Vol 1 Chapter 19 – Flower Language: Health and Luxury

I found out later that “maronie” was a type of tree. I still didn’t know its Japanese name, but Elena — being Elena — filled me in on the flower language: health and luxury—those two. Looking back now, somehow that makes a lot of sense.

“Maronie-saaaan, hello—!”

“Oh my, what a lovely voice — is that you, Elena, hon?”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“And how’s your partner holding up, hon? Are you in for maintenance, maybe?”

“No, it’s not me today.”

Health.

Health means good color, normal temperature, energy to spare — basically just looking well. That’s what health is.

Weapons lined every wall — guns, swords, blades of all kinds — with piles of components and iron blocks stacked up in every corner. The bare concrete floor and walls were scratched and worn, utilitarian. In the middle of it all sat a sturdy round stool at a worktable, and the owner was seated there.

Richly red hair gathered and pinned elegantly up. Tanned skin on full, unapologetic display in an outfit with no interest in covering much. The body underneath was clearly conditioned — the kind of build that came from years of actual physical work. And the proportions — full chest, perfectly defined waist — were, frankly, immaculate.

The owner looked every bit as healthy as the word implied, glanced up at me, and flashed a wide, personable smile.

“A face I’ve never seen before, hon! I’m Maronie — let’s get along, shall we?”

Said in quite a voice.

“Mm — can’t believe you’re the same gender as me, hon, you’re so underdeveloped. You really ought to build yourself up like Ashthal-san, hon. Scrawny men don’t do well for themselves.”

Just being talked at was draining me at a startling rate. The presence alone was extraordinary. The chest and arm muscle volume was something else entirely — the kind of gleaming, tanned physique that made you think professional bodybuilder. The indeterminate age only made it more disorienting. At a glance, maybe early thirties — but the composure, the unhurried manner, the settled stillness — that was the bearing of an elderly gentleman, pure and simple.

“Come to think of it, I still don’t have your name, hon. What is it?”

“Oh, uh — I’m — uh, Utaki.”

“Utaki! Mm — what a wonderful name, hon! Be grateful to your parents, hon!”

“…Yep.”

No good. Open my mouth, and I’m done for.

“So you’re here to find yourself a weapon, hon? With that kind of build, a sword is off the table, hon.”

“What would you say works for someone like Utaki?”

“Let me think… by the book I’d say a gun — but with Elena in the party, that’s redundant, isn’t it, hon…”

I genuinely could not understand how Elena was perfectly fine in here. I’ve rarely felt this kind of energy drain quite so acutely. It was a full-on life force vacuum.

“A bow takes real talent, and an axe seems like a stretch, too, hon. I can’t believe you walked into a weapon shop looking like that, hon…”

“I have no defense against that…”

“A beginner has no business with a sword, so let’s try a slingshot and a mace for starters, hon.”

Both weapons were placed in my hands without ceremony.

So — would I still be alive by the time I walked out of this shop?

Vol 1 Chapter 20 – Weak Starts Are Every Protagonist’s Standard Starting Line

A certain football manga’s protagonist was the greatest coward and everyone’s errand boy. Two brothers who missed their mother started by losing their bodies, limb by limb. The older of two twins didn’t even know the truth of his own birth before he started wielding blue flames. A firefighter who dreamed of becoming a hero began with candle-level firepower. An ordinary high schooler slowly rose to become a gang boss through the depths of the internet. And there are characters out there who can die but are tormented by the thought of it.

It’s always like this. Manga and light novel protagonists start out either as natural geniuses or completely powerless. That’s just the going rate.

“I can’t believe you can’t even lift this — this is hopeless, hon…”

“You said this was the lightest one!?”

“It’s still about four kilos, hon — and I don’t carry anything lighter than this mace.”

“If Maronie-san’s shop doesn’t have it, there’s nowhere else to look — she has the biggest selection in the city.”

Right. Protagonists hit walls. Lots of them.

So my struggling to find a usable weapon right now was almost certainly a necessary part of the process. Yeah. I needed to believe that. If I didn’t, my mental health would flatline. The HP bar was already deep in the red.

“The slingshot showed absolutely zero aptitude, so a mace is the compromise, hon… In all my years knowing Heroes, you might just be the weakest one I’ve ever seen, hon. Utaki.”

“Please don’t — you and Elena both, you’re chipping away at my mental health beyond what’s necessary! I’m going actually to cry!”

“It’s just strange that you don’t even have magical aptitude, hon… Heroes usually come in with combat experience and at least some kind of affinity.”

Apparently, mages existed separately from ability users, but without something called magical aptitude, spells were off the table entirely. Even that child prodigy who fought through a whole war using magic had the aptitude to back it up — that’s what made her capable of serving as a soldier at all.

This is purely my own niche trivia, but the way this world categorizes its mages is closest to the word mage in its original sense.

Mage, wizard, wiseman, sorcerer, enchanter — there are plenty of words for “magic user,” but mage specifically traces back to Old English, predating the Anglo-Saxon invasions of Britain. In other words, it points to the very source of the concept.

Which meant the practitioners here weren’t the sparkly, high-fantasy light-show variety I’d pictured from light novels — they were something far older and harder to pin down, assembling complex formulations with practically no obvious weak point.

Clara had somehow ended up with part of a grimoire and let me look at it, and the script used was Old Norse — or more accurately, something that bore a striking resemblance to runic characters.

What I’m saying is: I was going to have to fight people like that, with this mace.

Cleo’s face crossed my mind. There really was something wrong with this world. It resembled too much of what I already knew. However, I couldn’t verify just how suspicious it actually was until I’d met one of these so-called exceptional reincarnators.

“Alright — I just have to train, right?! If I’m the Hero, then I’ll turn this mace into a holy sword!”

“Utaki…!”

Elena’s eyes went wide and bright.

I wasn’t into it. I hated conflict. But if that’s what this world needed — and if this world specifically needed me for it — I didn’t feel bad about that.

It was something a plain old college student could never do. The scale made any inter-college student organization look small. I wasn’t the type to befriend people with grand ambitions, but if it were necessary — I’d do it.

“I appreciate the spirit, hon — but that face you’re making, teeth all clenched like that, it’s not a good look, hon.”

“If I didn’t say it out loud, the readers would never know, so leave me alone!!”