#086. Black Rain and the Seed (2)
"H-help me out... Ugh... M-my body's stuck..."
Hender, wedged tightly in the box, couldn't free himself.
Ray gripped the box's edge with one hand.
Thunk!
He flipped the box upside down in a single motion, then hammered its bottom with his other fist.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Gwaaah!"
Hender crashed to the floor, clutching his lower back as he writhed.
"M-my spine! Ugh! What kinda freakish strength...?!"
Philip snorted from behind while watching the spectacle:
"Call that strength? I'd snap your arm in an arm wrestle before you blinked."
"?"
Veronica began nodding absently before jerking her head toward Philip in suspicion.
"Huff... huff... Th-thanks for the rescue. For now."
Hender staggered upright, swaying unsteadily.
Greasy hair framed his sallow face.
Clouded eyes and the sour reek of liquor.
The frail man appeared somewhere in his late thirties.
He swept aside junk piled on chairs and table to clear space.
After the group sat, his bloodshot eyes darted between them.
"So... might I ask who you...?"
Relief colored his voice - they weren't debt collectors.
Children should be easier marks than adults.
But the floor tumble had shaken off enough drunkenness for him to notice their fine clothes.
His posture stiffened cautiously.
Speech shifted to formal register.
"We came about the plant. The one that resists Black Rain."
"Black Rain...? Plant...? Ah!"
Hender slapped his forehead in realization.
"Right! I drunkenly blabbed to Broni last night! You heard that?"
"Correct."
The man hesitated, throat clearing.
"Showing you's simple, but shouldn't you introduce yourselves first? Ahem. My appearance aside, I value proper decorum."
Thud.
An object hit the table.
"Single Epsilon No. 3! The... the Black Edition?!"
Hender's eyes bulged.
His arm lightninged toward the premium vodka - but Ray's hand intercepted it faster.
"......"
"......"
The bottle's embossed label gleamed in Ray's grip.
Man and boy locked stares across the table.
●
"It's nothing special. Just survives Black Rain. Weird little plant."
Hender belched loudly, observing the group crouched by the fence.
The vodka in his hand already lacked its label.
"Grew on its own! No watering! Hic Damn... Pelter wasn't lying about saving up for this..."
His mutters went ignored.
The party stared transfixed at their discovery.
"It's real! No flora database lists this! A completely new species!"
Veronica's voice trembled with excitement.
Their attention centered on a green sprout amid scrap piles.
The finger-length shoot maintained elegance despite surrounding decay.
Philip and Veronica exchanged glances.
"Definitely not a weed."
"Agreed. Too refined."
"Exactly. Like me."
Ignoring Veronica, Philip turned to Ray:
"Your thoughts?"
"Not sure about 'refined,' but it's no ordinary plant."
Ray pointed at soil beneath the sprout.
While Black Rain had stained earth charcoal, the shoot sat in a palm-sized circle of healthy brown earth.
Philip frowned.
"Could be staged. Transplanted clean soil?"
"Possible. But where? Black Rain fell just this dawn, yet there's no residue. It must purify surrounding ground."
"Or maybe..."
As their debate intensified, Ray approached Hender.
"This sprout grew from seeds you received?"
"Dropped, not planted. Found the pouch while sorting trash. Hic Do I look like a gardener? Hah!"
His liquor-flushed face split in a grin.
"Tell us everything."
"Of course! For this nectar? I'll sing like a bird!"
The tale unfolded simply.
Three months prior, Hender found an unconscious traveler near junkyard wreckage.
"Belongings spilled from their pack. First thing I spotted? Car keys."
But no vehicle in sight.
Hender recognized the signs.
"Common enough. Cross wastelands till your ride dies. Most perish. Lucky ones reach sectors."
Dehydration victim.
But Hender prioritized trash cleanup over rescue.
"Disaster struck! Should've grabbed the loot and fled!"
The traveler awoke moments after he began pilfering.
As the dazed figure sat up, Hender spotted dagger sheaths lining their belt.
"Ten blades at least! I froze! Their cloak hid the arsenal earlier. That's when I knew - I'd messed with death's luggage!"
Alcohol animated Hender's retelling.
Philip and Veronica leaned closer, captivated.
"Their shoulder bled, but attacking? No chance. So I... improvised."
Noticing the traveler's unfocused gaze, Hender acted.
He dropped stolen goods and offered his water bottle.
"You alright? Hydrate first. You look terrible."
The traveler grabbed it mechanically.
Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
Four emptied bottles later, their eyes finally focused.
"Got... food?"
Helpless against that desperate stare, Hender brought them home.
Thus began the chain of events.
"A whole damn month! I never thought he'd stay until his wounds fully healed. That bug-eating bastard!"
A voice trembling with rage at the mere memory.
Hander continued describing the traveler he remembered.
"He never removed his hood. It completely covered the back of his head and ears. And when going out, he always wore a mask to conceal his face."
His words abruptly cut off.
Hander paused as if collecting his thoughts, then continued with a dazed expression.
"His features were extraordinary. How should I put it... 'Beautiful' doesn’t quite suffice. It felt like seeing a creature not of this world. His mesmerizing face made you stare, but the shape of his ears under the hood was peculiar—longer and sharper than normal."
He added that the traveler frequently used the word "human."
Remarks like how he’d never encountered such kindness from humans in this world.
"He used magic too. I never knew such mysterious power existed."
Veronica, who’d been listening, murmured softly:
"An elf."
"Elf?"
"Yeah. Grandfather told me. Records say forests existed long ago. A race lived there. Now they’ve vanished, with a few survivors hiding among humans. Pointed ears, high mana affinity, vegetarians with small appetites..."
Hander’s voice interrupted:
"Anyway, that bastard devoured over 100 of my canned goods. Skinny as he was, his appetite was monstrous."
Philip whispered:
"He ate that much?"
"Maybe he was starved at first..."
"He’d scarf down five cans per meal! Refused any without meat."
"Ate lavishly. Even meat dishes."
"......"
Veronica looked deeply indignant. She’d clearly heard otherwise from her grandfather.
After recovering, the traveler left Hander’s house.
As thanks, he gave a pouch of seeds.
"Told me to plant them. Said they’d save my life someday."
"Save your life?"
"Yes. ‘You’ll know when the time comes.’ Frankly, I wanted to punch him! Wrecked my home and gave seeds? What a joke!"
Hander’s rage resurged as he gulped vodka.
Meanwhile, Ray exchanged glances with Veronica.
‘Seeds. Need them?’
‘Yes. Can’t take planted ones. Might help cure the demonic sickness.’
Ray nodded and turned to Hander:
"How many seeds remain?"
"Hmm... Buried somewhere. Maybe four. Why...?"
Hander’s eyes narrowed as he realized their intent.
"We’ll buy all the seeds."
"Oh... You’ll buy them?"
Golden greed bloomed in Hander’s gaze.
Rich kids from the upper sectors. Easy to fleece.
Who knew useless junk would become cash?
"What’s your offer?"
Philip answered under Ray’s glance:
"10,000 shillings per seed. Cheapest rate for common varieties."
10,000 shillings—a week’s wages for slum laborers.
The Black Rain had made fertile land scarce, inflating seed prices.
Hander feigned calm:
"That’s insufficient."
"12,000."
"Could you go higher...?"
Ray nodded at Philip’s glance.
"15,000. No more."
"Too stingy. 30,000 per seed. 120,000 total."
Hander tripled the price, emboldened by their compliance.
"......"
Ray hesitated.
Their funds from looting mercenaries allowed flexibility, but Hander’s greed had no limits.
He’ll keep raising it.
Before Ray could strategize—
"There he is! Hander’s outside!"
"Bastard! Finally showed your face!"
Thugs wielding clubs charged toward the shack.
"Shit! When did they—?"
Crash!
Hander dropped his bottle, paled, and locked himself inside.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Fuck! Come out! Pay your debts!"
The door held firm against their pulls.
Ray approached the thugs.
"Break it down. He’s inside."
"Wait."
He gripped the handle—click—and swung the door open.
"Who the hell—? Doesn’t matter! Get him!"
The thugs stormed in.
"Where is he?!"
"Window’s open! He fled—"
"Wait."
Ray walked to a wooden crate, flipped it, and knocked the lid.
Thud!
"Ugh!"
Hander tumbled out, met by glares.
"Bastard! Hiding here all along!"
"Never thought he’d squeeze into that tiny box."
"L-let’s talk— Ack!"
The thugs began beating him.
Crouching, Ray met Hander’s desperate gaze.
"Need help? I know magic."
"P-please! Ack!"
"Good. Payment first."
"H-how much?!"
"120,000 shillings."
The exact sum Hander had demanded.
"T-that’s— Agh!"
"130,000."
"Ridiculous— Ugh!"
"140,000."
A chill crawled down Hander’s spine.
Why did the boy’s blank face seem to smile?
"150,000."
