The Lord of the Rust Mountains

by Kanata Yanagino

  After I threw the forest giant, touched him with my hand, and performed the miracle of Sanity, he regained his self-control.

  However, a serious problem arose when we tried to communicate: neither of us was very proficient in the other’s language. Although most of the languages in daily use in this world were distantly related, all being derived from the original Words of Creation, the language of giants was a little too esoteric. Even Gus, who had taught it to me, had been working from a very patchy memory of it. That was why we were having this halting attempt at communication using both of our languages.

  “‘I am Gangr of the race of Jotunn,’ I, Gangr of Yotun, William. ‘William, champion of men.’” Gangr placed a big, rugged palm against one of mine. It was a giant greeting. We looked like an adult and a child comparing palm sizes. “‘I will not forget this debt. If you have any troubles in the forest, call for me.’”

  “How can I call you?”

  “‘Shout out: “Gangr of the Jotunn, William is here.” The trees will pass on the message.’”

  The title of “forest giant” was apparently deserved. He seemed to be on friendly terms with the fae and the fairies.

  After that, Gangr bowed many times to us and headed off back into the forest once more.

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a giant.”

  “Me, too. He really took me by surprise.”

  “Even though you can speak their language?!”

  “My magic teacher was a walking encyclopedia.”

  As Al and I talked, the Herald-raven came down from the sky. He tried to nonchalantly land on my arm, so I dodged him, and he tutted shrewdly as he landed on the ground instead.

  “You saw that. That is the influence of an ancient dragon feared even by Hell’s demons.”

  The god of undeath’s red-eyed Herald spoke. He was continuing the conversation we were having just before the roar from Calamity’s Sickle.

  “There is no hero in this age or region greater than you. If he awakens and seeks war once again, there will be no other way to defeat him than you. But even you are not sufficient.”

  “And because of that you’re telling me to accept that there’ll be some victims? Uh, we may be enemies, but that doesn’t sound like you.”

  The Herald-raven made a disgusted expression.

  “As vexing as it is, a thousand lives cannot replace ten thousand. Since more lives can be saved by you remaining alive, I am forced to recommend that. If it were possible, I would gladly set down an Echo and slay him myself. But unfortunately, thanks to a certain someone, I have been rendered impotent. Thanks to a certain someone.”

  He made no attempt to hide his bitterness.

  “D-Don’t any of the other gods look like they’ll make a move?”

  “They have their own plans, on a far greater and all-encompassing scale. Gods like Gracefeel and myself, who rejoice and weep over the joys and sorrows of the little people, are if anything eccentrics.”

  I said nothing.

  “This plan does not please me, either. But I believe it to be the best plan in the current situation. Think on it very, very carefully, flamebearer, knight of faraway lands.”

  With a loud flap, the Herald-raven spread his wings.

  “Farewell. We shall meet again before long.”

  He flew off into the mist. Al and I watched him go in silence, my expression bitter and Al’s a little disconcerted.

  “He’s looking after you,” Al said.

  “No, he’s got his eye on me.” I hadn’t forgotten about the death threat he gave me when I destroyed his Echo before, even if he had now apologized for it.

  “They say that the gods desire heroes, people who will spread their divine message and carry out their will on earth.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re a hero who represents the god of the flame, so...”

  “The god of undeath wants to put me in his debt, I bet.”

  Rather than being hostile to me, he was trying to become someone beneficial to me. By doing so, he was intending to slowly mollify my hostility towards him and exploit those past favors to gradually, very gradually, break me down. For an instant, I pictured myself reduced to an undead knight. I shook my head to rid myself of that sinister image. Stagnate was very well versed in subtle manipulation.

  “What do you plan to do from here?” Al asked, concerned. “The god of undeath said that even you... um... couldn’t beat the dragon.”

  “Good question,” I said. “I wonder what I’m meant to do.”

  I had no good answer for him.

  ◆

  The creatures of the forest had been driven to panic by the dragon’s howling. I got back in a hurry and was immediately swamped with requests to take care of the damage they were causing. Reports had been coming in from all over. I dispatched adventurers and priests to many different places and busily exchanged letters with Whitesails.

  Now, some time after, everything had finally settled a little. I was in Torch Port. The dragon’s roars were still continuing intermittently. At the same time, conflicts were occurring because of all the creatures changing their habitats, although they weren’t going as crazy as the first time this had happened. Naturally, we were starting to see victims as well. Fewer people and horses were traveling on the roads, and I got the impression that the ships going back and forth looked a little lonely on the river.

  Everyone was terrified of the dragon—and the rumors that those were a dragon’s roars spread incredibly quickly—that lived in the Rust Mountains. Dragons were that much of a threat. It would only have to wake up and take to the sky on a whim, and never mind Torch Port, even Whitesails could be destroyed. It’s a fact that everyone dies sooner or later, but how many people could remain calm after hearing the roar of their own death?

  At the moment, I was in the gloom of my office with all the shutters closed, passing my eyes over a letter from the temple under magical light.

  A reply to my letter had arrived from Bishop Bagley.

  The information he had found about the foul-dragon backed up what the god of undeath had revealed to us. Valacirca, Calamity’s Sickle, was an Elder Dragon who had been alive since the time of the gods. Its claws tore through steel and its scales broke the swords of heroes, and as if to reflect its own nature, it had breath of toxicity and mania.

  Toxicity and mania. I could never forget those properties. They were the same as the abnormal wyvern and chimera I had encountered two years ago. Those creatures were said to have been created from evil research carried out by hell’s demons. They had probably been experimenting using the breath that spilled from the mouth of the foul-dragon as it slept, and mixing that breath with beasts and attempting to tame them.

  In his letter, Bishop Bagley warned me that there was unmistakably a high-level demon there in addition to the foul-dragon. At length, he attempted to dissuade me from fighting, saying that I was not experienced enough, that he couldn’t imagine me winning, and that there would be no shame in running away.

  “No shame in running away, huh?”

  He was saying that because he thought that I would go. What had made him think that? How exactly did he perceive me? I was still agonizing over that decision myself...

  The dragon would probably awaken soon. If the god of undeath and the Lord of Holly’s words meant anything, there would be casualties, too. The first thing that was likely to happen was that the dragon, once awoken, would attack a nearby settlement on a whim, and people would die.

  It wouldn’t end there. There’s no way a lively, smooth circulation of money and goods could exist in a place that a dragon could fly over at any moment. The flow of things would stagnate, the to-and-fro of horses and ships would cease, and beasts would once again stalk human settlements as if they owned the place. Traders and manufacturers that depended on that circulation of money and goods would fail one after another, and people would start to become jobless. The destitute would turn to crime, public order would
worsen, the government would become powerless, and its authority would hit rock bottom. Far more people would probably drown under the waves created in the wake of the dragon’s whim than ever succumbed to its claws.

  A complete region, a whole society, would be brought to ruin by a single dragon. That was a situation I couldn’t allow. I had to take action to stop it, and after the dragon got started would be too late. Once there were direct victims, it would be impossible to stop the effect from spreading. I had to solve this problem before dragon fangs ever ripped into human flesh.

  Yet even now, I couldn’t make the decision to take action. The word around town was that some people were saying the paladin had turned chicken. I couldn’t call that complete and total nonsense, either.

  — Thou shalt challenge the dragon with the protection of the god of the flame and die defeated, thy purpose not fulfilled.

  I hadn’t been able to sense any deception in the god of undeath’s words. His revelation was true. I couldn’t win, not right now, with the power I currently had. Ever since I’d become aware of that, I’d been unable to move forward.

  Before I knew it, my hands were together in prayer.

  ◆

  I didn’t know what to do. I offered an imploring prayer to the god of the flame, but I felt no response at all. My god wouldn’t answer me anything. Of course not. God wasn’t a chummy friend or a useful business contact. But I wanted to hear her voice right now. I wanted her to tell me there was a way I could win. Or even if there wasn’t, I wanted her to order me to fight and demonstrate my righteousness. If she would say that to me, if I could just have her say that to me, I was sure I could head into battle.

  I let out a small groan. Memories of my previous life flashed into the back of my mind: a dark room, the light of a monitor. Myself, unable to take that step forward. Time passing idly.

  Time passing idly.

  The feeling of restlessness burning in my chest.

  Time passing idly.

  Groaning.

  Shedding tears.

  Time still passing idly.

  Unable to take that step.

  Unable to take that step.

  I tried to summon the courage many times, but I still couldn’t take that step. Unable to step out, I continued bathing in the status quo long after the water had lost its pleasant heat. And the final collapse grew gradually closer.

  I groaned again. How much had I changed since that time? My world was different. My environment was different. I had a muscular body, wondrous magic powers, miracles from God. I had been given, I had obtained, abilities like the hero of some story. I had been acting the part this entire time.

  And what had changed about me?

  I was stronger and could do more now. So what? Had I become able to cope with failure? Had I become able to do something to combat despair? In the end, wasn’t my spineless nature still just the same as my previous life?

  I heard a thick, muddy voice coming out of a pit of coal-black mud deep inside my heart. Did you have fun, it said, winning against opponents you had no chance of losing to? It must have felt very good, being praised to the skies as a hero and acting modest. Were you able, for a brief moment, to think you could become someone successful in this world? Being loved, being raised. Obtaining incredible power. Being the center of all your friends. Being respected, being validated. You enjoyed all that, didn’t you?

  But when you can’t win, this is what you are.

  The voice gurgled out of the black pit of mud deep inside my heart. Deep down there was my past self of my previous life. And “I” laughed, as if to say, You know, really, don’t you?

  You are me, and I am you.

  I clutched my chest. I understood. Even I understood. I understood very well that I was only being weak-spirited. It was the side of me that felt sorry for myself, just like the time when Mary told me off. But my mom wasn’t here to admonish me now, not anymore. I had to stand on my own two feet. But what was the way to do that? In my previous life, I just stayed down on the ground. Even this life was no different. I would have stayed down forever if not for Mary. I had no idea how it was possible to stand back up.

  My thoughts went around and around in circles. I knew I’d fallen into a bad state, but I had no clue what I was supposed to do about it.

  How long had I been lost in thought? I heard the sound of a knock and looked up.

  “Coming in,” Menel said, opening the door and entering without any hesitation. Noticing how dark the room was, he screwed up his face and quietly called out to a fairy of light to illuminate the room. “You’re still thinking about it.”

  “Yeah.”

  Menel sighed. “So that’s why you didn’t notice. Look outside. Things are getting a little bit hairy out there.”

  “Huh?”

  Now that he mentioned it, it did seem a little noisy outside. I opened the shutter a little way and took a peek outside the window. There was a whole crowd of dwarves in front of the mansion.

  ◆

  “We want to hear the paladin’s thoughts!”

  “Does he mean to slay the dragon or not?!”

  I could see Grendir, and Ghelreis, and others I knew as well. They were all old dwarves with crude weapons over their shoulders, calling out to be heard.

  “And what do you intend to do with the answer?!” Facing them was Al, standing on his own in opposition to all the other dwarves. He no longer trembled as he did that day.

  “If he is thinking about slaying it, we demand to go with him!”

  “And if the spirit of fear has taken hold of the Paladin, we intend on heading to the mountains on our own!”

  “We dwarves are to blame for the failure to slay this dragon!”

  “It is dwarven blood that must be spilled!”

  “Our dishonor must be washed away with blood!”

  Voice after voice cried out loudly.

  “Stop this! It’s suicide!” Al spread his arms and shouted back. “The dragon is a formidable foe, and the Paladin has a plan in mind! Do not disrupt it!”

  “I don’t know what you’ve been ordered, but stop trying to stall for time!”

  “I have not been ordered a thing! I am telling you not to be reckless!”

  “You call us reckless?!”

  “Even if all of you unite to take on the dragon, you will be unable to deal him a single scratch!”

  “What did you say?!” One of the dwarves had had enough. Declaring that he was letting himself through to ask me my plans, he stormed up to Al and made a grab at him.

  “I told you to stop!” In a single flowing motion, Al knocked the dwarf’s arm out of the way, lifted him off his feet, and dropped him against the ground back-first. The crowd of dwarves broke into murmurs at this display of skill. “You are—You have aged, all of you, so much that you cannot even win against me! Stop this! I do not wish for you all to die meaningless deaths!”

  As Al shouted out in a clear voice with his head held high, everyone was silent.

  Then Grendir stepped forward and slowly opened his mouth to speak.

  “Young master...”

  “Grendir.”

  The two looked at each other.

  “Young master. You have grown well. You are a sight to behold. But, but you see, that is why...” Grendir’s face crumpled. “It has been long enough... We... simply want to die...” He forced the words out. “We wished to die with our lord, on that day, in that battle, on those mountains. We have lived two hundred years since death was denied us that day. They were long centuries, spent swallowing our pride as wretched vagabonds.”

  Al listened in silence and didn’t shy away from his words.

  “We kept telling ourselves we had done enough, we had done enough, we had had enough, our obligations were fulfilled... and now, finally, we have learned that detestable dragon is alive! What is so wrong with wishing to continue from that day?! What is so wrong with wishing for battle and death?!” Grendir grabbed hold of Al as he shouted. Al
allowed it and grabbed back firmly. “Let me pass! I will make the Paladin speak his mind!”

  “I refuse!”

  Grendir’s aged yet still muscular body soared through the air before slamming down in the yard. As if that was their signal, the other old dwarves descended on Al. Al struck them, threw them, and floored them. There were a few minutes of shouts and groans as they scuffled, and at the end, it was Al who remained standing.

  “You asked me what was so wrong, Grendir.” Al stood tall as he addressed the dwarves lying flat and groaning in the yard. “All of your heads are so full of thoughts of death that you are not thinking of victory. That will not do. You must know that. When the proud warriors of the mountains lay down their lives and charge into battle, they do so to win.” His eyes were earnest, and his voice was kind. “It was all of you who taught me this.”

  — One thing is always on their minds, day in and day out. The question of what is worth laying down their life for. What is their reason to fight. Blood’s words revived in my mind.

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I will make you all a promise.”

  — And when they find it...

  “The Paladin will make up his mind. And when he does, I will go with him, and we will win back the glory of the dwarves!”

  — They go into battle with their souls burning with the fire of courage, and never once fear death.

  “I, Vindalfr, grandson of Aurvangr, last monarch of the Iron Country, swear upon my grandfather’s name that I will take back the mountains that were once his!”

  That cry was felt not just by the dwarves but by me as well. My heart beat loudly, and a heat spread through me from deep inside my chest. Now that I thought about it, Al had always been this kind of person. He was like this when I first met him in the tavern, and he was like this when he cried out that he’d become my squire. He had always been someone brave, and I had sworn to protect the ‘sincerity’ he offered me with my own hands.

  “He’s pretty cool,” Menel muttered.

  “Yeah.” I nodded.