Late at night, the bells on the entrance jangled, and the shopkeeper of the general store lifted his head from the newspaper.
“Welcome! Today only, we’re open until morning for the Great Plains Quest. If you’re going to Altano, we have everything you need here—”
He’d been repeating this greeting a lot lately.
But when he saw who exactly was visiting so late at night, he trailed off halfway through his spiel.
Under the heavy shadow of exhaustion appeared a customer who seemed totally devoid of vitality, their face obscured and their presence ghostlike. They had on a hood that completely hid their face and a cloak that the shopkeeper had seen before.
“The Ex-Ex-Ex…?!”
The Executioner, the man often talked about in the newspaper, had wandered into his shop.
Kicking his chair with a clunk, the shopkeeper stood up with wide eyes, babbling inarticulately. He was so shocked that he pointed at the customer with a trembling finger, but the Executioner didn’t even bother lifting his head.
The Executioner looked completely different from the heroic figure that the shopkeeper had heard stories about.
When the Executioner featured in the paper, he’d been wielding a majestic, giant silver war hammer over his shoulder. When he stood before a massive stone golem or a labyrinth as if none could stand against him, it was an awe-inspiring sight indeed.
But that person was nowhere to be found—the Executioner looked incredibly exhausted, and his feet were unsteady. He didn’t appear to have been weakened by a major wound; if anything, he seemed like a stray cat who’d gotten caught in the rain. Like an adventurer who was tired from daily work and despairing about the future.
“Hey…hey…just what the heck happened to you?!” The shopkeeper, who had a reputation for being kind and understanding, grew concerned about the exhausted man’s health. “Did you get chased around by a strong monster? It couldn’t have been in the Great Altano Plains like everyone’s talking about now—”
“Potions,” the Executioner muttered quietly, cutting off the shopkeeper.
“Huh?” the shopkeeper replied blankly as the Executioner held out money with a practiced gesture. It was the exact sum that the shopkeeper charged for a box of potions.
“Potions, please.”
“Potions?!”
“A box worth.”
“A box worth?!”
The Executioner wants a box of potions?!
Blanching, the shopkeeper stiffened.
These days, potions were not very important items to adventurers, and they wouldn’t walk around with large volumes of them. That was because they had healers. There was a limit to the number of potions that could be carried. It used to be that healing alone was insufficient, so adventurers would pack potions into big backpacks and such, but those days were long gone.
A box of potions, in this day and age… There were just two types of people that this shopkeeper knew who would buy them like this.
That was people who weren’t adventurers at all, who would believe the myths that they made you more alert and would stock up on them, and the other was—
When going into an annihilation battle…!!
An annihilation battle. That was an act of suicide: hunting every single monster in a dungeon.
Of course, the only way to clear all the monsters from a dungeon was to take the time to defeat all the floor bosses and wait for the monsters to leave. Charging into a dungeon on spirit alone and routing all the monsters in a short period of time was a completely impossible feat.
But there were some types out there who couldn’t stand to wait for the monsters to leave of their own accord once the boss was gone.
Typically, those kinds of adventurers had lost someone dear to them in a monster attack. And so, possessed by their hatred, they would try to take revenge, even at the cost of their lives.
The shopkeeper had seen a few adventurers like that. Those people never seemed terribly depressed. You’d catch them looking down a lot, and then one day, they would suddenly get a sunny look on their faces. They would laugh and say something like, I’m thinking I’ll try another dungeon, then buy up so many potions that it was strange.
And then they would never come back.
“…………!!!!”
The shopkeeper clenched the potion he was about to pack into a box. Ah yes, he knew. The people eager to start an annihilation battle didn’t really want to purge monsters.
They wanted to die.
They’d grown tired of the pain of living and were searching for a place to expire.
Could it be that the Executioner is looking to go out in an annihilation battle…?!
A hopeless frustration welled in the shopkeeper’s chest.
But he sounds so young…! Are you really planning on throwing away your life for nothing…?! It’s just getting started…!
The shopkeeper tensed his shaking hands and turned to the Executioner. He had to stop him. When a promising young person was about to head off to their death, an adult had to prevent that from happening.
Swearing on his soul as a businessman, the shopkeeper put on the bravest smile he could. “H-hey, son… What’re you gonna use those potions for…? You don’t need that many, right? How about three?”
“Three isn’t enough. I need these to battle through the long night.”
So he was planning on doing an annihilation battle after all…!!
The shopkeeper was certain. His hunch was right. The Executioner always soloed the bosses of dungeons where progress had stalled because he was chasing his lost comrades…
Is he so powerful that he’s unable to die? Oh, God! What a cruel fate!
On closer inspection, the Executioner’s small frame stood out even more. He had to be about half the height of the large adventurers the shopkeeper saw. With that androgynous voice of his, he seemed just like a boy whose voice had yet to break.
“Son!” Without thinking, the shopkeeper grabbed the Executioner by his slim shoulders. “I understand your pain. But doing all that won’t make anyone happy!”
“…? Uh, I’m going to drink all of this myself.”
“Yourself?!!!!!!!!!”
Ahhh. Ahhh…!
The shopkeeper prayed to God. And then he was ashamed of himself.
Going alone, no matter what. How disrespectful of him to besmirch the Executioner’s determination with his paltry sympathy.
The shopkeeper had met many adventurers. Many had come, and some had never returned. But to think of them as pitiful, to dismiss them with such thoughtless emotion, was rude to each and every one who had fallen.
If I don’t encourage these guys, will I be able to sell my potions with pride from now on?! No!!
“I understand your determination…! Take ’em, son…! Ngh…sob…”
“Huh…? Why are you crying…?”
Heedless of how weirded out the Executioner was, the shopkeeper slammed down the wooden box packed with potions, his shoulders trembling. Pathetic, for a grown man. My tears won’t stop…
“Huh? There’s three extra…?”
“That’s a bonus. Take it.”
The shopkeeper turned away from the Executioner, then gave him a big thumbs-up over his shoulder. “I won’t laugh or pity the way you live… Give ’em hell and go out like ya mean it…!”
“…Uh-huh…”
The bells on the door clanged, and the Executioner left.
Once again alone in the store, the shopkeeper fell to his knees. “Executioner…! I won’t forget you…!”
The shopkeeper wiped his tears with his arm and then began to write large letters on a big wooden board he used to advertise his wares.