Chapter 4: Chops and Pats

Chapter 4:
Chops and Pats

 

BECAUSE I GOT CAUGHT UP in the moment, I ended up confronting the three debt collectors. Thankfully, I knew what to do. I needed to employ logic to persuade the other party in a reasoned debate. There was no other option. As long as I could get these men to write up a receipt, the problem would be resolved.

Well, if possible, I also wanted them to pay for the merchant’s medical bill.

The long-haired man in the center raised his shoulders and shouted to intimidate me. “Oh yeah?! What do you want?”

You don’t need to yell when I’m this close. I can obviously hear you.

“Um, to be clear, I, um…I want you to write a receipt for that man having a rest there,” I said.

Could they understand me? I was nervous. There was no guarantee my odd translation ability was advanced enough to deal with punk slang.

“You related to this trash heap?” he asked.

It was no good. My words weren’t being properly conveyed. That much was clear from the man’s irrelevant reply. To think that such an insurmountable wall stood between people of different worlds.

“No, no relation. As for our relationship, um, I’m just a passerby. No, rather, you could say that I’m an old enemy…” I was hesitant to explain the truth.

Also, I really had nothing to say for myself. I didn’t have anything like an objective for saving this merchant. If I were rescuing a beautiful young lady, I might have tacked on a smug one-liner, but since my damsel was a slovenly old man…

The person I was attempting to save didn’t understand the situation, either. He continued to cower on the ground, blinking up at me.

Three punks, an old man, and me—every one of us was strangely unable to grasp what was happening.

“Um…” I said. As the main source of confusion, I embarrassedly scratched the back of my head.

The long-haired man raked his eyes over my body. He stopped, seeming to recall something, and snorted. His eyes were now full of disdain. “Uh huh… You’re one of ’em, eh? One of ’em spellcasters crawlin’ here from the east.”

Yes, correct, that about summed it up. I finally had a way to continue the conversation. “That’s right.”

“Ha! Your nose’s so high in the air that I wondered who the hell you were. You’re just some piece of scum loser!” The long-haired man opened his arms in triumph and spat out those words with a roar of laughter. I think the dramatic motion was meant to be some kind of appeal to the crowd. “Runnin’ away from the wars. Runnin’ away from your country. Even publicly disgracin’ yourself in another land. What kind of carefree life are you livin’? You should’ve just fought and died! You don’t got the status to be goin’ around stickin’ your nose in other people’s business!”

“Wha…?” I faltered at this man’s unbelievable lack of character.

You already know this, but I was not actually from the eastern part of this world. That was why, truthfully speaking, I wasn’t the least bit fazed by the punk’s insults. But if I really had been someone who escaped from those wars…I wondered what I would be feeling. I was sure it would be something like regret and sadness. I might have even cried. No one who becomes a refugee does it because they want to.

How could any member of the human race casually fling words that could carve out someone’s still beating heart? Maybe it was due to a lack of imagination for subtler insults? Or did they truly believe it was fine to hurt anyone weaker than them?

“Heh. If you understand your place, hurry up and get lost, Mr. Runaway Spellcaster,” the long-haired man said to my hesitation.

Then he extended his hand toward me. He probably intended to shove me away. No, maybe he was even trying to slap my shoulder in a belittling manner.

In the end, I never learned this man’s intention. In that short moment, I felt a spike of murderous intent from my side that froze my surroundings.

At that moment, I finally remembered. Rather, until that moment, I had been completely oblivious. I had forgotten about my partner, Gol—the unnaturally protective, pure-white Greek statue who always stood just behind me, close enough to cuddle.

I believe the most important thing to consider here was not the fact that I had forgotten Gol’s presence, but the reason why I had forgotten. It was true that I hadn’t been thinking about anything besides keeping this merchant from being unreasonably punished. However, after that, there was another important factor, a factor no one here could have noticed: in other words, Gol had been hiding—even from me.

Usually, Gol stood in front of me at the least sign of danger, but she hadn’t this time. As such, not one of the three men directly confronting me had shown any indication they were on guard, nor had they been wary of Gol lurking behind me. That was because, from the moment I intervened, Gol hadn’t been behind me.

Instead, she had waited in another location, concealing her presence and holding her breath. As she accurately and calmly assessed the enemies’ threat level and my psychological state, she waited for the opportunity to exterminate the opponent without breaking our “pinky promise.”

Crack. It was a nasty sound, like something breaking.

Gol was holding the long-haired man’s arm—the one he’d extended toward me. That arm was now bent in the opposite direction of the joint and limply, weakly dangled in an undesirable position. Gol had grabbed and broken it.

I suddenly recalled the exact words of the promise I had asked Gol to make when we entered the town.

“You can only attack someone if I give you permission or if they make a move on us first.”

“Ah…” I stared at the man’s broken arm as it hung in front of me. I-It’s true. He moved first. This man “made his move” in my direction. But that was too hasty, Gol! Your timing was way off! He only just moved his hand, and he just stuck it out toward me. This won’t do. No, it definitely won’t do! Such an itchy trigger finger could never be considered legitimate self-defense.

Besides, where the heck had Gol been this whole time?

From my point of view, she was currently standing to the left of the long-haired man. In battle, I expected to see her just in front of me; otherwise, she would be in her favorite spot just behind me. However, I didn’t think she had been in either of those places beforehand.

Could it be that Gol had blended in with the crowd…? I shuddered. Her actions reeked of criminal intent!

In the meantime, the long-haired man with the broken arm was screaming.

Faster than my mind could comprehend his pain, Gol’s right hand flew upward faster than I could track it. This was bad. That was her chop—the move she always used to split the stone shell protecting a large monkey’s cervical vertebrae. She’d sliced through monkey armor like silken tofu. Ever since her battle against the shrine golems, who had relentlessly aimed for her neck, she had occasionally resorted to this technique.

There could be no doubt. Gol intended to chop through his neck.

No, no, no! You can’t kill him! At that moment, I wasn’t concerned about the punk or my rational objection to murder. Rather, I was concerned about Gol. I feared that if she killed this man in her present emotional state, she would lose some critical internal brake.

“Don’t kill him, Gol!” I shouted.

My outburst contained a great deal more anger than I expected. This was the first time I had ever used such a strong tone with her. There had been practically no need for it before. Additionally, in that instant, I realized the…how can I put it…? The somewhat lenient behavior I had taken toward her prior mistakes.

Gol’s arm froze mid-chop, as if she were scared. Her white hand was a breath away from the long-haired man’s neck. One side of the man’s long hair had been severed; it flopped from his shoulder to the ground.

I was literally cutting it close—I’d only made it in the nick of time. I let out a sigh of relief.

But it was too early to relax. Gol flipped her chop form into a backhand and slammed it onto her opponent’s shoulder. His bones broke with a dull snap.

“Auuughhhh!” The punk’s earsplitting shriek echoed throughout the town of Tibar.

As the man screamed, he fell to the ground. He now had an obliterated shoulder, an arm twisted out of shape, and a portion of his disheveled hair missing. He writhed on the ground like a worm. What a gruesome sight.

I cringed at the contorting punk and muttered, pale-faced, “O-oh, dear. I think ‘don’t kill him’ might have been too vague…”

Gol had obediently refrained from killing her opponent. But there hadn’t been any genuine self-restraint in the ultimate form of her retribution.

“Wha—? You’re a golem wielder?!”

The faces of the accompanying two punks changed, and they drew the sabers at their waists.

Or, well, to be precise, before they could remove the blades from their scabbards, a roundhouse kick from Gol sent them flying through the air. Blood sprayed everywhere. The kicked punks crashed violently to the ground.

My mind tried to escape reality as I stood there, staring at the unfolding tragedy and thinking, Gol’s got some nice thighs, huh?

Ah, I couldn’t do that. This wasn’t the time to be fantasizing! I panicked and hurried over to check on the punks half-buried in the destroyed wall of the shop. These two had lost quite a bit of blood and fainted, and one of them had a limp leg that bent in an unpleasant direction. But they were breathing, if faintly, and they were still twitching.

“Th-they’re alive…” I instinctively folded my hands in front of my chest as if I were praying. They’re breathing! They’re alive! Yay! Thank you, gods! Gol held back and didn’t kill them. She’s so well-behaved!

I was so elated by the living-to-dead ratio of the victims that I completely overlooked that, in the first place, it hadn’t been very well-behaved of Gol to kick before the two finished drawing their swords.

In any case, there was only one thing I could do at such a display of self-control. I pulled Gol close and hugged her as tightly as I could. Then I patted her head over and over.

“Gol, you’re such a good girl. You were able to hold back. So good. That’s right, you can’t kill the townspeople. Yes, yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Good girl. Such a good girl!”

I knew about this tactic from dog training. When your dog does something good, you praise them as soon as possible after the deed is done. It is exceptionally important to do so when your dog does something that goes against their instincts, such as refraining from attacking or taking bitter medicine. You must amply reward such behaviors, thereby teaching them that you’re happy when they control themselves.

That was why I patted Gol so wildly. She fidgeted in my arms and eventually started to twitch, but I continued to pat her even when she seemed to go limp from exhaustion.

Congratulations, your Gol has learned a new move! Restraint.

By the time Gol started to cling to me, her knees weak, I raised my head and noticed the punks beginning to get up.

To be clear, the two Gol had kicked were still unconscious and on the brink of death. They were in no way capable of walking on their own. However, several of their punk comrades had come by to help the injured and lend them their shoulders. Given the prior context of this situation, these new punks had probably been stationed nearby to ensure the debtor didn’t escape.

“Haaah…haaah… Damn…it…” the long-haired man groaned. His complexion was terrible, and he was drenched in cold sweat as he held his broken side. He dragged himself unsteadily toward the street.

What phenomenal willpower. If I had those kinds of injuries, I definitely wouldn’t be able to move.

The long-haired man noticed my admiring gaze and growled bitterly with a twisted face, “Y-you… You’ll definitely regret this, golem wielder. I’ll get you back.”

Eh? Wait, am I going to be sued? That was really bad. A lawsuit in this scenario would be 100 percent bad for me. I’d absolutely, definitely lose, for sure.

I shuddered at the thought of my inevitable loss in court while the long-haired man sent me a final poisonous backward glance and resumed staggering away. However, after a few steps, his legs gave way and he tumbled. His body collapsed on the road and weakly convulsed, and his comrades were forced to rush over and drag him along as they left.

“Did he faint from the pain? Well, yeah, I suppose that would happen…” I said. It was clear Gol had taken it too far. I’m truly sorry, nameless punk.

As I apologized in my heart of hearts, I watched the miserable, unconscious man with a broken upper half of a body and ruined haircut be hauled away. I wondered how he would recover. This world was blessed with healing spells, so I wanted to believe they could do something for him.

At roughly the same time as the punks withdrew, the crowd dispersed. Everyone’s expressions had grown stark, and they scattered as if they were trying to escape. Even the shopkeepers on the other side of the street all rushed to close their shops and tightly lock their shutter doors.

“Eh? What’s going on…?” I asked.

The only ones left were Gol and myself, standing silently in front of the ruined shop. At my feet were the punk’s smoking cigarette and the leather bag filled with the monkeys’ sorcery cores. Both had fallen when Gol broke the long-haired man’s shoulder with her backhand.

Oh, and the mana tool merchant was also lying there.

As I stamped the lit end of the cigarette under my shoe, I shot a side glance at the man on the ground. “Hey, you okay?”

I had asked in good faith, but he continued to cower on the ground as if he hadn’t heard. His bloody lip trembled, and he muttered, “Oh, how could this have happened? Now you’ve done it. We’re all doomed…”

“I don’t think my voice is reaching him at all,” I said to myself.

Nevertheless, this man’s face was in really bad shape. Because he had been senselessly beaten by those three, it was covered in bruises while blood dripped from his nose and the cuts in his mouth. With his thin, disheveled hair, he no longer merely looked like a fallen samurai. He could have been mistaken for a flawless replica of a fallen samurai.

If I could have used any healing spells, I would have healed him out of pity…for a fee, of course.

I’m so sorry, sir, but I belong to a strict creed that says I may only use Earth spells.