Ch.224Request Log #017 – Enemy, Slanderer, and Adversary (9)

# After finishing my report, I washed off the gunpowder smell and headed out again. I’d at least earn enough for one day’s dinner. Ogre food was good for filling the stomach.

But right now, I craved something other than food. After tailing someone for about a week, you understand why alcoholics need treatment. I wasn’t an addict yet, though.

No matter how much I drank, my double vitality meant the effects wouldn’t last even a few hours. I’d get hangovers, but that was it. I could drink amounts that would kill normal people.

Besides, when working, I could abstain from alcohol no matter how long the job took. I was still fine for now. I couldn’t be certain how long that would last. If I ever gained confidence about my future, I should try cutting back.

But not today. On days like this, I craved Arachne’s poison-laced liquor. I hailed a taxi. The large size indicated it was driven by an ogre or troll. Comfortable size for a human to ride in.

The driver was a troll. His protruding tusks resembled an ogre’s, but his clay-colored skin was closer to the orc race. His nose, as large as an adult human’s fist, was his distinctive feature.

With the cold returning, his skin had a pleasant sheen. Considering what trolls’ skin looked like in summer, this was quite tolerable.

“To Arachne on 17th Street. I know the doorkeeper and have an invitation, so don’t worry.”

The taxi driver started driving with a somewhat puzzled expression. His driving skills were average. I could probably do better, but it was passable.

“You don’t look like someone who’d be dried out.”

I chuckled at his comment. For summer trolls whose regenerative abilities became excessive with rising temperatures, Arachne’s hard liquor was a necessity. They needed to forcibly waste their regenerative power to stay free from tumors or cancer.

“I don’t believe taxi drivers can be dried out, nor that trolls don’t need Arachne’s hard liquor. Your race is dying because of this damn Prohibition.”

The troll driver ran his thick tongue over his tusks, smacking his lips as if recalling Arachne’s liquor.

“You bet. Drink something mixed with industrial alcohol, and you’ll be bedridden for a month even in summer. Adding spider venom twice at Arachne makes it just right to drink… But I still miss traditional troll liquor. Water hemlock might not have much aroma, but monkshood has that unique flavor that stimulates the appetite… Ah, non-trolls would never understand this…”

They used to drink such things, sweat it out in steam baths for a few hours, and be fine. Even now, in this polluted world, drinking such liquor would dull their regenerative abilities for a week.

Still, he became more cheerful talking about what he liked. The troll driver kept me entertained with stories ranging from traditional liquor to how his ancestors once slaughtered Donar.

After listening to his stories for a while, I got off in front of Arachne. In a few more hours, the driver would surely come to Arachne too.

I casually waved to Arachne’s doorkeeper, whom I hadn’t seen in a while. With a fresh cut on his cheek, he remained as respectful as ever.

“You’re back. Oh, you can put your wallet away. Unless they’re shapeshifters, you’re definitely our regular customer, so what’s the point of checking invitations? The fewer obstacles…”

I gave him a half-smile. This doorkeeper was one reason I liked Arachne.

“I’ll have one more drink. You’re always working hard.”

I entered Arachne’s interior, where numerous hammocks made of spider webs hung from what remained of the building’s shell. Arachnes—looking like female upper bodies forcibly stuffed where a spider’s head should be—moved along staff webs delivering drinks, a sight that always seemed surreal at first glance. But this was largely our reality.

Normally, I would have settled into a hammock I liked, but today I headed straight for the bar. Arachne’s bar was as clean as Two Face.

While Two Face occasionally had insects due to all the plants they grew, Arachne’s spider webs blocked all dust and pests. I sat on a stool and nodded to the bartender.

Though her spider body was creepily large, the human part on top was tolerable enough to look at. Among races twisted by divine power, they were the most beautiful.

With Mediterranean-typical healthy tan skin and curly black hair in a short bob cut like Carmen’s, her impression was quite different from the straight-haired Carmen.

Seeing just my face, she smiled with her eyes and brought out a bottle of spider venom-laced liquor from behind the bar, placing it in front of me. Most customers either didn’t or couldn’t drink this.

“Even with troll regulars pouring in, I saved a bottle for our regular. Double-added Arachne moonshine, right?”

“When was it ever different?”

I lightly pulled out the cork of the tightly sealed bottle with just my thumb and index finger, and the bartender poured the liquor into my glass. With the first sip, a tingling sensation and shiver ran from the tip of my tongue up through it.

This was followed by the pleasant taste of wine. The taste that seemed to erase the lingering numbness on my tongue felt good. The bartender watched with fascination as I enjoyed the liquor.

“No matter how many times I see it, it’s amazing. A human drinking that without losing consciousness within a minute. Are you really human? Do you have a few drops of divine blood mixed in?”

I laughed leisurely at her words. I took it as a joke since I was enjoying the pleasant taste of the liquor, with sweetness rising after the tingling sensation.

“If those names were in my family tree, I’d have put a gun in my mouth already. Especially since I belong to the race that hates them the most.”

At my words, she straightened her back as if showing off, then burst into laughter. Arachne was a place where I could share pleasant laughter and smirks like this.

“Ah, want to see my new work? It’s a bit too much to display outside, so it’s in the back room of the bar. I only show it to regulars.”

While the Arachnes’ bodies twisted by divine powers did sour my mood quite a bit, they were still a race with artistic sense so genius that no other race could match.

I nodded readily, filled my glass with liquor, and followed her to the back room of the bar. Every bar had a back room, and being able to see it was always a privilege.

Several tapestries hung in the bar’s back room. Each one would have earned looks similar to those given to the Idealists if displayed outside.

The one she proudly showed as her new work was especially so. It depicted a giant hand stealing the Greek God-President’s lightning bolt and beheading him.

Boldly inscribed with the phrase “Death to the Rapist!” above it—that was the Arachnes’ taste. They matched my sensibilities far better than the Anti-God Party members.

Those Anti-God Party bastards didn’t feel the God-President was unnecessary. They knew him too well, understood his will too well, and were merely malicious actors trying to fulfill it on his behalf.

Of course, they could create a much better world, but this approach was much closer to our nature. I never thought about changing the world. The desire for life was everything.

I emptied my glass again and poured more from the bottle I’d brought. I wasn’t feeling drunk yet, but I could feel my body temperature slowly rising to detoxify. Few things compared to this feeling.

“It’s a bit funny that you stick around in this country while making things like this.”

“The God-President is the lesser evil. At least he’s better than that guy who’s still having woman troubles. I heard he’s preparing for war again—he should at least make sense if he wants people to listen.”

Only five years had passed since the Great War ended. Unless we were insane, we wouldn’t go to war again. Well, of course, things that wouldn’t happen unless we were insane were synonymous with things that had already happened.

Even the Great War wasn’t fought in our right minds, and since people hadn’t changed at all, we might go to war again. Still, that would be like a broken clock being right twice a day.

As if bringing up gods gave her a headache, she went to the bar and brought back a glass. I poured the strong liquor into her glass too, and we made a brief toast.

I don’t remember exactly what the toast was. “To a god better than a rapist,” perhaps? Or was it “Fuck all the gods”? Probably the latter. It seemed like it.

After that, I must have downed several bottles of that poisonous liquor and somehow made it home with my mind hazy from the poison and alcohol. Only the cost of the drinks was gone from my wallet, and all my bullets remained.

That was the second reason I liked Arachne. Often, alcohol alone wouldn’t put me to sleep, but on days I drank Arachne’s hard liquor, I slept well. Though it sometimes felt a bit excessive.

This was the first time I felt uneasy after drinking, beyond just a hangover. It just… felt like this lifestyle didn’t quite suit me. But only a little.

The God-President wasn’t as terribly emotionless and cold-blooded as I had thought. It was true that those with power weren’t taking responsibility, but at least he himself knew that fact.

People resembled the God-President after all. He was guilty, but not guilty enough to be beaten to death. He was similar to most people. Feeling uncomfortable, I put a cigarette in my mouth and gathered mana at my fingertips to light it.

How should I live when all the things to hate disappear one by one? Bounty hunters grew more afraid with each name they crossed off the wanted list.

With each prey a hunter caught, the hunter’s usefulness diminished by that much. Prey was the source of a hunter’s life, and hatred was the source of mine.

I hated myself, but I couldn’t die because the self that failed to liberate my comrades would be even more hateful. Guilt boiled inside me, but I could divert my attention somewhat by hating the God-President.

But now that hatred had subsided a little, leaving an empty space. People hadn’t changed much, but the empty space felt too large.

A person can’t forever live as someone’s enemy, slanderer, and antagonist. If you’re not going to hold a grudge forever, you either reconcile or kill, and hostility eventually subsides.

Those who willingly used such titles and took pride in them were all liars. I had tried to believe in the Anti-God Party once, but gave up when I saw the name their party leader wrote in a letter.

If I’m thinking about these things, should I at least try to reduce killing people? Killing the Followers of the Forest’s Firstborn was closer to slaughter than murder. Just like when I was the Hanger of New York.

Rather than wasting time with useless thoughts, I should have been holding my throbbing head. I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray and got up.

I should either eat something and look for work, or go to Iris and hole up there from the morning. I opened the cupboard to make breakfast, but it was empty.

There’s a reason I live in an apartment with a grocery store right in front. Even an Argonne Invincible couldn’t live without eating.

And it’s run by an ogre, too. I make the minimal effort of exhaling cigarette smoke-laced breath once more before entering. I grabbed a metal basket and filled it again with only canned goods.

I also grabbed a bar of Gremory Chocolate Company chocolate. When I put it all up for checkout, that ogre started nagging again.

“Canned goods again. Always canned goods. Do you have some kind of memories associated with food in cans? No, I really don’t understand. Do you need a cookbook or something?”

To ogres, not cooking—or rather, not enjoying food that’s been cooked to bring out its full flavor—is this incomprehensible.

“I just need something quick for breakfast. I eat proper meals for lunch and dinner.”

“Name the restaurants.”

His nosiness could rival Sarah’s. I told the ogre the names of a few restaurants I frequented. He looked somewhat dubious but rang me up.

“Your taste in restaurants is actually decent. But why… why eat canned food? Even if it’s just breakfast, if you cut corners with meals, you’ll end up cutting corners in life, my friend.”

“I made do with cans in the trenches, but I didn’t cut corners in the war.”

Everyone was desperate. I don’t know who became desperate first. Both sides willingly crossed many lines to win, despite having nothing to gain from victory.

“Huh, you really leave me speechless. You never lose an argument. Here you go.”

I returned home with the canned goods and pulled Sol Invictus’s gladius from the knife block. The balance was perfect, beautiful even.

The stabbing point easily pierced the can lid, and the cutting edge was sharp enough to cleanly remove the lid without leaving any jagged parts.

Last time, I had only swung it to behead Sol Invictus, so I hadn’t noticed, but even while using it to open cans, the center of balance shifted slightly.

When holding it with the tip down, the balance seemed to shift slightly toward the blade, but when properly held and placed back in the knife block, the balance shifted toward the handle.

If only divine power were limited to this. I pulled it out of the knife block again and swung it through the air a couple of times, and I thought I understood why the balance changed. It seemed like something was filling the inside of the sword.

When pointed downward, liquid shifted to the bottom, moving the center of balance toward the tip, and when properly held, it shifted toward the handle.

Did they fill it with mercury? More than anything else, Sol Invictus fought with a sword whose center of balance changed depending on how it was held and at what angle. No wonder he claimed to be a war god in his time.

But now he’s just gossip to accompany breakfast. I finished breakfast by quickly drinking unheated tomato soup.

It felt ordinary. Not the daily life of someone who is an antagonist or enemy to another, not the daily life of a god-slayer, an Argonne Invincible, or a Doppelsöldner… it felt like I finally had a grasp on my own daily life.

That sense of stability became the driving force to live a few more days. That was enough. It was a sensation I had vaguely detected when receiving work from the journalist, but now I could feel it completely.