vs. Morada

Level 100, and more than that, she has a hidden name?

“It’s the privilege of an Inquisitor to hide their name. And of course, to be strong.” She smiles.

“Can you reach that high a level from training alone?”

“In three months you’ll shatter any monster,” she says. “In six, no human will stand against you. The Inquisition possess cutting-edge weaponry too - this one is of my own design.”

She shows me an L-shaped jet-black weapon tucked in her sheath. It gives an ominous feeling though there's no apparent blade. 

“We’re on the hunt for a certain target as of now. But when that’s done with, we plan to march on the Bandit Lord.” She says.

I lean in.

It makes sense to accept. Zorro, is after all, an outlaw (or so the papers say). And if I want levels, then the training and equipment this so-called Inquisition can give me will be better than the discounted versions that Zorro can provide.

It also brings me far closer to my goal of killing this game’s boss, the “Bandit Lord”.

But even with the fame and pride a title like this might provide…

Even if I’m granted a 100 levels on a silver plate…

Even with a job where I get to live the full life of an adventurer, taking quests, and fighting bandits and monsters…

That would have been enough for the “Maru Shimazu, salary-worker and daydreamer” that I had been before. But it isn’t enough for me now.

“I’m travelling with someone. A girl named Zorro. I promised to escort her, so I can’t accept.”

Morada wears a brief open-mouthed expression of shock; but the look retreats into a tight smile. Then she drains her glass - sip, sip, thud.

“Zorro, the killer who slew a thousand men… if you're journeying with her, I bet you think that latter fact’s a lie.” says Morada. She pulls a crumpled sheet from her pocket and smooths it. It’s the same wanted poster that’s haunted me since I became part of Esterraria.

“She used to be an Inquisitor too. We fought monsters; she shared our victories and ate dust with us in our defeats.

But one day, we were fighting bandits, and she wasn’t there when she should’ve been. That’s how she slayed one thousand men; by leaving them - us - all alone.”

“A thousand knights wouldn’t have lost to a simple group of outlaws,” I reply. “You’re telling me there’s a marauder army?”

“Why else do you think the Imperia strives to bring the world under its protection? There’s not just one army, there’s three! How can you be smart enough to kill a King Direrat yet have the awareness of a slime?”

She breathes deeply, then pours again. Her hand jerks, spilling beer onto me, but as the glass fills her hand steadies. She drinks, drinks, drinks, her second ale right down to the bottom of the glass.

“But even slimes work together,” she says low. “even slimes keep together in groups. And Zorro always works alone. Please, join the Inquisition - or you’ll be betrayed, mark my words.”

I know nothing about Zorro, it’s true. When I first met her, it was right when I woke up in this world - and when she first met me, it was also when she was roused from sleep. It’s as if we had come from one another’s dreams.

I do know that she’s cute and easily flustered. And I know that her voice is sweet and light.

It’s not a guilty voice, and more than that - it’s one that makes me happy when I listen to it…

There’s another voice inside me that’s different than Zorro’s, that’s logical and cold. Don’t sacrifice your dreams for a stranger, Maru. It whispers. Don’t stay a zero for Zorro.

…I choose my words carefully, and make my reply. Morada nods afterwards.

“I’ll return tomorrow - to see if you’ve kept your resolve.” Then Morada calls out: “Ganleon!”

“Yes miss?” calls the inn-owner. He stands at the door, greeting new guests as they come in.

“Remember our bargain.”

He nods and Morada picks up her bird-cage and leaves after one last look.

A few minutes later,  Zorro bursts in. She’s holding an enormous pile of swords and other weaponry, and drops them all.

“Blood, ash, beer - Maru, what happened to you?” She exclaims.

***

I lie down on the bed.

While it’s a modest space about five paces across, the air’s fresh and the sheets are clean; the inn room’s more cozy than claustrophobic.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” Zorro says. “...my hair's different since the last time I’ve seen everyone, so the shopkeepers almost didn’t recognize me.”

“You used to keep it short?" 

“Maru,” Zorro says. “You need to rest.”

She towels off the caked red-brown layer coating my skin, but the wounds underneath had already been healed by DROP. Just a gash remains where Morada scratched me.

“It’s nice that you’re worried for me, but I killed one hundred and one rats; I can endure this much damage.”

“I don’t know… I just have a bad feeling about this cut… it feels like a curse, a marking, a demon’s touch… did you meet someone suspicious, Maru?”

“A woman healed me, so it's all fine. The scratch comes from her.”

“Another woman? …So it is a curse,” Zorro mutters. “FLAME!”

A light gathers, a crackling miniature sun. It’s so dazzling that spots dance within my sight.

“What’s the curse effect like? And how do you know that I have one?” I ask.

I check my stat box, but it’s the same as ever.

Maru | Level 11 Journeyman

Shld 105/105 | Atk 7 | Def 10 | Agi 16 | AP 15/15

“Zorro seriously, I think I’m fine.”

“No, no, you don’t get it Maru. Healed by a strange woman? With her hands all over you? You definitely need cleansing.”

I had said that Zorro’s voice was sweet and light, and it still holds that same ring - but underneath that tone lies a poisonous edge. It’s as sweet as arsenic.

“I’ll just use the wash basin…” I say.

She engulfs my entire body in fire. The glow burns and itches, a searing that’s painful yet not unpleasant - like a shower at high heat.

I wince, then it’s over. And somehow, Zorro’s the one who’s sweating and panting.

“How’s that? How’s that?”

She checks my arm, and the scratch is gone.

“I doubt that she was a devil or witch. She wanted to recruit me to a knighthood.”

“What did you say?” The anger pales from her face, and it’s briefly pleading.

“I did think about it.”

At this, Zorro scowls. Rather than move away, she runs her fingers against the site of the former scratch. Her nails are short and her little finger-stubs keep bumping against it.

“Of course, in the end I told her I’m traveling with you.”

“Ah… o-of course. That’s what I expected!”

She hides a smile behind her free hand. The other hand, however, still scrapes against me.

“Are you trying to mark me?” I narrow my eyes. I roll up a newspaper and thwack her lightly on the head. “Bad Zorro! Bad!”

"Ah!" 

But after I’m done with the paper, I rub her  head.