"Machine, Obey My Command!" V2 Chapter 1 - Guardian of the Treasure
Early summer on the continent of Kiesalhima was short.
No one really knew the reason and they weren't particularly interested. Majic was also one of the people who had no idea why. And again, someone who just wasn't interested in such things.
However, it was one of the most pleasant times of year anyway.
He lightly hummed to himself
"Hey— Majic—"
A girl's voice called — from the other side of the rock, towards the river.
"What's that song you've been singing?"
Majic stopped singing and declined to answer for the moment, then replied.
"Oh, it's nothing."
After anwering, he started to sing again.
The girl on the other side of the rock just kind of made an approving sound, and continued to splash around in the water. For whatever reason she preferred to bathe in the middle of the day, but she didn't want to be seen, so she always brought Majic along to keep an eye out for her.
As Majic continued humming, he began to think.
(What's with her?)
He scratched his nose.
(Shes always been like this, even at school. Damn, who does she think I am? I'm a black magic sorcerer now.)
And after feeling the pride rise in his chest, suddenly, he felt nervous and reconsidered.
(No, at most I'm a sorcerer's apprentice. I mean, being a sorcerer is supposed to be a bit more of a prestigious title than commoner, even if it's not knightly. Cleao is just the youngest daughter of a merchant family. I don't need to be treated like a guard dog by her.)
He looked down at the clothes he was wearing. It was all new, bought in a city he'd visited a few days ago. It almost mimicked the clothing of the man who was to be his new teacher. A black shirt, oversized leather pants, and a black cloak that he wore over it all. He really wanted to arm himself with a dagger or something, but his master wouldn't let him touch any type of weapon.
(Even Master treats me like a child. I'm fourteen years old — In only six months I'll be fifteen. Yet Master keeps saying he has no idea what'll happen if he gives a knife to someone who can't even peel an apple!)
The tune of Majic's hymn got a little more stern as he brushed back his blond hair. He was a picture-perfect young man, with smooth, untanned skin that gave him a charming appearance, even when he was angry.
"Hey—"
The girl — Cleao, spoke up, turning around. He couldn't see her from the shade of the large rock, but Majic could tell. With her wet blonde hair sticking to her body, Cleao asked.
"I feel like someone's staring at me."
"It's just your imagination, we're hundreds of meters away from the road. I don't think anyone would be so curious as to come all the way out here."
"But—"
She looked around curiously. She was seventeen. The youngest daughter of a merchant family, the Everlastings. She had said once that her family had mixed with the blood of an aristocrat long ago, and in fact, Cleao showed strong characteristics of that. She had a slender body and skin that wouldn't sunburn even after days of exposure. Her eyes looked like imitation jewels. And her fingers. Her dextrous fingers, which spun through the glittering water, belonged to an acristocrat that clearly had no idea what farmwork was.
Majic couldn't see her from the position that he was sitting, but he answered her clearly.
"Could it have been a wild animal or something? This looks like a watering hole."
"Maybe...?"
Muttering under her breath, Cleao washed the water over her head again.
Majic resumed his humming again. Then—
Suddenly, the sole of a shoe appeared right before his eyes. Time slowed from the shock, and he had no time to avoid it, and the shoe smashed into his face as hard as it could.
"Ahhh!"
Majic groaned and tried to dislodge the foot that was now standing on his face. However, the more he struggled, the more the leg skillfully adjusted its center of gravity, keeping Majic immobile. After a while, Majic screamed.
"Wait! Master? Please stop!"
"Heh. You didn't even notice that I was standing right in front of you, so I thought I'd say hello."
At soon as he said it, he drew his leg back and Majic looked up at his 'Master' standing over him. He wore clothes like Majic's, only more expensive, but his hair and eyes were black, so he looked better in those clothes than Majic. He was clearly a black-magic sorcerer, about twenty years old, but he wasn't just any sorcerer. He wore a black traveling cloak that was fastened to his shoulders with metal clasps, and a silver pendant on his chest shined with the shape of a single-legged dragon entwined with a sword — The sign of a person who had studied magic at the Tower of Fang, the pinnacle magic on the continent, and proof of the best sorcerers.
"Do you really have to step on me, Master?"
When Majic spoke out, Orphen raised his finger insistently,
"Speak with a whisper, or Cleao will notice."
"What? Master, did you come down here to take a peek?"
"Idiot, I'm not the one spying."
Majic cringed at Orphen's words, but Orphen only smirked, bending down a little to bring his face closer to his student's.
"It seems you hit the mark. You were using magic to refract the light, changing your line of sight so that you could see around things that you shouldn't be able to. You were humming the spell, because the effects of the spell would only work as far as your voice would carry."
"Ahaha"
When Majic nervously laughed, Orphen nodded and placed a finger to his forehead.
"How'd you understand that spell so soon? It took me a long time to cast that spell when I was an apprentice."
"Oh, really?"
Relieved at the sign of forgiveness, Majic listened back. Orphen nodded once again and punched Majic, making sure that expression changed.
"But it pisses me off when I see other people doing this."
"T-That's not fair..."
"Geez you're annoying. Anyway, don't do it again. Understand? If you keep using spells like that, I'll tell Cleao. You know how she gets when she's angry, don't you?"
"T-That's more than enough..."
That was true enough. When Majic answered, Orphen seemed satisfied.
"Okay, good. Don't do it again."
Orphen reminded him, then quickly got up and walked away. He watched him for a moment, and when he was far enough away that he could no longer hear him, Majic just muttered to himself.
"...What's the deal? Her, and now Master? They're so serious, even out here."
He shrugged his shoulders and resumed humming.
(This wasn't the deal, that brat!)
Orphen was walking quickly and rubbing his chest, where his heart just wouldn't stop beating. He was heading for where they'd parked the carriage.
(So hes been using magic, huh? I've only been teaching him for two weeks!)
Normally, it took anywhere between a few years to a dozen for a sorcerer to become proficient at using magic — it varied from person to person, to an extent, but usually not by much. For an apprentice with no power at all, it was said to take up to five years before they even acquired the new 'sense' of magic. Even at the Tower of Fang, where only the most talented individuals attended. It took Orphen three years and four months. Still, that was touted as a rare short-term record.
(Two weeks?)
However, the force of Majic's spell was rudimentary, like the strength of a student who had used magic for the first time. In other words, less than half strength. In general, there were three stages of maturity for sorcerers. The first stage could only just begin to perceive the power of 'magic,' and begin using it. The second step was important, the stage where they would be able to concentrate and amplify the power of that magic. At this point they'd be considered a full-fledge sorcerer for the first time, and in the case of the Tower of Fang, they would be awarded a pendant. The third stage meant that a sorcerer had made significant research achievements with their power after becoming a full-fledge sorcerer, and had little to do with their actual ability.
For sorcerers at the first stage, merely radiating magic around you wasn't going to help you much. At best it meant peeping, or moving a match box without touching it, and you couldn't even boil water. It had no meaning if you couldn't concentrate your power to suit your purpose.
Even so, just two weeks was outrageous.
(At this rate, he'll become a sorcerer in less than a year, right?)
If it came to that—
The last words he muttered aloud. With a desperate tone.
"Then he won't be paying tuition fees next year!"
— "So, the Fighting Dog of Mazmaturia, Volcano Vulcan crushed the evil plot of the black sorcerer and took back the Sword of Baltanners."
Behind his older brother, Dortin whispered a correction, as his brother proudly announced his claims.
"Baldanders."
"Yes. Battleanders."
Vulcan spoke with the same stubbornness, and didn't even look back, only reiterating his mistake.
Dortin stifled his sigh as he looked out from behind his brother, to the large man in a black robe that was in front of them.
".........."
The huge man had a flat, expressionless face, and looked back at Vulcan, not reacting to his explanation at all. It wasn't even like he was slacking off — rather, he seemed unable to comprehend the words.
They were in one of the branches of the Damsel's Orisons, which could be found in any large city. At the reception desk just inside the building, his big brother was trying to sell the ancient treasure that he had acquired — the Sword of Baldanders, and had been at it for more than an hour. However, the large man sitting at the reception desk just stared blankly without expression.
He seemed to be getting anxious, and he heard Vulcan murmur, as if he was disconcerted.
"Are you listening?"
"... Hmm."
The big man blurted out.
Vulcan turned to look at him.
"Dortin, by any chance, is this guy a simpleton?"
"Shh, he can hear you..."
Dortin noted, but when he glimpsed up it seemed the big guy hadn't heard it, and was staring off into empty space.
Vulcan and Dortin both sighed. His big brother had once again turned to the big guy and tried to explain the sword for the umpteenth time, but Dortin looked around as if he didn't care anymore.
The Continental Sorcerer Alliance was called the Damsel's Orisons — "The Maiden's Prayer" because its emblem was a profile of a praying maiden. In the middle of a semi-circular shield was the profile of a woman praying (although, Dortin always thought she looked much too old to be a maiden) which highlighted the coat of arms. It was displayed on the wall behind the reception desk.
The facility for the Sorcerer Alliance in Alenhatam wasn't big, a fraction of the size of the Totokanta branch that Dortin and the others had been until about two weeks ago. The building was like a remodeled elementary school, and had strangely good lighting for a place where sorcerers gathered. The floor was similar, but cracked here and there, and looked like it hadn't been properly cleaned. The walls had remarkably old stains — not only scratches but tons of graffiti, half-removed hand prints that looked like they belonged to children, and tiny footprints on the ceiling that looked like they had been made by throwing shoes.
There was no guard at the entrance of the building—so it was possible for them to enter even though they weren't sorcerers. However, as soon as they entered, they were met by this big guy at the reception desk, which come to think of it, was even worse than having a strong soldier on guard. He wouldn't let them into the back of the building, but he also wouldn't let them leave.
So, among other things, it was a problem that he wouldn't kick them out — Dortin sighed again. He looked through his thick glasses at his brother's back. It was completely wrapped in a fur cloak with a relaxed physique at a height of 130 centimeters. You could see the scabbard of his sword through the hem of the cloak. He was carrying another sword, an old-fashioned greatsword, and placed it on the counter of the reception desk, standing tall and exaggerating his rant about how he got it.
"A group of evil sorcerers—"
"And then, a woman's voice cried out for help—"
"The giant monster appeared and broke through the ground."
It was a completely different story now, since it had been changing subtly each time he told it. In either case, there was no sign that the large receptionist understood. Dortin took off his glasses and scrubbed them with his shirt, then put them back on again.
(I told him so—)
He looked up at the face of the large man, who was almost two meters tall. From Dortin's viewpoint, who was shorter than his older brother, it seemed like the man's face could reach the heavens.
He saw Vulcan finish his story again, gasping for air and smiling up at the big man. He had the look of a child trying to impress their parents.
"Do you understand?"
"I see."
The big man had no change in his expression. His older brother was still enthusiastic,
"Well, how much would you pay for this fine sword?"
"I see."
The giant only repeated himself, and continued to stare off into space as before.
".........."
His brother turned again.
"Dortin ... I think this guy is stupid."
"He might hear you..."
Dortin kept pressing his brother in a hurry, but in reality he was thinking the same thing.
"I don't know what to do, Dortin. Even if I talked to you this way, you'd at least understand."
"I-I don't know ... Wasn't it your idea, big brother, to sell the Sword of Baldanders to the Damsels Orisons for cash?"
"Are you saying this is my fault?"
Vulcan grabbed his collar and shook him.
"You didn't even object!"
"Y-yes I did! I said that I didn't think those sorcerers would give a damn about us—"
"Even if they don't want to make this deal, that just means they don't know what we're talking about!"
Vulcan was waving his arms as he was shouting and pointing at the big man that was still absentmindedly behind him. Dortin decided to just reluctantly agree.
"Ok, that's true, but..."
"Then, your argument is invalid ... That's why it's your fault!"
"That's not true!"
While holding onto Vulcan's hand, which was still firmly clasped around his collar, Dortin turned a pleading look to the big man.
There was no change in the big man's expression, however.
He kept holding onto his brother's hand and tried to speak to the receptionist.
"You know ... if a fight breaks out in front of you, you'd usually try to stop it..."
"I see."
Suddenly, the big guy shot up. He quickly leaned out from behind the reception counter and grabbed Vulcan from behind, lifting him up by his collar — he was yanked off of Dortin, and immediately started flailing his arms and legs in the air.
"Wha, what the hell, I'll kill you with a tin bucket! Dortin, what are you standing there for?"
".........."
Dortin stared in dumb surprise at the giant, ignoring his brother's words.
And somehow, he had an idea.
Cough, he cleared his throat and spoke.
"Umm ... Please drop my older brother."
In response to the words, the large man quickly released his hand and Vulcan fell harshly to the floor...
Vulcan muttered.
"Why did you tell him to drop me instead of telling him to put me down..."
Dortin ignored him and continued.
"Raise your hands."
"I see."
The large man raised both hands over his head.
Vulcan was watching the behavior of the big guy and all but forgot about the argument. Dortin continued further.
"You have a booger."
"I see."
The big man shoved his finger up his nose, all the way to the second joint and pulled it out again. Actually, he hadn't had a runny nose, but now blood was gushing from it.
"H-hey, what the hell, man?"
It was gross, and Vulcan backed up against his brother, seemingly creeped out. Dortin was disgusted as well, but kept looking up at the big guy with a black mouth and blood across the lower half of his face, trying to stay calmer than his brother — then muttered to himself — the most obvious thing that came to mind.
"Somehow — I think there must be something strange about the sorcerers here."
In the end, they chose to ignore the receptionist and continued towards the back of the building — Dortin wanted to get out of there, fast, but Vulcan ignored him and kept walking further and further down the corridor. As Dortin hobbled after his brother, carrying the Sword of Baldanders in its scabbard, he had a bad feeling about the whole thing.
(Maybe my life is going to be like this forever.)
And his mind was racing at all the sinister possibilities.
(I can't go back to my hometown, we just keep living this way, buried in debt and chased by that persistent loan shark, every time my brother hits me with that sword, and even if I get hurt, I can't even go to the hospital...)
As he mumbled and counted the times under his breath, his brother, who was talking ahead of him, was evidently thinking something similar. He could hear Vulcan snickering to no one in particular.
"This is so unfortunate—"
He said, a hand on the sword he was carrying
"Even though I came all this way to sell this damn heavy sword, the receptionist was completely incompetent and wouldn't even welcome me. I didn't think sorcerers were such an unfriendly substitute for human beings. I always thought they were fraudsters and murderers, but I didn't think they would be this boring!"
When he heard that, Dortin responded in a quiet voice.
(... He says that, but isn't my older brother the one that's a conartist and a fraudster? Nevermind boring.)
If he had actually heard him, he'd probably be beaten half to death, but he didn't speak loud enough to be heard. Especially to his older brother—The bond between brothers was nothing but a lie, Dortin thought.
However, it wasn't without reason that Vulcan complained so much about humans — they were dwarfs. Their race lived in the extremely cold regions of the southern part of the continent, and rarely stepped foot elsewhere. Aside from the two of them, who had been disowned by their parents at home (or, to be exact, Vulcan was disowned by their parents, but Dortin was dragged out by his brother, and basically kidnapped), it was nearly impossible to find other dwarfs in a place like this.
On top of that, from the perspective of the humans, dwarfs were so small in stature that they were treated like children and used for forced labor, but they were extremely clumsy, and didn't like to bathe.
Therefore, there was no way that dwarfs could find a decent job in human cities, and it was safe to say that they were rarely treated with any decency in the first place. Because of it, Dortin had been living like a vagabond for the past year and a half since he'd left his hometown. That wasn't to say anyone was to blame, because if humans set place in the dwarf's homeland — Mazmaturia, they'd have the exact some attitude towards them, just for the opposite reasons.
Dortin let out a small yawn and gathered the thoughts in his head.
He heard his older brother complain about something or another, but didn't pay attention.
Actually, it was fine for him to say whatever he wanted—Because everything he ever said was boring, and made no sense. But still, he had to listen to him at least a little, otherwise he'd be caught not being able to answer his questions later.
Vulcan didn't notice, and continued loudly.
"I don't know, maybe the humans just don't like me? I can't get a place to stay, I can't get a job, and stray dogs jump out at me while I'm walking down the road."
His fist clenched, Vulcan walked down the halls of the Damsel's Orisons Alenhatam Branch, complaining quite loudly, even with a mischievous look on his face. Dortin looked at his behavior and muttered.
(Is that accurate?)
But there was a different side of this. It was because of his brother's sword that he got refused at the inn, and he couldn't keep a job at the agency because he never stuck around for his shift. As for the dogs, if Vulcan hadn't tried to steal their food, they wouldn't have been chasing them around so much.
Speaking of weapons, Dortin had been trying to convince his brother to stop wearing a sword for quite some time. Only military personnel or sorcerers, or well, criminals, were armed during peacetimes when there was no declaration of war. Furthermore, because sorcery and criminals were synonymous, it could be said that there were only two types of people who generally wore swords: Soldiers and criminals.
Unfortunately, his older brother was one of the criminal in question. At least, close enough to call him such things.
"We're being persecuted!"
Vulcan raised his fist and shouted. No response came from the hallways.
Dortin looked around and thought about it. The corridors had nothing for sexy furnishings, just a few buckets and mops. He'd never been in a Sorcerer Alliance building before, so he didn't know much about them, but if the Alliance had similar facilities in other cities, it was true—sorcerers must certainly be a boring bunch.
But with that being said, Dortin suddenly wondered.
(—Why is there no one here?)
It was now two thirty — the typical time for lunch breaks, and after walking the corridors for so long, it seemed strange that they hadn't even passed a staff member yet. The Damsels Orisons wasn't a small organization by any stretch of the imagination, and he'd never heard of a staff shortage. Anyway — From the impression he had about Sorcerers, in a place like the Sorcerer Alliance, sorcerers should be shooting through doors with lightning if they didn't open easily, disposing of rusty scissors so they could instead slice their desks in two with kamaitachi, or putting curses on each other if they so much as bumped shoulders.
It was too quiet.
(It's like — it's abandoned.)
His older brother, who was still chugging ahead, came to an abrupt stop. Dortin stopped as well. Looking at him, he could see that Vulcan had a blank face, and happened to be looking into a room at the left side of the hall, where the door was left open.
It said 'Changing Room' on the plaque attached to the door. Below that, the plaque was engraved with 'First Year, C Class.', but it was partially erased by something like a golden nail. Apparently, the building really was refurbished from a school.
When he followed his brother's line of sight and looked into the room, he saw a beautiful sorceress sitting on the bench, half naked, with her hand clasped around the hook of her bra like a bird that'd gotten its wings tangled up — staring blankly ahead. She didn't move a muscle, just stared blankly into his eyes, as if she were petrified.
"Uuhhh..."
Dortin inadvertantly spoke.
"You look tired in that position... So... why don't you make yourself more comfortable?"
"Yes..."
The sorceress replied in an emotionless voice — only to let herself drop, tumbling off the lounge. After a few moments he heard her snoring.
"... Well that's creepy."
Vulcan blurted out with a horrified expression. Dortin nodded, then said.
"I wonder if everyone here is like that... It's as if ... their souls have left their bodies already."
"Maybe it's just an active imagination."
Vulcan muttered irresponsibly.
But Dortin had other things on his mind.
(This reminds me of the basilicock from the old stories.)
"Just one look into its eyes will kill you" — Or so the lengend goes. A glance could shatter rocks and fell giant trees, and ... even destroy the souls of man. If such a creature existed, it must be one of the worst things to exist in this world.
Although there were no deserts for the Basilicock to live in on Kiesalhima — Or, more accurately, any place where the Basilicock lived would inevitably turn to a desert.
In any case, there hadn't been such an absurd monster on this continent for hundreds of years.
— When he thought about it, for the first time, he heard a person's voice from somewhere in the building.
"Uwaaaaaah!'
A scream!
Woah! Vulcan drew his sword and fell backwards. Dortin himself was searching for an escape route, but when he considered their options, there really wasn't anywhere to go but back towards the main corridor. Just as he was about to do just that, someone grabbed his ankle.
"Wait!"
"What are you doing, brother? If we don't run away—"
"Idiot! What are you doing, trying to run away?"
Vulcan screamed, this time he wrapped his arms around Dortin's legs. He continued shaking his head like a child begging for a toy.
"I'm The Fighting Dog of Mazmaturia! Volcano Vulcan never turns his back on the enemy! I don't know why, but the sorcerers in this tower seem to be in a lot of trouble!"
"No, see, that's why we have to run away—"
"Fool!"
Vulcan yelled and finally switched his grip to Dortin's belt, dragging him along.
"Don't you know the old adverb, To know righteousness and not act is bravery?"
"... I think you mean cowardice"
"I don't care about the details! Anyway, you shouldn't be looking for a way out and throwing such a pathetic fit!"
"Well, what should I do then?"
"Ah, yes. Find the truth — Find out what's causing this anomaly and find the truth!"
"B-big brother..."
Dortin looked at his brother carefully.
"Did you eat something bad? You look sick."
"No!"
Vulcan punched him in the face before continuing.
"No, what I mean is — There's no time to explain—!"
He said, pausing to think.
"Damn it, you're my younger brother, so you should know what I'm thinking!"
"That's absurd..."
Dortin groaned, and then — suddenly he understood.
He looked at his brother with a frown.
"Big brother do you, by any chance...? Do you want to find the Basilicock?
Vulcan's face went blank when he heard the name.
"... What's this 'Basilicock' stuff?"
"Well, if you don't know what it is, that's fine, but..."
"Anyway, your search for this 'Basilicock' isn't important — We're looking for the truth!"
"Truth, what truth?"
Heheh, Vulcan held out his hand as he made the admonishing sound.
"Say Dortin, what is it that we need right now?"
Dortin almost said 'I think we need to split up' but the words caught in his throat, and he only nodded.
"W-Well..."
"What's lacking in our lives?"
"U-Umm..."
As he pondered, Vulcan's face became flush and he yelled.
"Money!"
"Oh, uhh-... Yeah... Money."
Dortin muttered and repositioned his glasses. He wanted to get the hell out of there.
Vulcan continued.
"So, we have this magical Sword of Baldanders, or whatever it's called."
"Oh, big brother, you've grown up. I can't believe you were able to remember something with more than five letters in the name."
"Shut up!— Well — Anyway, we came to this haunted house to cash in the Bald-something Sword, but apparently the people here aren't able to make a deal. In fact, there's some sort of mysterious trouble that's keeping them from doing so."
"Well, yeah, I guess."
Dortin replied, stammering. He was gradually understanding what his brother was going to say.
Sure enough, Vulcan said it. He closed his eyes, put up one finger, and spoke in a pompous manner.
"I mean, with the situation like it is... It wouldn't be such a bad thing if we just collected the fee for the sword on our own, would it?"
(I knew it.)
Dortin sighed.
(My brother's trying to rob the place, like a thief at the scene of a fire.)
"Wrong!"
Vulcan shouted in a booming voice. He only chuckled as Dortin backed away from him.
"I guess I was right... Your older brother could never do something as shameless as stealing from the scene of a fire. This is just a transaction on my behalf."
(Why is it that you're strangely perceptive only at times like this?)
Dortin listened and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Okay well, in the end, what exactly do you plan to do?"
His brother answered with a calm face.
"Well, first, let's look for the safe. Then if we can somehow open it, we can take as much as we want.
(So, you're a burglar after all, huh?)
While muttering under his breath, Dortin slowly stood up. He was overlooking his older brother who was still sitting on the floor,
"... What are you thinking, brother? Whatever you're doing, we should get out of here. I don't want to sit around here forever—"
"Of course not."
Vulcan assured him from his seated position.
"But I think I've got a herniated disc — you know, from before — and I can't move."
"... I don't think you've actually broken your hip, big brother."
"No! You're wrong! I'm not unconsciouss, but my legs just aren't working! No, I don't want you to have to go alone, if I can possibly help it!
".........."
"Now that you understand, you're going to have to carry me. Geez, you're pretty slow to understand, you know that?"
".........."
Dortin sighed, feeling like he just didn't care anymore.
If you were looking for unsuitable places to take a walk, you'd probably think of a cemetary, hospital, dry well, your parents' bedroom, or even the branches of a tall tree that you've just climbed but can't get down, but for whatever reason, he thought the best place to look was the Damsel's Orisons.
While clumsily carrying his older brother on his back, practically dragging him, Dortin walkd down the corridor. He was oddly picturing a slave who kept rolling a drum for no reason in his mind. In fact, it wasn't too far off from his current situation
From behind him, Vulcan spoke.
"Can't you walk faster? If you don't hurry, the police might come and find out what's really going on!"
Dortin suddenly felt a stab through his heart, and understood that this was the will to kill.
This building was a former school (or so Dortin was convinced), and the building was of fairly simple construction. It was two three-story buildings lined up side by side. There was a staircase at the eastern end of each building, and a door for the fire escape on the opposite end. The corridor was straight. On the first floor, one wing was slightly larger than the rest, and there was a room that appeared to be a former office. Now it just looked like a storage area for old documents.
"Where did that scream come from?"
When Dortin asked, Vulcan answered like it was obvious.
"What do you mean? It's not that big of a building, we just have to go through it room by room."
(What's he talking about? He's the one being carried.)
Dortin mumbled under his breath. Besides, he was concerned about the bad feeling he had from a while ago.
He carried his older brother, who weighed more than he did, up the stairs, to the third floor of the building. The second floor passed them by. At first glance it seemed to be the private bedrooms for Sorcerers. If anything unusual happened in a den of sorcerers like this one, he figured it'd have to start in the laboratory.
And the third floor seemed to be the laboratory.
The doors of the lab were numbered from the first to the sixth, all in a row. Looking from the corridor, the first to the fifth labs had thick curtains across the windows, and nobody seemed to be using them. The sixth room — the furthest from the stairs, had the door slightly open. The gap in the door almost seemed to be inviting them in, and Dortin couldn't help but be reminded of the open doorways of a mousetrap.
And—as he stepped towards the sixth laboratory, Dortin cringed to himself.
(... What am I doing? I'm looking for the safe in the office, not the Basilicock, right?)
However, his legs that had started towards it could no longer stop. The next thing he knew, he was strolling down the hallway, without a trace of the wobbly steps he was used to taking while carrying his brother.
"...! ...!"
Dortin desperately tried to stop himself. Yet, his body just wouldn't listen. On the contrary — little by little, as he approached the sixth laboratory, his mind went blank.
(I can't think of anything anymore!)
He looked over his shoulder at his brother's face, and sure enough, Vulcan had lost consciousness and was staring into the void, with the same blank look in his eyes as the big guy at the reception desk. Dortin somehow managed to haul himself to his feet. Without losing any momentum, he fell straight forward and hit his face on the floor.
"Ouch..."
He groaned, rubbing his nose. Then—He heard a voice.
"Do not resist."
"..........?"
Dortin looked up in astonishment. In all the legends he had heard, he'd never heard of the basilicock speaking.
Looking at him from the shadow of the sixth laboratory's door, was a naked man — a person with slightly bluish skin, and an unusually thin body. No ... Dortin suddenly realized that it wasn't even human.
"... A doll?"
As he looked up from the floor, the man gave him a terribly inorganic impression.
The skin was strangely smooth and bloodless, and he showed no signs of breathing. There were a few irregularities with the body, including the face, and his joints were unnaturally swollen. The hair on his head was thin, and he had no body hair at all. He also seemed slightly taller than a normal human? The man carried something that looked like a red garment on his right arm. Although it didn't suit them, really, the man spoke without worrying about it.
"... I don't understand your language yet, but from what I can hear in my mind's eye, that name doesn't seem too far off the mark."
"...Huh? ... D ... Doll?"
Dortin listened and got up. Both legs, which had been moving against his will, now wouldn't move at all.
"U-Uuhh—Who are you?"
Dortin asked, rolling Vulcan's unmoving body to his side as he stared into the void. The man was clad in what looked like a red toga.
"I am the guardian of the treasure."
"The guardian of the treasure?"
"Yes. Since ancient times, I have sealed and guarded the mysteries of my Master's legacy."
".........."
Dortin stared at the guardian of the treasure — who was slowly walking towards him.
He felt like he had to escape, but his legs wouldn't move.
(What's going on? My body won't listen to my thoughts...)
"You are under my control."
"Th-That—"
"All of those here are under the influence of my magic."
"What about me?"
"Apparently it didn't work perfectly."
"Why?"
"I do not know, but if magic doesn't work, there's always alternatives."
"...What kind of alternative?"
When Dortin asked in a pitiful tone, the guardian silently opened his right hand and raised it — he heard a click, and a thin blade, like that of a needle sprung from the top of the middle finger. It was a blade.
"Well, if possible, would you consider other alternatives?"
As Dortin pleaded, the guardian stopped for a moment. He retracted the blade of his middle finger, then clenched his fist — His wrist snapped back with a jerk. With his left hand he pulled a sharp steel wire through the gap between his wrist and his fist. Then, he walked forward again.
"That doesn't seem as painful."
Dortin groaned, and twisted himself around looking for an escape.
At that moment, the hem of his fur cloak fell open.
At the same time, the guardian stopped again.
"..........?"
The guardian was staring into his cloak when Dortin looked at him curiously. Dortin followed his gaze, and found the Sword of Baldanders that his brother had entrusted to him. The human-sized weapon was too long for the dwarf to carry below his waist, but he still hooked the clasp of the scabbard to his belt and had been dragging it across the floor for quite a while.
The guardian spoke in a surprised tone.
"Is that... Wyrd Graphs on the sword...?"
"You know what this is?"
Dortin groaned, and pulled his cloak off of the sword so that he could get a better look.
The guardian walked close enough to reach out.
"Of course. I see. The magical power of that sword is what hindered my magic."
".........."
Pondering whether this was good or bad fortune, Dortin remained still, holding his breath — while the guardian was staring at the Sword of Baldanders. The closer he got to it, the less his expression could be read. The guardian seemed to be deeply thinking of something in those cold blue eyes, like the color of glass.
The guardian muttered in a strange way.
"Its name is the Sword of Baldanders. It doesn't have much power, but it's still too much for a human."
He nodded his head. Then he put the steel wire back in his wrist.
"You're not a Sorcerer. Why do you have something like that?"
(So, why are you, not even a human being, in this city attacking the Sorcerer's facility!?)
But Dortin didn't have the guts to say it out loud. He had no idea. This branch was unmistakably part of the Damsel's Orisons — Yet all the Sorcerers were suffering from what seemed like dementia, and then the Guardian of the Treasure, this doll, had appeared in the lab. On top of that, the person who had involved him in this situation in the first place, Vulcan, had also decided to join the group of dementia patients, so now he was alone. He wondered who was responsible for all this. Damn.
Dortin thought. But this wasn't the time.
He had no idea what was going on. He didn't know what to do.
But—
Dortin smiled as smugly as he could, and held out his hands
"Well, we have it because—
He remembered the horror story that Vulcan had repeated so many times,
"Because ... Oh ... There was an evil black sorcerer who called himself Orphen—"
He said with a cold sweat and a smirk.
(My acting is the biggest obstacle here.)
Mom, I'm going to lie—
He couldn't imagine how much that lie would matter later, but as he spoke, he recalled the ominous feeling he had experienced earlier in the day.
Table of Contents
|
| (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) |
Guardian of the Treasure The Beautiful Allenhatem! A Challenge From Volcan Basilicok Then - He Accepted His Master's Orders |
Translation Notes
- In this chapter, Dortin mentions an impression that sorcerers should be cutting their desks in two with kamaitachi. Kamaitachi are Japanese youkai, often blamed for mysterious cuts that you don't remember getting. In the stories, these weasel Youkai often have sickles at the end of their legs, and breeze by in a whirlwind, during which the first would knock a person down, the second would cut them with a blade, and the third would apply medicine to the wound, explaining why people never felt the injury in the moment. This phrase is also used to describe cuts made from a whirlwind, so in the context of the Orphen universe, probably means blades of wind. I just like including the various unique phrases.