Early in the morning, the bright sunlight pierced through my eyelids, pulling me from sleep back to reality. I raised my head to look at the little bird pendulum clock hanging on the wall. "It's already this time," I muttered softly, turning my head to wash up.
"Huh? How strange, where did it go?" Last night I clearly placed that blue Nalan flower on the bedside table, but now a glance at the table revealed no trace of it. "Oh well, it's just a flower; it probably rolled into some corner," I shook my head, glanced at the clock once more, and walked out of the room.
That little pendulum clock was brought back by Clara. It was just an ordinary quartz clock, with the outer frame shaped like some kind of bird, though I had never seen such a small golden bird before—perhaps the merchant painted it to look pretty.
...
While gently rubbing little Alice's soft hair, I worked a toothbrush around in my mouth. Little Alice had evidently played too much yesterday; after coming back last night, her whole body had collapsed like a puddle of mud. I had dragged her through a bath with great difficulty and watched her collapse onto the bed and fall soundly asleep. Now the little lazy cat was lingering in bed, refusing to get up. No matter how I teased her, she only whimpered and dozed off. The moment I propped her up to a sitting position, she wobbled and slumped right back down.
I was utterly helpless against this little rascal, so I resignedly pressed a palm to my forehead, thinking that if she wanted to sleep, she could sleep—if worse came to worst, I would wake her after I finished cooking. With that, I turned and headed out to the kitchen to make breakfast.
"Good morning, Clara." Passing through the living room, I happened to catch sight of a framed photo of Clara and me resting on the cabinet. In the photo, Clara's hair was still golden, and her cheeks still held small dimples when she smiled. She leaned half into my arms, her lazy posture identical to Alice's. I stood behind Clara, wrapping my arms around her slender waist, resting my head gently against hers, and inhaling the pleasant fragrance of her hair. That warmth felt like a sweet dream.
This photo was taken together when we were young. As for where it was taken, I had forgotten—it must have been Gibbs who took it for us, or perhaps White? My memory was a bit hazy. Come to think of it, lately my head always felt somewhat heavy and sluggish, as if I had forgotten something, yet no matter how hard I tried to think, I couldn't remember. Moreover, the more I tried to recall, the more my head would suffer a splitting, agonizing pain. Fortunately, I had Alice to keep me company; all my energy was focused on Alice, so I simply didn't have the time to dwell on my own affairs.
...
"Daddy, what's for breakfast?" As I walked out of the kitchen carrying freshly fried bird eggs, I ran straight into Alice, who had just woken up. Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she wandered out of her room in a daze. Because of her poor sleeping posture, her hair was a complete mess, and a single tuft even stuck straight up on the top of her head, making her look like a startled golden hedgehog.
"My little ancestor has finally woken up. Go wash up quickly; for breakfast we're having fried eggs and toast." Alice loved my fried eggs. Her sleepiness instantly receded by thirty percent, and shouting a full-of-energy "Okay!", she ran off to wash up.
After finishing the meal, it was already past nine in the morning—time for Alice's morning exercises.
"Alice, it's time for morning exercises," I said, glancing at little Alice sprawled out on the sofa with a round, stuffed belly.
"Eh? Alice doesn't want to do morning exercises. Daddy, can Alice skip them today?" The moment the little one heard the words "morning exercises," the smile vanished from her face, replaced by a pitiful expression. She rolled over on the sofa, propped her chin in her hands, and gazed up at me with big, pleading eyes, acting as pitifully as she possibly could.
"No—way—" I deliberately drew out my tone, gently plucked Alice from the sofa, and set her down on the floor. The little one struggled fiercely, trying to shake off my hand. Are you kidding me? Her daddy was a man who could arm-wrestle the Hero, after all. On top of that, I kept up with my physical training from time to time; though my grip wasn't quite what it used to be, lifting a six-year-old ball of fluff with one hand was still effortless, and the strength in my hand was certainly not something a little girl could shake off. The little girl puffed out her cheeks in a huff, the aggrieved expression completely gone from her face, leaving only a slightly resentful glare fixed on me as her little face turned beet red.
"Daddy is a bad guy, Alice hates Daddy..." she muttered under her breath, but my hearing was sharp, and I caught her mumbling.
"Ahem, Alice, Daddy thinks I've been too gentle with you. Your little bottom has healed up nicely, hasn't it? Today I'm going to beat it into eight pieces!"
"Eh? Ouch~ What are you doing?" Alice covered her little bottom and put on that pitiful look once more. I truly have no idea whose acting talent this child inherited; if cultivated properly in the future, I figured she could become a premier theater actress.
"Hey! Arthur, morning! How about going for a few drinks together?" A rough, resonant voice drifted in from outside. I paused, stopping my playful banter with Alice, and turned to look out the window at the man standing outside with a frown.
"Sutton, what wind blew 'you', the great Hero, all the way over here?" I deliberately placed heavy emphasis on the word "you," feeling all the more puzzled inside. Sutton never visited unless he wanted something; I couldn't tell whether his visit spelled good or bad news.
"Well, look, I just got back from an expedition, didn't I? I was gone a bit too long this time—didn't return for several months—so I figured I'd look up an old friend for a drink." Without turning his head, Sutton gestured toward the guards behind him. Nearly every soldier in the escort party was hauling a heavy sack made of yellow burlap, and blood could faintly be seen seeping through the fabric. It seemed Sutton had truly slain a great many monsters this expedition.
Directly to the east of the Kassakchel Kingdom lay the Royal Trial Grounds, a place swarming with monsters. Though called the Royal Trial Grounds, it was actually a vast forest imbued with magic power. Originally, however, it had merely been an ordinary patch of woods, garrisoned by large numbers of small wild animals and only a sparse few low-level monsters. That was until five years ago, when a shift in the flow of ley line magic power caused monsters previously scattered across the continent to suddenly flock in packs to inhabit this forest, growing ever more numerous and severely threatening the safety and lives of the kingdom's citizens. Consequently, increasing numbers of formidable individuals voluntarily formed parties to enter the forest and hunt the monsters, among them many seasoned adventurers and professional weapon masters. Yet even so, human strength remained far too puny before the monsters; many parties returned empty-handed, and some never made it back alive. The king therefore sealed off the forest, permitting only state-dispatched clearance squads to purge the monsters within, with the Hero naturally being the most suitable candidate of all. Because of this, Sutton frequently traveled back and forth between the forest and the kingdom, and very few people ever managed to catch a glimpse of him.
I looked complexly at Sutton before me. To be honest, he and I could hardly be called friends; if anything, I might even harbor a slight dislike for him. He was an unadulterated combat maniac who engaged in almost any line of work that involved bloodshed, which was precisely why I refused to acknowledge him as a Hero. When he went berserk, he bore no resemblance to the polished, refined man standing here now—he was a bloodthirsty beast. Presumably because he had spent so long in the forest, he was caked in dust, his clothes stained with numerous patches of blood, and the ragged silk scarf hanging around his neck was completely tattered. What shocked me most, however, was that although Sutton was actually a year younger than me, he looked like an eighty-year-old man. His face was etched with dense wrinkles, and his hair and beard had turned completely white. Because he hadn't tended to it in a long time, his hair was nearly matted together, while his beard was a total mess, hanging from his face like a dangling ball of yarn.
"How did you get so old?" I looked at Sutton and asked.
Sutton's gaze visibly faltered, and I suddenly caught a flash of desolation and unwillingness in his eyes, though the expression vanished in an instant. He gave a bitter smile. "You've got some nerve saying that to me—take a look at yourself first."
Indeed, my own appearance wasn't much better. Ever since Clara passed away, my life had fallen apart completely, plunging as if into an abyss. That period was truly dark, so oppressive it was hard to breathe. From then on, I never went into town again, living exclusively on my own little plot of land. Raising livestock and growing vegetables at home provided plenty of food for Alice and me, so I had no inclination to go out shopping and naturally let my appearance go. Looking at myself now, sporting a big belly and a long, bushy beard, I cut a figure of a "wildman" much like Sutton.
"So, are you coming for a drink or not? My treat today, your drinks are all on me—are you coming or not?" Sutton asked again.
"Wait a moment." Instead of answering him immediately, I turned and went back inside the house, asking Alice, "Alice, do you want to go into town? Shall we go eat at the tavern for lunch?"
Alice had been rolling back and forth on the floor playing. Hearing my words, she attempted a difficult kip-up to sit upright, but hindered by her round little belly, she failed and slumped back onto the floor. Deciding not to get up at all, she said to me, "Alice wants to go! Want to go, want to go!"
"Then let's tidy up quickly." I walked back outside to give Sutton a word. "Wait for me just a moment while I get ready." Turning around, I discovered Alice had already changed her clothes. Just a moment ago she had been in loose pajamas, and in the blink of an eye, she was wearing a light yellow dress.
I said in surprise, "How did you change your clothes so fast?" In the time it took me just to turn my head, Alice's changing speed was simply too fast.
"Because... because Alice is excited!" Alice said with a smile.
Five minutes later, I walked out holding Alice's small hand. Sutton pointed to a horse beside him and said, "Here, this one's for you. Do you still know how to ride?" With that, he looked at me with a playful smile.
It was Alice's first time seeing Sutton, and she looked rather nervous, shrinking behind me. I patted her and said, "Be a good girl, Alice, say uncle."
Still somewhat nervous, Alice clutched the hem of my clothes and timidly called out, "Hello, uncle..."
Sutton paused, then suddenly asked me out of nowhere, "Arthur, what are you talking about? What Ali—" At that moment, a soldier off to the side suddenly ran up to Sutton and whispered a few words in his ear. A helpless expression crossed Sutton's face as he told me, "Sorry, Arthur, go on to the tavern by yourself. His Majesty wants to see me first, so I can't accompany you. You go on ahead, I'll be right behind." Without another word, he whipped his horse around and galloped away without looking back.
Sutton didn't know Alice yet, huh? Tch, I'll introduce her to him later. Thinking this, I hoisted Alice up by her little bottom onto the horse, and with considerable effort climbed up myself. It really had been a long time since I rode a horse; back then I could vault up in a single bound, but now it was actually this strenuous.
The warm sunlight showered down from overhead. Leading Alice by the reins, we slowly bumped along the winding path on horseback, heading toward the distant kingdom...