23. A Mafanos That's Not Mine

~90 Days Until the [Contract] Deadline~

The ‘morning after’ in Rugok is a somber and frankly unpleasant affair—a far cry from the open-armed welcome I’d received at Kanata.

The town is still in a half-ruinous state after the Gargoyle raid. Of course it is. Even in a world of magic, it takes more than one night to pick up the pieces of a broken life—a rude awakening from the illusion that all is peaceful and idyllic. There are buildings to rebuild, deaths to mourn, and potentially more monsters to worry about.

And of course, a prisoner whose fate still needs to be decided.

Luckily for me, that decision comes down in the wee hours of the morning, delivered by an exhausted Belpha who hasn’t slept a wink since her magically induced ‘nap’. She walks up to my jail cell (unattended now, given that manpower had to be diverted elsewhere) and wordlessly unlocks the door before wordlessly beckoning for me to follow her out.

I’m getting a strange sense of déjà vu, except my Tiefling liberator is even less enthusiastic about her task than she was last night. In any case, she leads me upstairs to the barracks proper where we sit down amongst several members of the Town Watch for a simple breakfast of bread and cheese.

Or rather, Belpha wolfs down her breakfast while I sit across from her, nervously scanning the room around me. Someone has worked really hard to tidy up this place in the short few hours since it’d played host to a massacre. All the human bodies (and parts) have been squared away, the monster carcasses have (presumably) disappeared, and even the blood stains have been scrubbed or magicked clean.

But, of course, nothing can scrub away the memories of what I witnessed. I shudder and shift my gaze back onto the table, upon which I notice that all the other eyes are on me. The guards half-heartedly pick at their breads and sip their drinks, all the while staring at me with naked suspicion and maybe even hostility.

It’s not how I’d hoped to be thanked for my town-defending efforts last night, but I can also understand it. In fact, I’d probably react the same way if I were in their shoes.

Because I’m not entirely sure that the town of Rugok would’ve come under threat at all if it weren’t for my presence here. Because I know about something that these people don’t—a spell that ticks along to its completion along with the beating of my heart.

I turn away from the townspeople’s unfriendly gazes and try to focus on my bread and cheese. And despite my hunger, I know right away that I’m not touching a single bite of this food (and it’s only partially because I’m lactose-intolerant).

Oblivious or indifferent to my inner turmoil, Belpha finishes her breakfast in record time and stands to leave. That’s when she notices my untouched plate. She takes a moment to consider this, then, with a curt nod, beckons for me to follow, still empty-bellied.

Our next destination is what looks to be the town ‘church’ of sorts. There’s no Christian cross or anything else that resonates with my knowledge of Earthling religions, but the vibes and aesthetics are noticeably similar to the ‘airport’ back in Altikor.

This building too has taken considerable damage, with about a third of it collapsed and burnt to cinders. However, enough of it remains for me to spy the murals that line the walls: more paintings of ancient Portallen of various races and job descriptions.

Belpha strides in and shoves her way through the rubble. I hasten to follow. The Tiefling Knight eventually leads me down a staircase and into the basement that houses the town’s single Portal.

This is where Belpha finally deigns to speak to me for the first time this morning.

First, she hands me two objects: my STSG, plus a nondescript piece of parchment. When I say ‘nondescript’, I really mean it. The thing is small enough to fit in the palm of my hand and has got uneven edges, like someone had hastily torn it off the corner of a notebook. I turn it over several times until I’m certain that there’s no writing or marking of any sort.

“Aloàs Talimasi,” Belpha explains, which frankly isn’t much of an explanation. She then adds after a moment’s consideration, “Protasi téo, eàs, sam alo—averna Portal.”

I surprise myself with the realization that I can more or less translate this second sentence. Belpha spoke it with deliberate slowness and in simple terms, putting her Broadway talents to full effect.

Protection for you, me, and others—when using Portal.

I nod slowly, with renewed interest in the piece of parchment in my hand. Does that make this thing some sort of [Talisman]? Which, conveniently enough, fits with the first word Belpha used to describe it.

Assuming it’s a [Talisman], I also assume I’m meant to carry it on my person before walking into a Portal. I make to slide the piece of paper into one of the folds on my sash, when Belpha shoots out a massive hand to stop me.

“Nur!” She shakes her head sternly, as if scolding a child. “Talimasi takaras. Talimasi bagun. Nur nelicta.”

I don’t know every word she used, but I do know ‘bagun’ means expensive, which leads me to believe she just wants me to take better care of the piece of paper than to shove it into my sash. I freeze for a moment, wondering what the hell else I’m supposed to do. Then, along with an image that makes me break out in a cold sweat, I recall I have just the thing for the job.

I tug on my lanyard and pull out my photo ID, trying my best not to think about what happened last night. After everything I’ve been through, the fucking thing is somehow still intact inside its plastic holder… and the IT guy’s smile is as bright as the day the picture was first taken. I’ve seen (and smiled) this exact smile god knows how many times, but right now, it belongs to a complete stranger.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I open up the plastic case and pop the [Talisman] behind the ID card before sliding the whole thing back into my tunic. Belpha watches me the whole time with slightly narrowed eyes, then gives a reluctant nod of approval.

The Tiefling spins without another word and makes for the Portal screen. That’s when I suddenly remember my own One More Thing ™. “Wait!” I yell out in English, then struggle to find the words to express what I want.

“Rugok,” I say, gesturing vaguely toward the town we’re about to leave behind. “Nur Portallen. Nur protasi. Mafanos?”

No Portallen. No protection. Problem? You know what, I’d give myself a ‘B’ for that effort. It probably sounds like baby talk to the native Malik-Issen, but it does the job.

Belpha stops and narrows her eyes even more. Her nostrils flare slightly, and for a moment, I’m worried that I’d somehow offended her. But then her expression softens, as does her voice when she gives her answer.

“Nur mafanos téor.”

Not your problem. She then turns and phases into the Portal, leaving me to reckon with a profound sense of isolation, tinged with a note of remorse I know not the source of.

***

My first day back in Altikor is a whirlwind of things happening to me without my input or really much in the way of understanding.

First, I’m happy to report that the Portal worked correctly. Either the [Talisman] did its job, or the alien glitches had decided to go on vacation. In any case, I teleport back to the Altikor airport without incident.

Second, I’m ushered into a big courtroom-looking place where a bunch of serious and important-looking people needle me with unfriendly faces and questions I have no hope of answering. I wish I could go into more detail about baby’s First Isekai Tribunal, but the simple fact is that I know almost nothing of what went down.

All I can tell you is there were some faces I recognized. The King—Leto’s dad—was there, looking a little less friendly than the first day we met, but still presenting as one of the calmer and more reasonable characters throughout the proceedings. There were Feverfew and Belpha, who I presume gave their accounts of spending some quality time with me.

Oddly enough, Leto was nowhere to be seen, which I was both disappointed and relieved about. I don’t think you need me to tell you why.

Third, I’m dropped off at a room that looks to be a military training facility of sorts. It’s got the same magical ARPG training dummies I played with back in Kanata, except in greater numbers and variety. There are also racks lined with all sorts of wooden weapons: swords, spears, axes, and many others I’m not knowledgeable enough to name.

I’m left alone in this room for long enough that I start wondering if this might be my new jail cell. It’s… a little too full of ways for me to fight back to be that, and besides, they let me keep my STSG, which is not the kind of courtesy you’d extend to a prisoner.

After about an hour of me twiddling my thumbs and wondering about the toilet situation, in walks a trio of serious and important-looking people—ones I don’t think were in attendance at my tribunal.

The first is a green-skinned, gray-haired orc of few words, decked out in a full set of leather armor, with a pair of longswords sheathed at his back. I immediately identify him as the Isekai orc version of Geralt of Rivia, and am extra hyped to learn that his name is Gerrak (close enough!) and that he’ll be teaching me how to fight with a sword.

Yup. You heard right. This is baby’s First Roster of Tutors!

My second tutor is a rosy-cheeked, rifle-toting dwarf called Podrin, who’s as boisterous as Gerrak is reticent. His thick accent and even thicker beard make the already difficult communication nigh on impossible, but we somehow manage to arrive at an understanding. He’ll be the one to help me master my brand of ‘magic’, as it were.

The third tutor is one of those Mushroom people I’d mentioned before. Myconids, I guess you’d call them, if you go by D&D traditions. Anyway, this Myconid (who I can only assume is genderless) introduces themselves as Asper and my new language teacher.

Which is, believe it or not, super fitting. You see, the Myconids communicate via minuscule spores that float through the air and make direct contact with others’ consciousness.

So yeah, Asper is able to let me ‘hear’ Malik-Ennar words while also decoding them with their intent and meaning. It’s something of a one-way traffic, as in I can’t translate English back to sounds or ideas Asper can understand, but this is the closest thing this Isekai has to a built-in translator. It’ll definitely help me learn the language that much faster.

I’m so wrapped up in the excitement of meeting my tutors that I don’t give myself the chance to think dark thoughts. Don’t you do it, Mars, don’t ruin this moment for yourself. But I’m not strong-willed enough to keep the pessimism at bay forever, and in the end, the thought does creep in: what the hell are these people doing, training up the dude that’s going to kill their Princess?

After this slew of introductions, the tutors leave me for the time being, and I’m once again dragged to my next and final destination. Which… is my own room. I guess it’s bedtime already? I didn’t even notice the passage of time.

My room, if you’re wondering, is nothing to write home about. Just one of many others like it in the part of the castle that corresponds to a ‘dormitory’ of sorts, home to many of the non-magical personnel and some of the younger Portallen. It’s got plain stone walls, a window, a bed, a desk, and a footlocker.

Anyway, I’m back in my room and I think, finally. Finally I have some time to think to myself.

But that relief is short-lived. No sooner do I prop the STSG against the wall and start shedding myself of days-unchanged clothes, there’s a knock on the door.

At this point, I’m so tired and exasperated that I storm to the door, being petulantly loud on purpose. I don’t even think to make myself decent before I open the door. If these people want to bother me so much, the least they can do is share in my embarrassment and days-old stank.

As soon as I see who it is, though, I immediately regret my life decisions. Because standing outside my door is none other than the person I most want to see and desperately want to avoid.

“Mars Carver,” Leto Iriden greets me with an earnest, almost apologetic smile.