"Wolves, Gather In My Forest" V4 Chapter 2 - Deep Dragon
"... Now, what to do with these guys?"
Orphen folded his arms as he looked up at the five men, now hanging by their hands from a large tree that faced the highway. His carriage was parked nearby, and he could see the remains of their camp preparations scattered here and there — but everything was a wreck now due to the recent commotion. Cleao blurted something out from behind him.
"That was cruel—"
She was apparently talking about him hanging their assailants from the tree. Orphen retorted without bothering to look back.
"I don't have to show mercy when these guys attacked with weapons. Besides, you were the first person to act, slicing up that first guy that came at you."
"I didn't slice anyone up! Though, that guy did start crying pretty bad when he noticed his fingers were barely hanging on... I didn't even know I could cut somebody like that."
Cleao shuddered at the memory. Orphen sighed.
"Speaking of which, If I hadn't used sorcery to tie them up, they really would've come at us after that. Geez."
He turned to the girl and gave her a pat on the shoulder. Cleao had already changed out of her dirty spats and was back in her usual jeans and shirt. The shirt was a dark beige men's shirt (i.e. Majic's) and she'd been wondering if there was any blood on it.
"Besides, what about brandishing a sword against people who're only armed with hammers and pestles? That makes you the cruel one."
"Ha... and who made me into such a bad girl, I wonder?"
"Where'd you learn to talk like that...?"
Orphen sighed, and tried to hold onto Cleao's shoulder as she squirmed. Cleao opened her mouth, looking rather annoyed.
"You also used sorcery against these guys, when they were armed 'only with hammers and pestles', almost setting like 10 meters of forest on fire!"
She gestured to her left. There was certainly a spot where the huge several-meter trees had been uprooted and the ground scorched over a several-meter radius. Orphen intentionally avoided looking in that direction, speaking up in a sullen tone.
"I was trying to protect you."
"This bottomless pit of lies is getting so annoying."
Cleao actually backed away from Orphen a little, actually starting to get angry. She cautiously approached the sword that she'd thrown on the ground earlier, after slashing a man, and was shocked to see that there was still blood on it. She looked back at him, now a meter away from the sword, and spoke.
"Do I really have to wipe the blood off this sword?"
Orphen answered immediately.
"You're responsible for your own possessions."
"But... but its got blood on it, you know?"
"Yeah, that's what normally happens when you cut someone. If you don't like it, throw it away."
"Forcing a reluctant maiden to clean up after blood, you really are a cruel man, Orphen."
"Then maybe that maiden shouldn't have a sword!"
Orphen shouted, and Cleao only muttered, poking at the hilt of her sword with her toe.
"'Old people don't forgive young people for their mistakes. It's called jealousy' — By Father, two hours before his death."
"He really was a man of few words, wasn't he...?"
Orphen blurted out, his eyes half closed at this point, and turned another look up at the five guys hanging from the tree. They'd all fainted — or maybe, they were aware, but just didn't have the energy to fight back anymore.
Well, to begin with, there weren't many people who could still put up a fight while being suspended midair by their arms.
Cleao still stubbornly refused to touch the sword and continued to mumble.
"'Everyone dies, once they stop talking' — Just before his death."
"Did your father really just... keep spouting that crap until the day he died?"
"'The only meaningful death is in the last will and testament' — and that comes right after the doctor had pronounced him dead."
Cleao winked at him and started to pour sand on the bloody spots of the sword.
Although it was extremely odd, he felt blissfully content. He was so relieved that in that moment he could die happy.
Safe! — For sure! — Not too cold — not overheated — not hungry — and no debt collectors! He could never hope for such wonderful conditions in his waking life.
And... after a moment of blissful tears, Dortin suddenly realized.
"By some chance... could this actually be a good thing?"
As he wondered, he suddenly felt an emptiness overcome him. Dortin tugged at his collar in response to the sudden chill, continuing to wipe the ashtray that he was cleaning.
The Dwarf was about 130 centimeters tall — Dwarves were an indigenous people who lived in Mazmaturia, the southern territories of Kiesalhima. He was wrapped completely in a fur cloak, traditional attire for his people (and it was polite not to remove it, even indoors) and wore thick glasses. He was 17 years old, but his small stature made him look even younger.
Dortin glanced behind him. He was in a room — a moderately furnished parlor. Perhaps it was the remote location, or perhaps it was the taste of the person who'd decorated the room, but it was somehow reminiscent of a common living room.
There was someone else there, too. Another dwarf.
"... This is me... cleaning or whatever..."
The other man was mumbling and waving his feather duster around lazily. He might've been trying to clean the dust off the sideboard, but it seemed more like he was just scattering it around in the air.
Dortin sighed. He set the ashtray he'd been trying to clean down on the table.
"Brother... that's not going to get the job done anytime soon."
"What?"
The man he called 'Brother' turned his head to look at him. He had shaggy black hair and a sword at his waist. He was wearing a fur cloak like Dortin's, just without the glasses. The dwarf folded his arms, still holding the duster, and continued slowly.
"I'm going to be very clear with you, Dortin."
"Right."
When Dortin nodded in disgust, he continued.
"Why should I, Volcano Vulcan, the Fighting Dog of Mazmaturia, have to do such a menial job?"
At the end he pointed his finger at him.
Dortin replied, holding his temples.
"You know... Brother, you could think about it calmly."
"Calmly, huh?"
The dwarf, who'd introduced himself as Vulcan, shouted in rage.
"If my powerful enemies, whom I've beaten in countless battles, hear me flapping around with a feather duster, they'll be rolling in their graves. I bet they'd even weep in the afterlife! They might even kill me with soy sauce!"
Vulcan stopped as his fist came so close that it touched the tip of his nose. He looked up at him (though he was hardly taller than he was) as he wept manful tears for no reason. Dortin groaned and asked.
"Powerful enemies—?"
"For example, the fierce Red Demon King Dande Coprice Jr., who used Totokanta's 13th Street as his base!"
"Oh... The butcher's dog. The one that you attacked because you thought he was too impertinent to eat pork sausage, even if he's a dog.
Dortin mumbled in a cold voice, but Vulcan didn't listen in the slightest, and continued yelling.
"And then there's Michael Magnolia Samuels, the Black Conqueror of the Sky!"
"Let's see... Maybe you mean the crow that you fought over the copper coins on the road?"
"Not to mention The Devil's Brain, risen from the depths of the abyss! The mad doctor, Doc Sappel!"
"...? Oh! You're talking about the myna bird that's so good at mimicking. I told you to stop stealing food from bird cages because it doesn't taste good anyway, but you never listen."
"The witch with a hundred lifeless servants! Mead Rain, the rare puppet master!"
"... You mean Granny Mead, who gives you candy balls if you watch her puppet show until the end? You didn't fight her."
"............"
Vulcan was silent for a moment, a bead of sweat dripping down his face, and then, perhaps having regained some composure, he shook his head from side to side in a theatrical gesture.
"What excuse can I possibly give them!?"
"Ah, well...If you're asking me to make up as an excuse, I guess... I'd say I honestly don't know."
"Well that's because you're not the one who has to apologize—"
Vulcan yelled as Dortin mumbled.
"That's right!"
He clenched both fists and howled at the ceiling.
"How can I explain this to them? To those who've died so heroically! And me — waving a feather duster while humming a song — like some newly-wed house wife — cleaning up the house!"
"You know... you don't have to emphasize every little thing..."
But Vulcan only shook his head.
"I can't do it! They were brave warriors to the very end, despite their differences in principles! And here I am, flapping around a feather duster."
"Ahh. By the way, the lady in the cafeteria said she'd make us pancakes in her spare time if we finished cleaning up early."
"Come on, little brother. The proper way to clean is to use a dustpan. The trick to dusting is to put a plastic cover over anything that might get covered in dust."
Vulcan easily did a 180 on his attitude. He moved down the sideboard, smacking away with the feather duster with such speed that he wasn't even sure when he'd started moving. Dortin breathed a sigh of relief, and tried to pick up the crystal ashtray that he'd been polishing, but it was no longer on the table.
"Where did it...?"
Dortin looked around curiously, then sighed as he noticed that his brother's pocket seemed stuffed. Funny enough, it seemed to be just the right size for an ashtray.
(He swiped it without me even noticing...)
He could almost respect it if it wasn't so cheap.
He put the ashtray out of his mind for a moment and began to wipe the cigar case next to it, when the door to the reception room suddenly opened with a clang. He looked up, expecting to see the old lady, but instead he saw a young, stocky man enter the room.
"Yo."
The man called out to him with a sly smile on his face. He was wearing a shabby shirt and a ranger jacket that was missing the patches. The sword he carried at his waist — unlike Vulcan's — wasn't a mere trinket.
"Oh, hey Brother Salua."
Vulcan's voice suddenly struck a much more serious tone. He even stopped his dusting and bowed his head.
"Hey."
The guy he'd called Salua walked into the room, looking a little tipsy. He wasn't trying to see if they'd stolen anything, it was just a meaningless gesture, or so Dortin wanted to think.
At any rate, he didn't notice the missing ashtray. Salua beamed a thin smile and clicked his tongue.
"What you were saying earlier, Vulcan... Turns out your information was accurate — Just now, we caught the sorcerer kid."
"I-is — that so?"
Dortin thought of Majic's face as he listened to his brother's conversation. Poor kid. I hope he didn't get it too rough.
He thought, and as he looked at his brother with that in mind, his brother got an even slimier look on his face and called out to Salua.
"So... bottom line, about the black-magic sorcerer...? He's cheekily wearing a pendant from the Tower of Fang..."
"The other guys went after him. We haven't heard back yet, but it should be fine. We sent five strong, armed men, and I gave them strict orders to make it a surprise attack."
Salua shrugged and continued with his hand on his chin.
"Well, since the information turned out to be true, MacDougall wants to thank you guys. That'll probably be after dinner, though, since he plans to torture that sorcerer boy, which'll take quite a while.
He smiled at them.
"Wanna know how much our lord hates sorcerers?"
"No."
Dortin replied. Looking over, though, it seemed like his brother really wanted to know.
Dortin didn't like to talk about cruelty.
Heheh, Salua laughed.
"Well, it doesn't matter to me, I'm just the lap dog — but if you guys are going to work here as janitors, you're going to have to deal with the aftermath of the big guy's hobby — or should I call it his grand religious doctrine? Either way, it's safer not to go against these sorts of things."
After dropping such a remark, Salua turned and walked out of the reception room. Dortin waiting for his footsteps to fade away, then mumbled—
"I don't think they could've caught that loan shark with just five people."
"............"
His brother ignored him and resumed his dusting.
"I don't know about this. Brother, this is all because you let it slip that there was a sorcerer nearby... I have nothing to do with this revenge plot, though."
"W-well... I'm sure we'll be fine as long as we apologize."
Even as he answered, his voice was trembling. Dortin responded coldly.
"That's if the loan shark's apprentice is safe. If the people here were to torture him to death, the loan shark would then kill us."
"............"
Vulcan, too, suddenly realized the danger he was in. He groaned, and almost dropped the feather duster. He turned his back to him and mumbled quietly.
"Maybe... We could run away?"
"How are we going to escape from a village in the middle of the woods? We don't even know which way to go."
Dortin sighed and looked at the largest wall in the reception room, where a map of the village's surroundings was hung.
The vast home of the warriors, "Fenrir Forest" — There was a red circle in the middle of the map. It marked the village, the 'Great Heart.'
"Here... it looks like this is the 'Great Heart' village. Where Majic's being held captive."
In the darkness of the night—
Orphen was staring out from the bushes and mumbling in a hushed voice. Someone reached out and grabbed his shoulder. It was Cleao, wearing a long-sleeved blade-resistant jacket over her earlier outfit. She looked overheated, but he figured it was better than walking around in the woods in just a shirt.
She was close by, glancing at him.
"Seems like it — at least according to the information from our prisoners of war, who by the way, were puking after you hung them upside down and started a camp fire to smoke them, Orphen."
"...What are you trying to say?"
When Orphen closed his eyes and asked, Cleao answered in a hushed voice.
"Anywayyyy. Even if you go off the rails and turn the whole world against you, I'll still be on your side, soooo ❤"
"No matter what you say, I'm not giving you an allowance."
Ignoring Cleao's booing, Orphen listened with his eyes closed. The forest was dead silent, aside from Cleao's small breaths nearby — but the forest was never silent. Especially at night. The sounds of insects... and the footsteps of beasts. The sound of rustling leaves. This place was near a village, so they could hear the sound of the stream.
The time — according to Orphen's hunch — was almost midnight. It seemed like it took quite a while to get there from the highway, but it was still too early to take action.
Orphen opened his eyes. Within sight — There was a settlement sprawled out in the middle of the forest, lit by the starlight. There were no guards in sight but there was no telling where they might be hiding. There was no need to keep horses in this kind of terrain, so there were no barns for them, but what appeared to be pig farms and other livestock sheds were plentiful. The human dwellings were modest, and many of them were barn-like huts. However, in the center of the village, there was a large roof that looked almost like a gymnasium, with a tall tower structure beside it. The roof of which, which was reminiscent of a church steeple, seemed to have a similar function — with a statue resting on top of its spiky peeks. Only, they weren't the holy seal of the Kimrak Church.
"... Dragon!"
Orphen muttered. Just like the symbol of Fenrir Forest — a gigantic wolf, painstakingly painted jet black, soared above him. If it weren't for the starlight, he'd have missed its shape in the dark night.
"This isn't good."
Orphen grumbled. Cleao curiously looked up from behind him.
"Why?"
Orphen pointed to the wolf statue on the steeple.
"It's a statue of a Deep Dragon. If they're worshipping something like that, this must be... it seems to be a hiding place for Dragon Faith."
"Dragon Faith? I think I've heard that before."
Cleao said in a tone like she didn't quite understand. Orphen grabbed Cleao's head and sighed.
"You don't understand... To Dragon Worshippers, a sorcerer like me is akin to a demon or a natural enemy."
Cleao pondered this for a moment, with her head still under his hand, before replying.
"Considering what you did to those five guys earlier, though — isn't demon an apt description?"
"Why you... Never mind, I don't care. Majic is the problem here — If he got captured by the people of this village—"
But his words got muddier when he remembered that Cleao was nearby. If he was tortured, that'd be the best case scenario, because there was also the possibility that they'd simply murder him with no questioning whatsoever.
Orphen gritted his teeth. They didn't have much time to rescue him. In fact, there was a chance that it was already too late.
(Damn it...)
"That idiot, if he was caught by some ordinary person, he's going to be hit with a storm of remedial work when we bring him back."
"You made him cry just the other day by telling him to do 1,000 squats, even though you can't do that many yourself."
"... Yeah well, while he was busy sobbing and doing squats, we ate the last can of peaches together, so you're just as guilty as I am."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, but..."
Cleao blurted out.
"Orphen, why would a Dragon Worshipper be so hostile to a sorcerer?"
"............"
Orphen looked at the village in silence, then opened his mouth in an even lower tone.
"I told you what the dragon race is like, didn't I?"
"Yeah... You mean the race that stole magic from the gods a long time ago?"
"Yeah..."
It was in ancient times — more than a thousand years ago, according to the chronicles of the dragon tribes found throughout various ruins. It was said that on the Giant's Continent, known as Jotunheim, several races stole the omnipotent power of the gods, Magic, and harnessed it in a form that even they, who were not so almighty, could handle — In other words, 'Sorcery.' They were the six most prominent species of beasts in the world — the War Dragons, Wyrd Dragons, Deep Dragons, Fairy Dragons, Red Dragons, and Mist Dragons.
"The six dragon tribes escaped the pursuit of the gods and came to this continent, Kiesalhima... Along the way, they fought fierce battles against the gods' servants and minions. After fighting them all off, the dragon tribes made this continent their home. Hundreds of years later, our human ancestors settled on this continent. That was three hundred years ago..."
"Humans got their magical power from the Wyrd Dragons, didn't they? You've said this before."
"That's right — Wyrd Dragons, the Nornir, whose appearance was almost the same as humans — When the Celestials and the human races mixed, it brought into existence something peculiar, even for this continent: The sorcerers — human sorcerers. Not a member of the dragon race. However, their race also possessed the ability to use sorcery."
Orphen pointed his gaze at the statue of the Deep Dragon.
"Dragon Worshippers consider this disrespectful. In fact, in the past, the Wyrd Dragon race, who were responsible for the emergence of sorcerers in the first place, tried to wipe human sorcerers off the face of the earth. It's not clear why people consider sorcerers to be such a hindrance, and I gotta say, back there in the undergrounds of Alenhatam, the story we heard from that babbling doll left behind by the Celestials didn't seem that reliable, either."
"... But the problem is that they can use sorcery, right? If that's the case, the dragons might want to keep sorcerers to their own race."
"I don't know about that. The power we sorcerers can handle may or may not reach the lowest level of sorcery used by the dragon races. Though, there are also sorcerers who claim that human sorcery has already surpassed the sorcery of some dragon races... It's true that if you compare the atmospheric magic of a Mist Dragon and the transmogrification magic of a Red Dragon with our voice magic, that our voice magic may be superior — especially if we compare it to voice magic as a whole, which even includes advanced white magic. However, if we compare the overall strength of the human race with that of the Mist Dragon race, we don't have either the physical strength or the vitality of the Mist Dragon race, which can survive in any environment on earth, nor do we have the extremely high intelligence of the Red Dragon race, or their knowledge of natural systems. It's unlikely that the dragon races would ever regard the powers of humans as dangerous. Jealousy is... a possibility, at least."
"Jealousy?"
Orphen answered Cleao with a wry smile.
"For what it's worth, humans are the most prosperous on the continent, but if you're going to say that—"
He continued, his wry smile disappearing.
"Despite that, the dragon races are, undoubtedly, the rulers of this continent."
"Hmm... but—"
Cleao pouted, seemingly in a bad mood.
"I still can't figure out why the Dragon Worshippers are so hostile to sorcerers."
"I don't know. I don't understand it either."
When Orphen said this, Cleao shrugged her shoulders a bit. Orphen continued as if to follow up.
"Dragon Worshippers worship dragons — the natural inhabitants and legitimate rulers of the continent, the dragon races. And some of those dragon races hate us human sorcerers. They must listen to their lords — so I have to assume that's why those who worship dragons loathe sorcerers. That's about the extent of the argument."
"So is it just that they became independent?"
"Well... If humans gain too much independence, they tend to develop delusions of grandeur, seeing themselves as the rulers of the world, and usually get carried away and end up destroying themselves."
"Maybe that's what it was, then."
Cleao sounded easily convinced.
That's what it was, Orphen also thought in the back of his mind.
They stepped out from the cover of darkness — In the summer, the forest became unusually hot and humid at night. It would get so humid that if you waved your hand, you might just get water droplets on it, and if you crept along little by little, it'd hardly make a sound.
—Or so I hope, Orphen thought as he looked sideways at Cleao, who was following after him totally unconcerned about the sound of her footsteps.
He snuck from the bushes on the outskirts of the village into the village through the nearest livestock pens, moving past the unlit huts — then through the alleys leading to the garbage dump. It was possible that the guards had already spotted them — after all, it was a small village. There were many ways to watch over the village, where they'd be able to watch every crevice. All he could do was to go in with an open mind.
Cleao followed calmly, holding her sword sheath snugly against her chest in her all-black — or rather, dark purple — ranger jacket. Apparently she had an appreciation for details, because on the left breast of the jacket that she'd just bought, she'd embroidered a human-shaped coat of arms — with a rather stylized sword and shield. He'd asked her about it, and she told him that the Everlasting family, being a merchant family, didn't have a family crest, but that some aristocrat who'd been related to the family several generations ago had used the crest. The crest was quite a sight to behold, though perhaps that wasn't because it was worn by Cleao, who looked like an aristocrat, but because it was quite a striking crest. The young lady, who'd almost forced her way into the Everlasting family, was said to have not revealed her family name until her death, so, surprisingly, she may have been from a well-known family lineage.
Orphen quickly ran through the alleyway and proceeded deeper and deeper into the village, following along the blind spots of the huts. He had no idea where Majic was being held, but he always started in the center when searching for something in hostile territory. That way, you could get into the rhythm of searching while also learning your escape routes.
At the center of the village was a building with an unusually large circular roof — it looked like a workshop with chimneys sticking out of the roof here and there. Since he'd never heard of prisoners of war being confined in a workshop, he suspected that the church-like steeple next to the workshop was the most likely scenario. Since they'd never let ordinary worshippers see their torture site, he wondered if Majic would be held in the basement or the top of the tower.
Orphen stopped to hide in the shadows of the hut as he thought to himself.
"This is a tough one — there can't be no guards, and I'm sure there's at least a lock at the entrance and exit. If it's a simple lock, I can work some magic on it."
"... Can't we just take the key from the guard?"
Cleao whispered as she stepped into the same shadow. Orphen shook his head.
"It's easy enough to get the keys, but it's hard to do so without causing a scene. It's very difficult to knock out an opponent, who may or may not be trained, without him screaming for help. On the other hand, to use sorcery, I need to cast a spell... Better yet, I could set the whole village on fire, then take advantage of the chaos to enter the building? In that case, even if I use sorcery to blow the door off the cell, they won't know."
Cleao clenched her fists as if she was on fire herself when she heard this.
"I see... so you're going to kill all the evil kidnappers. That's quite a resolution, Orphen."
"You idiot — Well, I'm confident we could handle a village this size if we stuck to guerrilla warfare, but..."
"I was only joking. Though, if you burn the village to the ground, people will die for sure."
"If this cult is a proper organization, no one will burn to death as they'll all evacuate. Besides, before setting fire to the village, we can set off an explosion to wake up the whole village."
"... If the only purpose is to create a commotion, you don't have to start a fire. For example — how about a full-body banana man suddenly appearing out of the mirrors in the village? I'm sure that'd create a big uproar."
"... I don't even understand what that'd be... Rejected."
"Then... Orphen, you could streak through the village laughing maniacally. I'll take action in that gap ❤"
"... Rejected."
"How about we secretly put nose rings on everyone in the village while they're asleep? Then in the morning, all hell breaks loose."
"... You don't understand the gravity of the situation. We have to rescue Majic."
"He'll be fine. He survived the last time I locked him in the gym and forgot about him before going home for the holidays. He even survived the holidays by eating cotton balls to keep himself alive."
"T-that's pretty egregious, actually, but... You know, they might be torturing him in the village as we speak."
"Torture!? ... Well, if that's the case, I'd feel bad if I didn't give him a massage after we bring him back."
Orphen sighed at Cleao, who seemed to be taking herself rather seriously.
"No... Your ligament tearing massage would be cruelty to him. Even I screamed."
"Don't give weird names to other people's massages. Though, I was a little surprised when you started crying, Orphen."
Orphen held back Cleao's muttering with his hand. It honestly seemed impossible to get the girl to understand the visual of 'Poor Majic, who might've been kidnapped and tortured to death by fanatics.'
While he thought about such things, just as he tried to sneak further into the village—
FWWWOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooo—......
It sounded like an enormous amount of air being sucked into a singular point—
FWOOM—!
A pillar of fire erupted at the center of the village, burning all the way up to the heavens!
"Wha—!"
Orphen let out a confused shout, shielding his face from the blast — Cleao screamed behind him. The blast kicked up so much sand that it crackled against the walls of the nearby huts. The pillar of fire hadn't disappeared yet, however, blazing brightly in the center of the village — right in front of the huge building with the chimneys — sending waves of heat through the alleys even though it was a considerable distance away. The color of the raging fire that lit the entire village was white—
(It's not like a gas explosion — and it's not the color of burning oil—)
A pure white pillar of fire — white flames didn't exist naturally in the world. A pure white light, that didn't seem to have any catalyst—
"That fire is... sorcery!"
Orphen shouted without thinking. The village suddenly began to buzz with activity as people rushed out of the huts around them. Everyone, however, was too distracted by the sudden column of fire blazing in the village to bother with Orphen and Cleao.
"Sorcery? Is... is that Majic's doing?"
Cleao asked, brushing the sand from her hair. Orphen replied, horrified.
"If he can use spells like that, I've got nothing more to teach him."
"... What?"
"That's... not human sorcery!"
Orphen growled deep in his throat. For sorcerers, who had the power to manipulate energy — they could see what they called sorcery — and if the sorcery were effectively activated, they'd also be able to read the composition from the magical energy that was released into the air. From that woven composition, they could also determine the skill of the caster.
"What? Is it that doll again!?"
Cleao shouted back and tried to draw her sword — but Orphen stopped her and muttered.
"Don't do it. You wouldn't stand a chance against something like that."
"W-what, you know it's cheating if you're the only one who knows what's going on here."
Cleao said, sulking a little. For half a second, Orphen seriously considered getting his point across with a head butt or something.
"Look!"
He said, pointing toward the pillar of fire. The pure white flames were long gone, but now that the fire was out, a faint silhouette stood reflected in the moonlit darkness.
Where it stood — several hundred meters away, was in the center of the village. Even at a distance, its silhouette was clearly recognizable. It was the silhouette of a giant black wolf under the moon—
"Deep Dragon — Fenrir!"
Orphen shouted the name, his whole body trembling with fear. Only a moment ago, there'd been no dragons. His mind was filled with all the old legends he'd heard about the Deep Dragons—
"Damn, if those are really true, if that's really Fenrir, it might also have the ability to use spacial transition..."
"W-what is that?"
Cleao's eyes lit up in amazement at the situation. Orphen continued, feeling like crying for no particular reason.
"It's a Deep Dragon! One of the most powerful of the dragon races!"
Orphen looked at the silhouette, towering in the distance as he cried out the words. The giant wolf with jet-black fur. If it weren't for the moonlight, it would've completely melted into the darkness of the night. Deep Dragons never roared — or even made footsteps. They never spoke, even though it was said that they could communicate their language through thoughts. They were silent dragons, without sound. Because of their huge bodies, they usually lived in the water, but they had no problem moving across the ground. Rather, on ground, they were even more aggressive.
It was said that there were two types of dragon species that were notably dangerous to humans who encountered them: The worst was generally thought to be the Mist Dragons. However, there was nothing you could do about the other worst — the Deep Dragons, who were skilled at sorcery.
"Wow~!"
Orphen only groaned and glared at Cleao, as he listed off all this information in his head, unable to express it out loud. Of course, there was no way he could get the severity of that message across to Cleao. Even he knew that.
But the Deep Dragon was too dangerous for him to have time to explain.
Orphen gripped Cleao's shoulder firmly. Cleao, who'd been sneaking toward the dragon, looked like a child who'd been caught causing trouble.
(This girl... She just doesn't get it, at all!)
He thought, as he peered into her twin blue eyes.
"Run!"
"... Huh?"
Cleao made a clueless sound, staring blankly for a moment — she hadn't even considered the possibility of being told to run. Orphen looked around in frustration. The sound of the explosion seemed to have awoken the villagers. He could see people starting to appear from huts here and there. Some had already run out of their houses and were shouting "It's a dragon!"
However, no one seemed to notice Orphen and Cleao. Not yet. Even if they had, they would've been too preoccupied with the sudden appearance of a dragon in the middle of the village.
Orphen looked into Cleao's eyes once more. After nearly two months of experience, he knew that the key to getting this girl to listen to him was to give her no chance to argue with him.
"If you follow the signs I left in the woods, you can make it back to the wagon by yourself, right?"
"Huh? Yes. But—"
"When you get back, ask anyone passing by to help move our hidden wagon back onto the road and go to the nearest ranger station. Tell the rangers what happened and wait for me there, okay?"
"Yeah, I get what you're saying, but Orphen..."
"Then go! I'll get Majic out of there, then I'll follow you!"
"Umm—"
"Just go!"
Orphen waved his arm and yelled, and as expected, Cleao retreated back a bit in annoyance. She started to run back with a resentful look in her eyes.
"Orphen—"
He also remembered her parting words.
"You owe me one... After this, you're going to have to do whatever I tell you!"
"Don't be so loud, you idiot!"
Ugh, Orphen grumbled to himself. That amateur needs to learn her place, damn it.
(I don't know if I can survive this one on my own—)
Orphen clutched the dragon pendant on his chest as if to pray. He didn't know what he was praying for, however.
(Majic, you fool, you owe me one — I'll have you do whatever Cleao says on my behalf!)
After arbitrarily imposing this disaster upon himself, Orphen started running as fast as he could toward the center of the village — toward the dragon. Somehow, he had a feeling that was also where Majic was being held captive.
The dragon didn't move. It stood perfectly still, exactly where it had appeared. Orphen noticed from the angle of the silhouette that the dragon's head was also still, as if it were staring at something. It was standing near the tower. The tip of its snout seemed to be staring at the top of the tower.
(If that's the tower where Majic's being held, that means he has to be right in front of the dragon...)
Orphen thought as he ran through the village, which was suddenly coming to life.
(He could be dead.)
It was no longer dark in the village. Torchlight was illuminating the area. They must've been lit by the villagers who'd woken up. Listening to them, it seemed that the villagers weren't disturbed by the appearance of the Deep Dragon — Well, they were disturbed, but they weren't panicked.
(That's just as well — the dragon is their patron god, after all... Or so they think.)
Then — came a voice.
| ... That's... why... |
"......?"
Orphen couldn't believe his ears, and stopped dead in his tracks. Just then, he was certain he'd felt a voice in his ear.
(What was that?)
He furrowed his brow and listened. He was in a small alley between the huts. There were no villagers, perhaps because it wasn't an intentional passageway. He glimpsed some villagers with torches at one of the crossroads on another street, but they passed by without noticing him. Everyone seemed to be on their way to the dragon.
(Can't stand still now, can I...)
Orphen clicked his tongue and started running again. If the villagers were gathering around the dragon, he'd not only have to escape the Deep Dragon, but also the villagers. Rescuing Majic was seeming more and more hopeless.
(You idiot, making me go through all this trouble — just wait and see what I do to you when I bring you back...)
| Not yet? |
This time, he heard it clearly.
(It wasn't my imagination!)
The voice wasn't a voice of the flesh — it caused no vibrations in the air, but simply bounced around in space. It was like it was being forcibly driven into his head...
(It's the dark magic of the Deep Dragon... I'm not supposed to be the target, but I can still hear it!?)
The Deep Dragon's sorcery was said to be the art of controlling the mind — and if that were all there was to it, you could say that it was the same thing as human white magic, but the crucial difference was that Fenrir affected not only living things, but also non-living things. In other words, it wasn't just the trees in the forest, but also the soil, air, water, and even space were subject to its mental control.
The column of fire he'd just seen must have been the result of dominating that space and causing vibrations as a result — or it may have been the aftermath of the spacial transition that caused the vibrations.
(Even still — While I might've known that already, it's a hell of an intimidating thing.)
He admitted, horrified.
Just as humans used their voice as a medium for their sorcery, Deep Dragon's sorcery used their gaze. Only, the dragon wasn't looking at him right now. In other words, Orphen wasn't under the influence of the dragon's sorcery. Yet he was still affected by the telepathy.
(This is shaping up to be more and more of a formidable opponent... but why would a dragon appear out of nowhere in this village?)
Deep Dragons were said to guard Fenrir Forest. They had no mercy for humans who entered the forest. However, if the dragon had come to destroy the village, even a minute of staring at it from afar would've reduced it to ashes in no time. Yet, the dragon appeared in the middle of the village, and yet again, it sat there doing nothing.
(No way — This thing can't actually be the guardian god of this village, can it?)
No way, no way, he repeated as he exited the alley and turned down the street. Then...
"Who the hell are you?"
Orphen stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of the voice. He clicked his tongue and bent down slightly, just in case he was about to be jumped. He turned around and saw a tall man waiting there.
He held a torch in his right hand and what looked like a khakkhara in his left. The light from the torch illuminated his figure. He was a stout, middle-aged man with a beard.
Behind the man stood a few more, like they were his followers. They looked like ordinary villagers, but judging from their size, they must be his cronies. Only the young man at the back of the group had a strangely different atmosphere — and he was armed. He was smirking, with a long sword at his waist and a ranger jacket without any patches. He was about twenty-two or twenty-three years old.
The man with the khakkhara spoke first. His voice was thick and firm.
"Who are you? I don't think you belong in this village."
"... Me? I'm—"
When Orphen opened his mouth to make up an excuse, the man with the khakkhara had already begun making his move — He let the khakkhara fall to the ground with a thud.
At the same time, with his free left hand, the man pulled a blackish lump of iron out of his pocket. Orphen jumped backward in a flash. The lump in the man's hand almost seemed to follow him as it burst into flames. He had a handgun!
"A pistol!"
Orphen shouted abruptly. The bullet seemed to have missed him, perhaps because visibility was low in the dark, and he didn't even feel the silent passing of the bullet near his body that he'd expected to — although if the gunpowder used for it was of poor quality, the bullet wouldn't be powerful enough to create a shockwave.
"First dragons, now handguns — Aren't those supposed to be controlled by royal decree?"
Orphen grunted, and the man laughed, pistol at the ready — but that smile only covered the lower half of his face, visible only by his slightly raised beard. His eyes were certainly not smiling.
"The laws of the human world have no place in my forest! I am MacDougall, the Dragon's messenger, the Priest of the Heart!"
The Priest — MacDougall pulled the trigger again. His gun was of common construction and had no barrel. As far as anybody knew, handguns were the end-all-be-all in close-range combat. So, he simply used his left hand. Orphen, however, who'd learned how to use other pistols, knew that it wasn't something you could be hit by at any distance.
But, of course, there was always the possibility of a lucky shot, and if he were hit by such a shot, it could prove fatal. Fortunately for him, the second shot also missed, but Orphen didn't dare to let him fire a third.
"I release you—"
"So you're a sorcerer after all!"
MacDougall shouted. His cronies rushed after him. Orphen wasn't concerned, but continued to work his sorcery.
They were, after all, the kind of people group who'd already tried to gun him down without even hearing his name.
(So I don't care if one or two of them get seriously hurt!)
"Sword of—"
The sorcery was about to be invoked at the perfect moment — but then it was suddenly interrupted.
"Guh—!?"
A sharp pain shot through his left shoulder. Before he knew it, there was a knife in his hand. If he hadn't twisted around to release his spell, it would've landed in his throat.
Orphen grunted in pain as his eyes met the gaze of the man behind MacDougall — the man in the ranger jacket, with a sword in his belt, had thrown the knife. He was staring back at him with a smirk. His eyes seemed to be challenging him — 'You wouldn't go down that easily, would you?'
Pow! — A third gunshot rang out. Orphen tried to weave his magical composition again, his shoulders slumping from the weight and pain of the knife.
Then, suddenly, he was attacked from the side — one of the cronies had approached him, swinging the torch he was holding to smash it against him sideways. If his left arm were able to move, he would've have been able to avoid the blow, but it was too late. He heard the torch crackle near his head.
"Damn—"
Orphen grunted, and with the heel of his sturdy boot, he stomped the crony's kneecap as hard as he could. The man fell to the ground with a yelp. Then, another crony came up right in front of him. This time, Orphen was the first to strike, with a right-handed palm strike to his opponent's chest. The moment the enemy flinched with a grunt, he unleashed his spell.
"I breath, the flowing angel!"
A moment later, a fierce air pressure welled between his palm and the man's body. The air threw the man backwards — and he crashed into MacDougall and the others.
He heard MacDougall cursing when he got crushed under his flying cronies. Orphen ducked down, thinking Serves you right!
(I have to hurry — Majic — I have to save Majic—)
Then—
(Wha......!?)
Orphen stopped in astonishment. He turned and saw the Deep Dragon standing right in front of him.
"Oh...!"
Behind him, he heard MacDougall yelling, and he felt a feverish hopelessness.
"My Lord—!"
My Lord. Orphen repeated MacDougall's words in his mind.
The dragon was... was staring at him.
Deep Dragon — The silent dragon warrior. That's what the legends called them. The strongest warriors on the continent who live in Fenrir Forest, where the goddess resides, and destroy all foolish humans who try to seek out the goddess. If the War Dragons and Wyrd Dragons, who wielded the most devastating sorcery on this continent were considered the king and queen, then the Deep Dragon was the true warrior.
It would be foolish of him to defy such a warrior. There was no way he could win.
Up close, the black wolf was so overwhelming. It stared down at him with its beautiful green eyes, in absolute silence. One look and it could disintegrate the human body until it was nothing but dust. Its jet-black fur, which glistened in the darkness of the night, didn't even sway in the night breeze due to the oil secreted from its skin. Its mouth never opened, and therefore you'd never see its red tongue.
The most beautiful beast on the continent. That was the Deep Dragon, Fenrir.
Under the moonlight, it watched him with a warrior's gaze.
"Why are you... looking at me?"
Orphen asked in the spur of the moment, something he hadn't even thought about. But now that he'd said it, he realized it made no sense for a dragon to walk right up to him and simply stare. Or was this dragon really the guardian god of this village, trying to destroy him, an intruder?
| This is the man, is it not? The one who has come to take what is thine. |
(............?)
The dragon was having a conversation with someone, somewhere, that Orphen could not understand.
| Thou desires my power to defend what is thine?— |
(Stop—!)
Orphen, with all of his might, tried to resist the dragon's sorcery...
And then, as if embraced by darkness, the silence came.
Table of Contents
|
| (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) |
Priestess of the Forest Deep Dragon Orphen's Imprisonment Fiena's Request MacDougall's Secret Rapid Slaughter |
- Notes
- A Khakkhara is a staff used by monks to announce their presence and scare away animals. The end of the staff contains several metal rings that act as noise makers.
- There's an inclination to translate the Red Dragon magic as 'Beastification.' I chose to go with 'Transmogrification' even if it's not technically the word used because I felt that Beastification didn't entirely fit with what the magic actually does (transform and modify body parts, not always in a way that is specifically turning into another animal). I opted for this instead of Lycanthropy since a Red Dragon's magic extends beyond the realm of basic animal shapeshifting and can also mimic inanimate objects such as clothes, or warp the body's natural shape. For example, extending one's fingers or stretching limbs to avoid attacks.