Short Story 8: Pantile Defies All Vices 1
Pantile Defies All Vices
Jenniferlin Pantile was greatly surprised to see her friend sitting on the ground, leaning on the sword she had gifted him, trying to recover his strength.
He was the second son of an Impoverished Viscount Household, so poor it was astonishing—a fact acknowledged by all. A noble, yet an adventurer. Possessing strength enough to be mistaken for a monster, yet so indifferent to his own abilities it made one doubt his sanity. Harboring feelings of love Unbecoming of his station, and a boy unaware of his own anxieties, as befitting his age.
My friend, Shin Longdagger, is tired and sitting on the ground.
Jenniferlin hesitated, unsure how to process the emotions welling up in her chest.
She wanted to rely on her friend, but at the same time, she wanted to support him.
Was friendship truly such an irrational thing?
Jenniferlin smiled, looking troubled.
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Jenniferlin Pantile first noticed that number when she was still only eight years old.
It was a time when she understood that her Golden Eyes could see things a little differently than others, but she hadn’t yet grasped the full meaning of it.
For Jenniferlin, who possessed the Appraisal Skill that occasionally manifested in the Pantile House, the world and the people in it were nothing but numbers.
Her father, mother, and siblings—all appeared as mere strings of numbers.
What a brutal and tedious world it was.
At just eight years old, Jenniferlin Pantile was already sick and tired of the world ruled by numbers.
The Pantile House, while noticing Jenniferlin’s state, left her alone.
Although they provided her with the standard education for a nobleman’s daughter, they never taught her how to deal with her Appraisal Skill or how to face the world; they simply left her be.
This was because, for the Pantile House, the tedium Jenniferlin felt and the brutality she perceived in the world represented by numbers were all familiar and known phenomena.
In other words, their conclusion was that it was something like the measles.
However, there was one thing that was unexpected, though they couldn’t have known.
It was the fact that Jenniferlin Pantile was a true Pantile.
Normally, the numbers one could see would gradually increase with growth, as would their meanings.
But Jenniferlin, at the tender age of eight, had already reached a level that one would typically only attain upon approaching middle age.
For an Eight-year-old Girl to see, for an Eight-year-old Girl to live in, it was far too brutal and desolate a world.
This world is made of tedium.
Eight-year-old Jenniferlin judged the world thus.
Although she was a once-in-a-century Pantile, Jenniferlin Pantile—not yet the genius of commerce, investment, and spending she would become—noticed that number precisely when she had grown weary of the world.
Name, race, age—following these, the number simply added curtly; she didn’t know what it represented.
For that very reason, it strongly piqued Jenniferlin’s interest.
What on earth did this number represent?
Her siblings all had a 0 for that number, but her father did have a value.
Adventurers, especially those with a certain amount of experience, almost invariably had this number.
As a general trend, the older someone was, the larger the number tended to be.
Driven by curiosity, Jenniferlin overused her Appraisal Skill, spending whole days observing and pondering.
But alas, she was only an Eight-year-old Girl.
Discovering the true nature of that number required chance.
It happened during a family outing.
They encountered a scene where some captured criminal had escaped and was rampaging in a frenzy with a stolen weapon.
Protected by her family members, she watched the one who had strayed from the path from a safe place.
To Jenniferlin’s eyes, it merely looked like someone lacking in numbers had naturally strayed from the path and fallen into desperation.
The man was killed anticlimactically by a Knight who happened to be nearby.
To Jenniferlin, who was using her Appraisal Skill as usual, it looked as though the Knight, despite having more than enough ability to capture the man unharmed, couldn’t even be bothered to do so and simply cut him down.
But that in itself was not something that moved Jenniferlin’s heart in the slightest. There was only one thing that caught her interest.
That number belonging to the Knight who had cut down the man had increased by one.
Jenniferlin thought for a moment, then murmured “Ah,” in a terribly dry voice.
Once she understood, the answer was disappointingly bland.
The number that had piqued her interest was simply the number of people someone had killed.
The Eight-year-old Girl even gave a wry smile at such a boring conclusion.
This world is made of tedium.
The world reflected in her eyes is ruled solely by numbers.
Having concluded thus, Jenniferlin lost interest.
She was sick of it.
However, it was three days later that the girl who had made this judgment was astonished, her eyes widening at the very number that had led her to that conclusion.
It was an old woman with terribly sharp eyes, a thin Physique, and hair like pure white ash.
Kill Count: 999.
Faced with the old woman introduced as her guard, young Jenniferlin was speechless.
Forgetting her noble etiquette and simply staring in astonishment, Jenniferlin’s father told her:
She was formerly an Assassin for the kingdom—not the Royal Family—and since she was retiring, he had hired her as Jenniferlin’s guard.
She was a seasoned veteran who had fought numerous heinous criminals and foreign spies.
“Those with loose tongues call her the
That must have been her father’s attempt at a joke.
But Jenniferlin, who could see the number, couldn’t help but mutter in a small voice.
“She’s short by one, isn’t she?”
Her father didn’t hear it, but the old woman before her did not miss that voice.
Before Jenniferlin could even think, Oops, the old woman moved her thin Physique without a sound, and before she knew it, was kneeling right in front of her.
The old woman leaned close to her ear and whispered, emanating a dense aura of death.
“That’s a secret, you see. If you keep quiet about it, well then, how about I offer you my loyalty?”
It was clearly a threat.
If she refused, she wouldn’t be killed, probably, but she had a strange certainty that something terribly troublesome would happen.
But Jenniferlin was Jenniferlin Pantile.
Even at eight years old, Jenniferlin was Jenniferlin Pantile.
“I don’t need something so cheap.”
Jenniferlin’s father, not understanding the situation, was surprised by his daughter’s words, while the old woman narrowed her eyes as if smiling.
“I’m the one who sets the price.”
Jenniferlin took a step back, looked the old woman straight in the eyes, and said.
And then, the girl, who possessed nothing she had obtained on her own yet, offered the only thing she could.
She knew she was making a very disadvantageous deal.
The offered price (loyalty) was likely exceptional.
But she didn’t need such a thing.
That’s why the girl offered the only thing she could.
Jenniferlin held out her small hand to the old woman.
Her hand, spread wide, was still small—in other words, it was the girl’s biggest bluff.
“Give me your friendship, Cokes Candelight.”
The old woman, Cokes Candelight, whose real name, unknown to anyone, had been spoken for the first time in decades, hesitated only for an instant before taking that hand.
Who was the last person to call her by that name? she wondered.