5.2 Pluie's Fault

Things were going downhill and it was all Pluie's fault.

Or maybe not, but he blamed himself anyway.

He shouldn't have said anything.

If he hadn't said anything then Cérise wouldn't have left the group to get drunk before midday again and the overall morale would be higher and they would've finished purchasing weapons by now and be recruiting more heroes into their cause and it'd take less time to save the world from the... what was it again? But anyway, it was Pluie's fault.

In the first armory they visited, the group was ignored.

In the second one, they almost got scammed.

The magic of three didn't help, and neither did the magic of five.

"Why is this so hard?" Lamented Mish. "Why is everything so expensive?"

"Artificial city, artificial value," said Two-Rabbit.

If Pluie hadn't said anything then he wouldn't have even thought of doubting his... or, well, he'd been doubting his co-workers for a while now, but were they truly capable of taking the ransom's money and recognition for themselves? Could people be that low? They were servants of the law, after all. Allegedly.

Mish went on: "We should go for Cérise. He said he was a swordsmith so he'll know what to do."

"Fuck him," said Akiha. Mish's ears flattened. Pluie's, too, but metaphorically. "Change of plans: how about we distribute letters for a bit?"

Pluie almost asked what he meant, but then Akiha handed each of them a batch. After reaching another overpriced coffee shop to use as a reference point, their mission was to wander within a block's distance or so to distribute letters in the hopes passersby would join their cause. It seemed a bit bizarre at the time, but heroes worked in mysterious ways.

Fifteen minutes later and he'd yet to hand out any letter. A few passersby took it, read it, then gave it back. One of them tossed one in the trash, but Pluie seized it before it fell. Into the trash.

What if he pinned a couple of them on bulletin boards in frequented places? But that would mean leaving the designated area, and it wasn't as though any hypothetical reader would be able to tell where...

We need as many people as we can, as many heroes, before it's too late. Bring friends⁠, comrades, anyone willing to help. I shall be waiting tomorrow at Les Épées Ne Sont Pas Cliché, from seven past midnight onward. Hopefully you will be, too.

...oh, good, Pluie had been wondering if they'd return to Morr, since that's where the letter he'd received had pointed to. Akiha must've rewritten that part at some point between their arrival to Kroprom and him giving orders. Pluie noticed he'd been scribbling earlier as they'd had breakfast. So that was why. And he chose the coffee shop they ate in for the next meeting spot.

An undefined amount of time later, someone finally took a letter: a tall, blond young man dressed in the black hides of a monk. One of his eyes was icy blue, with the other one probably being the same color, but an eyepatch concealed it, so Pluie couldn't be sure. The monk's expression mirrored that of the clerks who'd failed to sell weapons to the group earlier. This didn't change as he read the letter. "Interesting," he said. "It's a shame that this letter is so vague, or I else I might've actually considered joining your cause."

Pluie swallowed. There was no way he'd let another one go. Especially not this monk, who stood out to such a fascinating deIgree that there was no way he was there as a coincidence. "Well, that's—that's by design."

"Oh?"

"It's a secret trial to weed out those who aren't truly interested."

The monk's sardonic grin was unfitting of his job. He replied, "Don't you think that it'd make sense to truly interest more people by telling them what they're getting into? I don't know about you, but this letter makes it seem as though you need as many candidates as possible."

"Yes, but—no."

"Oh?"

"I mean, it's good to get more candidates, but we can't just accept anyone."

"No?" The monk made a paper boat with the letter.

"...no..." Pluie held back the urge to fidget. At this point, to get ignored seemed like a better alternative than such... disrespect. He couldn't care less about insolence towards him, but this was a direct attack to the heroes. Still, he couldn't tell the monk to cut it out, could he? What if he left? What if no one else showed up? What if he was the only one in the group to bring no new recruits? "...so the letter acts as a filter. Many will, uh, try to seek fame and glory if presented the chance, but few will perform a task like this."

"Like what?"

"A thankless one."

"Like being a guard?"

"Or a monk," Pluie replied.

The monk undid the paper boat, then flattened the letter; he might as well have never bent it at all. "You're right. I'm no stranger to thankless tasks. Go on, then. Pitch me your quest. Why does the world need heroes? Why is it running out of time? When will it be 'too late'?"

Had Akiha explained any of that? Or anything at all? Kind of? But Pluie hadn't been able to hear most of it back at the restaurant in Morr...

His heart raced. He knew the monk knew. The monk knew Pluie knew he knew. It amused him, clearly. Why couldn't this monk have gone to talk to anyone else? Literally anyone else? "Y-you'd... you'd have to... if you want to know more—"

"Oh, no, don't give me that 'join and I tell you' bullshit. Tell me and then I might join you."

Deep breaths.

One, two.

This was nothing compared to what he'd faced at the academy.

He could handle one person yelling at him a day, but two? Or... well... no, neither Cérise nor this evil monk had screamed... but they might as well have...

"No?" Pressed the monk.

The world was beginning to split. One monk, two monks. One shop, two shops.

"Fine, let's try a different approach. Why did you join? You're clearly not the person who wrote this, so."

Two shops, one shop. Two monks, one monk. For someone so critical of the letter, he seemed strangely adamant to know more. In fact, when Pluie took way longer than it was socially acceptable to respond, the monk simply waited. "I joined because I wanted to help."

"Help how? And why?"

"Help... save the world? There's a rogue mage threatening the home of the person who penned this, and if we don't, um, if we don't stop him in time his evil influence will spread everywhere and a lot of people will die. That's why I want to help. And how. If there's someone in need, we also stop to help, like f-for example we helped take down a bandit operation yesterday. That spell you did to flatten the paper was very good. I think you'd be a good addition."

The monk stared at him, the mirth gone from his face. He handed back the latter. Pluie's heart sank. He didn't take it. "What if the task is bigger than you think?" Asked the monk. "What if 'a rogue mage' is just the first step?"

Pluie—

"You hadn't even considered that, had you?"

"...no, but... but even if that were the case, I'd still help, anyway."

"What if it's more than you can handle?"

"Doesn't matter to me."

"I see." The monk folded the letter again, but this time, he tucked it into the pockets of his tunic. "And if I told you that you're too weak? That you stand no chance? Don't brush it off by saying it 'doesn't matter' again. Think about it. What then?"

If he was asking so many questions, it meant he'd join, right? Again, he was ridiculously out of place. His hair and eye color alone made him stand out. His height. His clothes. His skin tone. It couldn't be a coincidence. Because of this, Pluie did, indeed, think about it. "That's why the secret trial exists. Not just anyone will join. It takes a special kind of person. Someone who'd leave their life behind to help a stranger, knowing their life might be at risk. A hero, if you will."

"Do you fancy yourself a hero?" Asked the monk, then snorted. "Never mind. That face tells me everything. Listen, kid. There's no one in the world who wants you to succeed as much as me. Not even Akiha." There was a pause. "Huh. You don't look surprised about me knowing that name."

Pluie shook his head. He bit back a smile. So his intuition had been right after all.

"Good, good. Then I'll need you to trust me on this—don't tell the rest I was here. Understood?"

"Okay."

The monk blinked. Did he expect Pluie to contest him? Sometimes circumstances spoke for themselves, and this was one of those times. The one to partake in a secret trial hadn't been the monk at all: it'd been Pluie. And he'd passed. "...well. Uh. That saves me some time. So to toughen you guys, I was thinking abo—oh, no. Goodbye."

Before Pluie could ask what was wrong, the monk placed a finger against his lips, spun on his heels, then vanished into the crowd. Kind of. In any other city in the region, he would've stood out no matter what he did, but at least he could sort of blend in with all the top hats and trenchcoats.

A moment later, Akiha emerged from the crowd at the other side of the street. Pluie did his best to pretend as though he hadn't just spoken with a mysterious mentor with mysterious intentions and a mysterious origin. "Hello," Akiha said, "How are you holding up?"

Pluie would've lied to make Akiha feel better (since his face indicated a similar level of success), but he was still recovering from earlier encounters. "I'm... still trying. How about you?"

"Still trying." Translation = still nothing.

"That's too b—I mean, that's good. How are the rest doing? Do you know?"

"Still trying."

"Oh."

"We are to assemble at the coffee shop in ten minutes," Akiha told him. "Two-Rabbit seems to have found a good armory. That will be our next destination."

Pluie saluted.

There's no one in the world who wants you to succeed as much as me. Not even Akiha.

How badly did the monk want them to win, then?

How badly, when Akiha seemed so weighed down by a loss so minor?

Before he left, Pluie told him, and himself, "We'll be fine. I know it."

Akiha smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Pluie got it.

The more he thought about it, the more this whole thing fell apart.

So he decided not to think at all.