Last Minute Translations

Bertram left the restaurant and walked.

 

The wet earth crunched under his leather boots and shone white under the moonlight. Bertram looked down at it and remembered the bones. 

 

Bones he had smashed endlessly on the battlefield. Because of rumors that enemy mages could manipulate corpses, he can not treat the dead with respect, regardless of whether they were friend or foe.

 

When they did not have time to transport bodies to the rear, they had to crush and burn them on the spot.

 

Naturally, the morale of the soldiers was at its lowest. If they died there, there would be no evidence of them ever having fought in the war. They would not even earn the hollow honor of dying for their country.

 

Therefore, many soldiers took advantage of the night to flee, only to be stabbed in the back while running away. Bertram remembered those frightened targets. 

 

… Even now as he merely walked down a quiet path at night.

 

A blurry puddle formed at the center of Bertram’s heart.

 

But, Bertram had forgotten even the name of that emotion.

 

Just then, his stomach growled.

 

'Ah, so it was hunger.'

 

There was no one to tell him that was the wrong answer.

 

Bertram opened the pouch Karla had handed him. It contained a fair amount of money.

 

'Should I buy something to eat? No. I should save this and return it to Miss Anna.'

 

Even if Karla said she didn’t need it, he was determined to repay his debt to the Hans.

 

Sixteen-year-old Bertram had believed that if he just won the war, everything would fall into place.

 

So he offered up his emotions. He killed countless enemies. Sometimes even allies. He even requisitioned the seeds that crying farmers had saved for next year.

 

The mounting piles of requisition documents whispered, “I’ll pay you back someday,” fueled his self-justification.

 

But the war was lost, his family perished, and the throne was stolen by his uncle.

 

Even awake, Bertram is haunted by nightmares.

 

The emotion whose name he had forgotten lingered as a symptom that choked his throat.

 

A mage who witnessed his state once said to him.

 

 “I couldn't lift the curse, but I knew a way to ease your suffering.”

 

“Repay all your debts, Your Highness.”

 

That very day, Bertram left the castle.

 

With his bare hands, he dug through the once battlefield grounds, collecting the remains and dog tags, returning them to the bereaved families, and paying off the requisition certificates he personally issued.

 

Now, he only had to repay the debt to Hans Birt.

 

Then this journey would be over.

 

He absolutely could not turn back.

 

He will return to Anna’s restaurant as soon as dawn arrives and repay the debt.

 

To do that, he needed a proper meal and sleep. As Bertram searched for food, someone approached and spoke to him.

 

“Hey, are you Mr. Bertram?”

 

Bertram looked up and saw three young men from the village who were looking back at him with forced and awkward smiles.

 

“Do you remember us?”

 

“Yes. Two of you were the ones who threatened me in front of the restaurant. I don't recognize the third.”

 

“...Ahaha, so you do remember? Sorry about that. We tend to be wary of outsiders.”

 

It was a ridiculous excuse, but Bertram noticed the clubs hidden at their waists and nodded.

 

“I see. I understand.”

 

Veins bulged on the men's necks.

 

But they had nothing to say. What can you say when the one you threatened tells you he understands?

 

Eventually, the oldest man stepped forward.

 

“We heard about your debt situation. But if Miss Karla doesn’t need it, why are you still in the village?”

 

“I plan to speak with them again at sunrise about the debt.”

 

“So you’re saying you’re not leaving?”

 

“Correct.”

 

The three exchanged glances. “This guy wasn’t going to be reasoned with,” they thought.

 

Still, they weren’t the type to pull weapons immediately, so they went for the most polite and harmless small talk they could muster.

 

“Have you eaten? You must be starving after being thrown out of the only restaurant in the village.”

 

“I was just about to go hunting.”

 

“Huh? There’s not much to hunt around here. It’s nighttime. It would be hard to catch a rabbit.”

 

“I confirmed there is something edible on the way into the village, so I’ll be fine.”

 

Thanks to the mage’s curse, Bertram could even digest tree roots. He meant it could eat anything literally. But…

 

The men's hearts grew even more uneasy.

 

‘Is he eyeing our livestock?’

 

The men exchanged glances and nodded.

 

Yup. This brute would bring nothing but trouble to the village. It will be best to mess with him a little and drive him out.

 

One by one, they surrounded Bertram and began bombarding him with suggestions.

 

"What kind of hunting are you talking about? We’ll tell you where to find some food that can be easily obtained."

 

"Where did you sleep last night? Surely not out in the open, were you?  I’ll tell you a spot where you can avoid the night dew. Sleep there tonight."

 

They each took a place beside Beltram and tried to nudge him along… only to be surprised by the solid resistance.

 

Bertram looked down at their slightly trembling hands and realized—

 

‘These men… said they were afraid of me earlier.’

 

A small, isolated, rural village. A large stranger roaming around would certainly scare the locals. These men must be part of a volunteer patrol group, trying to handle the unwelcome guest.

 

Bertram gathered together what little social awareness he had and decided to accept the proposal of these brave vigilantes, who had bravely stepped forward to protect the village.

 

“Understood. I will refrain from hunting. Please show me the location of the food and shelter.”

 

Unaware of his true thoughts, the men were relieved.

 

“So you’re not completely unreasonable.”

 

“Right. Your force wouldn't work on me anyway. I prefer to comply with your suggestions.”

 

“...It would be better if you didn’t say anything. Anyway, here, take this and eat.”

 

One of them handed over a dry sheep biscuit. Biting into it would break most people’s teeth.

 

“See those light brown mushrooms growing on the ridge clearing? Just flip them over and heat them a bit and juice comes right out. Soak the biscuit in that. It’s amazing. Do you have a flint?”

 

“I have some basic cooking utensils.”

 

“Then you don’t have to worry! Gather the mushrooms there, then climb a bit higher and you’ll find an abandoned building midway up the mountain. Sleep there tonight.”

 

“Thank you for your kindness. I will see you tomorrow.”

 

Bertram bowed to them, then headed off in the direction they had given.

 

Once his black hair and cloak melted into the darkness, the men huddled and whispered.

 

“That mushroom… it’s not deadly, right?”

 

“He’ll laugh and cry for a few hours, then pass out. It won’t kill him. Probably.”

 

“‘Probably’ isn’t good enough.”

 

“Eh, whatever. That guy’s huge. Who knows if a single mushroom will even affect him? Well, job done! Let’s head back!”

 

Nervously, the young men looked in the direction Bertram had gone.

 

Just one mushroom shouldn’t be a big deal for a guy that size, but…

 

***

 

Meanwhile…

 

Karla quickly dealt with the mountain of peeled onions. She dumped them in a pot and made onion porridge.

 

Though oiling reduces the volume, the sight of the onion porridge taking up half the pot looked completely unappetizing.

 

“Mom, what are we going to do with this!”

 

“We’ll eat it over three days, just you and me.”

 

“Do you want to suffocate from onion farts? They’re so toxic even I can smell them!”

 

In the end, Anna decided to take matters into her own hands.

 

She packed the onion porridge into a large pot and headed out.

 

She handed out bowls of the onion porridge to everyone she saw and stopped by Dieter’s place, force-fed some to his family. Still, a ton remained.

 

“Seriously… I let him handle it just because it was cool how he didn’t even cry while slicing onions…”

 

While grumbling and blaming Bertram again, Anna suddenly realized she had not even given him dinner.

 

‘He must be hungry. Did he make it to the next village? Does he even have money? Probably not. The next village is richer than ours but stingy with food…’

 

Was it because it had been a while since she brought home a vagrant?

 

Or maybe it was guilt over not feeding him before he left.

 

Her mouth felt especially bitter.

 

‘…If I see him again, I should at least feed him some meat.’

 

At that moment of great generosity, she spotted a flickering flame on the hill.

 

‘Is it the patrol?’

 

No, the light wasn’t moving. Someone had lit a campfire.

 

Anna turned toward it with a pounding heart.

She would be lying if she said she was not scared.

 

But something, a pleasant hunch, moved her feet.

 

Finally, she arrived, hugging the pot of onion porridge.

 

There, before the warm fire, sat a large, wolfish man who looked up.

 

It was the ever-polite man, Bertram.

 

“Good evening.”

 

“…Good evening. Mr. Bertram, did  something good happen?”

 

“No. Just a greeting.”

 

Of course.

 

Still, perhaps because of the warm orange firelight, his face looked unusually peaceful.

 

And in front of him…

 

“Mr. Bertram, do you know how to cook?”

 

In front of him, a small camping pot was bubbling with various ingredients. Bertram crushed the sheep biscuit into it and replied,

 

“Only to the level of making the ingredients edible.”

 

“Wow, that’s surprising. I didn’t think you could do anything like this.”

 

“I am competent.”

 

“…Right. I’m very well aware of that. Then, can you use those skills to handle this too?”

 

Anna pulled out the pot of onion porridge she had brought. Understanding the situation, Bertram silently ladled some into his pot.

 

At first, a white steam rose in a puff. But as Bertram alternated adding water, porridge, and some unknown spices, the contents gradually started to resemble actual food.

 

And it seemed like he had hunted something. As he stirred the ladle, plump pieces of poultry floated up and then sank.

 

Before long, a rather appetizing stew was complete.

 

Anna subconsciously swallowed her saliva.

 

Bertram said. “Here. As you requested, it has been handled. Please try it.”

 

“Huh? What do you mean?”

 

“Didn’t you say to make the unappetizing onion porridge taste better?”

 

“That’s not it! I meant, there’s way too much of it, so help me eat it!”

 

“…I see.”

 

Bertram turned the ladle’s handle back toward himself and added, “…Very well. I won’t be hurt even if you refuse.”