Nianshen.
The old man called Nianshen lived in a house that could only be described as modest, both inside and out.
(It's pretty much like my place.)
It bore a strong resemblance to Maomao's ramshackle little house back in the pleasure district. There was a hearth, a cot, a crude table and chairs — and not much else besides work tools. If Maomao's home was full of medicinal supplies, Nianshen's held nothing but farm equipment.
(Judging by this alone, he seems like a simple man.)
But the injuries on his body were not the sort a common civilian ought to have.
There were three chairs, and only Nianshen was standing. He was pouring goat's milk into chipped tea bowls.
"
Rikuson.
A man called Rikuson did indeed come here. About five days ago."
That was the very day before Maomao was to meet him in Seito.
"What did he come here for?"
Maomao had thought about having Bashin or Raban do the talking, but since she was the one who had brought up Rikuson's name, she would speak for herself.
"I couldn't tell you what for — all he did was pick up a hoe and help me plough."
"Plough? Isn't it too late in the season for wheat? Or do you sow wheat in spring?"
Maomao had heard that wheat was a crop that could be grown twice a year — one variety sown in winter and harvested in spring or early summer, another sown in spring and harvested in autumn.
"No."
Nianshen set the goat's milk on the table and pushed it toward Maomao and the others. Bashin wore a dubious expression at the unfamiliar drink, but Maomao gratefully wet her throat with it. It was lukewarm, but there was nothing strange in it — just plain goat's milk.
"If I had to put it in fancy terms, I'd say he was helping me with a ritual."
"A ritual?"
Maomao tilted her head. Neither Raban nor Bashin could follow the conversation, and they exchanged glances.
"Is it something to celebrate a good harvest?"
"Not so much celebrating a good harvest as warding off a bad one."
"…I'm sorry. This is a bit over our heads. Could you explain it in simpler terms?"
In response to Maomao's request, Nenshin sat up on the bed with his tongue sticking out. An unsettling air clung to him.
"What? Just sit with this old man for a while. The villagers won't give me the time of day."
"Sir, it's not as though we have nothing to do."
Basen was growing slightly irritated.
"Oh, is that so?"
Nenshin simply flopped back down on the bed.
Maomao rose from her chair and stopped Basen.
"I'm sorry. Please, let us have a conversation."
Bending her head apologetically cost nothing, after all.
"Hmm, what to do, what to do...?"
His tone held more sadism than playfulness.
"I don't feel like it, so how about we call it off?"
"Wh-what?!"
When Basen grew flustered and moved to step forward, Maomao cut him off.
(Just because you're hot-blooded doesn't mean you have to start a fight.)
She knew Basen was more than capable with his fists, and she didn't think he'd be outmatched by an old man— (People with that kind of personality tend to be stubbornly unyielding.)
Even if Basen were the stronger one, the old man would never concede defeat. And then he'd shut his mouth tight as a clam.
(That would be a real problem.)
Still, Nenshin's spitefulness seemed half-hearted. Just as he had let them in after they mentioned Rikuson, perhaps what he truly wanted was to talk to someone.
"What would it take for you to have a conversation with us?"
She made sure to play the humble role.
"......Alright then. How about a guessing game?"
"A guessing game? What should I be guessing?"
"It's simple. Just guess what I used to be."
(This makes no sense.)
Bashin and Brother Rahan exchanged glances once more. In their own way, these two really did seem to get along.
"Well then, I'll give it a try—"
Bashin raised his hand to answer, but Nenshin waved his fingerless hand dismissively.
"I'm asking that little girl over there. Not you, boy."
"B-Boy...?"
Bashin was doing his best to hold back. To this battle-scarred old man, the young-faced officer must have looked like nothing more than a boy.
Now then, if only Maomao had the right to answer, what should she say?
(Nenshin... his name is certainly grand, though.)
It meant reading the truth.
(His name is so grand and dignified — just so long as there are no lies mixed in with what he says.)
She would go through what he had said and check each claim.
Nenshin had called himself a "
locust " — a troublesome pest, at least for any farmer.
(Destroying crops?)
Nenshin was missing his index finger. His left eye, too.
(A body covered in far too many wounds for a farmer. But he had never served in the army.)
He had certainly seen battle, at the very least. And his wounds looked like those of a seasoned fighter.
(If you lost your fingers, you couldn't wield a weapon. Especially something like a bow...)
Maomao suddenly recalled the bandits who had attacked them the day before. With their arms snapped like twigs, they had probably been turned over to the authorities by now.
(If they were bandits, they'd be hanged. At best, mutilated...)
And, she had told them that what Rikun helped with was a festival ceremony.
"...Nensen-san."
"What is it?"
Nensen looked at her with an expression that dared her to take a guess.
Unrelated to anything, but Rahan was glaring at Maomao with an indignant look on his face. He probably didn't appreciate that she had called an old man she'd just met by his name.
(No, that's not what we're talking about right now.)
Maomao took a deep breath and let it out.
"Are you... a sacrifice?"
Maomao's answer froze everyone in place.
"Wh-what kind of answer is that?"
Ma Sen pounced on her.
"You don't know? I mean someone who's offered as a sacrifice while still alive."
"I know that much. But why would this old man be a sacrifice? He's alive and well, as you can see."
When people said "sacrifice," one would think of someone who had lost their life.
But to Maomao, this answer seemed the most fitting.
"If you ask me why..."
Maomao looked at Nensen. The old man's face, unlike Ma Sen's reaction, bore an expression of something like quiet acceptance.
"I see. Yes, that's right. A sacrifice. So that's what I was."
Nensen let out a soft breath and narrowed his remaining eye.
"Hey, you three over there. Would you mind listening to an old fool's story about the past?"
His tone was light, but behind Nensen's lone eye, there seemed to be heavy emotion.
"We'd be honored to listen."
This time, both Rahan and Ma Sen bowed their heads as well, careful not to give offense.