecraft.

  *

  The third time the Sister showed up, even I figured maybe I should listen a bit to what she had to say.

  “A holy barrier is activated by releasing magic sealed ahead of time in holy water, holy wood, a piece of paper with a holy crest drawn on it, or even one’s own purified hair. Widgecraft said, ‘The method and the art might be different, but as far as the barriers go, the principle is the same.’”

  The Sister started talking about something that boring with a super serious look on her face.Does she actually think I don’t know that? If I give her face another drink, will this conversation get more interesting?

  “I heard that unlike magic, where only those with the aptitude can be users, the dark arts can be acquired as long as you study hard. I was thinking that if I could learn them, maybe I could create a more powerful barrier by combining holy magic and dark arts.”

  But then she said something intriguing—about mixing shitty church magic with our dark arts.What kind of shit would you get then?

  “You don’t know when to quit your sneering jokes, do you?”

  My drink was too good for her. She was begging for knuckles. But before I could raise my fist, an old drunk interrupted.

  “Hey, Igo. With that girl again? You should let me treat her today.”

  I threw my drink in the Sister’s face as I had done every time. But unlike the other times, the liquid was repelled before it reached her face. It splashed back with the same energy I’d thrown it with, and doused the man.

  A long hair that had fallen on the table at some point shriveled up.

  Come to think of it, every time she got up to go, there was hair left behind. Was that supposed to mean that she could make a barrier whenever she wanted? Or had she just not used it? Was she waiting for her chance to show me what she could do? Of all the cheeky little...

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The drunk took a swing at me, so this time I threw a drink at him. It was a barrier using the drink as a medium. He went flying all the way to the wall, and when I gave him a thumbs down and a glare, he ran away in a pitiful state.

  I could shut you up with a drink, too. I was just giving you a chance to apologize. I don’t give a flying fart about the church’s well-mannered barriers.

  The Sister bowed her head, her eyes still wide. “That was a wonderful technique. Please, I beg you, make me your apprentice!”

  Is she serious? She’s a Sister, but she actually wants my dark arts? For what? Shouldn’t Sisters just heal men like they’re supposed to?

  “What would happen if the church found out?”

  “I’d probably be excommunicated.”

  “So how does that benefit you?”

  “I want to get stronger. That’s all.”

  “Then what’s in it for me?”

  She stiffened up for a few moments and then replied meekly. “I’ll do anything.”

  Pretty face, the kind of body men like. So she knew how to use it, huh? “Then I want to try that out before I decide.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I told her the location of the cheap inn where I made my home, and to come the next day. I would overlook her hair, but I told her to definitely not bring anything else that could be a barrier.

  She said, “Yes, sir,” in a low voice and left.

  Honestly, I didn’t think she would come. No woman had ever wanted to fuck me.

  But it was only just midday when that serious-ass Sister really did show up, and she even brought tea things along.

  “A friend taught me how to make tea.”

  And it was even black naeb tea from Seigaya. She poured hot water over toasted black naebs, floated an apple blossom on top, and waited. When the flower had opened up completely, she set the cup in front of me.

  That smell really took me back. But it wasn’t the tea I knew. “There’s no tea like this where I come from. We just roast the beans over a fire and s
teep them in lukewarm water. This is some fancy-schmancy recreation made for city people to drink.”

  When the army occupied our village, I saw women forced to remake tea for the soldiers because they said it tasted bad. It took as much effort as turning piss water into fresh water, and the amount you could make was limited. The tea they threw out was a truly precious resource to us.

  “O-Oh, really? My apologies.”

  This woman was bringing back awful memories, so I thought I’d give her a good slap.

  But I did feel some nostalgia. It was the tea I drank as “celebration water” whenever I overcame a trial—an honor I was given along with my tattoos.

  It’s true that age makes you sentimental. It wasn’t like me to talk, but I started telling her things.

  The smell of the muddy river. The reek of the grass. The sounds of the runty black naebs popping in the fire.

  About my first encounter with a demon, the wall man, how I lost my village, and my confrontation with the man called a hero.

  I even told her about the times I fought with Widgecraft. It was pitiful, like I was making a confession or something.

  It was all the fancy-schmancy tea’s fault.

  *

  Back then Widge was—obviously—younger, and every bit the city fellow with a nice face. I thought he was just trying to be cool killing shrimpy demons at the entrance to the forest.

  But he was actually unbelievably skilled and didn’t fall for traps so easily. He was stupidly strong, too. If you let him get two hands on his sword, there was no way to approach him anymore.

  And that was the guy who pressured me to be his friend. At first I really did mean to kill him, but when I saw how stubborn and strong he was, I got fed up with it all and ran away. But he followed me wherever I went. Days in the forest, and he still came after me—even though he was a white-skinned city man.

  “Come defeat the demon lord with me.”

  There were any number of other things he could have said, but he had the nerve to invite the self-styled demon lord to defeat the actual demon lord.

  I even told him I was the demon lord. But Widge laughed. “You can say that once you defeat the real one.”

  Ahh, he really pissed me off. What did he know about me? There was no way he could understand my hate. It’s by loathing humanity and then loathing it some more that a demon lord is made. And I was already made.

  But I couldn’t win against Widge. He was a real monster. I ended up asking him if he was from another world.

  “Nah, c’mon. I was born out west. I have a bit of a grudge against demons, you see. I figure we gotta stomp ’em out at the root. And if the legend of the hero is true, then I’ll just get him on my team, too.”

  I knew the hero. He was strong as a monster, but he couldn’t beat the demon lord, and I was able to kill him. Killing the real demon lord would be impossible. No one could even reach him.

  “I heard those rumors. That he was a fake hero—and that you killed him. That’s even better. If you can kill the hero, you can probably kill the demon lord.”

  It seemed I had found a true nutcase. I thought I had no idea what he was thinking, but it was actually quite simple—the only thing he had on his mind was killing the demon lord.

  He would do anything to accomplish that. He would try any possibility. You probably think you’ve come this far on your own, but really it’s Widge lighting a fire under your ass.

  You know? That’s fine, but whatever you do, don’t fall for him.

  Well, after that we had plenty more fights, and he learned all my tricks, so anytime we went at it, I’d end up losing. I definitely wasn’t going to be his friend, though. I didn’t want to team up or trust anyone ever again. And that’s what I told him when I pushed him away. But he refused to give up on me. He wore me out.

  Even if I set up traps and barriers to keep him stuck in the darkness of the woods, even if I lured out a mob of demons, he mowed down all obstacles. Gradually our relationship changed and we began to take out larger demons together, drink until dawn, things like that. We learned each other’s secrets and backgrounds, slugging each other ’til everything was laid bare.

  One day after he won as usual, he had me pinned in a thicket of grass and said—

  Nah, it doesn’t matter what he said.

  Anyhow, I decided to team up with him. I was tired of this stubborn face-off.

  And now it’s been thirty years. We’ve gained and lost companions along the way, but we’ve finally reached the stoop of the demon lord’s castle. Only a little further and Widge’s dream will come true.

  Honestly, though, I don’t think we can defeat the demon lord. That guy can’t be taken lightly.

  And at my age, even hatred fades away. Whether it’s the demon lord or the city people, if I can’t kill someone, then I don’t intend to. I just want to leave my mark on the world to show I suffered through life.

  We’re going to be the first humans to reach the demon lord’s castle. Widge’ll be the first man to sock it to the demon lord.

  Yep, if I can get him into that position, that’s plenty for me.

  Do you get it, Sister?

  Don’t go thinking you’re going to get the proof that I’ve lived despite nearly dying time after time for free.

  I’m going to put you through hell, too. If you survive and can still make the same request, then I’ll listen.

  *

  Well that got pretty long, so by the time I was done talking the tea was cold.

  But the Sister’s face was even colder. It seemed like the color had drained out of her already colorless face.

  “That’s about enough talk, I think. Now strip.”

  When I gave her the order, she stood up and began undoing her white dress. As I thought, she had a body that would make any man happy. She must have dangled this carrot before many a fellow and given them tasty memories.

  Her face gradually reddened as if she felt some shame. Or maybe she was thinking about what I was about to do to her. Either way, I thought it was stupid. A life where this is your weapon?

  “May I tell you a little about me?”

  The Sister suddenly made a brazen request. Maybe because she’d shown me her skin. Maybe she thought men were suddenly kinder once you got naked.

  “I’m not interested. Now that you’re naked, just shut your trap.”

  I thought that would get her to close her impertinent mouth. But she smiled for some reason. I couldn’t tell if she was mocking herself or me, but her lips trembled.

  “...That’s how it is. The muck sinks to the bottom.”

  “Huh?”

  “I understand. We’re always down there, too.”

  She buried half of her face in her hair and murmured, “Then can I give you my impressions on what you said?” Before I could reply, she said, “That was a horrible story. Truly. Maybe you don’t really see it. Or you’re pretending you don’t?”

  Was she trying to start some sort of religious dialogue? I didn’t quite know what to make of that question she asked me as she bit the corner of her mouth.

  “There wasn’t a single woman in your story.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. I just stared at her blankly.

  “You had a mother didn’t you, Mr. Igo? You must have had a mother who was happy to see you pass your trials, right? But you never mentioned her even once.”

  “...Maybe I had one. I don’t know. We didn’t make families in our village. Men and women lived separately once they got to a certain age. I told you the men were warriors, right?”

  “Then what did the women do?”

  “Their jobs were to make kids and meals. No different from here.”

  A woman’s role was the same whether in a city or village. The only difference was whether she belonged to a household or to everyone jointly.

  “What happened to the women after the army occupied your village?”

  “They became the army’s property. Women are lucky b
ecause they don’t get killed. They can be useful.”

  “Your mother was among them, right?”

  “I guess so.”

  She inhaled through her nose and then exhaled. Her eyes were awfully determined. “When you went to take revenge on the hero...” She glared at me and confirmed that we hid out in a church.

  I told her yes, we did, but what about it.

  “There should have been Sisters there. Even in a poor neighborhood, they should have had some of the more skilled people in the area.”

  “Yeah, there were—two old wenches. I wasn’t interested in them, but the wall men were happy.” They were women, after all.

  We didn’t kill them. When I told the Sister that, a tear fell from her right eye.

  “...And you don’t remember the women who were in the house when you burned it, I suppose.” And then, “The muck always sinks to the bottom.”

  I did think that they were unlucky.

  “You seem angry that you’ve been discriminated against, but there are other people you completely ignored. It has nothing to do with where they were born or what color their skin is. They were only born as women.”

  “They have a role. Their bodies are different. That’s that, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. That’s what I thought for a long time too. I had given up. No, I didn’t even realize I had given up. But someone told me I couldn’t live like that. It didn’t matter if we had different roles or different bodies—it was wrong to put up with discrimination.”

  “Hey, what are you even talking about? I told you I don’t care what you have to say.”

  “And I won’t be silenced like that anymore, either!” she shouted, puffing out her big chest. “We can’t get anything unless we first get naked. No one will listen to us. Have you ever been ordered to strip by the opposite sex and gotten completely naked? Has anyone ever shouted obscene words at you in public? We’ve got disgusting eyes sizing us up twenty-four seven, but then get despised as if it’s our own moral failing. I don’t want to believe that’s just how it goes. There are actually good people and wonderful men in this world. But for some reason we’re just getting hurt every day because of all the hurtful things shouted at us!”

  “What am I supposed to do about it? You blame men, but I don’t see how telling me—”