Chapter Text
Ars hadn't even considered the language barrier. The possibility hadn't crossed his mind at all.
It really was his mistake.
If he had realized it sooner, he would have asked Saber or Leah whether they knew any kind of translation magic.
He couldn't manage even the basics if he couldn't communicate.
Lost in thought, Ars barely registered that the two armed men in front of him were shouting.
Their voices were sharp and urgent, but he couldn't understand a single word.
They looked flustered—tense, and more than ready to charge.
Ars didn't know sign language, but he tried his best to show he meant no harm.
He pointed at himself, then at them, then crossed two hands into an X. At the same time, he shouted,
"I… MEAN… NO… HARM!"
For some reason, he switched to English. Maybe that would calm them down, he thought with a quiet sigh.
It did not.
If anything, the two men seemed to grow even more incensed. With a shout, they lunged at Ars, weapons raised.
"You think we'd let you kill us so easily, you bastard?!" one of the men shouted in a language Ars couldn't understand as he charged.
Though the words were lost on him, the fury on their faces needed no translation.
Ars raised his sword and met the strike head-on, angling his blade to deflect the attack.
Steel scraped against steel as he redirected the force, throwing the swordsman off balance.
In that same instant, from Ars's blind spot behind the first man, a spear shot toward his heart.
With Ars's sword still engaged from the deflection, the spearman must have thought the timing was perfect.
But Ars reacted without hesitation.
Twisting his wrist, he brought the hilt of his sword down and knocked the spearhead off course. At the same time, he lunged forward.
The spear grazed past him, missing by inches.
He closed the distance before the swordsman could recover, stepping into the man's space and driving a fist straight into his nose.
The crack of impact was sharp. The man's grip faltered; his sword slipped free as he stumbled backward and collapsed.
Ars didn't pause.
He pivoted toward the spearman and struck the shaft near its base with his foot, kicking it upward while snapping his ankle down closer to the spearhead.
The opposing forces twisted the weapon violently from the spearman's hands.
"Wha–?!"
Before the man could even comprehend what had happened, Ars was already there.
A sharp uppercut snapped his head back.
He crashed onto his back, breath knocked from his lungs.
Both men lay unconscious on the ground.
Ars was stronger than an ordinary person, but he still had no idea how he would measure up in this world.
At the very least, he had subdued these two without much trouble.
It had happened so quickly that even he was surprised by how easily the fight had ended.
He hadn't wanted to fight—hadn't wanted to hurt anyone.
But they had charged at him with unmistakable killing intent.
He had seen it in the way they aimed for his vital points.
If they were willing to kill a stranger on sight, then he didn't need to burden himself with guilt for knocking them out.
He moved quickly, dragging the sword and spear well out of reach.
Then he pulled a length of rope from his backpack and bound their hands and feet to a tree.
He left one hand free for each of them. After that, he forced that hand against their mouths and secured it tightly, tying a piece of rope between their teeth to keep them gagged.
That way, they wouldn't be able to shout for help—but they could still speak, if only barely.
Not that he understood a word they said.
Still, it might be enough. Earlier, when they had been yelling, he had felt something stir within him.
His new ability—granted by the Golden Fruit—had reacted to their speech. He had sensed it instinctively.
His ability was called Perfect Replication.
It allowed him to replicate nearly anything he desired. But it wasn't without cost.
Every replication required mana in exchange.
The amount varied depending on the complexity of what he wished to copy, though the cost decreased as his understanding deepened.
With this ability, Ars believed he could learn their language.
But for that, he needed them to speak.
Ars began searching their bodies and belongings. He knew nothing about this world.
For all he knew, they might be capable of using magic or carrying some hidden artifact—perhaps even explosives. He couldn't afford to take chances.
After all, they had tried to kill him.
This wasn't like his training sessions with Saber. She sparred as if she intended to kill him, but that was different.
It was training. He knew she would never truly take his life.
This was real.
These men had aimed straight for his throat and heart.
If he hadn't trained under Saber, he might have frozen the moment they attacked.
He searched them thoroughly. They didn't have much. He found a few colored stones similar to the ones he had collected from the goblins, along with some coins and two bandanas tucked inside a pouch.
The coins might be the currency of this world. There was also a water container and some dried jerky.
At the sight of the bandanas, Ars paused.
Were they typical bandits?
In many RPGs, bandits were as common as monsters.
Bandanas were often the simplest way to identify them.
Sometimes, collecting those bandanas even earned rewards from the guild or the knight order.
Maybe he was letting his bias guide him, but judging by their appearance and behavior, they fit the image perfectly.
After all, they had tried killing him without hesitation.
And who else would venture this deep into the jungle?
Bandits could easily use a place like this as a hideout, ambushing travelers along the nearby road.
If that were the case, there might be more of them close by.
Which meant staying here was dangerous.
Fortunately, Ars had dragged the two men far from the road and deeper into the jungle before tying them up.
Still, there was a chance they weren't bandits at all.
They could be adventurer thieves—like the rogue classes in RPGs who specialized in treasure hunting and trap disarming. Or something else entirely.
But one fact remained: they had tried to kill him.
Ars couldn't wait for them to wake on their own.
He uncapped their water container and splashed it across the swordsman's face, then gave him a few light slaps to rouse him.
It was better to wake them one at a time, especially when he still knew nothing.
With a pained groan, the swordsman slowly opened his eyes.
At first, all he saw was a blur of white—long, mane-like hair shifting gently in the wind.
His thoughts were sluggish, drifting through haze, but as his vision sharpened, Ars came into focus before him.
And then it all came back.
He had been fighting this man.
Panic flared across his face. He tried to move, only to find his body unresponsive in all the wrong ways.
The ropes were tight.
As he struggled, he caught sight of his companion bound to the tree as well, equally restrained.
He twisted and strained against the bindings in a frantic attempt to break free. When that failed, his resistance faltered.
A muffled whimper slipped past the gag, low and desperate—almost pleading.
Ars observed him in silence for a moment before stepping closer.
"Why did you try to kill me? Are you bandits?" he asked.
But to the swordsman, it was nothing more than a string of incomprehensible sounds.
"Don't… don't kill me, please!" the man pleaded.
The words came out muffled and strained, barely intelligible even in his own language.
To Ars, it was still nothing but gibberish.
Ars spoke again, but the man couldn't understand him either. The language barrier worked both ways—but in this situation, it felt crueler for the captive.
He couldn't negotiate. He couldn't properly beg for his life.
He glanced toward his companion, who was still unconscious.
Both of them were tied up, and Ars stood before them with a sword in hand.
He couldn't just stay silent.
Desperate, the man tried to communicate through tone and expression. Even if it meant crying like a child, he would do it if it gained sympathy.
Ars watched him for a moment. Then he pointed directly at the man, making him freeze.
Slowly, Ars pointed at the man's mouth and mimed opening and closing it with his hand.
He wanted him to talk.
Ars was beginning to sense patterns in the sounds. His ability was responding faintly.
The tied man seemed to understand the instruction. He repeated his plea not to kill him.
Ars then repeated the exact same sounds back to him.
The man's eyes widened.
Ars shook his head and wagged his index finger, signaling no.
For a brief moment, the man thought it meant rejection—that he would be killed anyway.
But then Ars made the talking gesture again.
Keep speaking.
This time, the man understood. Ars didn't want him to repeat the same words. He just wanted him to continue talking.
Though confused, he obeyed.
His own hand pressed against his mouth made it difficult to speak clearly.
If it hadn't been there, he would have yelled. As it was, he could only form strained, muffled sentences.
Realizing Ars didn't understand him anyway, the man began spouting insults and profanities while keeping a tearful expression to maintain the act.
After all, Ars had no idea what he was saying.
Soon, the other man stirred awake, frowning at the stream of vulgarity he heard upon regaining consciousness.
The first man quickly explained the situation between muffled words.
Ars repeated the same gesture, indicating that he wanted both of them to keep talking.
With that understanding, the second man joined in.
And so it continued.
Minute after minute passed. Then an hour.
Their throats grew sore. Speaking with a gag in their mouths was exhausting. It was slow, uncomfortable, and humiliating.
But Ars remained there, listening intently.
"How long does this fucker want us to keep going?" one of them muttered.
"I swear I'll bash his head in the moment my hands are free," the other growled.
"Do you think the others will come?" the first asked.
"If we can hold out for a few more hours, the Boss and the others will definitely pass through here," the second replied.
"Yeah… Then I'll kill him with my own hands. Just you wait, you fucking bastard!"
"I don't think I can wait that long," Ars said suddenly.
Both men jolted in shock.
"W-what?!"
"You can speak our language?!" one demanded.
"Then why were you pretending not to understand us?!" the other shouted.
Ars had finally fully replicated their language. It had taken an entire hour. This was his first time using the ability, so it had been difficult.
With practice, it would likely become easier, and replicating things would require less time and effort.
Even so, he still didn't completely understand the full extent of his ability. He would need to experiment more to grasp what it could truly do.
But that could wait.
Right now, he had more pressing matters.
If the 'Boss' and the others were truly coming this way, he couldn't afford to waste any more time. Now that he understood their language, he would extract the information he needed—quickly.
Then he would decide what to do next.
"I have amnesia. But thanks to your great efforts, at least I can speak your language again. Isn't that great?" Ars said.
The two men stared at him, then at each other, unsure how to respond.
"Oh… that's good?" one said hesitantly.
"Y-yeah. Brother, now that the misunderstanding is cleared up, can you free us?" the other asked.
"What misunderstanding?" Ars tilted his head. "You mean the part where you tried to kill me?"
"No, no, no! It's not like that at all!" one of them insisted.
"Y-yeah!" the other echoed quickly.
Ars didn't reply. Instead, he gave them a brief but firm beating—just enough to make it clear he wasn't in the mood for lies. Once they were sufficiently cooperative, he began asking questions.
He first asked about this place, the nearest village, and the large tower visible in the distance.
He learned that he was in the Northern Gray Forest, named for the Gray Wolves that populated the area. Apparently, they were dangerous creatures, though Ars hadn't encountered any yet.
The nearest village was about a thirty-minute walk east from here.
As for the tower—it was called Babel Tower, located in the dungeon city of Orario, where many of the strongest Familia and adventurers resided.
"Dungeon city? So there's an actual dungeon in that city?" Ars asked. "And what are Familia?"
The two men exchanged another look, as if wondering whether he was truly strange or just pretending.
Ars casually lifted his sword.
They immediately began explaining.
What they told him was overwhelming.
There were literal gods and goddesses living in this world. They descended from the heavens and formed groups called Familia.
These deities granted their blessing—called Falna—to their followers, allowing them to grow stronger, level up, and gain abilities far beyond normal humans.
As if that weren't shocking enough, magic also existed in this world. However, it was rare and difficult to obtain.
After hearing everything, Ars made a decision.
He would go to Orario.
For the next half hour, he asked them everything they knew about the city—its structure, dangers, and opportunities.
Finally, Ars stood and lightly swung his sword through the air.
"So," he said casually, "what's the common rule when dealing with bandits? Do people just kill them?"
The two men stiffened instantly.
In truth, Ars was only half-serious. He still didn't have it in him to kill someone.
But they didn't need to know that.
"No, no! Please don't kill us!" they screamed in fear.
Ars had only suspected they were bandits. He knew they would never admit it outright, so he had thrown the question at them deliberately. Their reaction confirmed everything.
Through trembling voices, they explained that there were rewards for capturing bandits—and the payout was even higher if they were handed over alive.
Ars continued questioning them about their gang. Reluctantly, they revealed that their group had recently kidnapped several villagers from a nearby settlement.
They had also hijacked a caravan transporting slaves. The gang was planning to pass through this area soon to sell the captives to their regular clients.
These two had been sent ahead to meet the buyers and ensure everything was prepared for a quick transaction. After all, what they were doing was illegal.
Hearing that, anger flared in Ars's chest.
But he couldn't afford to lose control. If the rest of the bandits were truly coming this way, he couldn't remain here much longer.
There was one problem—he didn't know the way to the village.
So Ars adjusted his approach.
He untied them from the tree but kept their wrists and ankles bound. Then he tied their bound hands together while positioning them back-to-back.
He even secured a rope loosely around their necks, keeping them restrained and facing opposite directions.
Like this, neither of them could run or attack without choking the other.
Ars removed the bindings from their legs but kept their hands tied and re-secured their gags to prevent shouting.
Under his watchful eye—and with a sword in hand—they guided him through the forest.
In just twenty minutes, the trees began to thin.
Soon after, Ars saw houses in the distance.
He had finally reached civilization.
*
*
*
Some distance away from where Ars had confronted the two captured bandits, a large caravan moved steadily along the forest road.
Around thirty-five people traveled with it—some riding inside the wagons, others walking alongside them.
They were the very bandit gang Ars had heard about.
But none of them wore bandanas or their usual rough attire.
"Boss, it was a brilliant idea to capture and infiltrate this caravan," one of them said with a grin.
"Yeah! Now that we've got the merchant's permit, no one will recognize us!" another added excitedly.
"Then can't we just use these from now on?" a third asked.
The boss immediately barked back, silencing them.
"You idiots! Do you think you can just pose as merchants that easily? These permits belong to local traders. Most of the guards know the real owners. We're only using them so we don't get attacked by patrols on the way," he snapped.
It was ironic—a bandit gang worrying about being attacked while transporting stolen "goods."
But the goods they carried were valuable enough to justify caution.
"Uh… I just thought we could become real merchants," one muttered.
"Who said that? Get over here!" the boss roared. "You think being a bandit is easy with that kind of mindset?!"
The others quickly tried to calm him down while the man who had spoken shrank back in fear.
After the commotion settled, the chatter resumed.
"We were really lucky to catch this caravan full of slaves," one said. "Right after kidnapping those women from the village, too."
"And there's even a renard among them this time. They're rare," another commented.
"Boss! Can't we at least have some fun with her? She even looks like a noble. It's a waste to just hand her over," another said greedily, staring at one of the captives.
Inside one of the cages sat a girl of below-average height with a slim yet curvaceous figure.
She had golden hair, fox ears and tails, and green eyes.
She wore a kimono and huddled in the corner, trembling alongside the other captives.
Most of the girls had dull, hollow eyes, as if they had already resigned themselves to their fate.
The boss struck the man across the head with his fist.
"Don't touch her, you fool!" he shouted. "Do you know how rare they are? The purer they are, the higher the price!
The 'handler' can probably sell her to the Ishtar Familia. I heard they've been looking for one for some time.
We'll get a much better deal this way. So stop wasting time and get back to your post!"
Grumbling, the man retreated.
Soon, everyone returned to their positions.
The boss remained seated at the front of the cage, keeping a close eye on the captives as the caravan continued forward.