Owari no Chronicle:Volume1 Chapter 3

Status: Incomplete

50% completed (estimated)

   

Chapter 3: Her Song

One, two, three, the words are uttered

The words are those of a singer

But only once they are heard do those precious words become a song

Ooki saw a painting of a forest.

A space had been opened in the center of the art room. The easel standing there held a large canvas giving off the scent of turpentine. The canvas contained the forest painting.

“Have you repainted this a whole bunch of times?” asked Ooki.

Brunhild turned around next to the sink at the window of the art room.

While washing the brushes she said, “I have altered parts and painted over areas countless times. But I am not ‘repainting’ it as it is still incomplete.”

“Is a painting not complete when you paint it once?”

“It can change depending on the materials and methods used. And on what you decide is its completed form.”

“Hmm,” replied Ooki as she looked at the forest contained in that rectangular frame. It was a work in progress, so some areas were not fully painted. However, a depthless black forest spread out within the canvas.

For an instant, Ooki felt like she was being sucked inside, so she frantically straightened up.

“If you get too close, you will get paint on you.”

Brunhild dried her hands and the brushes with a dark stained towel.

“Where are the other club members?” asked Ooki toward the girl’s back.

“I am the only one that remained behind for spring break and wishes to paint enough to stop by the art room. I have been making use of the space due to its excellent soundproofing.”

“Hmm,” replied Ooki again as Brunhild pulled a small round case from her skirt pocket.

It was hand cream.

Ooki let out a sigh as she watched the back of that girl rubbing the cream on her fingers.

She looked down and found the black cat looking up at the painting.

Wondering if the cat could understand what it was looking at, Ooki followed its gaze. One section of the vast, deep forest remained untouched. It had no color and the material of the canvas was exposed.

“What will you be putting in this blank area?”

“A cabin.” With her back to Ooki, Brunhild nodded to herself. “Yes, a forest is not just a collection of trees. A forest is a forest because it is a place for people. It is because of the people in the forest that the trees are not just a collection; they are counted and remembered. Forests-…” She trailed off for a moment. “The kanji for forest was the first I learned in this country. I think it is an excellent representation.”

“I see. So you’re the outdoors type… I like green things too. Like celery.”

Brunhild’s fingers stopped moving at that last comment, but Ooki carefully examined the empty spot on the canvas without realizing the meaning behind that. A careful look showed a small cabin and four people drawn in charcoal. Three of the people were visible. An old man read a book inside the cabin and a girl and a woman played with a bird in front of the cabin.

The fourth person was probably a man, but he was hard to make out. The sketched lines had been roughly erased.

However, the direction of the woman and girl’s gazes showed that someone was definitely sitting there.

“Brunhild-san? Who are these people in the cabin?”

“A forest needs people, but those who live in the forest are those known as hermits, their apprentices, and those seeking their protection. …A hermit is the same as a wise man. Those who lament the world live here.”

“I see,” said Ooki as she straightened up and thought while keeping her gaze fixed on the painting. She then whispered, “So you like making up stories to go with your paintings.”

“Did you say something?”

“No, no. Nothing at all.”

Ooki looked over and found Brunhild looking toward her.

The girl’s eyes were narrowed as if staring intently at something.

“Sensei, something has been bothering me. What is that on your forehead?”

“Oh, this? That was thanks to a student.”

“School violence? That is not good. I will teach you a disciplinary method my older sister taught me. Even the biggest fool will regain his obedience in a single strike.”

Why is this school filled with people like this? muttered Ooki in her heart.

“No, no. He is already plenty obedient. If he had been serious, it would never have stopped here.”

“This school has a student that violent?”

“Violent? No, he isn’t violent,” said Ooki. A small smile floated up on her lips. “In his second year of middle school, he advanced to the openweight finals for student karate, but he lost after breaking his fist. Afterwards, his corporate blackmailer grandfather taught him all sorts of things and he now constantly has the top grades in the school. If I had to say he has a problem,” she took a breath, “it is that his knowledge of his abilities and his knowledge of just how much of an advantage he has prevents him from getting serious about anything. This was…not so much violence as it was a mass of strength that had nowhere to go. Okay?”

As his prey flew through the air, the werewolf moved to strike her once more.

The girl was doubled over in midair and the werewolf took a powerful step toward her.

In an instant, a third figure darted between the girl and the werewolf.

The werewolf remembered this person. It was the prey he had been pursuing before the sun set. He had lost sight of this prey after running into a wall and collapsing pathetically to the ground. The prey spread his empty arms wide as if to hide the girl. He was wearing a dark vest, but the sleeves of his white shirt showed up well in the dark forest.

The werewolf chose to use the right hand he had held up to attack the girl. He only had to plunge his claws into that boy’s gut as he ran by and then throw the boy aside. His white shirt would be stained with blood which would add some nice color to the plain forest.

The werewolf made up his mind in an instant, but something else happened slightly before that.

It came from below.

Something like a wall flew toward his face.

“…!?”

The werewolf realized it was a coat.

Where? he thought. The boy had spread his arms wide, but his hands had been empty. That left only one answer.

His feet. It had to be that. When the werewolf had leapt, his focus had been grabbed by the white of the boy’s shirt as he spread his arms. The boy had placed the coat atop his feet and then kicked it up.

This slowed the werewolf’s reaction time.

The coat covered his face. His pointed nose sucked in the odd flowery scent that stained the boy’s clothes and he grew confused. He shook his head in an attempt to remove the coat, but it had wrapped around his head as if embracing him.

Why? he wondered just as he felt an impact run across his shins.

His body seemed to float in midair.

After Sayama swept the werewolf’s feet out from under him, he saw the werewolf begin collapse, starting with the head. As the werewolf swung his arms around randomly, he grazed Sayama’s left arm.

He felt pain, but turned around without checking on the wound.

The girl was what mattered, not the beast. With that thought in mind, Sayama began running alongside the rolling werewolf.

…He won’t be able to get that coat off of his head easily.

Sayama had tied off the sleeves and then placed a stone in each one and in the lower pockets. If the coat struck something while spread out, the weight of the stones would cause it to grab onto its prey. Sayama had used the principle of a throwing net.

…But this only buys us some time.

He understood that well.

As he nodded, his eyes looked out on empty space. The girl had reached the fall of her parabolic trajectory.

To his left, the werewolf’s leg had gotten caught in one of the depressions located here and there. The speed of his roll had suddenly increased. Sayama ignored the werewolf as the beast’s giant frame struck the ground.

Instead, Sayama stretched his arm out toward the falling girl.

He was not going to make it. If the girl continued falling with such momentum, she would almost certainly be injured.

He kicked off the ground. He stretched out his hand, he stretched out his fingers, and he grabbed the girl’s skirt.

“…!”

With a single groan of effort, he pulled her in toward him.

Her unconscious form fell into his arms as if she had jumped into them.

He had caught her.

He noticed she still held that long staff in her right hand. Sayama intentionally let his feet slide along the ground to brake quickly. As he did, his right arm holding her shoulders shook her slender body.

“Are you okay?”

As he stopped by tearing dirt up from the ground, she replied with an action rather than words.

Her eyelids opened slightly and her gaze moved toward Sayama.

While surrounded by a sweaty face and disheveled hair, her slightly teary eyes looked right at him. And then…

“Eh?”

Her eyes opened wide.

Upon seeing her gaze, Sayama twisted around which gave her a better look. Behind him, the werewolf had ripped off the coat over his face and was beginning to stand. When she saw the enemy, she looked back up at Sayama.

“Y-you…” she started to say before suddenly looking down at herself.

She had only just now realized she was being held.

“Kyah!” she shouted.

Sayama glanced down to find the white and black material of her bodysuit had been split vertically. Everything from her chest to just below her navel was bared through the wide gap this opened.

Sweat covered her navel and round breasts as they moved up and down with her heavy breathing. She frantically covered herself with her hands.

Sayama unsteadily flinched back as he looked at her.

…Not good. I should have checked beforehand.

“Okay,” he nodded before asking what truly mattered at the moment. “How can I defeat that enemy?”

“Eh? U-um…What are you-…?”

“This is no time for philosophical questions. I asked a single question and I seek a single answer. How do I defeat that enemy?”

She gulped. However, she gave an answer because the werewolf was getting up.

“Precious metals. Only a weapon using them will be effective.”

Sayama had some doubts regarding what she had said, but he cast them aside.

He decided to trust her. She understood the situation. That was all the reason he needed.

He trusted her.

And so Sayama placed the girl on the ground. He placed her feet on the ground, supported her unsteady back, and kept his gaze on their enemy.

“What is your name?”

“…Shinjou.”

Sayama rolled that hesitantly-spoken surname around in his mouth.

The werewolf stood up and leaned forward. It was preparing to run full speed for them. In another instant, that great power would be charging toward them.

As soon as he saw that, Sayama moved forward. Shinjou called out behind him.

“W-wait a second! Wait until my comrades arrive!”

Sayama’s only reply was a light wave of his left arm. A red flow fell from his fingers to the ground. The girl named Shinjou must have seen it because he heard her gasp behind him.

Her tension told Sayama once more just how limited his time was.

The grazing blow from before had been surprisingly deep.

But he did not hesitate. Even as his left arm felt oddly heavy, he took another step forward.

He fixed his left sleeve which was wet with blood, rebuttoned the cuff, and then lightly raised his right hand which now had blood on it.

He snapped his fingers and a spray of blood shot out.

“Listen.”

He looked down to the chest pocket of his vest. It held two ballpoint pens.

“These are Swiss. The tips are silver. That is a precious metal. …You are in for a painful experience.”

As he spoke, Sayama kicked off the ground and began running.

He ran straight forward.

He had to close the gap before the enemy began running. This was due to their difference in weight. If the enemy began running, he would not even need to stop to crush Sayama. And the girl named Shinjou was behind him.

Sayama wondered if she could fight or not. That staff she held was undoubtedly the weapon that had felled that tree. However, she had only used it the one time. She had felled the tree and done nothing more.

Did the reason for this lie in the machine or in her?

Sayama recalled the eyes he had seen while holding Shinjou. He recalled those black eyes with thin tears running from them.

…It is the latter.

He was sure of it. She was likely a naïve person. And so she had tried to avoid having to attack.

But Sayama need to focus on the term “precious metal”.

He was approximately three meters from the werewolf. He was not yet close enough for his attack to reach.

However, the werewolf swung his left arm up while leaning forward. He was preparing to knock Sayama out of the way and then charge on to Shinjou.

“Hmph,” snorted Sayama as he reached into his vest’s breast pocket with his right hand. The two ballpoint pens he had previously shown off were inside. He pulled out one of them.

“…!”

And he threw it.

He gave that projectile as much speed as he could manage from a distance of just under two meters.

He aimed for the werewolf’s forehead, but the werewolf used its raised left hand to grab the ballpoint pen from the side. Bluish-white flames and then smoke burst from that palm.

The werewolf shook his right arm and threw the pen away.

His left side was now wide open.

Sayama charged in. He skillfully undid his right cuff button and pulled the other pen from his vest. He then jabbed the pen at the werewolf’s chest as if tackling the beast.

It all happened in an instant.

The werewolf suddenly took an action fundamentally different from his previous ones.

It stopped leaning forward and stood up straight.

“…!?”

It had been a feint. The werewolf had pretended to prepare to run to draw Sayama in.

Sayama’s aim was thrown off when the werewolf raised his body.

His right arm stabbed into empty air.

However, the werewolf’s left arm was still where it was from shaking off the pen and his right arm was still where it was from straightening up. The beast had not yet taken an offensive stance. He may have evaded Sayama’s attack, but he had lost his opportunity for an attack of his own.

Their situations were the same. Or so it seemed at first. However, Sayama’s opponent was not human.

Sayama saw the werewolf choose a third option for attack instead of relying on his arms.

His fangs.

The werewolf opened his mouth.

Even in the dark night, Sayama could see the red of his mouth and the pale yellow of his fangs.

It all came to an end in an instant.

Sayama swung his right arm up as if stabbing into the air and the werewolf lowered his opened maw.

In that instant, the werewolf saw a single object.

The prey’s right hand holding the pen moved back down as if adjusting his aim.

Useless, thought the werewolf. His fangs would tear into the prey’s face before that pen could reach him.

But something odd entered his vision.

Something like a dark wet stone flew between the pen and his jaw.

As his prey swung his right arm up, this object had tumbled out of the sleeve and flown up.

What was it?

Before he could determine that, it flew into his mouth.

It tasted of blood. Of human blood.

Such a nostalgic flavor, he thought just as he realized what had flown into his mouth.

A wristwatch. It had been the one the boy had worn on his left arm.

“…!?”

His memories told him why the boy would do that.

The watch had been decorated with silver. And just before charging forward, this prey had fixed his bloody left sleeve with his right hand.

That was when the boy must have hidden it in his right sleeve. And he had thrown it using the action of stabbing with the pen.

He had done it all after predicting the werewolf would attack with his fangs.

The werewolf looked forward as he bit down on the watch that could be called a silver bomb.

He captured the boy’s movements in his vision.

The boy twisted his right arm around to take a fighting stance.

He had already begun to bring his right knee up.

He pressed his left foot down to jump up.

The momentum of his jump brought his right leg straight up and toward the werewolf’s jaw.

The werewolf could not avoid it.

The kick landed.

Pain and heat exploded in his mouth and his vision became enveloped in bluish-white flames.

“!”

Just as he tried to cry out, a sharp pain stabbed into his chest thanks to the second pen. His body became even further enveloped in fire.

He could hear the boy asking a question.

“Was that a painful enough experience?”