Chapter Twenty-Eight: Communication Centers on People (Part One)

“Damn it! What the hell is wrong with you bastards? You just stand there with your eyes wide open, watching me get hacked up, chatting away like you have all the time in the world, and not one of you thought to help me earlier, you jerks?...” (Damn it, what’s wrong with you guys, just standing there watching me get attacked—what’s that next line again? Oh, the last one is ‘hurry up and help me, damn it!’)

Even though we’d temporarily lost the solid support of Kladro, we still managed to wipe out the remaining vampires without much trouble. Thankfully, although Longbow Shooting Sun could hardly be called a competent priest, he hadn’t entirely neglected his class abilities, and had actually taken the time to learn the advanced spell “Gift of Life.” As soon as the battle ended, he immediately resurrected the fallen Minotaur shaman.

The revived Minotaur was visibly agitated. As soon as he clambered to his feet, he started shouting at us at the top of his lungs. His speech tumbled out so quickly and urgently it was as if he’d stuffed his mouth with beans and was trying to spit them all out, one by one, in the shortest time possible. The heavy nasal tone and the near absence of retroflex sounds in his pronunciation left no doubt that this was the unique racial language of the Minotaurs—after all, Minotaurs are known for having larger nasal cavities than any other intelligent race, and their big tongues don’t seem to be particularly nimble.

To be fair, though I couldn’t understand a word he was saying, his language had a strong rhythm, almost like a passionate percussion solo, letting you feel the energetic, fighting spirit of the Minotaur culture. It was oddly pleasant to listen to.

“What do you think this guy is going on about?” Longbow Shooting Sun asked, puzzled.

“No idea…” replied Yangtze Delta. But after a brief pause for thought, he came up with an answer that sounded perfectly convincing:

“…You just brought him back to life, so he’s probably thanking you…”

We all agreed that made sense.

“Oh, is that so…” Longbow Shooting Sun nodded in sudden realization, quickly waving a hand at Kladro. “No need to thank me—it’s just what I’m supposed to do!”

Kladro was truly a Minotaur of deep feeling and loyalty. His gratitude toward his savior flowed like an endless river. Even as Longbow Shooting Sun repeatedly tried to politely decline his thanks, Kladro continued to beat his chest and stamp his feet, tears streaming down his face, clearly frustrated at being unable to find a way to properly express his appreciation:

“…What rotten luck, spent all my time running dungeons, ended up stuck with a bunch of people who don’t speak Cantonese. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have left my party…”

While Kladro and Longbow Shooting Sun tangled endlessly, the elven mage Black Aurora, who had been standing off to the side, finally couldn’t take it anymore. He stepped over and patted Kladro on the shoulder:

“Don’t keep rambling! It’s getting late, let’s get moving!” He pointed deeper into the mausoleum.

Kladro was clearly unprepared for Black Aurora’s words. He stared in confusion, then asked in an uncertain tone:

“What are you even saying? Could you slow down? I’m Cantonese, I don’t really understand your Mandarin!”

“Stop talking already! I can’t understand a word you’re saying. Got it? This is just nonsense…” the elven mage interjected.

“What do you people actually want? If you’ve got something to say, just say it straight out and stop sending me off to die, okay?” The Minotaur shaman spread his hands wide, as if trying to make some point.

“If you can’t even speak Mandarin, and you can’t understand anything we say, how do you expect to get by?” Black Aurora said, shaking his long, pointed ears.

“Please! Your Mandarin is terrible, worse than theirs, now I can’t understand anything at all…” Kladro pressed a hand to his forehead, frowning deeply.

It was a remarkable sight—two beings of different races, using two entirely different languages, somehow managing to communicate. Their debate was lively and spirited, yet always followed some kind of… well… order. I had no idea how much they actually understood each other, but at least their question-and-answer exchanges were better than our awkward silence.

Not everyone appreciated their bizarre dialogue, though. From my perspective, Yangtze Delta was on the verge of a mental breakdown from listening to their incomprehensible back-and-forth. Watching the two of them go on and on, the half-orc rogue finally snapped. With a guttural roar brimming with orcish style, he cut into the conversation:

“Oh shit, what the *ing are you saying, guys?”

To my surprise, Yangtze Delta’s outburst had an immediate effect. The two debaters instantly fell silent and turned their attention to the half-orc rogue.

Kladro’s face lit up as if he’d just been pulled from the jaws of death—pure joy and excitement. He abandoned Black Aurora without a second thought, bounded over to Yangtze Delta, and hugged him tightly, shouting fluently in the orcish dialect:

“Great, you can speak English, thank goodness!”

From then on, the conversation centered around Kladro and Yangtze Delta. They chattered away in that bird-like language, sometimes nodding vigorously, sometimes bursting out laughing, leaving the rest of us standing around, bored and exchanging helpless glances.

As always, the dwarf priest Longbow Shooting Sun couldn’t contain himself. After watching the two talk for a while, he couldn’t help but ask Black Aurora:

“Hey, Shanghai guy, do you know what they’re saying?”

…A blank shake of the head…

“Do you speak any English?”

…A moment’s hesitation, then a timidly raised finger…

“What can you say?”

“…I don’t know.”

Black Aurora’s response was unexpectedly smooth and succinct. I had no idea why Longbow Shooting Sun immediately wanted to bash his head against the wall.

“Well, can you speak any Mandarin at all?”

…Another pause, then slowly, he raised one finger:

“How much does it cost? Can you make it cheaper?” Black Aurora said, his accent less than perfect.

I couldn’t help but worry that Longbow Shooting Sun was going to crack the wall with his head.

“You must be able to say something else! Have you never spoken at all since you got here?”

Black Aurora glanced at Longbow Shooting Sun, hesitated, then tried something even stranger, pronouncing awkwardly:

“Does anyone here speak Japanese?”

“I speak a little,” Longbow Shooting Sun replied, caught off guard, his answer equally awkward, his expression a blend of exasperation and amusement.

“Damn it, we’re all Chinese here, and we still need foreign languages just to communicate…” the dwarf priest muttered under his breath.

In the rest of our exploration, we had to battle two enemies at once: the hordes of vampires lurking in the tomb, and our own inability to communicate. In my opinion, the latter was proving to be the greater challenge.

“Cover me!” Yangtze Delta shouted heroically, then vanished from sight, creeping toward the lead “Vampire Baron.” While we were still trying to figure out what he meant, the hefty half-orc rogue came charging back, nearly dead, with his health bar almost empty, and the Vampire Baron he’d just ambushed lumbering after him, swinging a giant cleaver, a pack of savage vampires in tow.

“What are you all standing around for? Cover me!” Yangtze Delta yelled.

“You should have made yourself clear! Who knew what you were shouting about?” Longbow Shooting Sun quickly cast a healing spell on him.

…

(After some advice, Little String has learned that to stay on the public rankings, word count must be kept under two hundred thousand, so the daily two-chapter, ten-thousand-word updates probably won’t last until the weekend. So, please forgive Little String for being a bit shameless this time and splitting up the chapters—three updates per day, one and a half chapters a day—just to scrape by until the weekend. Little String bows and begs your pardon.)