Sometimes, Moleman really does confuse me. Nothing against him, of course, it’s just that this whole ordeal with the mayor, and with how the hospital works, and then all that about points and whatnot… It’s enough to make me more than happy I don’t have to deal with any of it. No, my role has become a fairly straightforward one, and not much dissimilar to what I did the weeks before Moleman confronted me in the alley.

I shadow him. At a close distance, sure, but the essence remains the same.

I shadow him as we leave the city hall, I shadow him as we return to the hospital, I shadow him as he conveys with the greatest care how he agreed to use up a bunch of their points, I defend him against the threat of Ursula as she exudes killing intent enough to stun a drake, and then I shadow him the rest of the day, too. Everything worked out in the end. I really can’t tell why Moleman seems so nervous about everything.

On the way home, late enough for those who didn’t catch the news about the curfew being raised to hide away, Moleman grumbles about politics and interpersonal relationships and how if only the mayor had listened to him from the start, this wouldn’t have happened. While we’re walking, I spot a rat sauntering by, bloated and limping. And for just a moment, it pauses, half-lidded eyes glued on the both of us. On me.

Slowly, like a baby taking its first steps toward its parent, it staggers toward me.

I take a glance at Moleman. He’s still talking about politics. Good.

I turn back to the rat. Silently, I let my intent rear in my chest, accompanied by a glare that sends drakes flying in the distance.

GoawaygoawaygoawayI’llkillyouI’llkillyouI’llkillyouI’llkillyoudiediediediediediedie.

The rat twitches back, a trail of foamy saliva falling from its slightly open mouth. My glare persists for a moment longer, eliciting a shiver to fly across the bloated little thing.

Without so much as a squeak, it turns tail and scampers back into the shadow of an alley.

Right. Good.

With that done and over with, I return to my delightful stroll with Moleman.

The evening continues and concludes much like it did yesterday, though Moleman seems a tad bit more disturbed by various events today than he was yesterday. But I’m sure that’ll change eventually. He isn’t the type to mope, after all. Before we go to bed, Moleman does some light reading, and I follow suit. Occasionally he’ll encounter a word he doesn’t know, but with my translation skill, it’s easy to help.

Once it’s properly night, we both go to sleep, I attend to my nightly friendship duties, the night passes peacefully, and all is well.

The following day is a bit weirder, but that’s only because we have the whole matter to attend to. Specifically, we had to actually attend the whole handing-out-food thing, which despite the fact that it was supposed to be a charity event felt more awkward than anything. For one, us humans? We were only there for show. Yeah, really. We didn’t get to hand out any food, the mayor didn’t mention us in his speech, and if I didn’t know better, I would’ve assumed we were a show of force. Kind of like the UN, I guess.

And you want to know the worst part? We didn’t even get any credit! Or, I guess, Moleman and his party didn’t get any credit. It was really weird. To be honest, I was this close to pulling a one-man coup d'etat, and I probably would’ve if Moleman hadn’t read my thoughts and explained in a gentle tone that if the goblins knew the food came from filthy humans, they would probably have refused it. So, instead. the credit went to the mayor and his quick thinking, alongside Simel.

Safe to say, I was quite a bit more okay with it all following his explanation.

Aside from a few hitches, the rationing went well. Also, apparently, the new plague has been dubbed ‘Dragon Plague’, which sounds objectively awesome. However—and this is only my personal opinion—it would’ve been much more suitable to call it ‘rat plague.’ Just saying. Because it’s spread by… because of all the… you know. Yeah.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Anyhow. The charity event went well. No issues, nobody died, and a lot of people actually accepted their rations quite gratefully. I’d downright call it a heartwarming sight if I hadn’t been so busy pretending that I couldn’t smell each and every single person who’s been infected. Thankfully, Moleman wasn’t too tenacious about the whole thing.

“You really can’t smell it?”

“No,” I lie gracefully. He makes a difficult expression. Ouch. “Well, that’s… I can smell that some people are sweaty, and I can smell some diseased people, but not the plague in particular, so it’s… If it hadn’t been for all the rats and general stench lying about, then…”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. I understand. Don’t try to rush it.”

But I can tell he’s disappointed, which only makes this hurt all the more. I wince back a little and try to put a pleasant expression on my face. “But—but I can smell the drake pox! So if you want to, since we’ve already got everyone gathered, then…”

“And kill what little good humor the mayor was able to muster from the crowd?” My suggestion is shot down almost instantly by a simple shake of the head. But he also smiles, so it isn’t too bad. “No, this is… let them have this one.”

I relent, something I seem to do often nowadays.

The rest of the food-handing-out party goes well, and by the end, most of the food-filled carts have been emptied. Not all of them, though. A mystery whose answer is revealed very quickly when we, instead of driving the carts straight back to the hospital, take a quick stop at a grandiose church. Or maybe it’s a cathedral? I can never tell these things.

Since Moleman steps off the cart, so do I. A ship never abandons his captain.

We’re met at the frankly oversized front entrance by a goblin dressed so modestly I wouldn’t have assumed him to be anyone of importance if Moleman hadn’t given him a curt bow. Wary not to repeat a certain incident, I follow suit, bowing even if I don’t know to whom I’m doing it. The goblin, in turn, gives us a small bow, which I really hadn’t expected. He looks kind. Same crow’s feet at the eyes that Father had.

Once the both of them have stopped surveying the floor between them, they straighten out to smile politely at each other.

“The Apostle Cathedral of Harvest can’t thank you enough for this donation, Mole.”

“Think nothing of it, Father Blueroot. I’m only happy to know it will come to good use for the poor and sick.”

“You are too modest, my friend,” Fr. Blueroot—weird name—answers easily. I’m kind of surprised they aren’t patting each other on the back. Not that it’s my place to comment on their mode of communication. Let’s see, what else can I think about… Well, Fr. Blueroot isn’t exactly dressed like a combatant, and he’s alone, not to mention that his hands—although firmly scarred and calloused—don’t appear to be made from any kind of violence. So, no reason to consider the possible ways I might kill him if he were to attack Moleman. Though, of course, if he were to try, then I’d—

“And you are?”

I’d probably try to—

“Kitty?” Moleman’s curious voice makes itself heard, and only now do I realize it’s for me.

I turn to regard him. “Yes, Moleman?”

He nods towards Fr. Blueroot. I blink and turn in the direction of the priest. Oh, shoot, that was for me? Ah, uh… I give another tiny bow. “I’m Moleman’s companion and guard. And also assistant.”

The priest looks vaguely amused, though I can’t understand why until he directs his peculiar little smile to Moleman. “The strong, unkillable human such as you has gained a guardian and protector?”

Moleman smiles sheepishly, and I feel bad about not just calling myself his assistant. “Well, you never know when a maniac with a knife could show up. Not even we are immune to a stab to the back.”

“Of course, there’s no doubt about that.” The priest turns back to me again. “But aside from that, young human, who are you?”

My placid expression, well-trained to look harmless, turns strained. “As Moleman said, I’m Kitty.” His curious expression doesn’t shift. “PrissyKittyPrincess,” I elaborate. But he’s still looking at me like that. Expecting me to say more. To say what? “I’m a human, like Moleman. I’m not in his party, but we’re friends, so…”

“But who are you?”

I shift a little where I stand. Moleman looks a little uncomfortable. I try not to look too incredulous. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs mildly. “What’s your favorite food? Your happiest childhood memory? What do you think about music, and dancing?” His smile widens in innocent interest. “Who are you?”

“I… I don’t…” I gulp dryly. My gaze hops to Moleman, but finds no comfort in his unhappy face. I look back at the priest. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?”

“That’s right. It isn’t important, so…”

Finally, roused by a pause in the conversation, Moleman replaces the priest’s face, his worried smile pacifying us both. “I’m sorry, Father, but we unfortunately don’t have time to chit-chat. We’re on a rather tight schedule today, so we’ll have to talk later. Is that alright?”

Fr. Blueroot steps back a little, his smile falling back into neutrality. “Oh, of course. Pardon my inquisitiveness. With the lives your kind have led, I’m sure you understand my curiosity.”

“If you appeared where we come from, you would certainly have been met with the same type of interest,” Moleman comments, which thankfully elicits a chuckle from the priest. With well-learned movements, Moleman steps away from the priest, saying, “Thank you for the conversation, I hope you’ll send my regards to Mother Sweetbell.”

“I certainly will. Tell the mayor to increase our budget, and tell Benevil that he’s still welcome at the ward if he’d like to help.”

“I’m not sure if the mayor would be too receptive to that at the moment,” Moleman mumbles. And he almost fully turns around too before his face falls into a patch of shadow. He glances back at the priest. “Oh, and, before I forget… We might need to decide on another meeting in regards to expanding the ward into…”

“Into the cathedral?” Fr. Blueroot finishes for him. I would have expected him to frown at such a proposition, but instead he just smiles. As usual. “I’ll send Jalle with my available times.”

Moleman meets his smile tiredly. “Thank you, Father.”

A smile and a nod, and finally, we take our leave fully.