WorldEnd: What Do You Do at the End of the World? Are You Busy? Will You Save Us? Vol. 4 Read online

  Copyright

  WORLDEND: WHAT DO YOU DO AT THE END OF THE WORLD? ARE YOU BUSY? WILL YOU SAVE US?

  AKIRA KARENO

  Translation by Jasmine Bernhardt

  Cover art by ue

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  SHUMATSU NANI SHITEMASUKA? ISOGASHIIDESUKA? SUKUTTEMORATTEIIDESUKA? Vol. 4

  ©2016 Akira Kareno, ue

  First published in Japan in 2016 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2019 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Yen On

  150 West 30th Street, 19th Floor

  New York, NY 10001

  Visit us at yenpress.com

  facebook.com/yenpress

  twitter.com/yenpress

  yenpress.tumblr.com

  instagram.com/yenpress

  First Yen On Edition: July 2019

  Yen On is an imprint of Yen Press, LLC.

  The Yen On name and logo are trademarks of Yen Press, LLC.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Kareno, Akira, author. | ue, illustrator. | Bernhardt, Jasmine, translator.

  Title: WorldEnd : what do you do at the end of the world? are you busy? will you save us? / Akira Kareno ; illustration by ue ; translation by Jasmine Bernhardt.

  Other titles: WorldEnd. English

  Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen On, 2018– | Subtitle translated from Shumatsu Nani Shitemasuka? Isogashiidesuka? Sukuttemoratteiidesuka?

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018016690 | ISBN 9781975326876 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975326883 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975326913 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN 9781975326937 (v. 4 : pbk.)

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.K364 Wo 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018016690

  ISBNs: 978-1-9753-2693-7 (paperback)

  978-1-9753-2694-4 (ebook)

  E3-20190614-JV-NF-ORI

  Beyond Severed Hope

  -despair and desire-

  There was something inside her that believed that girl, of all people, might make it. She wanted to believe in miracles. But reality marched onward in ways that had nothing to do with her wishes.

  The Winged Guard’s high-speed ship collected a single corpse from the surface.

  It was a thing that, not too long ago, was Chtholly Nota Seniorious.

  Nygglatho left the room and closed the door behind her.

  Without taking a step, she leaned her back against the hallway wall and slowly slid down to the floor.

  The low rumbling of the enchanted furnace swayed her body. The wild idea that likened it to being in her mother’s womb quickly crossed her mind. But the thought was out of place, and her logic quickly shattered the momentary impulse—this was not a place where life was coming into being but merely where life had been lost, and the site of lives that would one day be lost.

  She was here, in a medium-size Winged Guard patrol ship, one that typically made its rounds among the islands in the 20s.

  “What you sssaw wasss painful, I sssee.”

  The enormous lizardfolk who summoned Nygglatho to this patrol ship spoke gently to her in a low, heavy tone.

  “Faerie ssoldierss lossst in battle typically do not leave their hussksss behind. They ssshatter into dropss of light and ssscatter to the wind… It wass jussst asss you ssaid. Chtholly wasss no longer a faerie.”

  “Yeah.”

  Nygglatho returned a half-hearted answer, her eyes still trained on the floor.

  There, in the room, was a thing that had probably been Chtholly not too long ago.

  Had she been crushed? Cut? Stabbed? Sliced? Either way, a multitude of wounds decorated the hunk of flesh to the point where it no longer looked like a girl. But it was the tears in her muscles and tendons, likely caused by Chtholly pushing herself beyond her limits, that had injured her body far worse—and far deeper.

  Nygglatho unwittingly covered her mouth with both hands. She desperately forced the wail brewing in her throat back down. At the same time, she didn’t bother holding back or hiding the tears that welled in her eyes. Unlike other multi-limbed demon races, a mere troll such as her had only two arms. And—

  “She really fought her hardest, didn’t she?”

  —because she was a troll, with a single glance at the state of that girl’s flesh, she could tell right away how violent of a battle she must have endured, and with such intense emotion.

  The girl probably didn’t spare a single thought for her damaged body as she fought.

  The closer she got to death, the brighter the venenum inside her must have burned. Her kindled power was enough to force her breaking body to move, prolonging the reckless battle. Her flesh torn, her bones broken, her blood spilled, and yet, it would still throw whatever life she had left to the battle before it.

  “What ssshall we do about the funeral? Will it be a demon funeral?”

  In Regule Aire, where various races and cultures and views of life and death all mingled together, there were different ways of treating the dead: Burn them. Bury them. Expose them to the wind and feed them to the birds. Dip them in scented oil and preserve the remains. Have the local government collect them as refuse. Et cetera, et cetera.

  Demon funerals were one of the more typical methods of internment. The procedure was simple—they would call on a troll mortician and let them eat the corpse. A being who had spent its life consuming others’ lives to live was suited to nourish the lives of another… Or some logic like that.

  “…Let’s not.”

  Nygglatho was also a qualified mortician. If she was to announce her intentions to take the part here and now, it would probably be easy to get permission.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  All the previous faerie soldiers who had died for their cause simply vanished into motes of light, without being mourned. Even if she had actually become something different, she hesitated to treat Chtholly as an exception. And—

  “That flesh is already empty. I don’t know much about souls or venenum, but I can tell just by looking that it’s something that’s already purged itself of all its feelings and life force. I can’t consume flesh that has nothing to pass on to me.”

  “Hmm.”

  Their conversation came to an end.

  Her waves of emotion were still thrashing violently about, but she managed to somehow stop her shaking voice and tears.

  Nygglatho stood.

  “…By the way, what happened to the other two? They shouldn’t have fallen too far from her. You didn’t find them with her?”

  “About that.”

  Th
e lizardfolk’s gaze roamed about, hesitant.

  “We have information that iss definite and one thing that iss uncssertain. Which would you like to hear firssst?”

  What is that supposed to mean? she thought.

  Was it supposed to be good news and bad news? In that case, she could’ve just easily said, Tell me the good news and don’t say any more. Either way, right now she didn’t want to hear anything that would sink her mood any lower.

  “…Your definite information, then, please.”

  “The Firssst Beassst appeared on-ssite. That iss why the sssurfacsse exploration ended in the middle of invesstigation, and why we can no longer explore any more.”

  “Is it strong?”

  “That iss beyond our comprehenssion. Sssince ancient hissstory, there iss no one who hass fought with thisss Beassst.”

  That wasn’t something she wanted to hear.

  “Then—”

  “We cannot fight it. Just by approaching the Firssst Beassst, everything csseassssesss to be. Both form and life are lossst, only to become sssand.”

  This Beast harbored no malice, no spite, no murderous intent. It simply was—a perfect menace. No one could get close to it or touch it, which meant no one could contend with it. There was no chance to even think of battle.

  And so, they could not even search for a memento of the other two who had been lost to the land along with Chtholly—Willem Kmetsch and Nephren Ruq Insania.

  “…I see.”

  Still leaning on the wall, Nygglatho tightly wrapped her arms around herself.

  “And that’s your definite information. What about the other?”

  She expected nothing as she pressed forward.

  She was at rock bottom now. There was nothing more he could say that could make her feel worse than this. With a careless spirit, she embraced the confidence.

  “The Great Sssage ussed long-forgotten techniquesss to ssearch for Willem. It’sss called heartbeat detection or sssomething of the ssort, which apparently allowss him to tracsse anyone alive to the endsss of the earth.”

  —Huh?

  Things had just taken a strange turn.

  The Great Sage was the leading figure in the establishment of Regule Aire. Of course, he was easily over five hundred years old, and with his library of ancient techniques, he had superior insight compared to regular folk. He was a legendary figure, one who would continue to keep Regule Aire safe, as he always did. That was how the story went in children’s picture books and the academies’ textbooks.

  And—as much as she couldn’t believe it when she first heard it—according to Willem, who was a living legend in his own right, he and the Great Sage were apparently old friends. While she felt mystified that the Great Sage so graciously used legendary techniques out of worry over Willem’s fate, she wasn’t surprised. But—

  “It allows him to trace anyone alive…which means…”

  “The ressult indicated that man iss sssomewhere on the sssurface.”

  “—?!”

  Nygglatho gulped.

  No. It can’t be. Impossible.

  But still, that means it can be. But, but—

  “We cannot draw any conclusssions yet. Given that even a technique ussed by the venerable Great Sssage offersss only a vague ressult of sssomewhere, sssomething ssstrange iss afoot. And yet…”

  And yet, it was still possible.

  The fact that an ancient art for discovering the whereabouts of a living being provided an answer at all, however imperfect, gave birth to a small hope within her.

  “That warrior may yet sstand on a battlefield sssomewhere.”

  “Wah…”

  A weird voice slipped out.

  “Waaah!”

  Then came the tears that she thought she’d held back. Then a cry she thought she had finally swallowed. Both these things leaped forth for reasons completely different from earlier. And the troll’s two limbs could not stop either of them.

  She knew this was unconfirmed information. It didn’t mean he was alive, and of course, it didn’t guarantee the survival of the girl who had been with him, Nephren. And yet, she couldn’t keep herself from connecting the dots.

  Hope killed despair. She could not embrace hope if she wanted to spare herself any more pain. Though she understood that logically, she couldn’t find a way to suppress the joy that welled up from within her.

  Like a cradle, the enchanted furnace rocked back and forth.

  Like a baby, the troll woman wailed and wailed.

  In a Sweet and Gentle Dream

  -puppets onstage-

  1. Father and Daughter

  Almaria Duffner didn’t know her mother’s face.

  Even by the time she’d become fully aware of her surroundings, the only family was her father.

  And she didn’t know her father very well, either.

  He was almost never home. During the day, he worked exchanging money, and he spent the nights with his lover.

  Sometimes, he would return to the apartment to check on his daughter, silently confirming that she was still alive. When he did return, he would take the opportunity to leave on the table the smallest amount of money possible that she could survive on. That was essentially all the communication that ever passed between them.

  And so, the little girl lived by herself.

  She grew up without depending on anyone, without being able to depend on anyone.

  It happened one day when she was seven.

  Her father, who had dirtied his hands with some sort of crime, was stabbed by his accomplice.

  And of course, the girl was chased out of the apartment.

  Without any other relatives, the girl was sent to a public institution run by the city of Gomag—or she was supposed to be. Instead, there, an old man (probably) who had apparently investigated her father’s crimes spoke up. He said it must have been fate that he happened to be there at the time and asked for permission to bring her to his orphanage.

  Neither the guards nor the bureaucrats there had any reason to oppose his idea. And of course, the girl herself lacked the emotional energy to voice her opinion, as she could barely keep up with the sudden changes of the environment around her.

  The old man took her to an aged wooden building.

  Starting today, this is your home, he told her. But Almaria ignored him.

  And these guys here, they’re your family—she let those words go in one ear and out the other, too. To her, home was that small apartment room, and family was her father, whose face she barely ever saw. She couldn’t understand these new entities that would be taking their place.

  One boy seemed to have noticed the two of them and rushed over.

  When the old man saw who it was, he announced to the boy, We have a new family member today.

  The boy peered at the girl.

  Gee, don’t you look thrilled.

  The girl cast a glance at him, then immediately looked away. She was not in the state of mind to talk to anyone at the time, much less to children who were rude to people they just met.

  Hey, c’mon, how old are you?

  She ignored him.

  Eh, I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m the big kid around here anyway.

  She ignored him.

  Listen, now that you’re here, we’re family. Since I’m the big kid here, that makes me the big brother. I’ll even give you special permission to call me bro.

  She ignored him.

  Man, you’re not cute at all.

  After a little while, the boy gave up interacting with the girl and went off somewhere to sulk. The girl spared a single glance at his back, then dropped her gaze to her feet.

  Leave me alone, she thought.

  She didn’t need a family. Even if one was suddenly thrust upon her, she wouldn’t know how to deal with them. If they simply left her alone, she could live how she pleased.

  She saw the old man shrug in defeat.

  And then, that night.

  A sudden change in env
ironment. A never-ending state of tension. Underdeveloped physical and mental resilience.

  As a matter of course, the girl fell ill.

  She developed a high fever and became bedridden.

  Her head felt heavy, every breath was grueling, and pain racked her chest.

  In her hazy consciousness, Almaria wondered if this was the end for her.

  She knew logically that she was being a bit overly pessimistic. But the careless thought that she would probably be okay even if she did actually die bubbled up in her mind. Now that she thought about it, she never really had the strong desire to live in the first place. It wouldn’t be terrible for a life that held so little meaning to end here.

  Then something cool rested on her forehead.

  Her mind still fuzzy, she didn’t realize it was a wet towel. All she thought was that it felt a little nice. Just a little.

  Hmph.

  Here you are, makin’ me do all this, and you’re not even cute.

  She couldn’t quite hear the insult, either.

  Whoever said it frequently changed the towels as they helped relieve her fever. The water in the bucket eventually became lukewarm, and he even went out to draw new water from the well in the darkness of night.

  As he did all that, the girl’s consciousness regained a slight bit of clarity.

  She was faintly aware that someone was by her side.

  Oh crap, it’s late.

  She thought she heard this someone say something in surprise.

  This is bad. If I don’t go to bed now, I won’t be able to get up in the morning.

  The person stood. She didn’t exactly hear what they were mumbling to themselves about, but she could tell they were going to leave.

  Her hand moved on its own.

  Her fingers weakly pinched the person’s sleeve.

  “ad”

  Her mouth moved on its own, too.

  “on’t goDa”

  She pleaded—in such a small, quivering voice that even she couldn’t hear what she said.

  The someone trying to leave was perplexed.

  After a moment of hesitation, they sat back down.

  Don’t worry.

  Your dad is here. And he’s not going anywhere.