Tutorial Rewrite 146 (Patreon)

I put my hands on my hips, hopefully only resembling a disappointed mother by coincidence. “Now, why would you go and do that?” He stares up at me with the same kind of look he’s had the past couple of days. I heave a sigh, mostly just to show him how I really thought better of him. I mean, come on! “You’re lucky I went running after you or these armed hoodlums would’ve had their way with you! Can you imagine that? I mean, this guy was carrying an entire halberd for crying out loud! Do you really think they’d stop at just mugging you?”

And, of course, as usual, he gives no response. He could’ve died and he doesn’t seem to care in the least! One of these days I really ought to hammer into him the importance of staying alive and not giving up hope for the future. Only losers die, and I like to think that Simel, should he have been born human, would have been a certified gamer much like myself.

Not that I don’t understand him just a little, though. I mean, he must have had quite a spook, seeing my personal pantry in that state. I knew I should’ve cleaned it up just a little.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I look down at him. He’s staring up at me. “What?” I say. As usual—as always—he says nothing. Is it too much to ask for a little communication here? I draw in a sharp breath. It only takes two broad steps to bring myself to him. Crouching down a little, I lower my face to his level. “You’ve had a big scare. I get that. But we need to get back to the house now, okay?” His head is shaking back and forth. Oh, now he’ll communicate. Of course. I roll my eyes and put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s not a question, Simel. We need to go.”

If these hoodlums were able to get to him within like, a single minute of him leaving the house, I can’t imagine how many more could be hanging around. I kind of want to loot the guys left, but Simel really needs to get back to bed.

I grab him and hoist his stiff body onto my back. He doesn’t fight it in the least, which is good. My eyes fall on one of his feet. His bandages have all been ripped up by his running and a bunch of his wounds have been torn open again, his whole sole covered in blood. “See this?” I say, grabbing one of his feet. “You’re bleeding everywhere now! What were you even thinking?”

Though, of course, if he hadn’t left splotches of blood everywhere he went, I wouldn’t have been able to find him since I can’t smell him. Also, apparently, he’s way quieter than I thought.

As I walk back to the house, following the RED footprints, I mumble to myself, “Besides, that key was just to lure any snooping burglars close enough to handle. You weren’t supposed to take the bait yourself…”

We walk back to the house. Or, I guess, I carry him back. Hopefully, the bloody footprints going from the house down the street won’t be an issue, considering that Simel will need a fair bit longer now to recover, not to mention that my arm still refuses to regrow with any real speed. Well, all in its due time. For now, I’ll just try to make the best of it.

It only takes a minute or so to get back to the house. I lock the door behind us, bring Simel back upstairs, pass by the no-longer-locked room, and put him back to bed.

“Try to get back to sleep, okay? I know we’ve both had a kind of weird night, but you still need the rest.” He looks up at me. I look down at him. Sighing, I avert my eyes. “...You want me to explain myself? Is that it?” His gaze doesn’t waver. I can feel my lips twist into a frown and I turn back to him, hand clenched and jaw set. “Well, there isn’t any. I did what had to be done. That’s obvious, isn’t it? We needed a place to stay, so I got us one. So why—”

Why are you still looking at me like that?

I can feel my breath rattling through my throat. My hand clenches and unclenches. Claws prickling against my palm. My eyes briefly drop down to look at his slim throat. But then I notice the marks—still lingering, even after a month—and everything in my chest melts away, draining through my ribcage, down my spine. “Okay,” I hear myself say. “You don’t like that. I get it.” My eyes fall down to look at the floor, at my reddened feet. “You don’t… want me to do that, do you?” My voice is a whisper.

His eyes speak. I can read them. I know exactly what he’s saying, but I don’t want to hear it.

That anger wells up again, burning, like flaming boiling tar building up all the way to my eyeballs. “How do you expect me to do this, then? I know what you want—you really think we can get there without a little bloodshed? Are you really that naive, Simel?” My voice isn’t mine anymore, but his eyes are his and I can’t stop looking at him. He isn’t trembling. He isn’t sweating. He isn’t scared. He sees me, but I don’t want to be seen.

I feel like a misbehaving kid. But I didn’t do anything wrong! Haven’t I always done the right thing?

I turn away from him, towards the doorway. “I’m going back to meditate,” I say. “If you try to do something like this again, I…” I choke down what I was about to say. Some of the tension roils off my shoulders. “Just… stay here. Don’t be an idiot.”

I leave him. His eyes scald me as I go out into the corridor but I can’t turn around anymore. I’m just not strong enough.

Returning to my little room, and to my little table, I sit back down again. But I can’t bring myself to meditate. My head feels like a big wasps’ nest, buzzing and chittering and stinging with it all.

Does he seriously think we can travel across the continent without getting our hands dirty? I knew he wasn’t exactly trigger-happy, but this is too far in the other direction. I mean, really? Ugh, my head is starting to hurt.. Okay, okay. Let’s think about this rationally. I can’t exactly compromise on my actions just to satiate his apparent need for a clean conscience. But I also really don’t want him to glare at me for the entire trip. The way he looks at me normally is bad enough.

Luckily enough, I have a perfectly reasonable compromise where we’re both content and neither of us has to go unhappy.

Once morning dawns and I bring Simel his breakfast of totally-not-stolen fruits and totally-not-looted flatbread and totally-not-robbed jam, I tell him my thoughts.

“Simel,” I say, putting as much regret as I can muster into my voice, “I’ve had a change of heart. It took the whole night to understand what you were truly trying to say, and now I get it.” A nod for effect. “You’re right. Defeating goblins too liberally will totally alert the empire to our mischief before the intended time. If we want to get there safely, we’ll need to keep a low profile, so,” I glance away, speaking through my teeth, “to do so, I’ll keep the defeating on the down-low.”

He blinks at me.

“What?” I snap at him. “Is it that surprising for a man to change his mind?” He looks away. Yeah, that’s what I thought. I gulp. “So, from now on… I’ll keep it to a minimum. Or something.”

He seems genuinely shocked, and not in an entirely bad way. My gaze falls to my feet again. His eyes, suddenly bereft of that scalding fire, bring me nothing but black cold shame. Why? Well…

Almost everything I just told him was total horseshit.

I’ll keep it on the down-low, but only insofar as he can’t see it.

I’ll keep it to a minimum, which I was already doing.

I’ll keep a low profile, like usual.

That’s what I say, and that’s what I’ll do. So the fact that he’s suddenly looking at me like that, like I’m a person and not a beast, feels wrong. Unearned. Bad. Not good. But the words have already been said. I can’t take them back. Not without losing the little trust I seem to have stolen.

He eats. I watch him for a few seconds before leaving him.

Putting on the father’s skin, I head out into the streets.

“Hey, Teff! Wife’s still sick and all?

“Are you sure you should be out and about, Teff?”

“Have a taste of the sootpears, Teff!”

I pass them by. Down the street lies a little grocery shop that’s been ‘closed due to sickness’ for a few days now. Another necessary defeating, of course. I mean, it’s not like I have any money, so…

“Excuse me—Teff?”

It takes me a moment or so to recognise that the words are for me. I turn around.

<You have learned:

Impersonate Lv.6>

A ruffian looks down at me. Hoodlum. I frown up at him. “How can I help you?”

The ruffian seems shocked somehow by the way I address him. “There have been complaints, Teff. First regarding a stink, and now…” His eyebrows squash together. “There was a strange incident last night. Five guards killed most ruthlessly, with the only traces being a pair of bloody footprints leading from your house. I was just on my way to speak with you personally, since we used to work together and all.”

I blink up at him. Huh. Ah. Hm. I flex my fingers within the skin I wear. My eyes dart down to his throat and then back up to his face.

But could I get away with it? We’re in the middle of a busy marketplace. It’s practically bustling. No, if I did away with him here and now, everyone would know and it would become a huge thing. I could probably escape if I was alone, but I’m not. I need time to get Simel away from here. Slowly, I let my hand relax once more. I chance a smile. The guard—as this apparently is—reacts favourably. “Sorry,” I say, “that was just my wife. She’s delusional, because of the sickness. She must have snuck out, found the poor dead guards and came back in a hurry. Sorry about the inconvenience.”

His face loosens a little. “Really, now? That’s a relief. The honourable arch-judge was considering pulling you down to the court of sinners, so your words bring me quite a bit of relief.” He gives a pause, his eyes narrowing a little. “However, the bloody footprints were leading away from your house. Why could that be?”

Ah. He got me.

I make a show of shock. “Oh, that’s true! Why, I didn’t even—how silly of me!” I smile coldly at him. “You know, being an officer of the law, how about I just bring you to my house and you can ask her yourself? I’m no deductor, so I’m sure you could make much more sense of it than myself.”

The guard nods slowly before laughing tentatively. “Haha, well, I suppose you’re right, Teff. Knowing her, I’m sure this is all just a big misunderstanding.”

I twist my lips into a smile. “Yes,” I say. “I’m sure.”

I lead him back to the house and inside. He stops right at the mouth of the door, eyes falling to the puddle left from the father of the house. “Might this have…? No, this is much older. Did something happen here?” He seems surprised and concerned in equal parts. Oh, well. I close the door, bringing him inside. He stops right at the entrance, taking a few breaths before plugging his nose. “Whew, it reeks in here. Those reports were more than right. Did something die in here or—”

I stab my hand straight through his chest.

He blinks down at my bloodied hand. “Wh—what…?”

Then he slides off my hand to collapse onto the floor. I step over his still-moving body, climbing the stairs two steps at a time and practically bursting into the bedroom where Simel lies writing something in his little diary.

“Simel, we need to go—stat!”