Ch.40The Mourner on the Snowy Field (2)

“Infection, Insubordination, Mourner.”

-Three things to be careful of on the battlefield.

*

There’s an expression about eating like one is possessed. It wasn’t a phrase I heard often, but I felt like I knew exactly what it meant.

The barbarian warrior’s way of eating perfectly matched that expression.

He moved without pause, rapidly pushing food into his stomach.

He tore dried meat and stuffed it into his mouth, then grabbed a handful of honey-glazed snack meat and threw it in.

When his throat seemed to clog, he pounded his chest vigorously, emptied his water, and then finished the simmering stew.

Amidst the clattering, chewing, and swallowing sounds, I wondered if eating could really be such an urgent affair.

That was the scene before me. The middle-aged barbarian warrior ate to survive.

It was different from what I’d heard about people who couldn’t eat properly after prolonged starvation because their intestines couldn’t handle it. Perhaps it was because barbarian warriors had high health stats.

I waited for him to finish his meal while looking at Isla.

She didn’t seem particularly concerned about sharing the food. That was fortunate for me, as I was essentially a freeloader.

“…Thank you. You saved my life.”

After finishing his meal, the barbarian warrior bowed deeply from where he sat, nearly touching his head to the ground.

“It’s just leftovers, don’t worry about it.”

“Even if they are leftovers, showing kindness to a stranger is a separate matter. Even among acquaintances, kindness is not easily given…”

He held back his words, but I could discern what he left unsaid.

We were in the New World. Though order was being reestablished in Marsi now, it was originally close to a lawless zone.

I’d venture to say it was less orderly than the American frontier era. I crossed my arms and turned my head to look at the forest.

It was the forest from which he had presumably emerged.

Isla had been hunting in that forest for the past three days.

“How did you end up like this?”

At my question, the barbarian warrior looked up at me with a blank face.

“I think I deserve an explanation.”

“…Ah, that’s true.”

He was visibly hesitating.

Was I mistaken in thinking it seemed less like he was considering whether he should speak and more like he was contemplating how to make excuses?

“Actually, I was living in a small settlement nearby, but suddenly Bullets appeared, and we scattered in all directions. So…”

Pretending not to hear the rest of his explanation, I shifted my gaze from the forest to Isla, my arms still crossed.

I couldn’t tell Isla’s level. But I had realized over the past 200 hours that she was a skilled hunter.

She possessed exceptional senses combined with diverse experience, and had the stealth and agility to outmaneuver any prey.

And this Isla had been roaming the forest for three days without detecting even a trace of this barbarian warrior?

I wasn’t naive enough to easily believe such a claim.

Naivety was something I had abandoned long ago.

Ever since I learned Santa didn’t exist during my first Christmas.

I was suspicious of him, disguised as a barbarian warrior.

A middle-aged barbarian warrior couldn’t have missed the signs.

He stiffened his shoulders and moved his pupils, searching for my invisible eyes.

“Being in the forest is probably true.”

The reason was simple. The forest was the only place to hide in this snow-covered plain.

If he had been anywhere else, he would have certainly been spotted by me or discovered first by Isla.

No matter what stealth abilities one might possess, hiding on a snow plain stretching to the horizon is no easy feat.

So one question remained. How did this barbarian warrior completely conceal his presence from Isla?

I thought I knew the reason.

“You’re a Mourner.”

Mourner.

A mysterious existence that has been around since ancient times, yet no one understands its principles.

A puzzling being that draws power transcending life merely through the act of human mourning for another human.

Aside from their shortened lifespan, they appeared to be perfect warriors, but they had a special advantage and disadvantage beyond that.

Mourner.

These mysterious beings had no mana.

Meeting Isla’s gaze directed at me, I stepped forward in front of her.

To be ready to handle any sudden situation.

At this, the middle-aged barbarian warrior sighed as if in resignation.

*

All living beings possess mana.

If there were exceptions, they were extremely rare, and the Homunculus I had chosen was among them.

Whether it was because they were artificial humans, or because their souls were abducted or replicated from another world, I wasn’t sure.

Homunculi had almost no presence and were quite stealthy because of this.

The Three Clans also lacked mana, but they were exceptional transcendent races that drew mana from the world itself.

Excluding these two categories, there weren’t many left, and Mourners belonged to one of them.

Unlike Dark Knights whose mana caused repulsion, Mourners were beings whose mana simply vanished for reasons no one understood.

Perhaps that’s why in the game, Mourners were considered an extremely simple, brute-force, and boring class.

While popular classes typically featured flashy or useful skills, Mourners couldn’t use skills due to their lack of mana, so they had to progress through the game with just basic attacks.

Unlike swordsmen who could deliver powerful slashes beyond physical limits using mana, or monks who could unleash rapid combos with mana.

Mourners could only swing their weapons, and that was the extent of what they could do.

They could use a few minor techniques that didn’t consume mana, but that alone didn’t make the game dramatically different.

For these reasons, Mourners were recommended for beginners. They were powerful, but straightforward and unrefined.

These simple, powerful Mourners had another characteristic: they couldn’t be detected by sensing magic or skills.

All magical detection methods and sensing skills read beings with mana.

Since inanimate objects have no mana, detecting mana was far more accurate and simpler than inefficient motion detection magic.

Homunculi and Mourners existed outside these detection methods.

Even Dark Knights could be detected due to their mana repulsion, and theoretically the Three Clans could be detected too, but only these two beings were like undetectable ghosts.

So I had been suspicious from the moment he appeared… but I was also half-doubting.

“That’s right. I am a Mourner.”

The middle-aged man’s body was covered in scars and wounds.

Marks where flesh had been cut away, torn marks. There were far more wounds cauterized with fire than stitched together.

Evidence that anyone could see he hadn’t lived an easy life.

He was definitely middle-aged. Not just in appearance.

His face had wrinkles, and his hanging beard showed signs of age with occasional gray hairs.

The raw leather clothes barely covering his body had absorbed the passage of time from long wear.

Despite the fact that Mourners typically couldn’t live that long.

“That’s impossible.”

“Everyone says that.”

His response to Isla’s words was curious. He gave a hollow laugh and didn’t react to the crossbow or weapons aimed at him from where he sat.

Whether it was from spending a long time mourning, or confidence, I wasn’t sure.

I thought this being itself was abnormal.

If a typically short-lived being had survived until now, one fact could be deduced.

This was a survivor.

A being who had broken through impossibility to be here.

Could he be a Homunculus?

While I was calculating possibilities:

“So what were you doing in that forest?”

Isla asked. And she didn’t stop at just one question.

“If you were in the forest, you couldn’t have missed seeing me. I wasn’t exactly hiding. So either you were avoiding me or hiding after seeing me… what changed that made you come to us?”

A sharp question. The kind of hunter’s inquiry I might not have immediately thought of.

Perhaps the middle-aged Mourner knew this too. He opened and closed his mouth with a bewildered expression.

In the flickering light of the bonfire, he looked diminutive.

A Mourner who had lived a long time was both a survivor and terminally ill.

“Actually, those who are chasing me—”

Rustle.

But it seemed he wouldn’t be given time to explain.

I perked up my ears at the sound, and even the middle-aged man stiffened, apparently having heard it too.

Isla had already withdrawn the crossbow she had been aiming and hidden it in the shadows.

Something was approaching. Probably whatever the middle-aged man had tried to deceive us about by calling them “Bullets.”

After a moment’s hesitation, I stood up.

“Get inside.”

He nodded deeply and entered the tent, while something slowly approached the flickering shadows we cast.

The steps were leisurely. There was a strong sense that this leisurely pace was deliberate, intended to give us that impression.

In other words, they knew who was here.

I glanced briefly at Isla and drew the longsword from my waist.

“…Star.”

Whoosh!

The star blade ignited at the meaningless activation word, illuminating the surroundings.

From the slowly descending trajectory, a human shadow revealed itself.

A man who froze at the sudden flame.

A young man with an innocent impression.

Behind him, someone silently wearing a hood.

And several others hiding their bodies in the shadows.

Recalling the words the middle-aged Mourner couldn’t finish, I spoke.

“Stop.”

It was an arrogant voice, but that wasn’t a problem.

Rather, the leisure disappeared from the steps of those approaching.

All that lingered was the sound of the blazing blade and silence. I stepped forward, with Isla aiming her crossbow behind me.

Normally a dangerous move, but not this time.

I remembered.

That the strongest night fighter in Grim Darker was always the Star Contractor.

I stared at them, holding the star blade straight.

“Everyone put down your weapons and show yourselves.”

Whoosh!

The longsword I swung with flair traced a path of flames, and I concluded:

“Or I’ll burn you.”

Then in the silence, only the loud clattering of weapons being dropped echoed.