WorldEnd: What Do You Do at the End of the World? Are You Busy? Will You Save Us?, Vol. 3

by Akira Kareno

  If Tiat had chosen to go with none of the above and instead face these unfamiliar feelings head-on, then there would surely be a rough future ahead of her.

  “Don’t be afraid to show how happy you are that she’s matured.”

  Chtholly lifted her head in surprise. There was Nygglatho, smiling gently.

  “Did I just say what I was thinking out loud?”

  “No, but I understand how you feel. How long do you think I’ve been here, watching over you?”

  …Oh, right.

  How Chtholly felt about Tiat right now was the same as how her own seniors felt about her. And Nygglatho had always been right by their side, watching over them.

  “Well, why don’t we let Tiat sleep here in the infirmary for now? Chtholly, you…were going to wash your face, was it?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Then when you’re finished, come eat breakfast in the dining hall and show everyone that smile of yours. You can come back here when you’re finished.” Nygglatho pointed to the floor. “At first glance, you seem to be doing well, but we can’t let our guard down just yet. What we can do with the equipment here may be limited, but we can provide you with a simple checkup.”

  “Oh…”

  Right. That was important. Why hadn’t she thought of that herself? Her brain still wasn’t functioning. She had to wake up.

  “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Tiat was still sound asleep and clinging to her, but Chtholly peeled her off and laid her down on the bed. She lightly tapped herself on her cheeks to perk herself up.

  “…Huh?” It was Pannibal, sounding confused. “Did you have a change of heart?”

  “Huh?”

  She pointed to Chtholly—specifically, a section of her hair.

  Just in that portion of her cerulean hair, she found quite a few red strands.

  “What…is this?”

  She rubbed it, but the color stayed. She pulled on it, but it wasn’t fake hair. She brought it up to the light coming from the window, but all that told her was that it was indeed her real hair color, not at all artificial.

  “It must be an aftereffect of your previous coma. I don’t think we have much to worry about. Hair color changes due to the weather or maturity aren’t unusual in other races,” Nygglatho chimed in. “It’s a beautiful color. I think you should keep it as is; don’t dye it back.”

  That was probably it.

  Chtholly never really liked the color of her hair anyway, and she didn’t mind at all if it ended up changing. Since only one part of her hair turned red, she didn’t have to worry about the clothes she already had no longer matching. And—

  “I’m sure Willem will say he likes you as you are, even if you don’t force yourself to get all dolled up.”

  “Seriously, could you not read my mind, please?!”

  Chtholly’s protest sounded more like a whine.

  What am I? Chtholly thought.

  The answer sounded simple but was just a little bit complicated.

  Leprechauns: the dead who failed to die. The living without life. Weapons who threw that all away for the sake of those who had real lives.

  The name of her compatible dug weapon was Seniorious. She was fifteen years old. She was born in the forests of Island No. 94.

  …And almost one month had passed since the emergence of her unrequited feelings.

  3. I’m Home

  Early in the morning, he went to the market to buy ingredients.

  A cloth bag contained his spoils in one bundle: flour, butter, eggs, milk, sugar—and a little bit of honey, various nuts, and dried fruits.

  Willem Kmetsch walked along a small forest path, the dappled sunlight filtering in through the trees.

  The stones making the path were sparse and unkempt, various weeds breaking their way through the gaps. It wasn’t exactly easy to traverse, but it at least kept them from getting lost as long as they followed it.

  “Um, um, the bag isn’t too heavy, is it?”

  Lakhesh walked beside him, peeking up at him in concern.

  “What do you take me for? I’m an adult. This thing’s light as a feather.” He readjusted the large bag he carried in his hands as he responded. “I might as well let you ride on my shoulders while I’m at it.”

  “O-oh, um, no thank you. I will pass.” She hurriedly waved both her outstretched hands. “I, um, I know the way now because of work.”

  These girls—these faeries—were nominally secret weapons owned by the Guard, so their freedoms were heavily restricted. They were not allowed to leave the island to do anything if it was not a part of some battle strategy (though flying to nearby islands with their own wings was often tacitly permitted).

  But on the other hand, they were guaranteed a rather free life here on Island No. 68.

  “How long’ve you been working at the bakery?”

  “Um, almost six months now. I made so many mistakes in the beginning, but now the manager has started to tell me I’ve been doing well.”

  “Huh.”

  A crabby middle-aged semifer man ran the bakery in the town center. It might have just been his natural expression, but he always looked grumpy and didn’t seem the type to compliment others.

  “He said he wants me to help make bread not only in the morning but also during lunchtime, and he said that he wished he could just adopt me.”

  “Huh.”

  “…U-um, Mr. Willem, is something wrong? You look scary.”

  It’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m calm. I don’t believe that blatant lip service at all. Yeah, I don’t. That said, maybe I should go say hello to the baker sometime soon.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you got permission to take a part-time job. Soldiers aren’t typically allowed to moonlight, y’know.”

  Strictly speaking, the faeries weren’t soldiers but weapons. And no matter how he thought about it, any military allowing its weapons to take a side job wasn’t normal… But then again, Willem himself was in the odd position of taking on a military role as a kind of side job. He wasn’t in the position to really pursue the issue.

  “I heard the important military man… The manager who worked here before you was real sour about it. But Miss Nygglatho convinced him.”

  “Oh… I see.”

  Nominally, these girls were weapons owned by the Guard. But in reality, they were private assets in possession of the Orlandry Merchants Alliance. Managers dispatched by the Guard were nothing but decoration, and the actual supervision was done by a caretaker dispatched by Orlandry. In this instance, that caretaker was Nygglatho. If she wanted to do something, the manager from the Guard would not be able to dispute it, whether they liked it or not.

  “Oh… You’re part of the military, too, right, Mr. Willem? Do you think this should be allowed?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Um, us as weapons of the Guard, working and saving money like anyone else…”

  “Oh, that.”

  Sure, as someone clad in a Guard uniform, maybe he, too, should be making a sour face about it.

  “Why not? If a kid says they found something they wanna do, then at the very least, it’s the adult’s job not to get in the way if they don’t plan on supporting them. As long as you’re not selling secret information or putting our equipment on the black market, I won’t say no.”

  “Wow… Really?!” Lakhesh beamed. “Um, I love you so much, Mr. Willem! Us faeries don’t have parents, so we don’t really know what it’s like, but if I had a dad, I’d want him to be someone like you.”

  “I love you so much.” Huh.

  They were words of affection, ones he was honestly happy about, ones he could readily accept.

  “I’m already kind of like your parent.”

  “Really? Heh-heh-heh!”

  Lakhesh grinned bashfully. Willem, in turn, smiled. But—

  “…Oh, but then we need a mom… I love Miss Nygglatho, too, but I think Miss Chtholly would go better with you…”

  Once s
he started murmuring about some terrifying-sounding things, he pretended not to notice, as always.

  A baggy lab coat Chtholly had never seen before sat on Nygglatho’s shoulders, over the apron she usually wore.

  “I got this when I earned my basic medicine and cooking licenses at the academy.”

  She was a little surprised Nygglatho had something like that.

  Medicine and cooking. Both of them were the most valuable skills someone working as the caretaker at the faerie barracks could have. And since she was a talented woman who had a good grasp on both, Nygglatho alone was left managing their home.

  “I feel more motivated to do work wearing the lab coat, and we’re going to make this checkup the real deal, okay?”

  And then, just as she announced, she started a very authentic-seeming checkup.

  She began with percussing and palpating all over Chtholly’s body, then she brought a light to her eyes to see how they reacted. She had her take some medicine meant for the exam and asked how she felt, drew a little bit of blood, and made jokes such as, “Oh, I think I would understand much more if I just had a nibble on your flesh.”

  “Hmm…”

  She took data, wrote them down on her chart, and took data again. As she repeated these actions, Nygglatho’s expression became one that was hard to read, a mix of surprise and perplexity.

  “I’m not infected with some kind of terrible disease or something, am I?” Chtholly asked doubtfully.

  “Mm, no, that’s not it. It really isn’t, okay?”

  She replied with an even more puzzling response.

  The general checkup was over.

  Nygglatho cradled her head with both her hands and lay face-first on the desk.

  “…What does that mean? What happened?” Chtholly asked as she got herself dressed.

  “The powdered purifying silver came back negative.” Nygglatho sat up abruptly as she spoke.

  “—And? What does that mean?” Chtholly asked nervously.

  There was a myth that silver had the power to purify evil. Countless tales said that it could keep vampires away or cut short a troll’s infinite life force.

  But in reality, those were mostly nothing but tales.

  Real silver was only a soft and unstable metal. It reacted readily with toxins and noxious gas, deteriorating and turning black. But at the same time, that meant it was a valuable tool in discovering those sorts of dangerous irregularities. That might have been why heavy and cumbersome silver utensils were popular among the rich—as a caution against poisoned food.

  But it was hard to tell how this situation and that were related.

  “Purifying silver is made with a special kind of ash that changes color not for regular poison and all that but in response to distorted death… To put it simply, it’s a chemical meant for finding ghosts and ghouls and that sort.”

  “Ghosts…”

  The word escaped Chtholly’s lips absentmindedly.

  She thought for a moment.

  “Um… And what does that mean?”

  She gulped hard, then asked another question.

  “…Don’t tell me that’s exactly what you mean?”

  “It is, of course. I have no idea what happened to cause this, but this is all I can say when I put together both conclusion and result.” Nygglatho waved the test tube she held in her hand. The silver rattled around inside it. “As you know, leprechauns are a type of spirit. And so, by mixing your blood with the reagent, it should have turned black in an instant. But it was instead the impossible result of no reaction, so I can only come to one conclusion.”

  Her logic was clear and simple; there was absolutely no room to question it.

  “In short, right now, you are not a leprechaun.”

  “…Wait. I don’t follow. People are usually born as one race and stay that way until they die, right? You can’t just decide one day, ‘Hmm, I don’t think I want to be a troll anymore,’ then go down to city hall and start being something else the next day, right?”

  “I don’t know why you used trolls as your example, but generally, yes.”

  “Then, why?”

  “I don’t know why. I told you—it’s just what it is by looking at both conclusion and result. I can’t give you any further detail unless we take you to a specialist.”

  “But then I—”

  The dug weapons—also known as Carillon—were superweapons that only the already-extinct emnetwiht could use. Leprechauns, who were beings born to work in place of the emnetwiht using their tools, however, could wield these ancient superweapons as though they were emnetwiht themselves.

  That was the reason why the faeries had been placed in this warehouse as anti-Beast weapons.

  “I know. It might be best for you not to come into direct contact with dug weapons anymore. We don’t know what’ll happen… I’m not threatening you! You know that if someone of any race not related to the emnetwiht touches a dug weapon, it might take a serious toll on their health, right?”

  She knew. That was why the majority of the lizardfolk soldiers stayed away from them. The brave ones who interacted so closely with them, like Limeskin, made up only a small minority.

  “You’re featureless, and you don’t look too different from an emnetwiht, but this isn’t something we can decide by superficial features alone.”

  She knew that. The possibility was small, but it was there; she couldn’t force her life into danger.

  But.

  She was named Chtholly Nota Seniorious because her compatible dug weapon was Seniorious. If she was no longer able to touch the sword, then all that was left was the worthless name of Chtholly.

  “…If I can’t use a sword, then I’m no longer qualified as a faerie soldier.”

  “That’s true,” Nygglatho casually agreed as she jotted something down at the bottom of the chart.

  “And since I’m no longer a faerie soldier, I should leave.”

  “Um… I suppose that’s the natural conclusion, isn’t it?” The troll furrowed her brow. “Don’t say that, though—you’re staying here. I can take care of the one or two relevant documents for you to stay, and it’s not like you have an active reason to leave now, right?”

  “But—”

  “I have nothing to do here is not a valid answer. You need to learn that the word boredom is not relevant to the life of a woman who has dreams and ambitions.” She wagged her finger like a mother scolding a child. “You came home. And you are here now. You need to cherish this, you know.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You’re right. I suppose we can start your homemaking training in the meanwhile.”

  ……

  “What?”

  “Seriously, though, Willem’s contracted time here will be finished in three months. I mean, the job was originally one where the person in question could be gone, but we would make it seem like he was here on paper, so there’s no basis for it at all if we decide to extend his contract. But to lose him after all this time would be a huge setback for us. Do you understand what I mean?”

  She knew that. And yet…

  “But this is Willem we’re talking about, meaning if we asked him to stay, I doubt he would try to leave. That wouldn’t be enough, though. He needs something—something tangible, something to make him truly feel like this is his home. Do you understand what I mean?”

  She felt like she did, but at the same time, she didn’t.

  “You discipline the cows and sheep to come back to the barn at night if you want them to roam freely during the day, right?”

  She didn’t quite understand the metaphor.

  “Not to mention that the emnetwiht bloodline has now been revived in the modern era—it would be such a pity to see it end with him alone. Even placing edibility aside, he should have a wife, start a family, and make children and grandchildren, no?”

  Wait. Wait a second. Before she even considered if she understood this or not, she felt like it was something she wasn’t suppose
d to understand.

  “I was actually thinking that I might be a good candidate—”

  “You can’t!!”

  Ka-thunk. Chtholly stood, kicking her chair backward, and it fell over with a loud clatter. Her face felt hot.

  Nygglatho’s shocked expression slowly transformed into a mischievous smile.

  “I can’t? Why?”

  Willem himself had stated once before that he was into older, broad-minded women. Sadly, those were conditions Chtholly was incapable of fulfilling, no matter how hard she tried. And Nygglatho fulfilled them both perfectly, if only just those two things.

  “…Then I won’t…stand a chance.”

  “Really? I suppose that is where it’s just a matter of opinion.” Nygglatho shrugged slightly. “Then put your whole life into becoming a good woman and snatch him up. Some other girl or I might get ahead of you if you dillydally, you know.” She chuckled as she spoke.

  Chtholly now understood. That was what a broad-minded woman looked like.

  She felt like all the things she lacked had been pointed out to her all over again.

  As the little ones headed for the field for their basic training course after breakfast, Willem took over the kitchen.

  He put an apron over his Guard uniform, wrapped a kerchief around his head, and lined up on the table the big batch of ingredients he bought at the morning market.

  And he baked a big butter cake.

  Willem believed that the most valuable thing in battle was imagination. What were the exact conditions of the victory one had in mind? What sort of events could one suppose would happen just before and after those conditions were met? And what sort of conditions were necessary for the path leading to that goal? He believed only those who could prepare in their mind for every possibility were the ones who could make that future a reality.

  As a veteran, he never let his guard down. He saw everything through this lens, for example: First, there was no questioning that the littlest faeries at the warehouse would want to eat the cake, too. Though he would try to reason with them, saying this was Chtholly’s incentive and reward for coming home alive, it would still be difficult for all of them to accept it. But Chtholly was not the type to hog a whole cake to herself under such circumstances. She would most certainly want to let the other girls have some. And so, in order for Chtholly to have enough butter cake for herself, he had to bake at least some for other people.