#046. My Little Brother is Too Kind (1)

#046. My Little Brother is Too Kind (1)

The former assassin, Shoa.

With the extra time, the extra life, gained through Ian’s aid, she resolved to repay a sliver of her debt.

Reconstructing the destroyed palisade of the village was not an immediate emergency, yet it was a task that demanded doing.

[Recruitment Quota: 40]

[Current Volunteers: 7]

When Shoa presented herself at the site, people stared in astonishment.

“Aren’t you… one of Teresa’s party members?”

“Heard you weren’t feeling too good, getting… whatchamacallit, physical therapy and all. Sure you should be out here doing this kind of work?”

“I want to help, without pushing myself too hard. Got plenty of strength to spare, so I hope they’ll let me.”

One of the side effects from those enhancement pills was your muscles getting all beefed up, even when you weren’t tryin’, and your arm strength going five times past a grown woman’s.

Might sound like a lucky break, getting that kind of power, but when you keep crushing sword hilts and smashing cups and dishes because you can’t control the sudden surge of strength, well, you start losing your confidence in everyday life.

*These hands should only grip the heads of my enemies.*

*I mustn’t touch anything precious.*

*I don’t know what irreversible mistake I might make with these hands.*

She couldn’t bring herself to use them, terrified of what might happen, but seeing Ian, that little boy, working so hard to help his mother… she just couldn’t stand by.

“Goodness me. She’s strong as an ox, that one.”

“How’s she lifting that huge log all by herself?”

Among the retired adventurers and villagers, too old and slow to chase after money and danger, Shoah’s strength stood out.

“A woman’s gotta be quiet and sturdy like that. A real sight for sore eyes.”

“Should I introduce you to my boy, maybe?”

“I appreciate the thought.”

“Don’t be like that, just listen to what my son’s got. That old geezer cherishes him so much that he would hate my daughter, so he is quite a charming boy, you know? . My boy’s got a real knack for business, a big shot merchant runs a small trade group that makes loads of money and employs over twenty people. He’s got so much money, he might even pay for that girl’s arm to be fixed.”

Shoah’s arm twitched.

Her monstrous left arm, that is.

And her right one, numb and unresponsive.

“Her situation is really tough. That Gohmora, that bad guy, caused so much bloodshed, but there’s hardly anyone more pitiful than that girl.”

“…I appreciate it, but it’s really alright.”

“Still, just think about it. They say the Order produces a limited amount of elixirs, that can make fingers or toes grow back, and grow skin on your shoulder. And maybe with a elixir you can cure that broken body of yours, you know?”

Shoah couldn’t hide the turmoil in her heart.

-*What is the meaning of a life that goes on without vengeance? What is the difference between torture and a life of regret, with all hope extinguished?*

-*I will become your reason to live.*

*-…!*

The boy’s earnest words, clinging to her, holding her back from the despair that told her she should be dead, that she *had* to be dead.

-*Am I not enough?*

Ian held her hand as if she were a tiny feather about to be blown away by the wind, pleading that she wouldn’t leave his grip.

More than her hand, his gaze was weighing on her.

His eyes, filled with a plea that she not give up on her own life, reminded her so much of her younger brother, Shoah, that she couldn’t shake them off.

*Thump!*

She leaned a log against the slope, tied it tightly with rope, then pulled it up, using all her strength, to set it upright.

Standing before yet another layer of this wooden barricade, Shoah remembered that touch, that look, and called upon those memories to fuel her weary body.

‘Is the time I have left… running out?’

One day, she awoke to the steady drumming of rain against the window, and felt a throbbing ache worse than usual.

The abused and battered state of her body made the pain return after being dormant for a while.

This pain was pretty bad.

Unable to bear the ache, Shoah set down the log she had been carrying on her shoulder.

“Oi, Sho. Don’t push yourself. Rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You might be fine, but *we’re* not fine.”

“If something happens to you, Teresa and Ian will chew us out. Unless you’re trying to torment us, take it easy today.”

“…Sorry.”

Shoa was half-pushed out of the workplace.

Rest, he thought.

Could the time spent alone in his private room, suppressing his pain and enduring, not wanting to show his unsightly self or cause worry, truly be called rest?

He didn’t want to return.

But his private room was the only place to return to.

Well, there was one other place he wanted to be.

A seat within the guild where he could clearly see Ian at the reception desk.

But he couldn’t go there in this state, causing them concern.

As Shoa, wearing a bitter expression, turned to go back to his private quarters, his steps faltered.

The lukewarm rain that had been soaking him was suddenly blocked by an umbrella held out to him.

“Shoa-ssi?”

“Who is it?”

“I’ve heard much about you from your father. I’m Gulla, running a small trading company.”

“Leave me be.”

“If you don’t take care of yourself, those around you will grieve. You already owe Teresa and Ian a great debt, don’t you think?”

“…”

“I’ve come with a good proposal. It will be an opportunity for you to repay your debt to Teresa and Ian. Could you spare me some time?”

Hair slicked back with gel, and a face a bit too handsome.

Not ugly, exactly, but a man whose good looks felt…overbearing.

The man led him to a covered cafe, perfect for watching the downpour.

He could see black toad beastkin, their condition improved by the rainy weather, wrapping their tongues around the arms of men they fancied as they strolled through the streets.

The man playfully glanced between his own sleeve and Shoa’s lips, but Shoa’s expression remained unmoved.

The man, looking sheepish, tilted a teapot.

Filling a cup with a dark liquid that released a sweet aroma, the man said, “This is called ‘Coffee.’ Originally, it wasn’t distributed in our country, which is on the edge of the continent. However, I first tasted it in a country I studied in as a child and brought it back to the country myself.”

The man talked a lot about himself.

Stories of his childhood.

His efforts to cultivate coffee.

The nobles who interfered with its distribution.

The story of how he returned to his hometown, Sodom Village, in order to broker a fair price.

“This is the kind of person I am. I have a product, and I’m confident I can make money, but I lack a noble to back me, and I have enemies who covet my product. I am in dire need of a bodyguard to fend off the assassins the noble family will send.”

“So that was your purpose from the start.”

“I won’t deny it. But the marketability of ‘Coffee’ is genuine. Compared to the immense wealth you’ll gain from selling it, obtaining the Elixir of the Order will be a piece of cake.”

He could buy it.

Even in this state, like back when he wasn’t addicted.

To live again, healthy.

She hadn’t even known.

That she so desperately wanted to live.

To return to a body without pain, a healthy body.

“Miss Shoah, what do you say? Can you trust me and my ＜Coffee＞, and work with me?”

Sweet words.

As sweet as the scent of the ＜Coffee＞ he offered.

Shoah rose from her seat.

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t accept.”

“Why? If you need guarantees, I’ll provide them without hesitation. I’m sincere. I’m even willing to swear before the God of Contracts.”

Ian has many enemies.

Theresa’s enemies are Ian’s enemies.

At least, every noble in this vicinity must be itching to kill Theresa, who killed Gomorra, and Ian, Theresa’s son, at any moment.

Not long ago, the Guild was actually attacked.

While she was away, Ian was ambushed and killed.

No one can guarantee that such a future won’t come to pass.

So, Shoah cannot trust anyone.

“I don’t trust sweet words. I lost my precious little brother because of a single misplaced trust.”

If she makes a mistake this time.

She might pay the same price.

With Ian’s death, paying for her brother Shuah.

“Trying to get full on the first spoonful is too greedy. I’ll take my leave for today. I plan to stay in the village for a while, so feel free to tell me if you change your mind.”

Gula saw Shoah out obligingly.

* * *

Shoah came to visit.

She seemed so cautious, like someone who had committed a crime, that I couldn’t help but ask.

“Did something trouble you?”

“…No. Nothing.”

Some people cry and complain loudly at the slightest pain, while others endure agony that tears at every muscle, struggling to stifle even a whimper.

Shoah clearly belonged to the latter group.

Instead of trying to pry open her tight-sealed lips, I spent my own money to put out a request to novice adventurers.

A discreet inquiry, asking them to find out who Shoah had met and what had happened.

“Shoah noona, they say she might get married.”

“A foreign-educated merchant guild leader who spent time abroad is coveting Shoah unni.”

“I heard it’s quite a solid trading company, too.”

I knew it the moment I heard.

━━━

Title: Let’s Run An Adventurer’s Guild

Genre: Raising, Management, Revenge, Politics

━━━

A staple event in any guild management game.

The ‘Scout’ event.

If there’s a worthy talent within the guild, an offer arrives with a certain probability.

A scout between individuals.

A formal scout, clan to clan.

Secretly funneling money to poach talent, or formally paying a transfer fee to the guild – different methods, but the outcome, a talent drain, remains the same.

A time when funds are scarce.

A flawed individual.

There were also times when, for the sake of operations, you had no choice but to hand over an adventurer stuck in the Sodom Guild for a reasonable price.

When failing to meet the minimum commission quota within the set period meant paying a penalty, or when failing to complete a commission within the deadline meant forfeiting a cancellation fee.

To gain much-needed funds, an unavoidable exchange of talent for coin.

‘That’s quite the offer.’

Thanks to Mother, Maria, the Swordsman event, and the Horned-Ones craze, we’ve earned more money than we know what to do with.

If it were about money, Shoa wouldn’t need to sign a contract.

The problem isn’t money, but health.

They say they’ll heal her injured body.

It’s an unbelievably generous offer.

If she officially receives notarization from the God of Contracts, Shoa *noona* could be cured of her doping aftereffects and withdrawal symptoms.

A chance to regain her lost lifespan, to live out her remaining years in comfort – a chance to reclaim her life.

“Shoa *noona*.”

“No.”

“I think it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Never again, never again should my little brother die where I am not.”

“…I see.”

The reason she refused such an attractive offer was, incredibly, because of me.

My existence blocked Shoa’s future.

It was stealing the chance for her to be happy.

It wasn’t unreasonable for me to have such thoughts.

If my existence brought Shoa fear.

If that fear stole away a better future.

Wouldn’t it be better for Shoa if the person known as me simply disappeared?

Shoa’s little brother and the wicked mind-manipulator.

The two could no longer coexist.