Paladin Of The End Vol 3.1 Chapter 2

 Paladin Of The End Volume 3 Chapter 2

That night, after I fell asleep in my home in Torch Port, I had a dream.

It was a dream of that city of the dead, of which I had such fond memories.

“Listen closely, Will. What, in fact, are the fae?” Gus, with his pale blue body, spoke slowly while stroking his chin. “In a time beyond time, the God of Creation spoke the Words, engraved the Signs, made the sun and the moon, split day from night, and gathered water to separate the oceans and the earth. Fire was born, wind was born, trees were born. It was before gods, and before people.”


Blood was there too, leaning his skeletal body against the wall, hearing Gus’s lesson but not listening to it. It was a peaceful moment in the afternoon.

“Within the water, earth, fire, air, and trees dwell the great Words of the First God. They were more than natural phenomena; they possessed clear individual will.”

“Phenomena with minds of their own?”

“It may be hard for you to imagine... Hmm, especially since there are no elementalists here. If there had been, I could have had them make the sylphs dance or something; that would have made the explanation simple. Well, no matter.” Gus shook his head.

That “no matter” didn’t mean “it doesn’t matter anyway”—rather, it meant “you will meet one before long, so you simply need to keep this in the back of your mind.” And in actual fact, I did meet Menel shortly after, and could now understand what Gus meant by “phenomena with individual will.”

“Owing to the fact that they had wills of their own, these fae split into two types after their creation. The first was a long-lived way of existence spent clinging to unstable phenomena along with the lesser minions, that is, the fairies and elementals. If an elementalist were to go to a mountain of fire, even today he should be able to see a great fae known as a Lord of Fire there, with elementals of fire obeying its will. In the depths of the vast oceans there would drift a Lord of the Sea, and deep in an ocean of trees a Lord of the Woods would stand silent.”

Gus paused. “Elementalists, incidentally, are those who can perceive and communicate with the fae and fairies who exist in the invisible world overlapping our transient one. Shamans, in other words.”

As I listened to Gus, I nodded and took notes. There was no better way of remembering things than listening, thinking, and writing.

“The other group, however, chose a different path.”

“A different path?”

“Not the nebulous existence of the fae, omnipresent within phenomena, sometimes existing, sometimes not, perhaps dead, perhaps alive, and at some point becoming too indistinct to perceive. Instead, they chose to live a crystal-clear existence, and die a crystal-clear death. In other words, the human way of life.”

I found it slightly amusing that Gus the ghost was the one saying this to me. He seemed to be aware of this and shrugged his shoulders. “They fell in love with humanity.”

His uncharacteristically romantic phrasing caused Blood to make a sound like he was spitting out a drink. Gus instantly willed a small pebble to fly in his direction.

“Ow! What was that for, old man?!”

“You know what! Now pipe down!”

After muttering irritably under his breath for a moment, Gus continued. “Of the elementals who longed for life with a body of flesh, those who belonged to the air, water, and trees brought the matter up with the goddess of the forest, Rhea Silvia. She was a pleasure-seeker, impulsive and fickle, but that was why she was able to see eye to eye with the ever-changing phenomena that the fae were.”

And the goddess saw fit to grant the fae what they desired.

“Thus the elves were born as the minions of the goddess Rhea Silvia. They were a race with lives as long as the trees, as swift as a gale, and as graceful as a flowing spring. That goddess who lived for love took the fae’s admiration for humans into account, and made it so that the two races would be compatible. It is said that this is the reason that humans and elves can produce mixed-blood children.”

Gus shrugged his shoulders. “But there is an old saying: ‘The neighbor’s wheat looks riper.’ It is sometimes the case that a thing can only be admired from a distance. Although some elves actively mingled with humans, there were also those who yearned for the time they were fae.”

He went on. “Those elves of ancient times, who lived with passion and mixed with people, disappeared naturally with time due to their mixed blood and natural lifespans. Even now, every once in a while, a half-elf will be born from two human parents—a remnant of those elder elves. Meanwhile, the elves who yearned for the days of the fae, and chose to live deep in the forest and insularly among their own kind, preserved their purity.”

“Uhh, I don’t—”

“I’m not trying to say one’s better than the other or make some kind of point here. I am simply telling you that there were two groups who each made different choices. Nothing more.”

It felt like a topic I could see myself sinking into thought over, but Gus seemed relatively content to brush it aside.

“Yeah, so, ’cause of all that, the elves who exist now are pretty unsocial. They’re good guys if you get to know ’em, but that can take a while.” Blood added to Gus’s explanation. “They’re a skinny bunch, but quick on their feet, and they make good hunters and fighters. Many of ’em have what it takes to be elementalists, too. They go back to the fae, after all. Uh, the takeaway here is, don’t get in a fight with an elf in a forest. ’Cause that’s some scary shit.”

Blood then told me that there were apparently even some he had no idea what to make of, who had mastered elementalism to its utmost limits and could discard their body of flesh and turn back into a fae.

“Those stories are somewhat unreliable...” Gus said. “Though, if there were to be a being capable of such a thing, I doubt it would be anything other than an elf. They are the minions of the god of the forest, and the closest things there are to fae. They are close to human, and far from it, too. A great race.”

With that, Gus brought his talk about the elves to a close.

“But there were also some who obtained flesh-and-blood bodies in a different way: the fae of earth, rock, and fire. Earth and rock command the attribute of immutability, while fire controls destruction and creation. None of them were very close to the goddess Rhea Silvia, and neither did they long for the human way of life.”

“Really? Then why did they get physical bodies?”

“The object of their admiration was human technology. They found it incredibly fascinating, the way we extracted ore from the earth, heated it with fire, refined it, and made it into metal. It is said that fae and fairies are not generally too fond of metals and money, so these were certainly an odd group.” He shrugged. “They made their way to see Blaze, god of fire and craft. Blaze was stubborn and spoke little, preferring to create and tinker, but he was also a god of battle and anger who, once enraged, would bring about terrible destruction. He exchanged brief words with the fae who had shown an interest in the industrial arts, and once he was sure of the strength of their determination, he nodded wordlessly, and granted them physical bodies as his own minions.”

Gus commented that so far this was the same as the elves.

“And so the race of dwarves was born as the minions of the fire god Blaze. The dwarves were as unyielding as earth and stone. They lived long lives, could see through darkness like their way was lit by fire, and were skilled in the use of the furnace. But they were destined to deal in the metals the fae disliked, and so their nature started to diverge from the purity of the fae, and the fairies kept their distance. Due to this, there are no elementalists among them comparable to the elves.”

In silence, I listened to him talk. It was an interesting story that felt rewarding to listen to. I thought about the elves and dwarves, races that looked like humans but were not, and wondered if I’d meet them in the outside world someday.

“Instead, they put their faith in the deity Blaze who was their forefather. They researched the old Words and combined them with the skills of metallurgy and engraving. When it comes to the art of infusing objects with Words—that is to say, engraving the Signs—you will not find more talented artisans. The majority of the dwarves live in mines, preferring to live underground due to their origins as fae of the earth and rock. They are short, perhaps related to where they live, and barrel-chested. They are heavy drinkers, they are physically strong, and the majority of them grow beards. And on top of being highly talented craftsmen, they are also excellent warriors.”

When I heard that, my eyes naturally went straight to Blood. “Yeah,” he said, and nodded. “Those guys are the real deal.”

I was shocked. I could tell from Blood’s voice that this was genuine praise.

“T-Tell me more about them!”

“More? Uh, I’ll give it a shot. Hmm...” Blood thought for a little while. “They’re simple, honest people, and... they understand the meaning of fighting, and what courage is. They’re more upright inside their hearts than anyone’s ever stood.”

There was no sarcastic response from Gus, not this time. Instead, with gentle eyes, he simply listened to him speak.

“One thing is always on their minds, day in and day out.”

“What’s that?”

“The question of what’s worth laying down their life for. What’s their reason to fight.” Pale blue will-o’-the-wisps roared in Blood’s eye sockets. “And when they find it—” He paused. “They go into battle with their souls burning with the fire of courage, and never once fear death.”

I got the chills. If they could make Blood of all people say that, these dwarves had to be incredible, true warriors.

“I salute those dwarven warriors. The ones I met, at least, and who fought alongside me, were true champions.”

I was now greatly looking forward to the day I’d meet them. I wondered what their faces looked like, their straight backs, their braided beards, their shining axes, their prideful, forthright gaze. I imagined all those things, and fantasized of the day when I would fight shoulder-to-shoulder with them.

“As for me, I am not particularly fond of them,” Gus said sullenly.

I was surprised to hear him say that. “Really?”

“Mm... Of course, I will admit they have marvelous knowledge and skills. I will even admit they are warriors with resolve,” he said, and sighed. “But I’ve never known such an obstinate, tightfisted lot in all my life! They are unbelievable!”

I stood there blinking speechlessly for a moment, then looked to Blood and saw him meeting my gaze with a look that said “Can you believe this guy?”

Gus clearly had a repulsion for his own kind.

◆

I awoke in dim light. I could see the room’s plank ceiling above me. I’d had a pretty nostalgic dream.

“Oh...”

Somehow, I got the feeling that I now understood the real reason I’d helped out those dwarves back then: I’d felt sad. And it wasn’t because my imagination had been betrayed; it wasn’t because they hadn’t had straight backs, braided beards, shining axes, and prideful, forthright gazes. It was because Blood, the one and only Blood, had acknowledged this race as warriors, and they had looked at me nervously, cautiously, submissively, covered in dirt and mud, with thin arms and legs, and their eyes flicking about, full of insecurity. And the sight of them was just terribly, unbearably sad.

That isn’t what you are, I must have been wanting to tell them. It simply isn’t. In truth, you all... are amazing. You’re... so, so much more—

Of course, I was just pushing the image I had inside my head onto them unasked. I knew that. But even so, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted them to take back their pride, to drop that submissive, nervous look, to hold up their heads and push out their chests. And that was why I was so happy that they were able to live with pride here in this city.

I slowly got out of bed. It was made of bundles of straw with a white sheet pulled over it. It was much better than sleeping directly on piles of hay, because now the straw didn’t scratch my body. I slowly opened the door, went out into the hall, and to the well in my yard.

The house I currently lived in was located close to the center of the city. It had been refurbished from a mansion in the ruins that had managed to retain its structure comparatively well. I hadn’t especially been looking for a big house to live in, but if I had refused a big house, it would have made everyone else feel awkward. Besides, they suggested it as a good idea because I often had visitors and guests who needed a place to stay, anyway.

As I result, I ended up employing some servants—specifically, maids. I had memories of the novels from my previous world, so the sound of the words “employing maids” had made my heart flutter a little, but—

“Ah. Good morning.”

“Ohh, good morning, young master William.”

“Pffhaha, don’t you look a sight! Go and tidy your hair, dearie!”

The ones who applied were old ladies who lived nearby. That’s reality for you.

Of course, that aside, they did great work with the cleaning, cooking, and laundry, so it was very helpful having them around. Thanks to them, I had a lot more free time to spend on my own training. Gus had mentioned to me before that money could buy time to a certain extent, and this was exactly what he meant.

I used a bucket to fetch some water from the well. As I pulled the bucket up, I thought about how useful it would be to have a hand-operated pump. I thought I remembered it using a directional valve and pressure to draw up the water... but couldn’t quite remember the full details. But thinking about it more carefully, we couldn’t afford to be so wasteful with metal anyway. I might have been able to recreate the design, but we wouldn’t be able to make it widespread, so I concluded as I washed my face and rinsed my mouth that there was almost no point.

“Okay.”

I had bed head, so I put water through it to fix it. It didn’t work.

“Huh?” I wet my hair a little more and made sure it was just the way I wanted it. Boing. My hair sprang up again. “Grr...” I adjusted it once more, this time really taking care to set it properly.

“Finally!”

It sprang up again. It was being horrendously stubborn.

I fixed it. It sprang up. I fixed it. It sprang up.

“O-Okay. This time I’ve definitely got it.” Boing. “Gaaahh!!”

I tipped the entire bucket of water over my head.

◆

“That’s why your head’s so soaking wet?”

Menel and I were in the yard. While laughing at my stupidity, Menel continued to press my head in one direction, while I resisted and pushed back against him. We were doing neck training.

Training the neck muscles is modestly important. If you’re punched in the head or have your legs swept out from under you, it’s your neck muscles that protect your head. If they’re weak, it’s relatively easy to get seriously hurt.

“Come on! Nine... ten!”

“Gnnngh...”

As he pressed with all of his strength, I breathed out slowly and resisted with all of my own, pushing his hand back.

“Okay. Swap.”

I exhaled and relaxed.

And we just kept going like that, piling up basic muscle and stretching exercises. Arms, legs, abs, back—each day, the place I focused on was different, but I made sure to train every body part I used in battle. Having a flexible and strong body underpinned everything, and I would lose it if I didn’t keep up my training and consume enough food.

Back in the city of the dead, I was able to train every single day, but once I started getting work and needed to be on the move, that wasn’t so easy. Having finally established a central base, I had recently become able to train sufficiently again, and without that, I probably wouldn’t have been able to overpower the cernunnos physically. Blood had done well to keep up that much muscle power while being a traveler. I wondered if he’d used some kind of trick. I should have asked him.

“Okay, so next is...”

“Swings,” I said, and picked up what I’d be practicing with. It was not a sword, but something about three times as heavy: a long and thick block of wood with a handle attached. I gave it a test swing to start off. It made a satisfyingly low sound as it gouged a path through the air.

Blood had told me that being able to swing around training equipment heavier than a weapon was the best indication that you’d be able to swing around your actual weapon in the heat of battle. I saw no faults with that argument, either.

Menel let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Ridiculous strength. You’d never know it from looking at you.”

Being a descendant of the elves, Menel had a slim body, amazing agility, and was able to burst into action incredibly quickly. But that wasn’t all; he had his own share of strength, as well.

“But I wanted people to know it from looking at me!” I said.

Of course, even with the way my body looked right now, people were getting the impression that I worked out. That was good. But for some reason, I wasn’t turning out like Blood. No one would describe me as “a commanding, heroic-looking man!” or “a giant of muscle!” My skeletal structure and that kind of thing was probably part of the issue, but I was also starting to suspect that in this world, muscle mass and muscle strength weren’t entirely proportional. Maybe mana or some factor like that had something to do with it.

In any case, I wanted more of a “tough guy” image, but both my body and my personality were finding it very difficult to complete the transformation, and I thought that was a tremendous shame.

“People like you. Why change?”

“Look, people long for what they don’t have, okay?!”

“Learn to be satisfied...”

After that brief yet heated discussion, we started practicing our swings, Menel with a practice pole that was skinnier than mine. We practiced downward swings and upward cuts over and over, each of us counting out the repetitions. We moved our legs, torsos, arms, and swords with purpose, making sure to keep them working together so that the movement that started with the legs was conveyed all the way through the tip of the blade.

Verify the current state of your movements and sharpen them toward the future.

“Hm...?”

I felt someone’s gaze on me. Reystov and other adventurers sometimes came to join in with my morning training, and sometimes kids who lived nearby came around as well to peek at what we were doing.

But I got the feeling that wasn’t quite it.

◆

Suspicious, I searched for the source of the gaze—and there it was. On the other side of my small vegetable garden, someone was peeking at us over the hedge. It was someone with black hair. I didn’t recognize them.

“Menel, wait there a moment,” I said, and walked over there.

I didn’t mind them watching, but if they kept on doing it sneakily like that, other people might mistake them for a burglar or something. This world was pretty rough, so when something like that happened, it would sometimes result in angry shouting and possibly even bloodshed. There was no need to peek; all this person needed to do was call out to us, come straight into our yard, and watch. Neither Menel nor I would mind that very much.

“Good morning,” I called out, and the person behind the hedge cringed in fright.

Trembling, they raised their head.

It was a male dwarf with a hunched back and braided black hair. It was hard to tell his age, but his beard was short, so he was probably still young.

“Nice weather, isn’t it?”

“U-Umm... G-Good... morn...ing...” He stood up, flustered.

As we faced each other standing for the first time, I realized he was quite tall for a dwarf, and big-boned, too. But because of his stoop and nervous behavior, his body had none of the intimidating presence I would have expected.

“You’re very welcome to come in and watch, instead of watching from there.” I figured he was introverted, and spoke to him in the calmest, kindest manner I could.

“U-Uh...” His restless eye movement was just starting to calm down, when—

“Hey, Will, what are you fussing about over there?” Menel stopped practicing his swings and came over. He was probably wondering why I was taking so long. “Hm? Who are you? Haven’t seen you around here before.”

After seeing that a new person was now talking to him, the dwarf’s shoulders twitched and he let out a small, frightened squeak.

“All right, brother, I’m not gonna eat you. You interested? Come watch if you want.”

“N-No, I...!”

Menel spoke to him kindly, but the mistake had been made. If you spoke to someone like this in that tone of voice—

“I, I, I’m fine, thank you! I’m sorry for interrupting your training! Bye!”

He bowed his head, hurriedly and yet pretty politely, and then scampered away, almost tripping over himself. I kind of wanted to stop him, but there was a hedge between us, and nothing had really happened to call him all the way back, anyway.

“Mmgh...” After watching him disappear in no time flat, I sent Menel a slightly reproachful look. Maybe it sounded offensive, but I kind of felt as though a cat that was just starting to get used to me had gone and run off...

“Yeah... my fault.” Menel raised a hand as a gesture of mild apology. He was obviously aware. “Turns out that has the opposite effect on guys like that.”

“Of course it does...”

“Not sure if he was interested in the training or you.”

When someone came to peep on us, it was usually one or the other.

“The training, don’t you think? Dwarves are a race of warriors, after all.”

“Did that guy look like he was warrior material to you? My bet’s on him wanting to see the paladin everyone’s been talking about.”

As we talked to each other, I returned to practicing, slightly disappointed. For some reason, I felt like he and I could have gotten along well. I wondered whether he would come to watch me train again.

As I focused, that feeling slowly melted away inside my heart and disappeared.

◆

Hammers clanged, and saws rasped. I could hear looms at work weaving cloth, children playing in the streets, and a boss calling for his apprentices. And together with these, I could hear work songs being sung to set a rhythm for their labor.

Having finished all kinds of jobs of my own, I stood at the entrance to Dwarftown—the common name for the area around the streets where the dwarves lived—listening to these bright and pleasant sounds.

As I looked around, I noticed that quite a number of extensions and modifications had been made to the stone houses, and many of them now looked more like workshops. Laundry lines were strung everywhere, and clothes were blowing about in the breeze. Thinking to myself that this place always felt alive, I walked in.

As I was walking down the street, one of the rasping noises ceased. Several dwarves who had been doing a little woodwork at the side of the road stopped, took off their hats, and bowed deeply to me. I knew one of them. That slightly chubby, cheerful dwarf with a bushy beard was...

“Thanks for your work, Thori.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Welcome, Paladin. All by your lonesome?”

“Ahaha. It’s nothing that calls for an attendant. Is Agnarr around?”

“If it’s Agnarr you want, he’s at home, I believe! Hodh, go run and let him know the Paladin’s coming!”

“Ai,” a younger dwarf said, nodding. He set down his tools.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that...”

“Nonsense! Agnarr wouldn’t feel right about us just sitting back and not giving our liege lord a proper welcome when he visits!”

“Ai!” The younger dwarf called Hodh nodded and dashed off before I could stop him.

Now that a messenger had been sent out to inform Agnarr about my visit, it would both be rude and a nuisance to him if I made my way over there too soon. After all, the point of sending a messenger to someone was to give them time to prepare. And since I wasn’t here often, I decided to spend a little time talking with Thori before going.

Many of the dwarves were people of relatively few words, but Thori was a talker, and laughed as if he was completely happy to have been born that way. I, too, found him approachable and easy to talk to.

“How has life been treating you recently?” I asked.

“Hahaha! It’s like night and day! I can make what I want, sell what I want! No need to worry about where tomorrow’s meal’s coming from! It’s a real blessing.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Has there been any trouble in the area, or anyone in poverty?”

“Hmm, well...”

Thori came up with a few examples: complaints about the noise from the smithy, trouble that was being caused by lifestyle differences between dwarves and men, and several bread-and-butter matters. I took out a copper writing implement that was a combination of a pen and an inkwell, and noted everything he said on the back of a miswritten document. Paper was too valuable to waste, so I kept a bundle of them on me for memo use.

“Oh? That portable pen is well made.”

“I had Agnarr make it for me some time ago.”

“That explains it. Agnarr’s work is good.”

A portable writing implement was quite a difficult thing to make, but he had made it straight away for me when I asked. There really were a lot of talented craftsmen among the dwarves.

“And... there have been a lot of people moving into this city recently, both humans and dwarves. We can’t complain, I mean, that’s what we did too. But that doesn’t mean we can always find jobs for them...”

“You do have a point.”

“But it’s not healthy for fit young people to be idling around all day not working.”

“Yes, it could even have an effect on crime.” I nodded.

It was good that more people were coming to this area as word of its development got around, but it was obvious that it wasn’t going to be easy to find jobs for all of them. There were a variety that had been created: the loading and unloading of cargo at the river port, the civil engineering and construction needed to turn the ruins back into a city, commerce and industry jobs, the timber trade, and even service jobs at eateries and taverns. However, that still didn’t make it easy to continually create enough employment to support dozens of new people.

Having a job is important. The feeling of contributing to society brings self-esteem to us humans, and if the job is lost, the self-esteem goes with it. At the same time, losing your job means losing your income. Everyone gets panicky and concerned when they’re financially insecure and have no idea what tomorrow will bring. People with low self-esteem who are full of anxiety and feeling pressured often only need one little push to turn to crime. They kind of get into a state where excuses for crime seem reasonable.

For instance:

“I’ve been backed into this terrible situation, so what do you expect?”

“I have no choice; I’m doing it to survive.”

“There’s no way I’m going to live much longer anyway, so I’ll just let loose and do whatever I want.”

“There’s nothing else I can do. I have no future anymore anyway. I’m not the only one to blame for this; society and everyone else who pushed me this far are just as much at fault. And even if I steal a little from this guy, it’s not like it’s going to kill him. Come on, be brave! Do it now!”

...And so on.

You might wonder how I could imagine something like that. The answer is that the terrible state I got myself into in my previous world hadn’t counted for nothing. I could roughly predict the thoughts of people on the precipice and those who weren’t far off.

Anyway, an increase in people like that meant more crime. Of course, there would certainly be people who would admirably endure their situation and not resort to crime, but there would also be perfectly ordinary people who couldn’t endure and would resort to such things. Since both groups existed in a certain proportion, an increase in the crime rate was going to be unavoidable the moment you upped the number of jobless, anxious people. And if you couldn’t avoid an increase in crime, public order would deteriorate, more resources would have to be spent on cracking down, and that would start a vicious circle. The problem had to be severed at the root.

People moving here was inevitable, so maybe the solution called for here was to somehow create jobs to keep the economy moving?

If problems like this were allowed to fester, the situations that could grow out of them were really bad. As the number of people coming here increased, people would start fighting over the simple labor jobs that didn’t require any particular skills. Public order would deteriorate. A conflict would flare up between the original residents and the migrants. Trouble would start.

It would develop in that manner from what was at first an economic battle into discriminatory feelings against a specific group. And once the economy and discriminatory views started to become entangled, it would cause serious problems that would easily last for several centuries.

This situation was a ticking time bomb, and if we couldn’t dismantle it here and now, the explosion in later generations was going to be horrific.

Even in my memories of my past life, the acceptance or restriction of immigration and refugees had been an incredibly large social issue. Now that I’d been put in the position of solving it myself, I understood well how difficult doing so actually was. The economy had to be grown by making sure money was changing hands and there were enough jobs to go around, and unless the issue was taken care of fully, it could snowball into something serious. It really was as Gus said: it was extremely important for money to circulate and keep on circulating. My head was starting to hurt thinking about it.

“Paladin, sir?” Thori said in a concerned voice, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Oh... Sorry. I’ll think up some kind of plan when I get back.”

I figured the first step would have to be talking with Tonio to get some kind of public infrastructure project started up, maybe port maintenance or irrigation projects or something, and take on a larger workforce. I also thought I’d better pick the brains of those who knew more about these things. Putting in honest legwork and gathering a consensus of opinions was fundamental to big projects like this. After all, I didn’t want to cause any riots, and that meant I needed to stimulate the economy before that had a chance to happen. It was also going to be important to reduce cultural friction.

Just as I’d finished organizing my thoughts, the young dwarf Hodh who had run off earlier came back with perfect timing. “Ai. Says he’ll be waiting.”

“All right. Thank you very much for taking the trouble.” I smiled and bowed slightly to him.

He opened his eyes wide and waved both hands in front of him frantically. “No, no! Don’t bow to me!”

“No, really, it was a big help. And you, Thori. Thank you very much for today. Let’s talk again.”

“It’s an honor to hear that from you, Paladin. Anytime!”

I bowed to both of them and left. The two responded by bending into deep bows until I left their sight, which I found kind of uncomfortable. I soon realized that the other dwarves in the street must have noticed me too, because they were also bowing.

Of course, my place in society was high enough now that it was only natural for that to happen, and strongly refusing their show of respect would only leave them in an awkward position. I had no choice but to accept it, but even so, I couldn’t help feeling a little unsettled. Was the reason something to do with my previous life’s memories, or was it just that I still wasn’t accustomed to it?

I felt that I needed to get used to things like this and learn to assume a dignified air. But on the other hand, the idea of becoming completely accustomed to having people revere me also scared me a little, and I worried that something precious inside me would go numb.

Becoming important wasn’t easy.

◆

“I apologize for the sudden visit.”

“Not at all. Thank you for coming.”

I was in the parlor of one of the larger mansions in Dwarftown. Those first solemn words had come from a dignified dwarf with a smooth bald head and a neatly braided steel-gray beard. He was Agnarr, the dwarf with the most influence in this town.

Beside him was a bony old dwarf with sleek white hair. I didn’t recognize him. My first thought was that his eyes looked pretty tired.

“This is Grendir. He represents the migrants who moved into this town just recently and is also my great-uncle.”

“Pleasure.” Keeping it short, he bowed his head to me.

“My name is William. I was entrusted with the governance of these Beast Woods by His Excellency Ethelbald, Duke of Southmark.” I placed my right hand over my heart, brought my left foot back slightly, and bowed to him in return. If he represented an entire group, I couldn’t afford to treat him lightly.

Grendir responded with the same gesture, performed with incredible fluidity. Did that mean he knew of the old etiquette? If he did—

“Please sit down.” My thoughts were interrupted by Agnarr offering me the seat that was reserved for the most important guests.

“Thank you very much.” Given my position, I couldn’t refuse this, so I suppressed the urge to be polite and sat down.

After a short while, Agnarr’s wife brought in some tea.

There are many stories about dwarven women. Some say they are beautiful and fairy-like, while others disagree and say they are incredibly chunky and muscular and have beards. But I had learned from meeting them personally that the correct answer was “all of the above.”

In their youths, dwarven women were just a little plump and beautiful like spirits of the forest. But perhaps because they didn’t care much about their appearances, once they got married, they quickly turned into looking like rough, middle-aged ladies. And the dwarven men weren’t very concerned about the change.

On top of that, it seemed to be part of dwarven culture to hide their women from outsiders and not let them out in public. I suspected that coincidental glimpses of female dwarves had been outsiders’ only source of information, and what had resulted were the extreme stories of them all being fairy-like or having beards.

As for whether Agnarr’s wife fell into the fairy or bearded category, I decline to comment.

I took a sip of my herbal tea and thought about how I should proceed. The Iron Country topic was one close to their hearts, so rather than asking about it immediately, I figured it would be better to have a little bit of friendly chat beforehand to break the ice.

Taking in the unique aroma and bitter taste of the herbal tea, I went with a safe question. “So, Grendir, why did you and your group come here?”

“To die.”

A terrible answer came back, and I had a coughing fit, almost spitting out my tea. “Ahem. Sorry.”

“Grendir, you will shock him being so blunt,” Agnarr said, lightly reproaching him.

Grendir made a troubled face, and went quiet for a while. I sat up straight and waited for him.

He spent some time collecting his thoughts, then started to speak in a composed voice. “We don’t have long ahead of us. It is our wish to die gazing at our homeland.”

“Sir William, for your information, Grendir is a survivor from the mountains to the west.”

Now things made a little more sense. I imagined that once I grew old and my final days approached, I would want to die gazing at the hill where that temple stood.

“The mountains of our old homeland are no longer ours, and the land at the base of the mountain had been transformed into a forest teeming with beasts. But after we heard the rumors that a hero had reclaimed that land...”

But that still didn’t mean I’d understood everything Grendir was feeling. I wondered how powerful those feelings must be.

“Looking from afar at our beloved mountain range, dreaming that one day our old home will be taken back. If I can die like that, how happy I would be... We all shared those same feelings with each other, and came here as fellows of similar mind.”

How sad must it be that they were unable to return to their homeland no matter how much they wished for it?

How frustrated must they feel that their homeland was stolen from them and they were never able to take it back?

How much must they have gone through to reach this point, where they could bring themselves to say they’d be happy to die looking from afar at the place that was once their home?

“We will do any job you ask of us. Please, as much trouble as it is, please allow us to stay in some corner of the city.”

I couldn’t truly understand the way he was feeling. But for that very reason, as the person in charge of Torch Port, I felt as if I had a duty to make a statement of intent and responsibility.

“Please don’t worry. I will do everything I can.” I held one of Grendir’s hands with both of mine, looked into his eyes, put feeling into my words, and hoped strongly that he would understand. “I will protect you all from injustice.”

“Ohh...” His hand trembled. My eyes shifted to it for a moment, and when I looked back, I saw that tears were streaming down his cheeks. He gripped back with his quivering hand, and said two words, over and over. “Thank you... Thank you...”

◆

Two hundred long years ago, those famous halls of stone known as the Iron Country had a monarch. Short and thin in stature, he was a pensive lord of few words who preferred the art of language to that of fighting. He was the final ruler of the Iron Country, and his name was Aurvangr.

He had inherited the country from the previous monarch and ran the kingdom smoothly, but it was said that the warriors there bemoaned the fact that their new king was beloved not by Blaze, god of fire, but by the god of knowledge, Enlight.

As for the people, they did not dislike their monarch. He treated both those who could fight and those who could not equally and did not particularly differentiate between them. He understood the feelings of those who were not warriors well.

The warriors, however, were not happy about the fact that they, who stood at the front lines in constant danger and were prepared to sacrifice their lives, were treated the same as those who were not. They furiously bewailed their monarch as they downed their drinks, shouting in outrage with raised fists that he took them too lightly and that his name was the only part of him that was the least bit manly or grand.

The only response the monarch Aurvangr ever gave to these complaints and angry voices was a flustered laugh.

Though there was a small amount of dissent, the kingdom was running well on the whole. It was a peaceful time. The kingdom enjoyed prosperity and was full of happiness, and though there were small misfortunes, there were always people who could afford to lend a helping hand. No one ended their lives by the roadside, angry, suffering, and resenting the world.

But the storm came.

It was a catastrophe, an invasion by hell’s demons. The most famous southern countries of the Union Age fell one after another, burned to the ground, and the demonic forces closed in upon the Iron Country.

Though numerous titles existed to refer to that king of demons, there was no one who knew his true name. He was called the Undying Bladefiend, the King Among Kings. The Purest Evil, the Inexhaustible Darkness, the Rider of Warstorms, the Cackler...

The High King of the Eternals.

Their defeat was beyond questioning. The southern kingdoms of Southmark had all been known as powerful countries capable of standing as the first line of defense against the forces of evil, and the High King had toppled them with the ease of tearing thin paper. How many days could they last against such an enemy, even in the underground halls of the famous Iron Mountains?

Furthermore, the latest word was that there were ancient dragons among the High King’s forces, and this news had turned every warrior among them pale and speechless. It was at that time that a messenger came from the demons.

“Will you serve the High King?” the demon said.

He explained that the High King liked swords, and that he could make his own forces but not weapons. Then, he made them an offer, saying that the mountains of iron would be left alone if they could serve him with the skill of their craftsmen. He suggested that if warriors existed to protect the people, accepting his offer would be the right choice.

Saying he would hear their answer in three days, the demon departed, leaving the dwarves behind with bitter looks on their faces.

An explosion of debate followed. A gag order was placed, but the rumor of the demon’s message spread in no time at all, and soon everyone was talking about it. In fact, throwing them all into disarray might have been just another part of the demon’s plan.

The monarch alone was silent.

The dwarves were an insular people to begin with, and some among them said that if the only difference was going to be who they sold their weapons to, they didn’t see the problem. Mothers with infants made pleas as well, saying that their children would die if they were dragged into a war.

The monarch alone was silent.

Of course, there were also many people who insisted that demons could not be trusted and that they should fight to the death. But when it came to how to fight them, everyone had a different opinion and no conclusion could be reached. Everyone was in chaos, and everyone was emotional, screaming, and wailing. There was even bloodshed. No one knew what to do.

The monarch alone was, as always, silent.

And the day came, with the silent monarch’s lieges unable to decide on anything. It was then that Aurvangr spoke for the first time.

“I will decide,” he said, and stepped in front of the demon who had returned to hear their response.

“And what is your answer?” the demon said.

“This.” Aurvangr drew his blade across the demon’s neck with lightning speed, lopping his head off. The demon collapsed with a heavy thud.

The enchanted sword Calldawn, passed down in the Iron Country for generations, gleamed with a perfect shine, allowing none of the demon’s blood to taint its surface.

“This is the steel you wanted. The weapon you wanted. And you shall have it!” The small, thin dwarf-lord raised his sword high into the air.

The people cheered. The warriors were choked with tears. Realizing that they had terribly misjudged their monarch, they prostrated themselves in apology and shame for their ignorance.

Then, the fallen demon’s head began to laugh. “The dragon is coming.” It was an ominous, thick voice, and bloody foam spilled from his mouth as he spoke. “The dragon is coming! The dragon is coming! Valacirca! Calamity’s sickle descends upon you!” The demon screamed madly, only the whites of its eyes visible. “Nothing will survive!”

Aurvangr stamped on the demon’s head and crushed it. Then, he muttered. “I won’t let that happen.”

◆

Preparations for battle proceeded quickly. The dwarven warriors surrounded themselves in iron, with helmets, armor, axes, and shields.

“We will draw in hell’s demons and kill them all beneath the earth,” the monarch Aurvangr declared. “Let these underground passages be their graves.”

The people and the warriors all obeyed his words, and made preparations to kill the demons. They set up fiendish traps and complex labyrinths, readying for the demon siege.

They finished in only a few days, and once they were done, Aurvangr gathered them in the great hall and gave them an order.

“All of those who are not warriors, and all warriors who are young and inexperienced: leave the Iron Mountains now.”

When the people heard this, there was an outcry. They had been intending to die with their monarch. Did he think of them as dead weight? They wanted to be be allowed to stay.

Despite the din of anger, disappointment, and pleading voices from the crowd, Aurvangr remained quiet. He allowed the people to have their say for a while, and once the roar of the crowd seemed to have lessened, he struck the floor with the end of Calldawn’s scabbard. The sound echoed around, and the din became a murmur.

Having found the right moment to continue, he rested his hands on the end of the sword’s handle, raised his head high, and said, “My people: I am going to die. All the warriors who stay behind will likely die as well.”

Everyone fell silent. Aurvangr’s words were the words of a dying man.

“But we must not permit the death of the Iron Country.” His words were full of quiet determination. “My people: I think of you like my own children, and therefore, it rends my heart to give you such a selfish order. But I must order you regardless: live on!”

The monarch spoke without stopping. “Even if you lose your homeland, and are tarnished with humiliation and regret, I command you to descend the mountain and live on! That is the battle I order of you! You do not run today, you take command over a different battlefield!”

His voice echoed throughout the great hall. “As lord and warriors we shall protect our pride, protect our names, and die in these mountains where the spirits of our ancestors slumber! And you will abandon your pride and put all your being into life! You must never allow the fire of the furnace to die!”

He drew a deep breath, and shouted one more time. “Men, live on! Live and fight! Until we return to glory again! That is my final order!”

Those were the last words the survivors ever heard spoken by the Iron Country’s final ruler.

He took the warriors and left the great hall, and after readying themselves for their battle, they confronted the tremendous demon army and the ancient dragon without fear. Every one of them fought valiantly, and every one of them died.

The dwarves who went down the mountain and the warriors who were protecting them lost their homeland, and they became a wandering people. They crossed to the north with many refugees, living lives full of suffering and humiliation. But in spite of it all, they grit their teeth, kept the words of their lord in their heart, and for the next two hundred years, some as craftsmen, others as mercenaries, they survived.

◆

“That is our secret, the tale passed down among the people of the Iron Mountains,” said the bald dwarf Agnarr, his face flushed red from alcohol. “I wasn’t born at the time. As for Grendir...”

Grendir, the white-haired dwarf, was crying. It was probably half because he had some strong firewater in him, but even so, he really was a mess of tears.

I had asked them if they would talk to me about their past, and they had quietly nodded and told me their story.

“I... We had only just been appointed warriors to the king at the time...” Grendir snivelled like a child. “We couldn’t even fight beside the warriors who came before us... We just had to obey the order and... run away with the others...” He broke into sobs. Agnarr watched over him uncertainly.

Eventually, he continued. “And that was not easy. It was cold... and too hard a journey for the children... Oh, the children... They kept dying. There was a bright boy, always smiling and urging everyone around him to keep going, and he became increasingly exhausted, until even a smile was more than he could muster... He was a shell of himself, and then a cold was all it took, he stopped moving, even, and... just died. He died on my back as I carried him!”

The long train of refugees suffered random attacks by lone demons. There was dissension over their scarce food supply. And even when they reached a town, there were more of them than the towns could handle. It was the same when they crossed to the north; they were just one group of many in the same situation, and found it very difficult to find jobs.

“I no longer remember how many died. Slurping mud and gnawing on tree roots wasn’t the worst by far. Young women sold their youth for bowls of porridge for their children. Some of the men who couldn’t stand by any longer turned to thievery and were beaten to death for it. We were skin and bone, reduced to begging...”

I quietly listened to him talk and realized that the dwarf-lord’s bravery and the people’s anguish had already brought tears to my eyes.

“And yet we lived... We lived. We overcame that age of chaos and lived through the next two hundred years. Somehow, we lived through...” Grendir spoke quietly. “And then you, William, you returned this land back to the hands of people. Not only that, you even cry with us.”

Grendir gazed up in the direction of the Rust Mountains—no, the Iron Mountains.

“Someday, we’ll be able to go back. Someday, we’ll be able to return it all to the way it was. Someday, we’ll be able to achieve what our ruler ordered...” His voice was shaking. “How precious a thing it is to be able to believe that... How grateful we are...”

As Grendir thanked me over and over, he slowly fell into an alcohol-induced sleep. He had been downing drink after strong drink to help him talk about his painful memories, so it was only natural.

“Grendir must have been happy to bare his heart to someone,” Agnarr said, smiling. “That is our history. I hope you can understand.”

“Thank you so much. That must have been incredibly difficult for you both.”

“You’re welcome.”

There were a few more words to wrap things up, and then I departed Agnarr’s mansion.

I had been so engrossed in their story of the past as we all drank together that I hadn’t noticed how much time had gone by. When I got outside, it was already evening. The dwarves had finished their work and were either returning to their houses or stopping by taverns.

As for me, I was doing a lot of thinking. I thought about those mountains of iron, the dwarves who were left behind, the feelings of the then-monarch Aurvangr. I thought about Blood, Mary, and Gus, who had lived during that time; the fearsome High King; and the Union Age, when the world was prosperous and peaceful. I also thought about the Lord of Holly’s prophecy.

And as I walked aimlessly with my thoughts wandering over all these things, it suddenly occurred to me how dark it had gotten. It was already nighttime. Because there weren’t many lights here, night was a lot darker in this world than in my past one.

As I stood confused in front of a row of nondescript houses wondering what street I was on, the light from a tavern caught my eye. I decided to walk over. I was sure that if I got a look at the sign hanging outside, I’d at least be able to figure out what street this was. This “city” was small enough for that to work.

Then, I heard some kind of commotion and the sound of someone being punched. Was there a tavern brawl going on? I quickened my pace, and someone came crashing backwards out of the door to the tavern. I hurriedly caught him. His braided black hair fluttered.

“Oh!”

It was that dwarf who had come to see my morning training. He looked like he had been badly beaten.

◆

After catching him, I froze for a second in surprise. He looked surprised as well, but recovered before I could. Ducking a quick bow to me, he went straight back into the fray inside the tavern, yelling out, “Stop this!”

It only took a short glance to tell me most of what I needed to know about what was going on inside. The tavern was a mess of tipped-over tables and chairs, and two male customers, both human, were in there having a fight. They both looked like pretty muscular craftsmen, and their faces were red. They probably had a lot of alcohol in them already.

“Ahh! Stay outta this!”

“This ain’t got no’n’a do with you! Bug off!”

The two of them started getting heated, breathing heavily, stinking of booze. The other patrons were either watching from a distance and trying not to get involved, or deliberately fanning the flames from the sidelines. The young tavern girl looked troubled.

“Please, stop, I said!” The dwarf was trying to physically separate the two of them, but he wasn’t very good at it. In fact, he was just getting thumped and shoved away without any effort. I couldn’t really understand it. He looked strong enough to me from where I was standing.

Then it clicked: he wasn’t used to physical fighting. He was timid, and the way he moved showed he was afraid of hurting either of them, which put the craftsmen who were used to fighting and committed to their punches at an obvious advantage.

In this dangerous age, it was unusual to see someone so unused to fighting. With his muscle and physique, the dwarf could just grab hold of one of them and squeeze as hard as he could, and it would be pretty effective.

“You want a fight, I’ll give you a fight!”

“Sto—pmfh?!”

Ouch. That looked like it hurt.

There was a reason, by the way, that I was just standing by and watching: no one had yet drawn any weapons. This wasn’t the peaceful society of my previous world; here, it was the norm for even craftsmen to keep at least a dagger with them on their belts or hidden in an inside pocket. They hadn’t drawn those, and what’s more, they weren’t getting violent against anyone else. In other words, though the people here may have been getting riled up, they were all exercising at least a minimum of restraint by this world’s standards.

“Do it outside, you’re disturbing the other—gmf!”

“Just shut your piehole!”

“Butt out already!”

I thought I should probably just watch for a little longer. The dwarf was doing his best to keep them off each other, after all, and they probably had a reason for fighting. If I, the liege lord, stepped in all of a sudden, it would just make everything into a big deal and—

“Gaaaah—Hey! Hold this guy down for me!”

“Yeah, let’s shut him up. Then it’s back on!”

And then, confusingly, the two who’d been fighting started teaming up. The dwarf kept coming back to stop them no matter how many times they punched him, so it seemed they’d come to an agreement on removing him first. I started to wonder if the two of them weren’t usually on pretty good terms.

“Get down and stay down!”

One of them grabbed him around the neck, while the other started kneeing him repeatedly. I thought this had probably gone far enough now. I didn’t mind when it was just two men fighting each other bare-handed, but I couldn’t stand for them ganging up on someone else.

“Let’s stop now, all right?” I said, stepping into the tavern.

“Huh?! Who as—”

“Not another...”

The two of them turned to look at me and completely froze. Both their mouths hung open. The patrons who had been cheering them on did the same.

“Let’s stop now. I can’t continue to overlook this.”

The color instantly drained from their red faces. See? This is why I wanted to avoid this... Oh well.

“I have no intention of making a big deal out of this. You’ve just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all. Am I right?” I looked each of them in the eye, seeking an answer. They just nodded repeatedly. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone nod so hard. “Then why don’t you just say sorry to the people here, go home for today, and hit the hay? Don’t worry, I won’t make anything of this.” I smiled.

The two of them cringed—I had no idea why they were so terrified—and started apologizing to the dwarf and tavern girl with incredible energy. The exhilaration and headiness of alcohol felt very empty once you sobered up.

“We caused you all this trouble...”

“Should never’a let the drink get the better’a us!”

Apologizing profusely, they left behind money to compensate the tavern for the trouble they’d caused, and then they cleared off together. So they had come here together. They were probably usually good friends.

They left behind them the worn-out dwarf, the stunned barmaid, and the rest of the patrons. Now what was I to do about this...

◆

The dwarf had been hit a few too many times and seemed to be feeling groggy, but he soon came around. Specifically, after I settled everyone down, he came to before I had a chance to cast a resuscitation blessing on him. He was a tough one.

“Oh...” He looked round and round and then, as though grasping the situation, he bolted to his feet. “Tha-Thank you for...!”

“Hold on, hold on.” I stuck my palm out against his forehead and stopped him from bowing. “Your face and head were hit quite a lot. You shouldn’t make sudden movements like quickly standing up or lowering your head.”

“Oh... Okay...”

I explained to him that even when it didn’t look like much, damage to the head could lead to situations that were no joke. He seemed to calm down after that. I got the tavern girl to bring him a chair, and sat him down. “Also, a washcloth, chilled with well water or something, please.”

“Yes, sir!”

I realized there were far fewer patrons here now. It made sense. They’d come to the tavern on the way back from work, planning to gripe and let loose a bit, and were just having a good time watching a fight that had broken out when suddenly the liege lord had wandered in and shut it all down. Anyone who wanted to stay out of trouble would obviously find another place to drink.

I reflected on the trouble I’d caused the place as I spread out a hand in front of the dwarf’s hazel eyes. “How many fingers do you see?”

“Three.”

“All right, that’s good. Do you feel queasy or cold? Any headaches?”

“Nothing.”

“What’s your name?”

He fell silent for a moment, as if deciding what he should say, and then finally spoke. “Al.”

Al wasn’t a very dwarf-like name. They usually sounded rougher and used a lot of voiced consonants. It might have been a nickname or something.

“Al. Okay. You might already know, but I’m William. Nice to meet you.”

“I-It’s very nice to meet you, too.”

He wasn’t having any trouble responding, and I couldn’t see any dangerous symptoms like arm or leg convulsions or non-stop nosebleeds. I’d have to see how things went, but for now he didn’t seem to have any problems. Still...

“I’m amazed there’s so little wrong with you after being punched about and even repeatedly kneed like that.”

“Toughness is my strong point,” the black-haired Al said, smiling.

Benediction wasn’t something to just use whenever I felt like it, so it was always better if regular treatment could do the job. I gave my thanks to the tavern girl and held the wet washcloth against the places where he’d been hit. “One more thing. Where’s the tavern owner? I’d like to apologize for adding to the disturbance.”

“Oh, my father is... laid up at the moment...” The tavern girl broke my gaze and looked at the floor sadly. So that was why this place was so unruly right now.

“Do you want me to take a look at him?”

“I, I would never dream of asking so much of you, sir...!”

Being in a position of importance really was frustrating.

“I don’t mind. My god would be angry with me if I knowingly abandoned a sick person. And a paladin can’t afford to be forsaken by his god; that wouldn’t even make for a good tragedy in this day and age.” I shrugged jokingly, and the tavern girl’s expression softened as well. “Once he heals up, I would encourage him to pay a visit to a place of worship and make an offering.”

“Y-Yes, of course...!”

“All right, then, Al. I’ll be right back, so please just rest there.” I made my way to the tavern’s living quarters.

◆

The tavern owner’s illness wasn’t that big a deal. It was just a stubborn skin disease. But since it affected how he looked, it was understandable that he couldn’t come into the tavern. He had to consider the impressions it gave the patrons and the rumors that might spread.

I placed my palm against the affected areas and prayed. It cleared up immediately.

“Ohh...”

“Thank you so much... Thank you so much...!”

“The god of the flame gave me this power. So please, show your appreciation to her,” I laughed.

“U-Um, what about... payment or... donations... or...”

“Lots and lots, please.”

“Huh?”

“Lots and lots of appreciation. Give only the money or things you can spare; all I ask is that whatever you give is full of feelings of gratitude for the god of the flame.”

The father and daughter laughed at my bad joke.

This was something Bishop Bagley had told me a long time ago. If you didn’t seek payment for healing people, ultimately, not paying would become the default, and the entire priesthood would feel the squeeze. Sentimentally, I wanted to heal people for free, but priests couldn’t survive on air alone any more than anybody else, so I could see that it was necessary to seek at least a little in return.

“In that case, why don’t I cook something for you? Right now, if you want!”

“Father’s cooking is really good!”

“Oh, wow, I’d love that. As it happens, I skipped dinner today by accident...”

Once we had a pleasant mood going, we returned to the tavern to find Al repairing the door. Come to think of it, the door broke, didn’t it, when he—

“Wait, what are you doing?!”

“I was bored just sitting around...”

“You’re injured, you’re supposed to be—wow!”

The door and its destroyed latch were now almost completely fixed, despite the fact that he could only have used makeshift materials and tools.

I was seventeen solstice years old now, and I’d been living in this world for sixteen years already. Woodwork and craftsmanship weren’t beyond my understanding and I could even do a bit of them myself, but that was how I could tell.

“Wow...”

His skill was on a different level.

It was only a casual quick fix, but that made the difference in skill even more obvious. In a very short span of time, he had done a beautiful repair job that couldn’t be faulted.

“Ooh!”

“Now that’s something.”

The tavern owner and his daughter were equally impressed.

“No, it’s really nothing... Not compared to you, William...” Al, however, spoke to the floor. “You’re strong and brave and...” It seemed as though he didn’t have much confidence in himself. Because of my memories of my previous life, I could kind of understand how he felt. But that was all the more reason...

“You should stop saying things like that.”

“Huh?”

I squatted down and gazed up at him, looking him in the eyes. As I remembered the way Mary had spoken to me, I realized I was speaking a little more politely than usual. If I’d have been depressed like this, she would probably have said something like...

“Stop jinxing yourself by calling yourself weak and cowardly in a roundabout fashion. Words have power. Power to bind people and curse people.”

His hazel eyes wavered hesitantly.

“It’s one thing for an enemy to curse you, but please stop placing such curses on your own heart. Don’t you think that you at least should be your own heart’s biggest ally?”

In my past life, I hadn’t been able to manage that, either, so I wasn’t really one to talk. But despite that, I spoke firmly and with a smile. There were times when it was important to pretend, regardless of what you might or might not have achieved in your past.

“R-Right!”

I was glad to see that Al seemed to be sitting up a little bit straighter.

◆

This world had a type of cooking called jar-boiling, in which all kinds of ingredients were put into a wide-mouthed jar with water, alcohol, salt, herbs, and spices, and brought to a simmer. In essence, it was basically a hotchpotch, but when it was made by someone who was good at it, the delicious, savory taste of the broth, the flavor of the herbs, and the piquancy of the spices all complemented each other perfectly, and it tasted very good.

There was such a jar placed in front of me at this very moment, with a large lid over its wide opening. The tavern girl lifted the lid with a thick cloth, and a wonderful smell swelled out. It was jar-boiled river fish.

“Wow...”

Inside, there was large white fish of the kind that could be reliably caught in the great river flowing beside Torch Port, chopped-up in-season vegetables, slightly aged wine, rock salt, and herbs, all cooked together into a stew. It came with crusty multigrain bread, a piece of cheese with a distinctive smell which was apparently goat’s cheese, and even wine diluted with hot water.

This would be categorized as a top-class meal. Even a main meal of porridge with a few vegetable scraps mixed in and a garnish of some kind of salty preserved food would have counted as “pretty good.” While visiting the poor villages of Beast Woods to offer medical treatment, I had often found myself floored by what was offered to me for food. In this area and time period, it was all too common to find food that had abandoned the concepts of nutritional balance and eating for pleasure. It made me appreciate that “cooking” was an art that could only exist upon a foundation of wealth. So I was very grateful for proper meals.

“Mater our Earth-Mother, gods of good virtue, bless this food, which by thy merciful love we are about to receive, and let it sustain us in body and mind.” I said grace, the same prayer as usual. It had become a habit by now.

Prayer was a very effective method for changing your mood and putting your thoughts in order. This was something I had only learned after being born into this world.

“For the grace of the gods, we are truly thankful.”

Even in my previous life, religion was something that had been passed down continuously for millennia. Anything surviving that long had to have considerable advantages and utility. That much was obvious.

“Cheers.” I raised my cup to the black-haired dwarf named Al. Al timidly raised his cup back.

I used a large wooden ladle to serve it out from the jar into earthenware bowls.

“Oh, this is good.”

The fish fell apart very easily, and the roughly chopped vegetables had absorbed the flavor of the broth. It had a slightly salty taste and went well with alcohol. This was probably the way the laborers liked it.

Al nodded in agreement. He dipped some of the crusty bread into the sauce and ate it. It looked delicious, so I copied him. It was indeed delicious. I also enjoyed the unique flavor of the cheese. It would have been too pungent on its own, but it was just right paired with the bread.

The two of us ate up the tavern cooking with relish. Al’s expression had been quite stiff in the beginning, but the tasty cooking seemed to have mellowed his mood.

A question occurred to me. “Come to think of it, what brought you here to begin with?”

I didn’t doubt in the least that he was well intentioned and had only been trying to stop those two from fighting. That was clearly the kind of person he was. But there were a lot of humans in the streets around here. Fortunately, there hadn’t yet been any large public clashes between races here in Torch Port, but even so, dwarves and humans had different cultures and led different lifestyles. It was inevitable that the residential areas would end up becoming a little segregated. What had brought a dwarf like him here?

“U-Um, I...”

I nodded and waited patiently while he tried to get his words out.

“I, I only just moved here, and...”

“Go on.”

“T-To, ah, get a feel for the place? I guess you’d say, or... umm, I mean...”

Ahh, so he was exploring, I thought, but deliberately didn’t say it myself, instead nodding for him to continue.

“Something like... exploring...” He seemed to shrink back into his chair as he said it.

“There’s nothing very strange about that, if you ask me. It’s necessary, right?”

“Yes...”

This city had its share of nasty people, but I paid attention, and Reystov and company also kept watchful eyes out, so no one dared to start anything big in public areas like the main streets. And since no major trouble would start just from walking around, it was relatively important to do that first of all and become familiar with the area. Obviously, this world didn’t have public transport, detailed city maps, traffic signs, or house numbers on display. Unless you walked around on your own two feet for a while taking in everything you saw, you really wouldn’t know your way around.

Al might have been peering at my morning training not just because he was interested in it, but also to make sure he knew the location of the liege’s mansion.

“The clan is busy trying to smooth everything out, but it’s still...”

“Oh, you mean Grendir?”

“Oh, um, yes.”

“Don’t worry about that. We have it mostly organized.”

I hadn’t only been listening to their old war stories. Agnarr and I had also made progress on dividing up the residential areas, lending out what was needed to get by for now, and organizing the amount of people who wanted to migrate here and their various skills.

I told Al that in any case, there was no need for him to worry, and he looked at me with eyes full of all kinds of emotions. They were eyes that looked up from below, as a child on the street might look up to an adult, and they were full of envy, respect, admiration, and probably a little self-deprecation and submissiveness.

“You’re amazing.”

I recognized those eyes somehow. I had probably looked just like this in my previous life. That was probably why.

“You’re strong, dependable, you can even manage other people. Seriously, compared to me...”

“Well, why don’t you give it a go yourself?”

“Huh?”

I couldn’t help it anymore. I had to do something for him. “You can reach a certain level of strength just by eating and training. Seeming dependable is all down to how you act and building confidence through experience. And you naturally learn how to manage other people when you have enough experience interacting with them.”

All a person needs to gain those things is an average body, an average brain, and a little bit of strength to act on their desires. That was the case both in my past world and in this one. If a person is unable to gain those things, it’s often the case that their motivation is broken, or has been broken. Some event may have broken them down. It can happen to anyone.

Going by the information I could remember, I seemed to have received a reasonable education in my past life, and I had been doing well up until a certain point, ambitious in my own way. I couldn’t remember where I’d broken or been broken, but there are often other factors besides willpower, ability, and talent that play a part in things like this.

For instance, one’s environment and luck. Even the most determined and talented person, if they are unlucky enough to be cast into a hostile, cruel, negative environment, can be knocked down and beaten until broken. And whether they can recover from that is entirely up to the whims of fate.

Life is not always wonderful. Not everything in life is beautiful, nor is it good. There are people who love to put others down and make them suffer. If you look for the reason they became so twisted, you will find a second perpetrator, and if you look for the reason that perpetrator became twisted, you will find a third. I had learned through leaving the city of the dead that even deplorability like that was simply part of the reality of this world.

I now found it understandable that the god of death, Stagnate, had come out with the idea of a paradise for only the most distinguished of undead. Of course, “it’s understandable” was as far as I could go. Faced with the question of whether I could accept it or not, the answer was no, I could not, and I’d decided I wouldn’t. Which was why—

“It must be some kind of fate that I met you here. If you’re willing, Al, would you consider assisting me by becoming my squire for a while?”

As one who had decided not to accept the god of undeath’s ideals, I felt as though I had a duty to make sure the way I lived was equally principled. For instance, by not saying goodbye here and instead offering a helping hand to a person on the verge of giving up.

Al avoided my gaze, looking at the hand offered to him.

“D-Do you really... mean it...?”

I nodded and smiled at him.

Even though I’d made the offer with the best of intentions, there was no guarantee that he’d take it. Trust was something to be gradually fostered, and helping people took patient, steady effort. It was much rarer that one could just come up with an idea and have everything sort itself out at the snap of a finger. Even if I couldn’t get him to be receptive to my suggestion now, I thought I’d like to build up a friendship with him while I kept my arm patiently extended.

“Don’t worry, I’m not just saying it. After all, sorcerers are free to change the subject or remain silent, but lying is the one thing they must never do.”

“Ah... I think I’ve... heard that before...”

“Yes. It’s true. And I’m also a user of magic.”

According to Gus, if a sorcerer lied, the power his Words held would be weakened. Words could carry different weight depending on who used them, and could be blunt or sharp. The Words of a liar accustomed to telling falsehoods would lose both their weight and their edge as time went on. That was why, even though magic was something that could be studied and practiced, only a handful of people were capable of becoming great sorcerers.

“So I don’t lie. If you have some kind of ambition, and you want to try doing something about it, I want to help you.”

Al was silent for a while. He sheepishly extended his hand, then pulled it back. “I might... cause you a lot of trouble...” He breathed in deeply. “But please teach me.”

He took my hand.

◆

Not only was Al a recent migrant here with no sense of where anything was, it was also nighttime. So for the time being, I decided to help him back to Dwarftown.

When I got there, there was a bit of a commotion going on. As I got closer, wondering what this was about, I saw a frenzied group of dwarves, each of whom was carrying a light. They noticed Al and their faces changed color.

“Young master!” They rushed up to him noisily.

“Where in the world have you been?!”

“You have to tell us where you’re going!”

“We were all so worried...”

These and other comments pelted Al like machine-gun fire. I could tell that they’d all been worried for him, but they seemed to be making his head spin.

“In any event, I’m glad you’re safe!”

“I, I’m sorry!”

Ahhh. Yeah. Yeah. I got the feeling I understood Al’s upbringing and his problem. I had no idea how important Al was, but he was probably descended from dwarven nobility.

Based on the old stories I’d heard from the dwarves, their most ardent desire was the revival of the Iron Country. They wanted to take back their lost homeland. Of course, I thought that was a good thing. The noble bloodline was also one of the integral components in achieving that, so I could understand them not wanting to lose it.

But in Al’s case, that attitude seemed to be toxic. I figured he was more or less an adult now, yet simply going out on his own to check out the city and coming home late was enough to create a big fuss. He had probably been protected to such an extent that he had never had a proper fight before and had been raised with care, a lot of care, too much care.

I didn’t think of him as a spoiled rich boy brought up under the protection of adults.

I remembered from my previous life. I had read it at some point. I knew. Overprotection and excessive interference are forms of abuse.

Don’t do that. Don’t do this. You should do this. You should do that. The correct decision to make is this one. How many children manage to develop decisiveness, action, and willpower when everything involving them is decided by others like that? I understood the reason why he’d shrunk into his chair when he told me he went exploring: he was being raised in an environment where even that wasn’t allowed as it should have been.

“Anyway, please, don’t do this kind of thing anymore,” one of the dwarves said, trying to wrap up the discussion.

Wearing an expression that kind of showed he was feeling smothered, Al went to nod.

“Excuse me,” I said.

This was a family problem and none of my business, but I didn’t want to see how Al would end up in the future if things continued as they were. Even though it may have been a bit headstrong of me, I thought that this alone was a good enough reason for chiming in.

“My name is William G. Maryblood.” I placed my right hand lightly over the left side of my chest and did a simple, traditional bow, purposefully choosing the one for greeting those of lower rank.

There were many older dwarves among them. My name and my gesture quickly tipped them off, and they hurriedly responded with the bow for greeting a superior.

“First, I would like to apologize. I happened to meet Mister Al in town, and the two of us hit it off. I’m afraid I kept him talking until quite late.”

“N-No, that’s all right!”

I could hear whispers from the back and words like “liege” and “paladin.” I also saw a number of people trying to get a measure of my strength by sight, so I made no attempt to conceal it through my stance or movements. I made sure to present myself as strong.

“It’s really him.”

“Horrifically strong.”

The whispers continued. A dwarf with a plainly visible scar on his face warned the others with a heavy air. “More than that. All of us put together wouldn’t stand a chance against him. We’d be crushed.”

I, uh, I wasn’t sure I’d go that far. If everyone here suddenly turned on me, I could see myself hesitating about how to deal with it and making a wrong move.

As many of the other dwarves went pale upon hearing his words, the dwarf with the scarred face pushed through them and stood before me. “My name is Ghelreis. I would like to express our acceptance of your apology regarding the young master, and our deepest gratitude for your concern.” He cast a hard look over me. He had the eyes of a soldier. “Well, then, what business do you have with us?”

“I wish to take Mister Al as my squire.”

A murmur rose among the dwarves.

◆

“You say you want the young master... as your squire?”

“But...”

“But that’s...”

The murmurs spread, and some people started to raise their voices.

“Master, being the paladin’s squire would be terribly dangerous!”

“You’d be taken along on beast hunts!”

“I beg you to reconsider!”

I looked at Al. He looked as if he didn’t know where to turn, and his forehead was damp with sweat.

“I think you had better spend a night slowly thinking this over.”

“That’s right. We’ll all talk about it together.”

Al went pale as they kept on pressing him. I could see he was about to nod. It was probably almost a reflex by now.

So I asked simply, “What do you want to do?”

Al’s eyes opened wide and his pupils trembled slightly, as if the voices all around him were making him hesitate. Then he pressed his lips into a hard line.

“I...” He forced the words out. “I want to study under this man!” His voice carried surprisingly well, enough that all the other dwarves, taken aback by his sudden outburst, fell silent. “I want to know what makes a warrior, what bravery is! I want to grasp the answer for myself, with my own hands!” His words were filled with a heat like fire. “Without exposing myself to danger, without taking a step forward on my own, what of warriors can I learn?! What of bravery can I learn?!”

Al pulled himself up straight, his braided black hair bouncing as he did. A scorching light dwelt in his wide-open hazel eyes. “I want to be one who feels no shame in who I am, not before the great spirits of our ancestors nor before the gods who created us! How can I claim to be a dwarf without knowing of battle, valor, and chivalry?! I have no intention of changing my mind!”

Al’s lone shouting overwhelmed the burly mountain-folk. I was amazed. To be honest, I never expected him to be able to say it so clearly. He was more amazing than I thought.

“Sir Will! I would like you to make me your squire here and now!” Al ran up to me, got down on one knee, clasped his hands together, and held them up to me. I heard Blood’s voice in the back of my mind.

— In the way of the warrior, clasping both your hands together and presenting them to another is a symbol of offering your “sincerity.” If a warrior offers you his sincerity, you have two choices: you either reject it, or you accept it by wrapping both your hands around theirs. Don’t do it lightly. Accepting a warrior’s sincerity is serious business.

It was night in the temple. Blue will-o’-the-wisps inhabited his vacant eye sockets. His skeletal jaw clacked audibly as he grinned.

— What does it mean? Well...

“The sincerity thou hast offered—” I took his fervent hands and wrapped mine around them. “I shall protect by mine own hands.”

When we finished our atypical handshake and Al looked up at me, his expression, which had been stiff and anxious with tension and heady emotion, relaxed with relief.

“That’s not the full ceremony, but all the same, I have accepted Al’s oath to become my squire. As his knight and master, I will now take your questions.” Clapping Al on the shoulder a couple times, I looked around at the dwarves. “I would also like to ask a question of all of you. Is my name insufficient to be his master, even if this is only temporary?”

A squire was not that low a status to hold in this day and age. There were even some members of the royal family and sons of nobility who, in order to add to their own prestige, served as squires of knights noted for their military and moral excellence.

In terms of the Kingdom, I was the feudal lord ruling over a faraway piece of land, and a retainer’s retainer. Specifically, I was a retainer of Ethelbald, Duke of Southmark, who was himself a retainer of King Owen. So, I wasn’t that high in the social order. But all the same, I had made names for myself and was well known as the Wyvern Killer, the Beast Killer, the Torchbearer, and the Faraway Paladin, among others. Whatever status Al had among the dwarves, I was confident that I had achieved enough that he shouldn’t feel ashamed to work for me.

The dwarves answered my question with hums and murmurs, stuck for an answer. Then Ghelreis muttered solemnly, “It is not for us to argue.”

“You accept this, Ghelreis?” another dwarf replied.

“The young master wills it.”

“But—”

“The young master,” Ghelreis repeated, “who has been considerate to our hardships and never once insisted upon his own way since childhood wills it.”

The dwarves who had been trying to argue back said nothing further.

“Young master, I will find a way to tell Grendir.”

“Th-Thank you, Ghelreis.”

“However—” Ghelreis turned a hard stare on Al, who twitched. “I will think of you as having died this day.”

“I...”

“Now that you have placed your sincerity in the hands of a superior warrior, never treat your life as something too precious to lose. Serve him well and be prepared to die without hesitation if that is called for.” The dwarf with the scar spoke to Al with a stern expression. The tension in his words made Al’s expression tighten as well. “Are we agreed?”

“I understand!”

Ghelreis looked at me. “Grendir and I will pay you a visit in the near future. The young master is in your hands.”

“I hear you loud and clear,” I answered, and the dwarf’s scar creased as he smiled gracelessly. It was the smile of a warrior, and it reminded me of Blood.