“I think you’ve got more,” I said.
He whined.
I needed him to know it was okay for him to go all out, to be more savage. That was probably what had to come first for him.
“If this is all you’ve got...” I dropped my hips and pushed forward with all my might.
“Wh-Whoa!” Al started sliding backwards, his feet leaving marks in the grass as he tried to press his weight into the ground.
“I can overpower you. I’m stronger.”
So it’s okay for you to go a little more wild. It’s okay for you to use all the strength you’ve got. As I spoke those words to him inside my heart, I maneuvered my body and pulled close to him, then lifted him up and threw him on the ground as hard as I could. I kept my grip on his collar to make sure he at least didn’t hit his head. He made a sound like the wind had been knocked out of him.
“Sorry, Al,” I said. “You lose.”
My general rule was to hold nothing back when it came to this side of things. Getting used to pain was a part of training, and I had to approach this prepared for him to hate me. I didn’t feel good about it, though.
“Ho—”
“Hm?”
“How do you do the move you just did?!” Al asked me with sparkling eyes, leaping to his feet immediately. Even though I was forcing him to run for ages, throwing him about, and making him go through stuff that was pretty painful and hard to endure, he showed absolutely no sign of giving in. He really was persistent and eager.
“That one?” I hummed in thought. “Menel, come here a sec.”
“What am I, your punching bag?”
“It’s easier to get the idea looking from the side. Please.”
“S-Sorry about this!”
Menel tutted. “Fine. You better give me a clean throw, you got it?! A clean throw!”
I wondered if the day Al became a warrior might come sooner than I expected.
◆
Training in magic in this world was similar at times to training in acting and calligraphy. To speak the Words, it was necessary to enunciate them precisely in terms of both pronunciation and volume, so vocal training was mandatory. Similarly, to use the characters—that is, the Signs—it was necessary to write them precisely, so penmanship practice was a requirement.
As a result, a sorcerer’s handwriting was naturally beautiful. I had heard that sorcerers who worked for powerful figures often served a second job as their scribe. I was no exception to this rule; Gus’s tough education had made sure that I could write quite beautifully.
I was in my office.
My quill, made from a beast feather, slowly traveled from left to right across the paper as I carefully wrote down the concise and formal message that I’d come up with in advance. I was using the very best quality paper I could get my hands on, and the same for the ink.
I finished writing and used some sand to absorb the excess ink. After folding the paper neatly in thirds to hide the text, I folded it again in thirds horizontally and prepared to apply the seal.
I slightly warmed some scarlet wax over a flame, dripped it onto the paper and sealed it, and then pressed the signet ring I’d made just last year onto the wax. It left behind a symbol of a flame shining on a ring of fate inside a shield. It was my family insignia, the crest of Maryblood. I’d had quite a few ideas for it, but ultimately I’d settled on a “ring and flame” symbol for Gracefeel, and a “shield” symbol to represent a knight.
Lastly, I made sure that the front had both my signature and the name of the recipient: Bishop Bart Bagley.
“Good.”
The letter contained a request for Bishop Bagley to search the libraries for some information for me.
I thought back on those words that the Lord of Holly had spoken in his domain in the woods.
— The fire of dark disaster shall catch in the mountains of rust. That fire shall spread, and this land may all be consumed. That land is now a den of demons, wherein the great lord of miasma and wicked flame slumbereth upon the mountain people’s gold.
And then there was what I’d heard from the dwarves.
— The dragon is coming. The dragon is coming! The dragon is coming! Valacirca! Calamity’s sickle descends upon you!
Based on what I knew now, I needed to have some research done in the temples and the Academy where the sorcerers assembled. After all, I was going to be up against a formidable opponent.
If “the fire of disaster” and “the lord of miasma and wicked flame” in the Rust Mountains had been a General-ranked demon, I would have been confident that I could scrape out a victory. Even if he had followers with him, I could manage something. I had built up enough experience over the last two years that I could say that for sure. And even if the worst came to the worst and it all looked hopeless, I still had my trump card, Overeater. As long as I didn’t make a mistake and get killed out of nowhere—and of course that was always a possibility in any battle—I could win against a General. But...
“Valacirca.”
If I remembered correctly, it was an Elvish word that referred to the Northern Sickle, a constellation made up of six stars. It consisted of two stars connected like a handle and four curved like a blade. Each of those stars had the name of one of the six main gods: the god of lightning, the Earth-Mother, and the gods of fire, fae, wind, and knowledge.
“Calamity’s sickle, the sickle of the gods—”
And the name of a dragon.
This dragon was feared enough to have earned that big of a name from the proud race of the elves. I was certain that it had to be a dragon in the true sense of the word, and it must have existed since time immemorial.
I’d never fought a dragon. They hadn’t even turned up in Blood’s heroic stories. So it was virtually impossible for me to even guess at their strength or my chances of winning.
Born at the time the Progenitor created the world, the dragons had wielded their power in the battles between the good and evil gods, power that was said to be unmatched by any except the gods themselves. They had huge, supple bodies covered in tough scales, and they possessed the innate intelligence to manipulate Words. They had strong wings to catch the wind, fangs as thick as trees, and claws as sharp as the finest blades.
Most of them had now vanished from the world. There was one theory that it was because the battles between the gods had reduced their numbers too severely, and another that they had left the confines of the physical world behind and ascended to the dimension of the gods. Whatever the truth of these theories, the fact of the matter was that there were hardly any dragons left in this world. Only the many ornate legends about them and the various demidragons that were said to have been their minions long ago were left as proof that the dragons had once existed.
“A dragon...”
To repeat: their power was second only to the gods. Even the Echo of Stagnate had been hopelessly dangerous, and that was after Gus had destroyed one half of his physical body and probably put him in a weakened state. He had brought me to the brink of death. If the goddess of the flame hadn’t come to my rescue, I would have died then and there. I remembered the terror the god of undeath had made me feel. A shiver ran down my spine.
“An Echo and a dragon...”
Which was stronger? I didn’t know. But I was certain of one thing: there was no chance at all of a dragon being significantly weaker than Stagnate.
I wanted to be extremely cautious. That was why I’d decided to send a request to the bishop to see if he could find out anything that could help me while I still had time to spare. All kinds of books and a lot of talented people were collected at the temple and the Academy to which Gus had once belonged. Apparently, the temple and Academy even had the occasional elf who had left the forest in search of knowledge sign up. There was a chance that some old oral lore would turn up.
I breathed out slowly to calm myself down.
I took a little bit of pride in my strength—I was a man, after all, and a warrior trained
by Blood. But at the same time, there was something I’d learned from all the battles I’d fought. Battles represented reality at its most cruel, treacherous, and unforgiving. Once one started, it was almost inevitable that someone would die.
“God...”
My hands were shaking for the first time in a while. This was an opponent who was at least my equal and probably stronger. There was a serious likelihood I could lose. It was an opponent who would probably steal away my life with heartless brutality.
“Oh, man...”
I found myself thinking about Mary. I remembered her hugs and the pleasant smell of fragrant wood burning. Will. William. I heard her voice, my mom’s voice, calling my name.
I murmured quietly. “I’m scared...”
“Don’t be so feckin’ gutless!”
I jumped. I was sure someone had heard me.
“Come on! Again!”
The voice was coming from outside the window. I looked out. Menel and Al were having a mock battle.
◆
“Hah!” Wearing armor and holding the practice sword I had made in his hands, Menel effortlessly kicked Al over. “What’re you doing hesitating to hit me when I’ve got armor on? You’re more of a softy than Will. A pushover!” Menel provoked Al and frowned down at the dwarf as he lay on the ground groaning. “Come on, what’s wrong? Giving up already? Gonna turn tail and run home, rich boy?”
“I, I’m not giving up!”
Al attacked him again with his practice sword. Menel didn’t even dodge. He allowed the sword to come straight down onto his forehead guard and didn’t so much as blink as the thud rang out.
“Brother, you’re hitting me square from the front and that’s all you’ve got? Are those thick arms just for decoration? Huh?” With the sword still resting on his head, Menel edged up to Al and glared at him. Al winced. “Oh? Oh? Cowering, huh? Just gonna cry and run away? Go on then.”
“I, I’m not going to run!”
“Then hit harder! Put some power into it, you loser!”
Al let out a wild yell and swung his practice sword about with all his might. Menel took the blows skillfully on his armor, but those impacts looked pretty heavy even with armor to block them. I was impressed that he wasn’t showing even a hint of pain.
Recently, Menel had been taking over the role of the strict coach for Al’s training.
Al was just too gentle. He had a lot of muscle power and showed good intuition when it came to learning technique, but when it came to actually hitting Menel with the practice sword or grappling, he would get beaten and thrown, even though I knew Menel had less muscle.
For a person, having the kindness to feel sympathy and be hesitant to hurt anyone was a virtue that couldn’t be faulted, but for a warrior, it was nothing other than a weakness. I’d discussed this with Menel, and we had concluded that the only way forward was to make the motions a matter of muscle memory. And so, Menel was being offensive towards Al, kicking him over, and pressuring him with an intense focus on making him strike back. Just as I’d been trained to get used to killing birds and other wild animals, getting used to very stressful battle situations and striking living opponents with all his strength had to be the first steps for Al.
Al yelled out again. There was a tremendous crash, followed by a brief choking sound. Al had swept his practice sword horizontally and smashed it into Menel, knocking him back despite the chestplate armor he was wearing. That must have hurt. That seriously must have hurt.
“Heh. You were pretty fired up that time.” Menel didn’t let the pain show on his face. He just furrowed his brow a little and forcibly kept a calm expression. “That’s the way.”
Menel was doing a really good job of being a teacher. He was actually a caring person who had a lot of life experience. Perhaps he was even more suited to teaching than me.
“Th-Thank you very much!”
And Al was earnest. Even though he sometimes flinched or held back out of concern for his opponent, he never allowed Menel to break his spirit despite all the shouting, intimidation, and pressure. His hazel eyes sparkling, he yelled out a battle cry and charged at Menel, a warrior overwhelmingly stronger than himself.
Al was really impressing me. I could see that he was getting slightly stronger with every battle. What he couldn’t do one day, he would be able to do by the next. And what he couldn’t do the next day, he would be able to do the day after that. They were all little changes. Sometimes he would put his effort into the wrong thing and lose some ground for a little while. But what if he kept making those little improvements for ten whole days? What about twenty? Thirty? Fifty? A hundred? A thousand? What if he never stopped at all?
Warriors aren’t warriors because they’re born that way. They become warriors by making mistakes, getting injured, and learning from it, making the smallest of improvements many times over.
Below my window, Menel kicked Al over again. He rolled on the ground, completely covered in dirt. But to me, he looked like he was shining like a gemstone. He had the irregular gleam of a rock that was yet to fall into human hands. He was going to be cut and polished, and I was sure that he would shine even more beautifully. The thought of it somehow calmed my worries a little, and I felt warm inside.
Blood... Were there times when you felt like this?
◆
When lunchtime came around, Al sat in the dining room drained of all his strength. Menel had driven him hard for what must have felt like forever.
Menel was really something to have robbed someone as persistent as Al of all his stamina. That said, it seemed to have taken a lot out of him, too. Apparently he didn’t want to appear weak in front of the person he was teaching; he told me he was going to eat out and asked me to deal with Al, then staggered off to town. He reminded me of a wild animal or something. Maybe that was just what he was always like.
“Food’s up.” On the table, I placed deep bowls full of the vegetable and smoked meat soup my housemaids had made during their morning visit, followed by a plate of boiled eggs and bread that was more stodgy than fluffy and light. There was certainly quantity here. It was important for building up his body.
“I, I’m not sure it’ll all go down.”
“Force it down. If you don’t, your training will go to waste. You have to eat even more than you’ve worked out or you’ll defeat the point of the training.”
Eat a lot after exercise—this was one of the fundamentals that Blood had repeatedly drilled into me. If Al couldn’t do this, the training wouldn’t serve its purpose. It was better not to exercise at all than to weaken your muscles by exercising while fasting.
“There’s no need to rush, but get it all into your body.”
“O-Okay...”
After saying grace, I poured the herbal tea I’d boiled into two cups while watching Al slowly attack the meal. I was training every day just as he was, so I kept quiet as I chewed and drank. I had no intention of going out of my way to start a conversation with someone who was clearly worn out and tiring him out further.
I chewed the distinctive multigrain bread and tried to recall where in my previous world had heavy, somewhat sour bread like this. Perhaps it was somewhere like Germany? As I thought idly about things like that, Al sat up straight and opened his mouth. “Um... I’d like to... thank you again.”
“Hm? What’s up?”
“I really am very grateful for everything you’re doing for me. Taking me in as your squire, giving me training and even food and pay...” His hazel eyes were locked on me. I put down the piece of bread I had pinched between my fingers and met his gaze.
“Do you... know about our past?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Th-Then, you know about my position, too?”
“I think I have a pretty good idea. I won’t probe into it. You can tell me any time you like or not at all.”
“Yes, sir...” Al lowered his gaze slightly.
Even the name I was calling him by was probably an abbreviatio
n. I still didn’t know his real name.
“I... was nobility within the clan.”
“Right.”
“My mother and father passed away from illness when I was young, so I was brought up by the clan, protected from trouble.”
“It certainly looked that way.”
He looked like he was being greatly cherished. But that was exactly why he’d developed this complex.
“But a part of me wondered whether that was okay,” he said. “We dwarves look up to the god of fire as our creator. Our pride is a warrior’s pride. Yet I, who bear responsibility to that clan, am so weak and cowardly...”
He might also have been feeling a sense of duty and responsibility as someone born into nobility.
“Wh-When I heard about you, I admired you. You’re about the same age as me, and you already have many great tales told about you and are looked up to as the lord of an entire region. I wanted to be like you.” The tension in his face relaxed and a toothy grin replaced it. “So... being able to serve by your side is like a dream. I can’t tell you how happy I am that I can learn of warriors and bravery from you.”
His smile was contagious, and made me feel a kind of ticklish happiness. “Thanks.” I laughed, embarrassed. “Even if this arrangement is only temporary, I’ll work hard to be a fitting master for you.”
Then, I smiled a little nervously, and added, “But I’m not very confident I can teach you about bravery.”
◆
Al looked at me blankly. It was as if he didn’t understand what I was telling him.
“Umm...”
“What I mean is, I’m not actually very brave.”
There was a pause before he responded. “Even though you stood up against a wyvern and a chimera?”
I nodded. “Listen, Al. The world at large might see those as the actions of a brave man. They might see me as a champion standing up against terrifying monsters. But I’m not so sure.”
I really couldn’t see it that way myself. After all—
“Can you really call it ‘bravery’ to challenge an opponent when you know for a fact you can win?”
The Lord of the Rust Mountains Page 11