Chapter 6 - Pilgrim Reynold (2)
Lawrence quickly got the hang of the crossbow.
Once he used both his foot and hand together, loading it wasn't all that difficult. And by aiming just a little higher than what he saw, he could more or less shoot in the direction he wanted.
Now he finally understood why people looked at the crossbow so favorably.
It wasn't just about its power—reaching proficiency didn't take that long. As long as you aimed and fired, that was it.
The only drawbacks, really, were that it was heavier than a bow and took time to reload, but these disadvantages were outweighed by its benefits.
"I'm ready now."
Reynold, who had been puffing out white smoke, looked at Lawrence.
Is he smoking?
A man of the cloth?
"Took you long enough. I've seen slugs move faster."
Lawrence didn't bother to apologize.
"It's a matter of life and death, after all."
Truthfully, he wanted to get even more used to the crossbow.
But he felt Reynold's eyes on him and couldn't afford to take any more time.
"Don't ever forget that feeling. When it matters most, the only one who can protect you is yourself. Once a battle is over, make it a habit to tend to your weapon and thoroughly check that it's in good condition."
Here and here—Reynold pointed to the groove and the stock of the crossbow.
"With the crossbow, there isn't much to check. The real issue is the weapon you'll grow most familiar with. For a sword or spear, you must always wipe the blood from the blade. Neglect your weapon and let it rust or get chipped, and remember—your life will be as fragile as a candle in the wind."
He wasn't angry.
He wasn't speaking offhand, either; it was more like sincere advice.
The look in his eyes, which before seemed almost dismissive, now held not a trace of humor.
"Do you understand?"
"I'll keep it in mind."
"We'll see about that in time."
That characteristic snort echoed from him.
They set off up the mountain trail again. After scanning the path and examining the marks left on the ground and the trees, Reynold's expression grew noticeably more serious.
They didn't need to speak.
Both of their steps became more cautious. Before long, even the sound of Reynold's footsteps vanished.
At last, the two of them came face to face with it.
A low growl rumbled in the air.
A monster that looked like a cross between a wolf and a dog stood before them.
It was the Underwolf, a creature classified as a type of demonic beast.
Without thinking, Lawrence's grip on the crossbow tightened.
Even at this distance, he couldn't stop his lips from going dry.
It was Reynold who acted first.
Drawing his crossbow, he calmly took aim at the Underwolf.
The bowstring snapped free, and the quarrel sliced through the air.
With terrifying speed, the quarrel struck and embedded itself squarely in the creature's head.
It was almost anticlimactically simple.
The Underwolf was thrown from where it stood and, after a brief, intermittent twitching, fell completely still—like a mouse gone silent.
"Is it over?"
"It's over."
Reynold was right.
As they drew closer to check, the Underwolf was already dead.
There was only one wound:
A hole in its head from the quarrel.
"There's no need to start off afraid just because it's a monster. First, remember—it's really no different from us."
"No different?"
"Death comes to all the same."
"..."
Reynold retrieved the quarrel and drew his dagger.
"Do you know how to dismantle it?"
"I've heard about it."
"Good, then it'll be easier to explain. Watch closely. In the future, whenever you survive a fight with a monster, don't forget their byproducts. Survival of the fittest. The victor has the right to take everything from the vanquished."
Lawrence carefully observed as Reynold dismantled the Underwolf.
First, Reynold cut along the spine to separate the hide and flesh. He packed the hide into an empty bag he had brought along for equipment.
All of the meat was discarded.
He'd heard that monster meat was highly toxic and couldn't be eaten.
Most people who, driven by hunger, tried to eat it ended up losing their minds.
Blood from the heart was collected in a leather flask. Heart's blood, fresh from the source, was especially valuable—worth more than any other blood.
It was the first time Lawrence learned so much blood could come out.
They said magic stones were most likely to be found around here as well.
But just as expected, the magic stone was nowhere to be seen—proving again how valuable they were.
Reynold paid particular attention to the Underwolf's claws and fangs.
He placed them in a separate leather pouch he had brought for such materials.
"We don't take any more of the hide."
"Is it because of the bulk?"
"You noticed correctly. The weight is also a problem. It's not that it's worthless, but it's not efficient. It's better to take things like fangs or claws that are easier to carry. Of course, it's different with monsters whose hides are valuable."
Lawrence nodded in agreement. Every bit of it made sense. If you're traveling alone without companions, something bulky like a monster hide is just a burden.
"Can I try next time?"
"There's no reason you can't."
A faint smile appeared on Reynold's lips.
Lawrence got his chance to practice soon enough. It was clear that these mountains belonged to the Underwolves—their traces were everywhere.
Naturally, there were a lot of them, too.
Whenever they tracked down more than one Underwolf at a time, they would give up quickly.
They only targeted stragglers that had clearly separated from the pack.
Quarrel flew from the bowstring and, without fail, pierced the Underwolf's head.
The real challenge came during the butchering process.
Skinning and removing the flesh was difficult enough.
But ripping through muscle with just a dagger was incredibly hard. After Lawrence finally managed to take apart a single wolf, Reynold's criticism came flying his way, just as expected.
"Well done, really. If you keep butchering like that, you'll have to throw out all the hide."
This time, Lawrence had nothing to say back.
He'd taken down a rare, clean headshot on an Underwolf— Yet the hide was full of poorly made gashes and bloodstains.
Comparing this hide to the one in Reynold's pouch made him realize just how skilled Reynold was at this.
You couldn't just slice things up with a dagger and expect it to work.
You had to distinguish between pooled blood vessels, and if you acted too carefully, the corpse would stiffen, so you needed twice the strength.
Still, after butchering one or two more, Lawrence started to get the hang of it.
When they spotted the fourth Underwolf since entering the forest, Lawrence spoke up.
"Would it be alright if I take the shot this time?"
This one was the smallest of all the Underwolves they'd encountered so far. Its body was about a head smaller than the rest. You could even see its bones through the skin, as though it hadn't eaten enough.
Reynold lowered the crossbow he was holding That gesture meant permission.
Lowering his head, Lawrence took out his crossbow.
The Underwolf still hadn't noticed them.
Lawrence aimed for its head but raised his sights just a little.
When he'd aimed at the tree before, the quarrel had hit slightly below the spot he'd targeted.
Would this be good enough?
As he watched, Reynold quietly nudged the crossbow.
It was set just a bit lower than where Lawrence had originally been aiming.
"It's not the same as with a tree. Don't misjudge the distance."
A short, measured breath. When he pulled the trigger, the quarrel shot free from the string.
There was a dull thud. When he looked up, he saw the Underwolf with its head pierced, rolling lifelessly on the ground.
A success.
No one had said a word, but Lawrence looked at Reynold.
"Well done."
"Thank you."
That brief word of praise gave him strength.
Now it was time to secure the byproducts.
As they approached the fallen Underwolf, they saw its body still quivering—it was not quite dead yet.
Just as Reynold had done, Lawrence cut its throat.
"You don't hesitate at all," Reynold remarked.
"You told me that if I hesitate, I'll be the one dying."
"That's right. You'll have plenty of time to think about it afterwards. For now, just focus on surviving. Any problems can be solved once you're alive."
As if wanting Lawrence to engrave this lesson in his mind, Reynold continued.
"The best case is what happened just now—taking care of it with an ambush. But things won't always go this smoothly. Sometimes, when a monster notices us first, we'll have no choice but to fight it up close."
"Is running away not an option?"
"The moment you show your back, assume you're dead. Unless the monster hasn't noticed you at all, once you're discovered, escape is out of the question. Think about it—even the Underwolf, which is considered low-grade among monsters, is faster than a human. Do you really think other monsters would be slower than people?"
"Usually... They're probably faster."
"Their feet, their legs, their whole bodies—even their bodies are several times larger than a human's. Imagine one of them sprinting toward us. While we might manage ten paces, a monster can catch up in just a few strides. So instead of wasting time thinking about running away, figure out how you're going to fight. That's the only way you'll survive."
If running away isn't an option, you have no choice but to fight.
"When you fight a monster, don't count on a second chance. Never look away. Show it your determination to stand your ground. The moment you avert your gaze, the creature will sense your weakness. If you don't want to die, stay sharp and resolve in your mind to bring the enemy down. If you can do that, at least you won't end up dying like a dog in the gutter."
"I'll bear that in mind."
"You don't need to remember it. If you can't put it into practice when it counts, you'll just die."
Reynold let out a crooked, sardonic smile. Somehow, it no longer looked like he was just mocking Lawrence.
Long, drawn-out shadows began to stretch behind the trees.
They had set out at dawn, but now night was quickly approaching.
"We'll spend the night in the mountains and head back tomorrow."
"Understood."
Lawrence had been expecting that.
There hadn't been any sign of turning back, so he'd figured as much.
He didn't bother to ask, "Will it be safe?"
Just in the past few hours, Reynold's skills had proven to be the real deal.
Lawrence never imagined he'd receive lessons like these—things he'd never learned at the monastery or the village.
Were all pilgrims, roaming the world like this?
"It's not that I'm anything special."
Reynold responded as Lawrence brought over an armful of dry kindling.
"Anyone who wants to survive the Pilgrimage Road needs to at least manage this much."
"Is that so?"
"If you can't, you die. That's why there are so few pilgrims."
"..."
There was nothing even faintly amusing about any of this.
"That's why most apprentice priests travel with a traveling merchant. Traveling back and forth between monasteries is the safest way to ensure protection. After all, you can't just hire mercenaries every time, right?"
"So, is it different for pilgrims? I mean, even you came to our monastery, didn't you, Reynold?"
"It's different. Didn't I tell you just a moment ago? Apprentice priests only travel from monastery to monastery. For a pilgrim, monasteries are just temporary stops along the way."
"So you're saying pilgrims travel the Pilgrimage Road, not just between monasteries."
"That's right. At the end of the Pilgrimage Road lies the Sacred Ground. These days, many of those sacred sites have been lost, and some have become dens for monsters, making them impossible to approach. They're not villages—they're wilderness. Do you really think a traveling merchant would head toward a dangerous sacred ground? No one in their right mind would willingly set foot on the Pilgrimage Road."
Reynold pulled out a tinderbox and flint.
He tried to light the pile of wood and leaves, but today, for some reason, the spark just wouldn't catch.
He must have tried at least dozens of times.
Still, when the fire wouldn't start, he cursed under his breath and got to his feet.
As he brought a cigarette from his pocket to his lips, Reynold let out a sigh, as if something had just occurred to him.
You need fire to light a cigarette. But right now, since he couldn't make a fire, lighting one was out of the question.
After glancing around a bit, Lawrence approached the pile of firewood. He picked up the tinder and flint that Reynold had tossed aside. Pretending to strike a spark, he muttered quietly,
"Fire."
Flames sprang to life—the very spell he'd practiced over and over at the monastery.
The blaze quickly took hold of the dry firewood and leaves, swelling in an instant.
"The fire… it's lit."
"What?"
Reynold was startled when he saw the campfire blazing. Seeing the flint in Lawrence's hand, Reynold let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"Guess even a slowpoke's got some tricks up his sleeve…"
With the cigarette between his lips, Reynold finally looked relieved.
Sitting across from him, Lawrence stretched his hands out toward the fire.
Even though summer was approaching, the mountain nights were still cold.
"If it's not too much trouble, may I ask you something?"
"It is too much trouble, so don't ask."
By now, Lawrence understood.
That meant he was free to ask.
"When did you start walking the Pilgrimage Road, Reynold?"
"Well. It's been about ten years, I suppose."
"Ten years?"
For a moment, Lawrence thought he must have misheard.
"Why? Do I not look it? I may not seem like much, but I've visited over ten Sacred Grounds. One of them was even a bugbear den."
This time, Lawrence was surprised for a different reason. Ten years, and only ten places? That seemed so few.
"The world's a big place. There are probably only a handful of pilgrims who ever circle all the Sacred Grounds, even if they spend their whole lives on the road."
"I didn't realize there were that many Sacred Grounds."
"There are even more Pilgrimage Roads. In fact, there are many, many more roads without any Sacred Ground at all. Still, anywhere near a monastery is easier to travel."
With the cigarette still between his lips, Reynold pulled some dried jerky from his sack.
It was the same jerky they'd eaten at lunch. Lawrence accepted it in both hands and brought it to his mouth.
It had a savory flavor. It was tasty enough that there was nothing better to stave off his hunger.
"How does our monastery rank?"
"Fifth from the bottom."
That was an awkward number.
"But since you have Blackwell, the monastery is actually good enough to be among the top five."
Trying to hide his embarrassment, Lawrence chewed on his jerky.
"I heard you turned down the apprentice priest position."
"So you've heard already."
"This isn't the kind of place where secrets last long. There aren't many kids who dream of the outside world. Still, not everyone who chases that dream ends up happy."
"I know. But I still think it's not too late for me to decide after I've seen the world."
"Hmm. Then couldn't you become a priest first, and travel afterwards?"
"You know as well as I do that it's not that easy, Reynold."
Thinking of life at the monastery, Lawrence gave a wry smile.
It was practically impossible. Life at the monastery was stable, but there was no room for personal time. Above all, settling down meant he would have to stay in one place.
"Are you just planning to wander the world with no real plan?"
"For now… I do have something in mind."
"A mercenary, huh."
As if he had read Lawrence's mind, Reynold said it with certainty.