Volume 01 - Chapter 2: A Sword, a Stone, and a Barmaid (Part 1)

“Get up, servant boy.”

What heartwarming words to hear upon waking. Pain rattles my nerves as a hazy Mizuka stomps my stomach, boot bouncing like the plunger of a butter churn.

“Cut it out. You’re killing me.” I rise with a groan after Mizuka gets in one last hit.

“About time. I’ve been trying to wake you for hours. It’s almost noon.” She shakes her head, sleek hair shuffling.

“Already? Sorry, Mizuka.” After having my father force me onto the fields at sunrise for several weeks straight, my body must’ve rejected the idea of waking before lunchtime. “But was stepping on me necessary?”

“You woke up, didn’t you?”

“I was awake before you resorted to violence.”

“…Oh? Well, no matter. The result is the same. Come now, I desire a stroll after being stuck in this closet.” She stretches, fingertips brushing the ceiling.

Agreeing, I lead us to the lobby, where we’re greeted by daylight pouring through round windows. Two men dressed in fine robes occupy a wooden table, expressions serious as they discuss the cost of cotton. The same hostess stands behind the front desk, cocking her head as I approach. Did she even go home last night? Mizuka follows and lays her arms across the desk.

“I trust you had a wonderful night’s sleep.” She maintains perfect posture with a warm smile, a hand on her thin cheek.

“Sleep? Yes. Waking up? No.” I return the key, candlestick, and matches.

“Tell me, have you caught wind of any strange rumors or phenomena in the area?” Asks Mizuka, hands pressed together.

“In Gamaloth? Hmm, nothing worthy of gossip. This is a quiet village. Although,” she raises a finger, “it’s been three years since it appeared, but we do have a popular tourist attraction.”

“…Three. Anything else? Earthquakes? Monsters?”

She giggles. “Aren’t you a funny one? No, no, nothing scary. Only what I mentioned. I’d tell you, but it’s better to see it for yourself. You’re in luck. Today’s a special day for it.”

“Is that so…Well, thank you for your time. We’ll have a look.” Mizuka retreats, running a hand through her hair.

“Of course. It’s a few paces left of the tavern—Sparrow’s End. Have a wonderful vacation, you two.” She flashes a knowing grin, winking at me for some reason.

Mizuka heads for the door, stopping in front of it. Again, I take the role of doorman. A trifling matter, but she could at least ask or thank me.

We step into blinding light from the sun stuck high in a cloudless sky. Noon indeed. What time did we reach Gamaloth last night? Between yesterday’s nap and waking up late today, I’ve made up for a few early mornings plowing potatoes. I should’ve run away from home earlier.

Gamaloth hasn’t changed since my last visit several years ago. Quaint and quiet. Livelier than Sundance, but still a rural, farming village at heart. Villagers sporting overalls and merchant-types clad in exotic fabrics plod along winding dirt paths. Single-story houses line both sides of the street, all sharing the same weathered maple wood as the inn. Each sports a thatched roof made with a blend of different animal hides dyed gray, resembling a massive fur coat stretched across each home.

The outlandish method keeps snow from accumulating and causing the roofs to cave in during winter. Not that much snow falls in this part of Halivaara. Perhaps it was an issue when the houses were first built.

Children chase each other around houses or dash through the streets; their mothers sit and watch from rocking chairs on porches. The fathers and older siblings are likely tilling the countless fields surrounding Gamaloth on every side.

Rather than each family owning their own fields, most of Gamaloth’s citizens are employed by someone living in Dragonwall who owns most of the land here. They receive free housing and a salary based on how much crop they produce. Not a terrible deal, but my father often speaks ill of those who don’t strive to own their own property.

Upon reaching the tavern, Mizuka stops, breathing hard with flushed cheeks.

“You alright?”

“F-Fine, only…we’re close.” She shivers, digging her fingernails into her scalp.

“Your power fragment…thing?”

“Yes.” She points left, barely lifting a leaden arm.

“Want to take a look?”

“Obviously. Give me your shoulder.”

“Sure you don’t need to take a breather?” I bend and wrap her arm around me. She smells of daffodils and sunshine.

“I’ll be better once I retrieve my fragment.”

“If you say so. I’m moving.”

Down a narrow, grassy path between several houses and into a broad clearing sectioned off by a knee-high wooden fence, we discover a public park. A massive tree serves as overseer in the middle. A crowd of villagers surrounds the open space in front of it. Boisterous laughing, cheering, and shouting charge the air.

Mizuka bolts to the crowd and asks a young man about the commotion. Beaming, he explains today is the third anniversary for the appearance of ‘the sword in the stone’.

On this day three years ago, a sword appeared lodged in a stone beneath this tree. Where it came from or how it came to be stuck in the stone, no one knows. Everyone in Gamaloth and countless travelers have tried to claim it for their own, but not one has ever succeeded.

Many tried destroying or digging up the stone but were repelled by an invisible force that shattered their tools or resulted in them rubbing their rears in pain. Any action outside of grabbing the sword’s handle and pulling on it is negated.

Treating it as a mere tourist attraction now, the villagers invite challengers from all over Seiren to try and claim the sword every year on today’s date.

Vigor restored, Mizuka smirks. “Listen up!” The crowd turns their heads. “I will be the one to claim this sword, for it belongs to none other than myself! Make way!”

Without a sound, they split, carving a path for her. She strides through, stretching her arms forward and popping her knuckles, while I snake to the front of the crowd.

Planted deep in the earth beneath the tree, a sheep-sized stone awaits its next challenger. From its center extends a longsword coming up to Mizuka’s chest. The blade of pure silver catches sunlight and emits a radiant glow. Inlaid in its pewter, cross-shaped hilt is a dazzling sapphire. The sword generates the same notion of nobility Mizuka does, compelling me to preserve it, surround it with other precious objects, keep it all to myself…

“Finally.” Mizuka wraps both hands around the sword’s grip. “Return to me!”

She plants her boot upon the stone and yanks, arms straining. The crowd cheers her on, pumping their fists high.

Her whole face alights as she bares her teeth and arches her back, sweat beading on her forehead. And mere seconds later—she stops, arms dropping to her sides.

“WHY. WON’T. IT. COME. OUT!” She kicks the stone. Grabbing the sword again, she pulls in every direction.

The crowd dies, but laughter soon revives them. Less at Mizuka and more at themselves for being caught up in her bravado, but she doesn’t share their merriment.

“S-Shut up! It should’ve…why didn’t it…How dare you! Stop laughing! Servant boy, we’re leaving!” She dashes toward me, seizes my wrist, and escapes the park.

“L-Let go already.”

“Not until we’re far, far away from those degenerates.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh, Mizuka?”

“They had no right to laugh. If they only knew who they were permitted to lay their eyes upon.”

“I’d say your lofty claim and subsequent failure were worth a laugh or twenty.”

“Leo…care to repeat yourself?” She whispers, her voice a honey-soaked knife.

“I’m good…Was that sword really a piece of your power?”

“Absolutely. The second I touched it, I knew it was me…mine, that I had to have it. It made me even more aware of the hole in my existence…” Her eyes cloud as she folds her hands over her heart.

“Then why couldn’t you pull it out?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. The humiliation is of little consequence, but not understanding why is driving me mad. The sword should know who I am. It must’ve lodged itself in the stone as to not be claimed by anyone else. And yet—it rejected me.”

Per usual, I have no idea what she’s saying. “Well, no sense worrying. Let’s grab lunch.” My growling stomach reminds me I slept through dinner last night.

“L-Leo! Don’t brush this off so casually. Help me think.” She pulls me close, her grip ever tightening.

“Ow…listen, this shouldn’t come as a surprise, but I don’t understand at least half the words coming out of your mouth. All I know is what you told me, which isn’t much.”

“Then ask.”

“What to ask is another problem entirely. Actually, how about this? If I think of a good question, you can answer it over lunch. Come on, weren’t you looking forward to a feast?” My desire to escape her wrath outweighs the need to protect my thinning wallet.

She raises an eyebrow. “…Ah, of course, my feast. That will cheer me—I mean, clear my thoughts. No use thinking on an empty stomach.” Tossing my arm aside like a wad of paper trash, she returns to the center of town.

The tavern is an imposing sight with double doors and several flags of unfamiliar towns hanging off the front porch’s railing. Its name, Sparrow’s End, is etched in royal red upon a sign over the doors.

How long have I dreamed of entering this place? My father won’t stop me this time. While I doubt any of the barmaids are as comely as Mizuka, they’re sure to be kinder, sweeter, and less prone to violence. Be still my racing heart.

“Well? Go on.” Mizuka smacks my shoulder.

“R-Right. I’m going in.” I mount the stairs, legs as stiff as that sword in the stone.

Patience not being in her vocabulary, Mizuka pushes past and throws open the doors, revealing a world of chaos.

A vast, rectangular room packed tight with overlong banquet tables, each and every seat occupied with villagers and travelers alike—all men. Pots of viscous soup, hunks of glistening ham, loaves of browned bread, and tall pitchers of mead obscure every inch of tablecloth. A long bar stretches across the back end of the tavern, all but two of its barstools occupied. The fabled barmaids dash back and forth in a mad dance between tables and the kitchen behind the bar.

Mizuka creeps to my side and mouths something, but it goes unheard. Jovial conversation and bellowing laughter render me deaf. A barmaid bolts by, telling us to sit wherever we like. Left without the option of a table seat, I tiptoe to the bar, dodging people talking with their hands and barmaids burdened by overflowing silver platters.

The two open stools sit on the bar’s left edge. I take the one next to a burly, hairy man twice my size, while Mizuka takes the last. Dirty plates and empty mugs mask the countertop. A pair of bartenders pour and serve drinks in a frenzy, shooting annoyed glances our way. Several minutes pass before one shouts for one of the regular barmaids to take our order. A girl about Mizuka’s age, well, the age Mizuka’s appearance suggests, bounds over, wearing a summer smile.

“Welcome to Sparrow’s End!” Her voice rings cheery and polite. “Can I start you out with a drink, or might I interest you in today’s specials?”

Pulse rising, I peel my eyes. Focusing on the other barmaids in constant motion was impossible, so I waited for ours. Now to observe these fabled uniforms in full. However, as a gentleman, I will indulge not in the uniform first, but her face.

A young girl, too young to be working in this risqué variety of tavern. She’s tiny. Short enough for her to be at eye level standing while I sit. Fluffy blond hair graces her shoulders with two bushy bundles tied off in the back. Glimmering emerald green eyes. Small facial features reminiscent of the mice I used to chase in our barn. In a word—she’s cute. A beauty not quite on par with Mizuka’s, but still top class. To find a capital-quality girl working in the boonies of Halivaara is rather odd.

Totally, definitely, absolutely against my will, my eyes shoot downward. And there—they find paradise. Mighty, snow-topped mountains threaten to burst from their frilly cloth prison. And by that I mean: her breasts are larger than any I’ve ever encountered before.

Her uniform is everything I didn’t know I wanted. Dyed cherry red and pure white with dashes of dark brown, the uniform evokes both provocative maturity and sweet innocence. The half-shirt with short, poofy sleeves obscures little, her deep cleavage making my head swim. A skirt of three frilled layers is one inch too short for my sanity. Intricate lace adorns the tops of her white thigh-highs, red garter belts attached to their frilled edges reaching up into the great unknown. The slightest of her movements suggests I might witness a spill or peek which would render a lesser man unconscious.

The other barmaids are nice, but only a girl this cute brings forth the uniform’s true destructive power.

“Leo.” Mizuka grabs my face in an iron grip, fingernails denting my forehead. At least my shirt was spared for once. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while. This girl wants to take our order.”

“Oh? Sorry, I was…distracted.” I face the barmaid as Mizuka lets go. “We’ve never been here before, so—”

“Wait!” Mizuka jumps off her barstool and scans our barmaid from head to toe. “Tell me your name, girl.”

Squealing, the barmaid throws up her arms in an X-shape. “M-My name?”

“You’re…we’ve met before, but I can’t be sure until I hear your name.”

“S-Sorry, miss, but I don’t…have a name.”

“You don’t have one or you can’t remember it?”

“Huh? H-How…that’s right. I can’t remember my name.” She looks to the ceiling with hollow eyes.

“Thought so. We need to talk.” Mizuka grabs the girl’s wrist and drags her toward the entrance.

“W-Wait, wait, wait, miss, you can’t…I have work to—” She struggles, breasts bouncing.

“No time. Leo will take care of it.”

“Me? What do you want me to do?” I protest, still sitting in shock.

“Tell whoever we’ll be borrowing their barmaid.”

“What about lunch?”

“I don’t actually need any. This is more important.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“I’m sure you can last a little longer.” Mizuka sighs as if I’m the unreasonable one.

“D-Do I have no say in this?” The girl whimpers, not bothering to resist Mizuka’s death-grip any further.

“None. If my hunch is correct, you belong to me, and I’ll do what I want with my belongings. Meet us outside, Leo, on the path leading to that sword.”

“Sure.” I concede, trying to ignore my angry stomach. Retaliation is futile.

Despite our loud, ridiculous interchange, no one notices. After sighing at a plate of sausages, I slap my cheeks and stand. I’d better let someone know we’ve borrowed one of their barmaids…