Naofumi Iwatani

The Rotting Forest beneath Lütner met Naofumi with its usual dampness—the air here always smelled of decay and marshland, even when the sun stood at its zenith. He struggled to pull his boot from the sticky mud, gritted his teeth in dull irritation, and, after shaking off his leg, headed toward the lopsided stone guardhouse he remembered from his last visit. The rain began suddenly—a wall of water accompanied by a howling wind, as if the world itself had decided to finally get under his skin.

The shelter proved to be wretched: the roof leaked, water lashed through the holes, and wet rot squelched in the corners. Naofumi dropped his pack onto a dry patch of floor, leaned his shoulder against the slick wall, and, staring out at the endless curtain of water, habitually touched his shield—dull, warm, and so familiar in its foreignness. He had already resigned himself to the fact that this thing would be with him until the end, even if he died here, in this world he had been dragged into against his will.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and he winced as the ringing from his recent skirmish with mobs still echoed in his ears—a trivial fight, but one that had drained his last reserves of strength. He had just reached into his pack for a rag to wipe his face when, through the roar of the rain, he heard footsteps. Sloshing, heavy, uneven—through the puddles and the mud, heading straight for his shelter.

He didn't turn around. Slowly, almost lazily, he lowered his hand to the shield's strap and froze, listening to the approach of unfamiliar breathing. When the footsteps ceased right under the eaves, he turned his head just enough to catch sight of a dark silhouette.

— I see you, — Naofumi's voice was dry and low, nearly swallowed by the noise of the rain, but every word carried the edge of steel. — I don't know what you're doing lost in this forest in such weather, and frankly, I don't care. But make no mistake: I was here first. I'm not giving up the guardhouse, I'm not hiring traveling companions, and I'm not playing the hero.

He finally turned fully, straightening up slightly to allow his figure and the cold expression of profound exhaustion on his face to be seen. With his free hand, he tapped lightly on the shield—more a gesture than a threat.

— If you want to wait out the rain, stay to the edge, but keep out of my sight and out of my hearing. If you have a grievance or a question, make it quick, because I suspect no one just happens to appear in this world by accident. — He wiped his face with his sleeve, brushing droplets from his lashes, and added a little softer, almost indifferently. — And one more thing. If you go for my pack, I'll walk right back out into the rain, and you can stay here alone with your luck. The choice is yours.

Naofumi waited, his eyes fixed on the guest, while the rain continued to drum against the stones, shattering the world into endless gray streaks.