Bonus Short Stories

End of the Road

“Not exactly something I’d like to find on a daily basis...”

This happened back when I still drew breath; back when Rentt Faina was still in the realm of the living.

Back then, I was more or less known as the thousand-year Bronze-class adventurer, and would head into the Labyrinth of the Moon’s Reflection on a daily basis. My routine was, more often than not, very similar to now: I would hunt a few monsters, collect their materials and magic crystals, trade my pitiful spoils over the guild counter, and go to bed with only a little pocket change to call my own.

Those were the days, when one day faded into another, each more or less similar to the one before it.

On this day, however, that sense of regularity was shattered by a certain object I had found...

“An adventurer’s card, huh. Let’s see... Bronze-class. Gott Rangul.”

It was a commonly known fact that one’s adventurer card would remain in the labyrinth, especially if one were to lose their life. Even if the labyrinth consumed them, this card alone remained, unscathed. Given enough time, even weapons and armor would vanish into these mysterious halls. An adventurer’s card, however, was eternal.

As such, an adventurer’s fate was somewhat black and white in nature. One day, someone somewhere would find a card much like this one, and understand that its owner had fallen in battle. It may take days, years, and in some extreme cases, centuries. In fact, cards from as long as tens of centuries ago were occasionally discovered, as far as the legends and rumors go, anyway.

It was due to this system that adventurers had come to a strange understanding with death. The thought that one’s demise may eventually be discovered and reported by a fellow adventurer after a certain amount of time was strangely reassuring. One no longer felt alone in death, which was a strange privilege in and of itself.

Ancient adventurer cards aside, most of us didn’t wish to chance upon another adventurer’s card, if only because it would mean that said adventurer had met their end. Usually, surviving relatives often believed their kin was still alive someplace, just lost, or unable to return. The discovery of an adventurer card, however, quashed all those notions. A card found in the labyrinth’s halls symbolized an undeniable death; though there were rare cases in which the owner had simply misplaced or lost it, such occurrences were few and far between.

Most other adventurers chose to pick up such a card should they ever come across one, the reason being they would be rewarded for their efforts. Although it wasn’t a large reward by any means, it was more than enough for one to have a fancy dinner with. A grim outlook, but finding a fallen adventurer’s card was much like finding loose change on the ground.

While some may view it as nothing more than that, I felt adventurers had a duty to inform the next of kin. The reward in question was also directly proportionate to the adventurer’s rank, so one would have to find an adventurer card above Bronze-class to be awarded any significant sum of coin. As such, most adventurers did it out of duty and compassion, and I, too, felt the same way.

This card in my hands was to be delivered to the guild, whereupon I would most likely be tasked with informing any surviving relatives this adventurer may have. This was an official guild request, and one was awarded appropriately for their efforts. But, it was almost always a difficult undertaking, and it was common for most adventurers to refuse the task outright. In some cases, the task was outsourced to another more willing adventurer instead.

But I felt it was important for me to relay what I had found in person, along with all the relevant details of where I found the card to begin with.

A heavy atmosphere surrounded me.

“I should still see it through, though...”

I made my way back to Maalt.

◆◇◆◇◆

“Yes...? Who is it?”

The small house before me was located outside the walls of Maalt. It was a warm-looking home, with a tidy yard filled with flowers, decorative planters, and a polished, caramel-colored door.

The woman who greeted me had a homely feel about her, exuding the same kind of warmth as this charming little house did.

I felt my chest tighten up, in light of what I was about to tell her...

“I am Rentt Faina...here on an official request from the guild. I have come to deliver this to you on this day...”

I withdrew a small, wooden box from my bag. These wooden boxes were of a markedly high quality, and were specifically used to house the cards of fallen adventurers. This was common knowledge among adventurers that this woman, presumably Gott’s wife, probably knew as well.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the box, and before long, silent tears streamed down her face.

“I... I see. Thank you... For taking the time...to bring this to me. Please... do come inside.”

Despite her obvious shock and sorrow, the woman promptly composed herself, inviting me into her abode.

I refused.

To her, I must be nothing more than an emissary of Death itself. To think she would invite me inside!

The woman, however, would have it no other way, and I eventually found myself reluctantly relenting.

◆◇◆◇◆

“A most lively child you have, I see.”

The interior of the abode was filled with cheerful children’s drawings, along with some scattered toys and other childish creations.

The woman—Lily was her name—nodded.

“Yes. She turns five this year... This was why I told him to stop adventuring, and find a more sensible line of work... Ah, I do apologize, I didn’t mean to offend...”

I knew more than anyone else she didn’t mean to belittle adventuring as a career, so I shook my head slowly.

“Please, madam, pay no mind. It is as you say. I...empathize deeply with your loss.”

“I...”

For a while, we both sat, an uncomfortable silence between us. I couldn’t stay long, and eventually began explaining the circumstances and details surrounding the discovery. Tears continued streaming down Lily’s face as she listened to what I had to say.

Finally done with my report, I lowered my head as a sign of respect.

“Thank you, so much. If you didn’t find him...Gott would’ve been all alone this whole time... With this, I can finally mourn in peace.”

◆◇◆◇◆

As I exited the house, I could only think of returning to my rented room.

“Ah! Hey, Big Brother! Did you need to speak with Mom about something?”

It was a child’s voice; Lily’s only child, perhaps.

Turning around, I was greeted by a cheerful looking girl. I suppose she still knew nothing yet.

I knelt down, patting her on the head. “No...it’s nothing,” I said, vaguely shaking my head back and forth.

The girl, still cheerfully smiling, began gesturing animatedly as she laid eyes upon my sheathed sword.

“Oh! Are you an adventurer, Big Brother? Mei’s dad is one, too! He’s really strong, you know? He even beat a Slime the other day! And then...”

I could only patiently listen to the girl’s cheerful monologue, doing my best to respond convincingly at the appropriate intervals. At the end, Mei stopped, seemingly worn out. Before we parted ways, she asked me to promise to say hello if I ever met her father. I nodded.

As I lay on my bed that night, a mix of turbulent emotions rose up from deep within my heart.

Will I meet my end, much like Gott did? Even so...

Even so, I could not—would not—stop adventuring.

What were Gott’s last thoughts as he lay dying on the cold, hard ground of the labyrinth? I suppose no one would possibly ever know. I soon closed my eyes, drifting silently into the world of dreams.

A Promise with the Map Merchant

“Sigh... I suppose this is enough for today.”

I no longer knew how many hours had passed since I set foot inside the Labyrinth of the Moon’s Reflection. All I knew was that I had successfully slain a grand total of three Water Sprites. This was more than enough to cover my expenses as a Bronze-class adventurer.

Although I began adventuring quite some time ago, I found it somewhat pathetic that I was still hunting in a place like this. At the same time, however, the fact that I still had all my limbs and faculties after so many years of solo adventuring was worth acknowledging. Most other adventurers were forced to retire for some reason or other some years into their career.

While some may think my relatively healthy state was a result of cowardice, I didn’t feel it prudent to recklessly expose myself to danger. This, at the very least, was a responsibility I had toward myself.

On the other hand, I suppose this was why I didn’t grow very much as an adventurer at all... Well, maybe that would be remedied with time.

◆◇◆◇◆

“Ah, I see you are quite done, Mister Rentt Faina!”

Upon leaving the depths of the labyrinth, I found myself confronted with a rather peculiar greeting.

Normally, the entrance would be relatively deserted, or only populated by a few adventurers at my level of strength. The man who greeted me didn’t seem like much of an adventurer at all, however. Instead, he was draped from head to toe in a pitch black robe. What a strange little man.

“And you are...?”

“Oh, my apologies. I hadn’t introduced myself, no? I am Jack. Jack the Map Merchant...”

A familiar name, and an even more familiar profession.

“Jack the Map Merchant...? That’s you? I’ve heard you sell good maps; however...I’ve also heard no one ever runs into you under normal circumstances.”

The man before me was, without a doubt, the most well-known map merchant in all of Maalt. Despite this, Jack couldn’t be easily found, and seemed to take on a variety of faces and forms.

Jack merely chuckled in response.

“Those individuals haven’t merely searched hard enough! What I seek... Yes... What I seek are good adventurers...”

In other words, Jack wasn’t only concerned with strength, but adventurers who displayed certain niche skills.

But...

“All right, then what does someone like you want with someone like me? I suppose you already know, but I’m just a two-bit adventurer who could never make it past Bronze-class.”

That was just how things were, but Jack just shook his hooded head.

“No, no! You are a good adventurer, yes yes. The proof is right there, in that map you made... It is even better than my own map of the Moon’s Reflection! I inquired hundreds of skilled adventurers... Yes, they prefer your mapping skills over mine... Even though I am a skilled Map Merchant, yours is still a step above.”

I felt a bit surprised; to think so many of my colleagues felt that strongly about my map.

I suppose there was some merit to it... If there was one thing I was confident about, it would be my personally annotated map of the Moon’s Reflection.

And yet, where exactly did Jack learn of my map? I didn’t recall giving it out for free.

As if anticipating my question, Jack continued his explanation. “You have, after all, helped mark the maps of many fledgling adventurers, yes? And in some of those markings, you highlighted traps and hidden passages even I did not know about!”

“I see... Well then, are you here to maybe purchase my map? Or something along those lines?”

If that were indeed the case, it would be quite a windfall, though I wouldn’t exactly be against it.

The Labyrinth of the Moon’s Reflection was well-explored, and most adventurers would have a map of it by now, though. Yet Jack still chose to approach me—I suppose he had some ideas in mind.

“Yes, well... That is part of it, yes. I do have a request... Could you come to my humble abode?”

Saying so, he left directions to a dwelling located deep within Maalt’s back alleys, and then vanished without a word.

Quite suspicious...

“Well... If he really will purchase my map, I may as well pay him a visit.”

◆◇◆◇◆

“Is this...really the place...?”

Those were the words that escaped my lips as I stood before the marked building. It was shabbier than I imagined it to be. This place didn’t seem like very much of a shop at all.

Stepping through the doorway...

“This... This is amazing...”

“Yes, yes. Isn’t it?” a voice rang out in response from behind me—it was none other than Jack.

“I suppose only you have this many maps to yourself! Well, in Maalt, at least.”

I truly meant what I said, for the interior of the shop was stuffed full of maps: from the ground to the ceiling, and in every nook and cranny. The old and the new, small maps and large maps; some maps even displayed geography I didn’t recognize, most likely maps of foreign lands.

“I can’t imagine how someone such as yourself would need to purchase my map.”

That was what I wanted to say, but Jack interrupted me before I even uttered a word.

“Come now. Nothing of the sort! I have said so before. I desire good adventurers.”

“And just what do you mean, exactly...?” Jack’s statement was strangely-worded.

“I do not want pity...so I shall speak simply. My father was an adventurer, a long, long time ago, yes. But now, he has gone missing. I wish for you to search... Yes, to search for his adventurer’s card.”

A request I had heard more than once. Maybe this was why Jack mentioned his request so casually. Although his carefree demeanor remained, I could see a sense of determination deep within his eyes.

“I do not mind.” I nodded.

“You accept much too easily, no?”

“I don’t want you of all people to tell me that... But, you do understand the limit of my abilities, right? I don’t think it should be too hard...”

Jack nodded, explaining the details of his situation.

According to Jack, his father disappeared within a certain labyrinth while plumbing its depths. But Jack had no idea where that labyrinth was. While the specifics of the event weren’t known, Jack’s father had reported that the adventurers in his party perished within the labyrinth, shortly before passing away himself. Although the guild itself made inquiries into the circumstances, Jack’s father had entered another labyrinth by his lonesome after reporting his comrade’s demise, and then disappeared altogether without a trace.

“The circumstances are far too vague...”

“Yes, yes. This is why I became a Map Merchant. If I continued mapping labyrinths, I would eventually be able to follow after my father’s footsteps... At least, I hope to be able to.”

A strange motivation, but not exactly one that was flawed.

But by making arrangements with adventurers in this fashion, there was a higher possibility that someone would eventually find his father’s card. Adventurer cards were designed to never be absorbed by a labyrinth. It would eventually be found, and if not by my hand, then someone else’s.

“Quite the long story...but all right, I understand. I have no idea when or where I would come across it, but I accept the request.”

“Oh, is that so? Well then...I leave it in your capable hands, yes. In exchange...I shall purchase your map for a good price, yes?”

“I appreciate that. Then...would I be able to purchase maps from you when I need them, as well?”

“Of course... When you do wish to purchase a map from me in the future, simply say...‘Sell me a map’. I will not respond if you say anything else... Remember this, yes?”

“A code phrase of some kind, huh? I understand. I’m counting on you, too, Jack.”

Although I didn’t know it at the time, my strange friendship with Jack would eventually come to greatly benefit me in the future...

He who Paints Death

“Is this spot all right?”

“Yes... Yes! This scenery... This is what I wanted to see!”

The young man pulled some art supplies out of his bag, before setting down the canvas that he painstakingly carried all the way here unto the ground.

Before long, he started painting. His concentration and aura were intimidating, enough to scare away even the most seasoned of adventurers.

He was a painter, and his name was Roy. Born and raised in Maalt, his works had become popular in the capital as of late. In the last few days, he returned to Maalt from the capital, with only about three months left to live.

◆◇◆◇◆

“No one... No one accepted my request. But...you would?”

Laying on his bed, Roy turned to me, his face pale and tired. I, Rentt Faina, nodded in response.

“Yes. You wish to see the Swamp of Tarasque up close...or, as close as possible, right? I should tell you, though...we can’t enter. If we did, your three months would shorten into thirty seconds instantly... What exactly are you traveling there for? The only detail written in your request was the need for an escort.”

“Well...you see, I am a painter... Quite popular in the capital, despite how I look now. If I kept going...my name would be immortalized in the Royal Academy of Art...”

“That really is something else. I do find it curious, though...”

It wasn’t wrong for a skilled painter to be somewhat prideful, but I didn’t understand why Roy would go to such lengths a few months from his deathbed. There was no pressing need for him to prove himself, so I suppose his words were true.

The Royal Academy of Art only took the best artists in the land as its members. To be considered an academy member was one of the highest honors any artist could achieve. To think Roy had come this far in his youth... He truly was a genius.

Even though he didn’t have much time left, I felt he should make better use of what remained of his life, instead of wandering so dangerously close to a bog full of poisonous gas.

“I have always been...drawing the same subject matter, as an artist. I have been drawing and painting...the lives of people. Now that I, too, am at the end of my journey...I want to paint the opposite of that. Death... I wish to paint death, and there is no better place for this than the Swamp of Tarasque. The people of Maalt call it the ‘Swamp of Death,’ do they not?”

“‘The Swamp of Death,’ huh. Yes, I suppose they do...”

Any normal animal or plant would perish in less than thirty seconds if it were somehow transported into the swamp. It was truly a terrible place. If anything, that was where the ichor of death itself pooled.

“Well...I suppose I could take you. You may think less of me for saying this, but...should you perish halfway into the excursion, I would like to be exempt of all responsibility.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I have prepared my will here as well...and have arranged it so that my untimely death, should it does happen, would not get you into any trouble with the guild. Please, do not worry.”

It would seem like Roy was genuinely determined. Since he had gone that far, there was no reason for me to reject his request.

And so it came to be that we headed off to the Swamp of Tarasque several days later, having prepared what we needed for the trip.

◆◇◆◇◆

The shaking of the horse-carriage took quite a toll on Roy’s already frail body. The painter would occasionally cough up blood, but never once did he ask me to turn back.

Holding onto a large canvas like it was his worldly treasure, Roy kept silent as the carriage slowly approached the Swamp of Tarasque. Nearing it as much as possible, we eventually reached a point that satisfied Roy.

Against the stench of the swamp, a normal cloth mask was useless. Instead, Lorraine had prepared a special filter, created with a mixture of holy water, ashes, and spices. This was then attached to a cloth mask we fitted over our faces. Even so, the mere act of inhaling burnt my lungs. I promised Lorraine I wouldn’t perish on this trip, but...

“Hey, are you all right?”

Roy, as if deaf to my queries, merely continued painting. His entire being was focused on his canvas, and the image of the swamp before him.

I, too, turned to the swamp. Death was indeed reflected in its surface, as the bodies of slain monsters littered the muck, slowly dissolving into the poisonous depths.

Rotten wood, bones, and remains that would one day disappear...

It was an almost calm, gentle depiction of the decay of death, and the natural order of things.

This was the sight that Roy had engraved onto the canvas. His hands continued moving, until he finally stopped, taking a step backward. Immediately, Roy collapsed, the last of his strength seemingly leaving him. I caught the ailing painter in my arms, who had indeed finished his painting. Carrying both Roy and his completed canvas, I made my way back to the carriage.

“Mister Rentt... I... I painted it...”

That was all Roy said as we returned to Maalt—and those were his very last words.

◆◇◆◇◆

“And this is the painting from that time...?”

An art exhibition was being held in Maalt, featuring distinguished art pieces from the Royal Academy of Art. Much time had passed since Roy’s death...

I, too, had experienced death, and was now an undead. This scenery, however, was still fresh and unchanged in my mind.

As per his will, I had returned the completed painting to the Royal Academy of Art, and Roy was posthumously declared an honored member. An honored member of the academy was treated in a way that saints were treated by members of the church. I suppose that was due to the overwhelming sense of wonder this painting instilled in the average person.

Standing next to me was Lorraine, a faint smile on her lips as she continued observing the painting. It would seem Lorraine understood Roy’s intent.

“The ‘Swamp of Tarasque’... Yes... This lingering sense of death... Very well portrayed indeed. Especially this small figure in the foreground... Gives the painting a somewhat mysterious charm. The painter who wanted—needed—to paint, even upon the pain of death... And the bony God of Death next to him, about to reap his life as he finished his last work...”

Just as Lorraine said, the painter was Roy. Death probably represented myself.

Was Roy possibly hallucinating at the time? Or did he see something else in those poisonous fumes, leading to this very painting?

No one would ever be able to answer this question.

Regardless, the painting seemed to communicate that death waits for no one; that death cares little about who it takes; that death was the great equalizer. This was what I felt as I gazed upon the aged canvas.

“Have you heard, Rentt? The Death God motif is really picking up in the capital. To think this painting was the start of it all!”

“...And I am the... Model. What a strange... Feeling.”

“You see how I have an eye for these things, Rentt? Back then, you were steeped in death. Much like how you are...right now...” Lorraine said, smiling to herself quietly.

I couldn’t deny her words. Here I was, an adventurer that foolishly rushed to his death. Dead, and now walking in undeath.

Perhaps my true nature was reflected in this very painting.

What would Roy paint now, upon seeing my current form...?

I could not help but wonder...