“Ah… where did you get this?”
Fudo studied the three teenagers standing before him. Resting in his palm was a black artifact carved with irregular, abstract lines—etched with intent rather than decoration. He had just finished examining it.
“Bandits,” Haka replied flatly.
“They tried to use it on us. But… died first.”
Fudo’s amber eyes shifted to Haka. He gave a slow nod, as if the answer had been exactly what he expected.
“An object like this should never be in a bandit’s hands,” he said. “Especially not someone with Neutral Magic.”
“What exactly is it?” Aisha leaned closer to the table.
Fudo smiled faintly.
“Something similar to the artifacts kept at the Temple of Etoile.”
“The Goddess of Life’s artifacts?” Kiyo confirmed.
Fudo’s smile widened slightly. He placed the artifact onto a cloth, folded it carefully—almost like tucking something dangerous to sleep—then slid it into a drawer.
“That kind,” he said calmly.
“But this one belongs to death.”
Silence fell over the room.
Several seconds passed before Haka spoke. “How do you know that?”
Fudo let out a small snort, resting his chin on his hand. “How long do you think I’ve been wandering this world, hm?”
Haka grinned, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets.
“Then we’re here to hand in today’s haul!”
Metal clinked against wood as Haka emptied his pockets onto the antique shop’s counter.
Bent coins.
A dull silver ring.
A small necklace with a cracked pendant.
And several other items that no longer had owners.
Fudo examined the pile calmly, one by one. His movements were slow and precise—like someone who had done this hundreds of times before.
“Hm…” he murmured. “Decent condition.”
Kiyo stood beside the table, hands folded in front of him. “How much?”
Fudo set aside a few worn coins and neatly stacked the rest.
“Fifty-four Rut and five Pike.”
Haka clicked his tongue. “Standard.”
Aisha tilted her head. “That’s not good?”
“Not bad,” Fudo replied. “But not special either.”
He pulled out an old leather pouch, counting bills and coins with soft clicks.
“If you find items in better condition,” he continued, “or relics from before the Great War, it can go up to seventy Rut.”
Kiyo sighed quietly. “So… about two weeks of careful living.”
“Careful by Kiyo’s standards,” Haka added.
“You’re not included in the definition of ‘careful,’” Kiyo shot back.
Aisha giggled.
Fudo slid the money across the table. “You know the rules. I’m the only one who can take goods like this.”
“Of course, Fudo. Who else would buy loot from illegal hunters like us?” Haka replied lightly, weighing the money in his hand.
“It’s lucky someone with Neutral Magic like you is willing to work with us—especially considering we’re Curse Magic holders.” His voice dropped into a whisper at the end.
Fudo smiled gently. “You’re hardworking kids. I can’t just abandon you in a broken world like this.”
Haka smiled, tucking the money into his jacket. “This month’s wages. Almost feels like a normal job.”
“Normal jobs don’t fight the undead,” Aisha said.
“And normal jobs don’t get chased by Tomori,” Kiyo added.
Fudo smiled faintly. “That’s why your pay… is never stable. Sometimes you come home with sixty Rut and extra Pike. Sometimes with injuries. Sometimes barely alive.”
“And sometimes with pudding,” Haka added cheerfully.
Kiyo shot him a look. “Pudding is an expense, not income.”
“Work motivation,” Haka shrugged.
Aisha laughed. “Then the Remnants are our mental sponsors.”
Fudo watched the three of them—laughing, arguing, surviving on what the dead left behind—with an unreadable gaze.
“Thanks for today, Fudo. We’re going to take a walk around Batora,” Haka said.
“Of course. Enjoy yourselves.” Fudo smiled.
***
The Batora market was livelier than yesterday.
Sunlight reflected off glass storefronts. Vendors shouted over one another. Sweet aromas mixed with metal in the air.
The trio walked casually through the crowd—until Haka slowed.
Stopped.
And froze.
His eyes locked onto a small glass display case by the roadside. Inside, pale cream-colored puddings were neatly lined up, their surfaces glossy. Thin streams of caramel dripped over them, catching the light like molten gold.
Haka swallowed.
“…Aisha,” he whispered. “Look.”
Aisha followed his gaze. Her eyes widened.
“Waaah… it looks so soft.”
Haka took one step closer. Then another. His hand nearly touched the glass.
A small sign hung above the display.
PREMIUM MILK PUDDING
6 Rut / cup
Silence.
Haka blinked.
“…Six,” he said slowly.
Aisha tilted her head. “Six what?”
“Six Rut.”
Her face stiffened. “Six… Rut?”
Behind them, Kiyo—who had been mentally counting their remaining money—turned around.
He looked at the pudding.
Then the price tag.
And reflexively grabbed the hood of Haka’s hoodie.
“No.”
“H-Hey—!”
With one firm pull, Kiyo dragged Haka backward like a misbehaving kitten about to leap into a pond.
“KIYO! LET GO!” Haka flailed, arms stretching toward the pudding.
“I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING YET!”
“You stared at it too long,” Kiyo replied flatly. “That’s already a warning sign.”
Aisha laughed, covering her mouth. “Haka, six Rut is the same as—”
“—twelve hard breads,” Kiyo cut in.
“With two orange candies.”
“Or three nights of simple meals,” Aisha added cheerfully.
Haka stopped struggling.
His shoulders slumped.
“…six Rut,” he murmured, staring longingly at the pudding as it drifted farther away.
He pointed at the display with a wounded expression.
“That’s pudding.”
“And we’re poor,” Kiyo replied without sympathy.
Haka turned away, pulling his hood over his face. “Batora is cruel.”
“Batora is realistic,” Kiyo said, still dragging him along.
Aisha followed, giggling. “Just think of pudding as… a symbol of economic stability.”
“If I die someday,” Haka muttered, “please put a six-Rut pudding on my grave.”
“We can’t even afford one for you while you’re alive,” Kiyo said.
Haka fell silent.
“…That’s even crueler.”
Aisha burst out laughing.
They continued through the market, stopping occasionally at bread and fruit stalls to buy supplies.
“You’re sure three apples cost eight Rut?” Kiyo asked the fruit seller.
“Of course! This is already discounted. Batora is the largest apple producer, after all,” the man replied confidently.
“Here he goes again,” Aisha whispered to Haka.
Haka snorted. “Let him.”
“Six Rut. Give me the apples for six Rut—I’ll pay immediately!” Kiyo declared, his glasses gleaming in the sunlight.
“Oi! Bargain properly!” the vendor protested.
“Seven Rut and six Pike!”
“No. Six Rut and five Pike!”
“You brat—”
“Or I’ll go to another stall for a cheaper price.”
The vendor’s irritation peaked. With a rough sigh, he relented.
“Fine, fine! Six Rut and five Pike! Hah… stupid tourist kids.”
“Deal!” Kiyo beamed, paying quickly and taking the apples.
“You know,” Aisha said, watching him, “sometimes you’re like a housewife, Kiyo. Always bargaining.”
“And Aisha never dares to do it,” Haka added casually.
Kiyo huffed. “We need to save money. If I can bargain, why not?”
“Alright, alright. You’re officially our trusted treasurer!” Haka grinned, ruffling Kiyo’s hair.
“Don’t mess up my hair, Haka!”
They continued through the market as the sun climbed higher. Despite the heat, the crowd never thinned. As a central trade city—and the largest apple producer—Batora was always bustling.
“How long are we staying here?” Aisha asked.
“Two or three days,” Haka replied. “We just came from a long journey through dead cities. We’ll rest here for a bit.”
He stretched his arms.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Aisha agreed. “We can earn more money and stock up before traveling again. We don’t know where we’ll end up next—or if it’ll even be inhabited.”
Kiyo listened quietly, eyes scanning the busy market—until they suddenly widened.
He grabbed Haka’s hand.
“Tomori.”
That single word sent them into motion.
Aisha pulled them both behind a closed stall, where stacked tables formed a perfect hiding spot.
“Why are they—” Haka started, only to bonk his head hard against a table.
“Ssssh!” Aisha and Kiyo pressed fingers to their lips.
Haka nodded quickly, rubbing his head.
“Could they be a follow-up group from the dead city?” Aisha whispered, peeking through a gap.
“Or a patrol assigned to protect Batora,” Kiyo added.
They watched four Tomori soldiers strolling through the market—few in number, but dangerous nonetheless.
“Kiyo,” Haka murmured.
Without another word, Kiyo understood. He slipped out calmly, blending into the crowd. Information gathering—his usual role.
“…They say there’s an anomalous Remnant in the southeastern forest,” a stall guard said to a nearby merchant.
“That’s why Tomori came?”
“Of course. Those Remnants were running. Corpses aren’t supposed to do that.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“And what’s stranger—some of the Remnant bodies were completely destroyed.”
Kiyo froze.
“Someone destroyed them?”
“Yes. And no sealing was done, so it wasn’t Tomori.”
“That explains it. New anomalous Remnants keep appearing because the souls found new corpses.”
“If this continues, Batora won’t be safe.”
“As if bandits weren’t enough. Now anomalous Remnants too…”
“And did you hear? Three bandit corpses were found near the Remnant site.”
“Really?”
“Could they be the ones who destroyed the Remnants?”
Kiyo swallowed. Damn it.
His grip tightened on his bag as he turned back.
“Haka,” he said urgently when he returned.
“We need to leave. Now.”
Haka frowned. “Why?”
“Tomori is here because they found the Remnant bodies you destroyed… and the bandits who attacked us.”
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