Chapter 45

Communication is possible.

The loneliness and resentment that had been layered thick crumbled and scattered in an instant.

It was a sense of liberation enough to make him smile even if the one before him was a goblin.

Quilbion stretched his hand forward.

“You’re there, right? This isn’t a fantasy, is it? Right?”

“I’m alive, so it isn’t a fantasy. Though from a certain perspective, it could be one.”

The other person’s hand grasped Quilbion’s.

“Stand up for now.”

He rose with support.

“You look like hell. The smell’s serious too. If I’d been any later, you would’ve died of disease.”

Quilbion savored the words the man spat out. It took some time, but, if I’d been any later.

A tone suggesting he knew the entire situation, front to back.

“Do you know me?”

“For me, ‘knowing’ carries a very complicated meaning. In that sense, I’m still not sure whether I should say I know you or don’t know you.”

“Whether it’s wordplay or whatever, go ahead. Do as you please.”

Just the fact that there was someone else beside him brought relief.

“You sent the bird too, right?”

“Bird? Ah, that wasn’t me.”

“What?”

“It’s not very important, so don’t worry about it. More than that, aren’t you curious about who I am?”

“I’m curious. Dying to know. But what good does it do for me to ask? What can a blind cripple who can’t see ahead do?”

“Self-pitying. Half mad, too. And yet you survived without dying—was it regret or obsession, or maybe fate.”

Fate.

It was a word that made his eyes twitch on their own.

“Let’s wash you first. My tastes may be tolerant, but this smell’s too foul.”

His body was lifted. He flailed his hands and feet with a ugh sound.

“Stay still. You’re stinking up the place.”

“Is, is it sorcery?”

“Sorcery? Ah, that.”

The man didn’t explain in detail.

Wind brushed past his face. It seemed they’d gone outside.

Where were they heading?

“Wash yourself.”

His body that had been suspended in air fell. He drew in a sharp breath and crossed his arms.

Splash—his body plunged into water.

It was when he flailed trying to find his balance.

“It’s shallow.”

The man said one thing.

He came to his senses and slowly extended his feet. The rough texture of stones transmitted through his soles. When had his shoes come off?

“Scrub thoroughly.”

It felt like he’d met the employer again.

Quilbion asked back while washing his body with the cool water.

“Are you going to eat me after washing me?”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Then never mind.”

Was he a person, or was he a goblin who’d betray him at the end like Geron?

It was when he dunked his head in the water and scrubbed his hair vigorously. His lower back stung. A familiar sensation.

He raised his upper body. The bird had landed on his shoulder. The clever bird was being careful not to let its talons dig into his flesh.

Screeee—the bird let out a short cry. Toward the direction where the man was standing.

“Fearlessness runs in the blood.”

In the blood?

“Are you saying we resemble each other?”

The man didn’t answer.

After washing and coming outside, warm wind blew. The gentle breeze threaded through his hair strands and swept over his entire body.

The moisture vanished in an instant.

“Your clothes need to be thrown out.”

His body was lifted again.

“W-wait a minute!”

“Why?”

“Am I going like this?”

“Is there some problem?”

Quilbion covered his crotch with his hand.

“This is just…”

“For the Human Tribe, dignity is such a pitiful thing.”

The man muttered as if talking to himself.

His body lurched. The wind pressure that felt like it would snap his neck, let alone break it, made Quilbion unable to even scream.

How many seconds—no, how many minutes had he endured the wind?

His body touched the ground.

“There are clothes in front of you, so put on whatever.”

He was completely out of it.

He fumbled around and clothes caught on his hand. The string connecting each dormitory was felt too.

“Was there no coffee here?”

“Coffee?”

He stood up after putting on clothes.

“Yeah, coffee. I thought there was some.”

“If you rummage through the 3rd or 4th floor, there should be some. There were kids among the goblins who drank coffee.”

“Right, there was.”

The man in front of him seemed to know this place to some degree.

“Um.”

He tried to speak, but it was quiet.

“Hey?”

He approached where the voice had come from, but the man he’d just been talking with had disappeared.

“It’s a mess, but there is coffee bean stock.”

A voice came from behind. Had he already searched the dormitory and come back? It was unbelievably fast.

“Do you know how to make coffee?”

“I know how.”

“Try it.”

“You can see my state, right? I can’t see anything ahead. Even lighting a fire took several days.”

“Then make it for a week. Or a month—if that’s not enough, spend a whole year doing it.”

Quilbion flinched and took a step back. There’d been a presence right in front of his nose.

“I prefer it moderately bitter.”

The man pressed coffee beans into his hand.

“…Wouldn’t it be faster if you did it yourself?”

“Too bothersome.”

“You’d wait several days just because you’re bothered? You’re a strange one.”

“I’ve got plenty of time. More than that, you—don’t you feel any discomfort talking with me?”

“No, well. It’s not uncomfortable. There’s a lot I don’t understand, but I’m not in a position to nitpick.”

A large hand landed on his head.

Quilbion gave a bitter smile and spoke.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Why would I kill a Human Tribe errand boy for coffee?”

His scalp tingled. His facial muscles began twisting on their own. It was right before he asked what the hell he was doing when the man removed his hand.

“Still a mess when I look again.”

“What?”

“I mean it’s interesting. Worse than what I saw before, but. By Human Tribe standards, you’re definitely insane, yet not insane. A fun state where black and white coexist. When do you think the balance will collapse?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then how about asking the one behind you?”

The one behind?

Quilbion gave a keke giggle and tried to retort. About what he’d see when his eyes couldn’t see.

While thinking that, he turned his head.

It was there.

Twella was.

Her fantasy was staring at him with a blank expression.

“You—don’t get involved with that thing. You’ll be unhappy.”

A blunt hallucination burrowed into his ears.

His eyes twitched.

Quilbion turned his face toward where the man had been in surprise.

“C-can you see that?”

There was no answer.

“Can you see that damn bitch behind me!”

When he barked at him, a voice came from far away, from what seemed to be the dormitory rooftop.

“Just hurry up and bring the coffee. I’ll be looking at the sky.”

“What I just said…”

“If you bring it, I’ll tell you. If you make it tasty, I’ll tell you kindly. If it tastes like shit—well, let’s think about that when the time comes.”

Quilbion gripped the coffee beans in his hand harder.

A man who called people ‘Human Tribe.’

That meant he wasn’t human. And yet he didn’t seem like a goblin either.

Even if he grabbed the man’s pants leg and begged, he wouldn’t say anything. He had that premonition.

So.

“I’ll make it as fast as possible, so you better explain properly.”

He raised his head and shouted.

*

He stuck his pinky finger in his mouth and waited. The burning heat that had pierced to the bone gradually faded.

There shouldn’t be any festering.

He’d been careful, but he couldn’t avoid the burn.

Lighting fire had become easy with practice using the flint, but pouring coffee into a small cup wasn’t simple work.

At first, he’d ground the beans and put them in a wide bowl, then poured hot water over them.

This is coffee too, after all.

When he brought it to the man on the rooftop, he snorted. The bowl he’d been holding slipped from his grip and went clink after a long pause.

He’d thrown it beyond the rooftop.

“I have a refined palate.”

He was a picky fellow.

He’d crushed the beans, wrapped them in fine cloth, then brewed them. It took about three days to pour the coffee into the delicate little cup he’d found after scouring the entire dormitory.

“The aroma’s too faint.”

That was what the man said as he received the coffee.

“Can’t you just drink it? What’s coffee anyway.”

“Kids who don’t know coffee’s history always say things like that.”

“What history is there in something you eat to fill your stomach.”

“Your words are getting cheekier.”

“I was born looking like this, so I can’t help it. What’s wrong?”

“Fine, fine. I’m the sinner for making promises.”

Promise.

Quilbion took a step toward where the man was.

“You came looking for me knowing who I was, right?”

“Isn’t that obvious, given what’s sitting on top of your neck isn’t just a lump of fat? Of course you should think that way.”

“How did you know?”

“I’d say ‘knowing’—well, I saw you, so I know.”

“Stop with the wordplay.”

“You little shit, are you in any position to say that?”

He suddenly floated up. His legs pointed up and his head toward the ground. In that state, he swung left and right like a pendulum.

“Y-you, shit… fuck!”

“Don’t you have any fresh curses? I’ve already collected all those boring ones.”

Blood rushed to his head.

The more Quilbion struggled, the more his mind grew hazy.

“Getting worked up raises your eye pressure. Even for blind eyes, shouldn’t you take care of them? Stop screaming too.”

“Kill me… you son of a…”

“You’re deeply mistaken about something. Saving you or killing you—what meaning does that have? I have absolutely no interest in that sort of thing. I learned from observing endlessly that it’s meaningless.”

Crash!

His body rolled across the ground. Quilbion had to cough roughly from the impact transmitted from his lower back.

“Make the coffee again. If you try just a little harder, it’ll get better.”

“…What do you want from me?”

“Your head, it seems useless but should I cut it off? I keep telling you. Coffee. Strong coffee. That’s all.”

“Crazy bastard.”

“No, no. The crazy one is you, isn’t it? That one next to you proves it.”

For some reason, he could feel where the man’s finger was pointing.

Even though he couldn’t see, it was sensed.

Quilbion looked to the right.

“I told you, didn’t I? If you get involved with that thing, you won’t see anything good. It’s not too late even now.”

Twella’s fantasy extended her finger straight.

“Jump down. Dying now would be more comfortable. That’s the answer.”

“Is that so?”

“You said it too earlier. Just kill me, you begged. You don’t need to plead. Just choose for yourself. Your dignity! Fly free right now!”

“Freedom from throwing myself off the rooftop?”

“Yeah, how about it?”

Quilbion swung his hand. His hand sliced through the fantasy.

Twella’s severed head fell and grinned.

The head spun round and round while saying,

“Just die, hm? Aren’t you tired of this?”

“Yeah. I’m tired. But hearing that makes me want to live again. Thanks, you shitty friend.”

He stood up and looked toward where the man was.

Huh?

It should’ve just been a habit—turning his head even though he was looking. His eyes were blind, so there was no way he could see shapes.

But now.

“Sight doesn’t perfectly correspond to the concept of ‘seeing.'”

The man’s voice came from where something glowed hazily.

Quilbion reached up to feel around his eyes in surprise.

Nothing had changed.

As he kept fumbling at his eyes like that, he realized. Even when covering his eyes with his palms, the place where the man was still glowed hazily.

Light had found its way in.