The Soldier and The Novelist

A Boring Journey

The flock of green overwintered tree swallows glittered in the sky, reflecting the morning sun off their feathers. The blue twinkle of their metallic-looking plumage shone even more beautifully against the clear blue sky. It is a hallmark of spring’s arrival in the eastern part of the continent.

I leaned against the wheels of a carriage in front of the city gate, smoking my tobacco and gazing up at the sky. The early morning air was crisp and transparent, but the sunshine was faintly warm. It was a refreshing day, a good day to depart.

At around six o’clock in the morning, the horses pulling the sleepy-looking stagecoach trotted in front of me, led by their coachman from the stable. They were about to transport numerous passengers and wear out their hooves as they raced around the city of Ixlaha, shortening their already brief lifespans.

Watching them from the side, I felt a strange sense of familiarity, perhaps because I had chosen to be a mercenary once again. I too was about to risk my life to protect a person I had no connection with and further diminish my already miserable life. Maybe there wasn’t much difference between that horse and me after all.

A self-deprecating smile crept onto my face. But that’s okay. Whatever the form, it was my choice. At least that sets me apart from those carriage horses.

“Don’t grin like an idiot by yourself. It’s creepy,” a voice suddenly said.

I turned around to find my client standing there with a suspicious look on her face and a frown on her forehead.

“Did you read yesterday’s newspaper?” she asked in her usual tone. “A recent study at Halvard University found that people who laugh at their own memories lack social skills.”

Suppressing the urge to click my tongue, I let out a dry laugh. I knew that getting angry with her was pointless, and accepting her personality was the only way to deal with her. As much as I hated to admit it, I was pretty good at adapting to difficult situations.

I responded with a sarcastic tone, gesturing towards the clock tower next to the gate. “I thought you despised people who weren’t punctual?”

We had agreed to meet at exactly six o’clock, yet it was already five minutes past. Despite this, the novelist appeared unbothered and casually remarked, “I wasn’t the one kept waiting today.”

“That’s a ridiculous argument, don’t you think?”

I was stunned. In the end, it appeared that her standard of value revolved around herself. It was an enviable trait, to say the least.

She swept her hair off her shoulders and unapologetically stated, “Don’t complain about being five minutes late. It’s a universally recognized fact that it takes time for a lady to get ready. Remember that, and it might come in handy for you at least twice in your life.”

I nodded absentmindedly, scratching my head. Even so, I still felt that she should have at least greeted me in the morning. Wasn’t that a universal custom?

I took another glance at the novelist. She was donning a sturdy canvas long skirt, a black felt turtleneck, and a beautiful dark blue coat, which resembled the color of the green swallowtail butterfly’s wings that had flown overhead earlier. Her brown boots were polished to a shine, and her usual leather bag sat beside her. Despite her personality, her appearance radiated that of a graceful upper-class traveler.

In contrast, I was wearing the black coat that the novelist had picked out for me the day before. Although it was partly because it catered to her preferences, I also found it comfortable and easy to move in.

After sizing up my appearance for a while, the novelist gave a small nod, “Well, it’s good enough.”

It seemed that I had passed her standards, at least. The novelist looked up at the morning sun and squinted before asking, “What’s the plan for today?”

“We’ll be heading straight north on Route 87. If all goes well, we should cross the state border and reach Old Sharp by tomorrow evening.”

“Okay, and what about accommodations?”

“I think we’ll be able to find a cheap inn at the state border tomorrow night, but for tonight we’ll have to camp out. Alternatively, we could take Route 95 along the coast and come across a town where we can secure lodgings for tonight, but that would mean we’ll arrive at our destination a day and a half later.”

“Well, we can’t help it. Routes that cause delays in arrival are naturally rejected.”

The novelist didn’t seem pleased with the idea of camping out, but she didn’t protest as much as I expected. I thought she would ask me to find a bed and pillow for her.

“You know, I’m not as sheltered as you think. I’ve had some experience with camping,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Oh, that’s good to hear. I was afraid you’d ask me to buy a bed and pillow or something.”

The novelist looked taken aback. “You didn’t buy a bed and pillow?”

“No, we’ll be sleeping in a sleeping bag in the covered wagon outside. There’s no way we can fit a bed in there.”

She slumped down in disappointment. “A sleeping bag, huh… Well, I guess everything can be a source of material for a novel if you think about it.”

I could tell she was trying to convince herself. Apparently, the lack of a bed was more of a shock than she had anticipated. Honestly, what kind of camping out did she do in the past?

Upon hearing my response, the novelist slumped down in disappointment.

“A sleeping-bag, huh… Well, everything can be a source of material for a novel if you think about it.”

It was a melancholy murmuring as she tried to convince herself. Apparently, the lack of a bed was more of a shock than she had anticipated.

After letting out a weary sigh, I continued, “We’ll be spending the third night in Montria, the state capital. From there, we’ll be crossing the Rembrandt wilderness for a whole day, and beyond that is the Evilshaw mountain range.”

The novelist, who had been listening intently, lifted her head at my explanation.

“Hmm, so it’ll take four days to get there and we’ll arrive on the fifth day. That’s longer than I expected.”

“Well, with a one-horse conestoga wagon, it’s the best we can do. If we were on an express carriage, it would have been faster.”

Furthermore, this route is one that is guarded against the fanged beasts. As my mission is to provide security, the safety of the client takes top priority.

I dropped the now-shortened cigarette to the ground and stamped it out with my boot. I pushed myself away from the wagon’s wheels, where I had been leaning. “Well, then, shall we set off soon?”

“Yes.”

The novelist nodded, seeming to have regained her composure, and looked up at the sky to the north, beyond the city gate. Her expression hinted at a childlike excitement.

We requested our wagon number from the guards at the checkpoint next to the city gate and received the necessary documents for crossing state lines. The middle-aged guard, who knew us well, smiled cheerfully when he saw my face.

“What’s wrong? You don’t seem too thrilled. Is the next job going to be tough?”

“Something like that.”

I shrugged my shoulders in response, glancing at the novelist beside me. She snorted and said mockingly, “Well, it could be said that the fate of the world is at stake.”

The guard burst out laughing, whether he thought it was a joke or not.

The novelist climbed onto the open wagon without putting down the canvas cover. I sat on the stagecoach driver and took the reins. The horse pulling the carriage, a four-year-old chestnut-colored crossbreed with a beautiful coat, was a rare breed that was difficult to come by even for merchants. It was easily arranged thanks to the novelist’s financial resources. This was also my first time handling such a fine horse.

“I’m counting on you, partner,” I murmured, and the horse obediently let out a small neigh in response.

I shook the reins and the carriage started off slowly. The city gate in front of us had already been opened.

The brick outer wall that surrounded Ixlaha was originally designed to counter the invasion of fanged beasts. However, it was rare for them to wander this far into the region in this era of advanced territorial development. Therefore, this wall now served only to distinguish between inside and outside the city.

Our carriage crossed that boundary and finally left the city. On top of the cargo bed, the novelist spun the words of departure.

“Let’s go, to the cursed mountain.”

◆

Exiting the city gate, we entered a mixed forest of broadleaf and conifer trees. The road, which cut through it, was always bustling with traffic, and as a result, the width of the road had been smoothed out and widened.

As our carriage moved forward at a leisurely pace, sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting a dappled pattern on the ground. We passed several peddler’s carriages on the way, and some of them cheerfully waved to us as we passed, while others gave us a sullen expression. Today, a variety of merchants had once again been drawn into Ixlahar.

After a while, we arrived at a large metasequoia tree. It was said to be a giant tree that had survived the flames of the 90-year-old Yunaria Independence War. It exceeded 50 meters in height and was apparently over 300 years old. The road forked northwest and northeast around the tree, and a signboard stood at the trisection bearing these words:

“To merge with Route 95, go right” and “To merge with Route 87, go left”.

Without looking back, I asked my companion on the carriage, “We take the sleeping bag route, right?”

I heard the novelist snort disinterestedly. “If you happen to come across a store selling pillows on the way, stop by for me.”

I chuckled softly at her indifferent words and turned the horse’s head to the northwest.

After driving for only five minutes, the forest road came to an end, and the view suddenly opened up. As we crossed a small hill, we merged onto a large road that stretched north and south.

Route 87.

The road that leads to Montria, the city in Old Sharp that we were heading for. There, we were greeted by a world of blue and green.

Instead of the branches of trees, the clear blue sky stretched above us once again. And to our left, a vast expanse of fresh green earth spread out as far as the eye could see. The wind that blew in from the edge of the continent gently caressed the ground, causing the greenery to undulate like waves on the ocean.

The Grand York National Nature Park.

One of the largest grasslands in the Yunaria continent, stretching all the way to the neighboring state of Io.

The novelist leaned out of the carriage, lost in the grandeur of the scenery. A laugh filled with admiration escaped her.

“Haha, this is a magnificent sight.”

“Everyone thinks so at first. But after three hours, no one speaks a word. And after six hours, they only exchange yawns with each other.”

“You’re a man who doesn’t appreciate beauty. No matter how many hours I spend admiring this magnificent scenery, I’ll never tire of it.”

I thought to myself, “Is that so?” as I put a cigarette in my mouth. It was still early in the morning, and there were no other people on the road except for us. I exhaled purple smoke and gazed at the western sky again. The clouds were still invisible.

Although it had only just begun, it seemed that the first day of our journey would end peacefully.

◆

After the sun had risen high, a voice could be heard from the back of the carriage: “I’m bored.”

Exasperated, I put out my third cigarette in the ashtray on the stagecouch’s box and said, turning to the back, “See? You just don’t appreciate beauty either.”

The novelist, lying on her side and using her deep blue coat as a pillow while flipping through the pages of a paperback, looked up at me with a quizzical expression. “Stop pestering me. I didn’t expect the scenery to be this unchanging. I even doubt if this carriage is moving forward at all.”

Her tone lacked any sense of enthusiasm.

Well, I generally agreed with her. The carriage was still heading north along the highway, with a vast grassland to its left. Even if you compared the view from three hours ago to the one now in front of you, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

I said, “This highway is one of the longest in the continent, and this scenery will continue all day today. If you’re bored, just read your book quietly.”

“I was reading. But it’s nauseating to ride the carriage with so much shaking.”

Ah, I see.

It seems that she looked lethargic because she was getting motion sickness from the carriage.

Sighing, I handed her my water flask, which I had prepared on the stagecoach’s box.

“Here, drink some water.”

“I want coffee now more than water… Oh, right. Didn’t you get some ground beans from that Green shopkeeper? Can you make some?”

“Can’t light a fire on top of the carriage, can we?”

Pouting at my words, she took the flask from me. Then, in a fit of annoyance, she gulped down the water all at once. This woman drank my water!

The words that came out of her mouth as she wiped her mouth were not words of gratitude, of course, but rather ones of reproach.

“You’re really a thoughtless mercenary. Even if it’s not coffee, you should have put some cold black tea in the flask as a lady’s companion. Can’t you even be considerate?”

“Ladies don’t gulp tea down from a flask like that.”

“Anyway, did you intentionally choose such a boring road? Is it your way of being mean to me?”

“I just followed the request to take the shortest and fastest route to our destination… Besides, you agreed with me at the fork in the road, saying this way was fine.”

However, it seemed that the novelist had no intention of listening to me. She shook her head left and right with a sigh and lay back down on the back of the carriage, looking up at the sky. Her lips let out a melancholy sigh.

“Really, I feel like an idiot for setting off on this journey. Nothing dramatic has happened, and this journey is so boring.”

Despite only having left the town about four hours ago, hearing those words made me apprehensive about what lay ahead. And above all, the thought of having to listen to this woman’s complaints for three more days already made me feel tired.

The novelist lay sprawled out, looking listless as she spoke in a monotonous tone. “Hey, mercenary. The client is getting bored. Tell me an interesting story.”

Despite her words, her eyes showed no expectation towards me. It was clear she was just venting her frustration on me. Was this woman some kind of lowlife thug?

Letting out a big sigh, I realized that traveling in this melancholic mood was not something I wanted. So, I decided to put up with her for a little while to distract myself from my own boredom.

“Once upon a time, a cardinal received a visit from an angel. The angel said, ‘God has a gift for you. You can choose one of the following: immense wealth, eternal beauty, or ultimate wisdom. Which do you choose?’ Being a devout man, the cardinal chose ultimate wisdom.”

“Hmm, and then?”

I saw a hint of interest in her eyes, so I continued. “With his newfound wisdom, the cardinal understood everything in the world, but immediately regretted his choice.”

The novelist smirked when he heard this. “I can already see the punchline. I bet the cardinal said, ‘I should have chosen immense wealth.'”

Having the punchline spoiled beforehand, I felt frustrated. The novelist, however, seemed to enjoy it and chuckled. “Not bad for you. It’s a witty story.”

“I hate talking to clever people like you.” I muttered this, feeling bitter.

This was a silly story that mercenaries would use to mock officials of the Holy See. It was a crude irony based on the rough faith that money is everything in the world, rather than on sublime wisdom.

The novelist, seeming to have cheered up a bit after hearing the nonsense story, sat up and asked me a question. “By the way, if you were in the same position, what would you choose?”

“Me? Of course, immense wealth. It’s not even worth thinking about.”

“How shortsighted.”

“Then, what would you choose?”

“Eternal beauty,” she replied succinctly with a bewitching smile. I snorted. But the novelist disagreed with my attitude.

“I’m telling you, there’s a good reason for this. Wealth and wisdom can be achieved with effort, but beauty fades with age. So, logically speaking, eternal beauty is the most difficult option to obtain among the choices.”

The novelist spoke with confidence. I waved my hand in response and returned my gaze to the front of the carriage. Her lecture was quite valid, but…

“I know how to keep eternal beauty,” I said sarcastically. “Just die before you get old. That way, you’ll stay beautiful forever.”

My words caused the novelist to fall silent for some reason. I expected her to retort with her usual dramatic style.

Puzzled, I turned to look at her. The novelist was now looking up at the sky with a sad smile on her face.

“…That’s true,” she finally spoke. “Dead people stay beautiful forever.”

Her muttering, like a soliloquy, was carried away by the spring breeze and disappeared into the distant grassland. Only her mournful expression remained.

I couldn’t say for sure, but I must have said something thoughtless. Feeling somewhat guilty, I forcibly changed the subject.

“By the way, which option do you think Cardinal Malmsteen would choose?”

My casual question erased the sentimentality from her face and replaced it with a hateful expression. The novelist snorted unhappily and said in a spat-out tone,

“In the first place, I doubt any angels would come to that man.”

…Well, isn’t that the same for both you and me?

I thought so, but I kept it to myself.