"Wolves, Gather In My Forest" V4 Chapter 5 - MacDougall's Secret
Dawn was fast approaching. In fact, it came right after he'd started to fall asleep.
In the morning, Orphen walked through the village. After making sure his headache had subsided, he unlocked the dungeon, kicked the two guards around, and walked out of the tower. It was still early morning, but apparently mornings in this village were early to begin with — most of the villagers had woken up and were already outside. Everyone was staring at Orphen as he walked, as if he were some distant visitor.
A middle-aged woman, a child with her, a stout man, and a frail-looking girl — there wasn't much to say about them, they were just a bunch of villagers staring at him. There didn't seem to be many young men. According to Salua, all of the bloodthirsty ones were MacDougall's cronies.
Dragon Worshipers detested sorcerers — In fact, the people of this village didn't look kindly upon him, either. Even more so, since he was wearing the crest of the Tower of Fang, the pinnacle of black magic, he was honestly nervous that they'd at least throw stones at him. For the time being, however, he didn't get that impression. At least, not yet.
(They're afraid, of me—)
Orphen realized while walking along. There were definitely hints of fear in the villager's faces.
(Why do they fear me and not MacDougall?)
Maybe it was just the villager's natural reaction, as he was stranger, but Orphen couldn't help but wonder. He kept walking. His destination was MacDougall's mansion, which was a short distance from the cult tower.
Looking at the priest's house, Orphen couldn't decide if it was luxurious or simple — it was certainly somewhat larger than the surrounding houses in the village, but it wasn't so large that Orphen couldn't wipe it off the face of the planet with one full-power spell. However, like all of the other huts, it had no main garden, only a small flower bed at the entrance. The roof shape and the number of windows was typical for a wooden mansion. Paint must've been a precious commodity out there — most of the walls were bare wood.
Without knocking — as there was no knocker — he reached for the doorknob. It was early in the morning, so the door was still locked. Apparently, the priest's mornings were late mornings.
Finally, Orphen was somewhat relieved when he finally distinguished a difference between him and the ordinary villagers.
He raised his right — about to slam it against the door to knock—
When suddenly, he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. With a creak of wood, the door opened, and at the same time, he heard a voice.
"Yo. You're early... I've already asked Fiena about the specifics."
It was Salua who'd opened the door. He was dressed the same as last night, but without his sword. He continued, showing no sign of sleepiness.
"The big man is still sleeping — he was up late last night. He had a meeting."
"Well I'm here. Wake him up."
Orphen said softly, passing by Salua and entering the building.
As he walked by, Salua asked in a hushed voice.
"Where's the kid?"
"I guess you pay attention — He's at his post. Fiena said something's going to happen today, and that it might be big enough to destroy the entire village, so we're taking action now."
"I don't believe it... You're not going to let MacDougall get away, are you? If you let him escape, my head's gonna roll — and I'm not speaking metaphorically, okay?"
"I don't care. I'm not going to be a part of this assassination, so keep your eyes peeled."
The inside of the house was incredibly messy — there was an entrance and a corridor. Orphen was somewhat curious and opened the door at the very front — it led into a room that looked like a reception room, but it was also dirty. There were liquor bottles and other crap scattered about on the floor, and in the opposite corner was a load of laundry — it seemed to be a completely male-dominated room, where the cronies would sometimes sleep.
He entered the room. Salua followed behind him.
"What's this lovely room...?"
"It's just the meeting room. Oops... This one here's my personal favorite. It's a classy drink, man."
"I wouldn't know."
Orphen kicked away the empty bottle that Salua had intended to pick up. He slammed the door shut. Orphen listened with a sigh.
"Where's MacDougall?"
"In the back bedroom, of course... But what are you going to do about the big guy?"
"We'll talk this out. By the way, where are his cronies?"
"They should all be at home, but I heard the meeting went on 'til dawn, so they won't be up this early in the morning."
"Hmm..."
Orphen nodded and headed down the hallway toward the back. After a while, Salua raised his voice in a panic from behind him.
"H-hey, are you going to talk to the boss!? What are you thinking?"
Orphen didn't answer, and simply continued on his way. He'd already guessed what was going on, and opened the door.
Books and pieces of paper were scattered around on the floor, almost as if they'd been yanked off the bookcase and thrown around, rather than being put down gently after being read. There were clothes strewn from the door to the bed, including summer sweaters, blouses, underwear, skirts, and socks. He didn't quite understand why the placement of the skirt and underwear were in the wrong order. The bed was tilted in a strange way, as if one of its legs was broken. There was a gas light laying on its side on the floor, which was incredibly dangerous, even if Orphen thought it was kind of appropriate for the feel of the room. The bed sheets were disheveled, with a young woman snoring beneath them, and wrapped up in a blanket she looked strangely like a corpse. Apart from her shaggy hair, only her bare feet peeked out from the blanket.
Orphen turned a sideways glance at Salua. He nervously scratched his head, ruffling the black hair.
"It's a little embarrassing to admit, but this is my room."
Orphen closed the door. He couldn't even hear the gentle snores from within the room.
"Are you... really one of Kimrak's 'Teachers'?"
"No, see, this whole charade is to make you think I'm not one."
"............"
"It's true. I also pretend to get drunk every night, let the cows out of the barn, tell ghost stories to the kids, and offer to teach them spells to get rid of the rubber-faced man from the story if they give me candy balls. I mean I'm going through a lot of trouble to hide this sublime land of mine."
"... Yeah, great. Let's move on."
Orphen dared not to pursue it any further and looked around the corridor.
"That aside... Hey, where does he sleep? If you'd just told me from the beginning, I wouldn't have had to go poking around."
"You've got a lot of attitude for a trespasser, you know..."
Salua grumbled, but still pointed to the door opposite his bedroom.
"Here it is. He doesn't carry a gun in his bedroom... He learned his lesson after it went off once."
"I see..."
(That's a pretty astute observation you've got there.)
Orphen thought as he opened the door.
MacDougall's bedroom was surprisingly neat and tidy, partly because he didn't have enough stuff to make a mess in the first place, but also because it looked exactly like the kind of room you'd expect from one of the Church's teachers — Well, aside from the hit man behind him, that was. Fiena had said he was a former teacher, he recalled, looking over to the bed at the back of the room.
MacDougall was just about to get up. He was in a plain nightgown, and if he'd been married, his wife would've never allowed him to wear something like that. MacDougall was obviously a bachelor.
"Nice morning, isn't it?"
Orphen said in a deliberate tone. MacDougall glanced at him, then twisted his lips back as if he'd just heard a disappointing joke. He mumbled a response from behind his mustache.
"It's morning in the forest — Of course it is."
"Will it rain? That'd be nice."
"Even if it rains, mornings in the forest are tranquil. Tranquil and... sacred. Everything begins anew and yesterday is put to rest."
"I see. When I hear you spewing stuff like that, it makes sense that you were a teacher of Kimrak."
At that moment, MacDougall's face showed a hint of agitation, his careful expression cracking. The hand that had about been ready to pull the sheet back suddenly lost all strength — and he heard Salua yell something from behind him.
For a moment, silence brought the morning to a halt. For the first time, MacDougall turned to face him squarely.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, sorcerer?"
"Yeah, what do you think you're doing?"
Salua repeated in a low voice. Orphen ignored him.
"Don't worry about what the Kimrak assassin standing behind me is saying."
You've got to be fucking kidding me — Salua blurted out. Orphen continued.
"I don't care if you're the 'Heart of the Forest' or whatever, nor do I care if you're thinking about interfering with the dragon's sanctuary."
"H-hey, come on — What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Orphen looked over his shoulder at Salua, who tried to grab at him, and saw an opening, quickly ducking and putting his palm on his opponent's back.
"Guide me, Deathcry Starling!"
With that incantation, destructive vibrations were sent directly into Salua's body, sending the assassin crashing to the floor in a heap. Salua let out a desperate scream at the shock, which left him writhing around on the floor.
"You — traitor—!"
"I have no intention of cooperating with assassins."
"You really think you've ingratiated yourself to me with that gesture?"
MacDougall mumbled, not paying any attention to Salua, who was on the floor. Orphen shrugged his shoulders.
"Not really. This guy's just getting in the way of the deal."
"The deal...?"
MacDougall raised an eyebrow. Salua was groaning viciously from the floor, as if he could no longer speak.
Orphen continued.
"Release Fiena."
"What...!?"
He saw MacDougall's eyes widen, and he looked at him, repeating himself.
"That's all. I've got nothing else to say. I came here to ask you straight up — to let her go, and maybe then, you won't have to die, along with everyone in this village."
Fiena had never said anything like that, but the way she spoke about it, he had a feeling that what he'd said was true — some form of danger, so terrifying that a 14-year-old girl was easily prepared to die, was coming because MacDougall was intent on using her in his plans. The only way to avoid this was, perhaps, to get MacDougall to make a deal. Conversely, as long as the deal went through, everything should be fine, theoretically.
The assassin had to be incapacitated for him to work out the deal regardless — How could he hope to make a deal for MacDougall's life with an assassin standing right behind him?
MacDougall returned to a calmer demeanor.
"Don't be ridiculous..."
Orphen didn't answer, but slowly stepped forward. He stepped over Salua, who was still lying on the floor, and approached MacDougall's bed.
The former Teacher continued.
"You don't understand... I, too, am aware of the dangers of my plan. I am also aware that because of my plan, others, not just this Teacher of Death, will attempt to take my life... but I must go through with it nonetheless."
"Why?"
"Because I've seen within Kimrak what you have not, and I believe that anyone who saw the same thing would be forced to realize — the continent as it is now is doomed. Moreover... we need something with greater power than we have. We need beings who are more powerful than even the dragon races..."
Orphen felt a surge run through his brain at those words, a sensation like an electrical current. The crazy old sorcerer he'd met a few weeks ago had also claimed to have seen something in Kimrak...
Orphen opened his mouth.
"A guy I met before said the same thing that you just did — but he was so petrified he couldn't speak. You seem to be in better shape."
"I'm sure... he must've been terrified."
"Tell me your story and I'll help you out if I think it's necessary. In any case... I don't want you running amok."
As he spoke, Orphen took another step toward MacDougall. MacDougall's eyes were slightly downcast, and his voice was low.
"It all comes back to Urthr..."
MacDougall moved slightly as he mumbled. At the same time—
Wham — a resounding thud echoed through his skull. There was a small vibration, a tiny black dot in the center of his vision, which shook before disappearing. Then — what really should've been heard at the moment of impact — the sound of pottery shattering. Something white shattered down the front of his face.
Orphen's jaw hit the floor like he'd been beaten to death. MacDougall jumped up from his bed and ran past him. Orphen realized that he'd left the room. Apparently, when he'd gotten close enough, he'd seen an opportunity and struck him with a vase or something.
(Fuck—)
It was so sudden that he couldn't avoid it. Orphen cursed and stood up. His forehead was soaked in blood. Looking around, MacDougall was no longer in the room. There were only fragments of the vase on the floor, along with Salua, who'd fainted.
Orphen followed MacDougall into the hallway. Nearby — he saw the double doors slam shut.
"Wait, MacDougall—"
Orphen groaned weakly. At the same time, the door opened again.
From them, MacDougall slowly appeared. He held a pistol in his left hand. At a glance, it seemed like he'd come out of a study. It was probably where he stored the pistol.
Blood dripped into his eyes.
With the muzzle of the gun pointed squarely at him, MacDougall opened his mouth.
"Don't get smart with me, sorcerer — trying to claim that you'd help me under the right circumstances?"
"You're a stubborn old man, aren't you?"
"It's not a matter of character — and anyway, in the grand scheme of things, sorcerers don't belong in this world. Why do you think the battle between sorcerers and Wyrd Dragons happened two hundred years ago?"
"The Nornir were jealous of human sorcerers, who thrived while their own perished..."
Dazed from blood loss, Orphen repeated what he'd been told long ago in the underground of Alenhatam. The distance between him and MacDougall was about five meters — not far enough for him to lunge at him.
MacDougall let out a laugh that bordered on a howl.
"Hahaha! Do you really think the Celestials are dead? The Dragon's Queen!"
MacDougall's finger was about to pull the trigger when he shouted. Orphen tried to chant as quickly as he could.
"I release you, Sword of—"
Gah! — Again, a dull pain.
Orphen took a hard blow to the back of his head and, nearly falling, looked behind him to see Salua, his forehead greasy with sweat, standing there with a shard of the vase in his hand.
"You, you traitor!"
He heard his voice — a voice that slowly came to him — and as he fell, he saw MacDougall's image, realizing his eyes had turned again as he fell. MacDougall had the muzzle of his gun pointed at him and was about to pull the trigger. His finger moved. It looked like something exploded — and then, a moment later—
Bam—
The door opened right in front of him, just to the right of the corridor. The wooden door shook violently the moment it opened, and as it swung open from the other side — it seemed to have blocked the bullet.
Standing in the opened door was a familiar, stocky figure.
"... Huh?"
Vulcan stood there in a flabby nightgown, looking at them with a puzzled look on his face. It seemed he'd come from the servant's quarters. Dortin was also there, right behind his brother.
No time for explanations — Orphen regained consciousness, and from his slumped position, he swung his foot out, tripping Salua, who was behind him. Normally he could've avoided it, but the guy must've been exhausted from eating a point-blank spell like that. He fell helplessly down in the hallway. The fragment of vase fell from Salua's hand, and Orphen picked it up, smashing it down against Salua's head. This time, Salua really did faint in agony.
Behind him — again, the door closed. Looking back, it seemed that MacDougall had forced his way forward, shoving Vulcan and Dortin aside. The muzzle of the gun was once again perfectly aimed at its target. Orphen turned his back to the gun muzzle and leapt with all of his might, hoping to escape to MacDougall's bedroom again. This time, however, just as he jumped towards the bedroom door, he saw MacDougall's finger pull the trigger.
And then a door opened in front of him again, catching the bullet.
"Hey, what's going on here?"
This time the door was opened by the woman who'd been snoring in Salua's room. She was wrapped in a blanket from the chest down, and she looked sleepy. With all of this fuss, it was rather natural that the house guests start waking up, but these spontaneous bursts of luck made him feel rather pitiable, like he was being toyed with. Orphen was so annoyed that he kicked the woman back into the room.
"Get out of the way!"
He shouted, then thrust his right hand toward the door, which was still open and shielding him.
"I release, the Sword of Light!"
Boom!—
The photothermal wave broke through the wooden door and set the corridor ablaze, blasting debris into the air — while the roar shook the mansion itself. When the burst of light subsided, the corridor was covered in countless cracks, both in the ceiling and walls, as well as the floor. Parts of the wall jutted out like grappling hooks. In a not-too-distant corner of the hallway, MacDougall was lying on the floor. For some reason, even Vulcan and Dortin were charred black and laying unconscious nearby, but Salua was nowhere in sight.
Not particularly needing to worry about Vulcan and Dortin, Orphen approached MacDougall. He was alive, but bleeding from shards of the shattered door sticking out of various parts of his body. He didn't have his pistol, so he must've dropped it somewhere. Orphen slapped MacDougall on the cheek to wake him up.
"Hey, wake up."
"Uhh—Uuugghh..."
MacDougall groaned, his eyes fluttering weakly as he regained consciousness.
Orphen quietly spoke to him.
"Listen to me — you've got fatal wounds. If left untreated, you'll die. That is, unless I heal you with magic."
"Damn...!"
Whether MacDougall groaned from the pain of his wounds or because he was against the idea of being healed by sorcery, which he hated so much, Orphen was unsure.
"If you want to live, then tell me — What was it you saw at Kimrak? What keeps driving people insane?"
"Hu...Huff..."
MacDougall only drew in deep breaths, and did not answer. He just had a look of overwhelming satisfaction in his eyes—
(He gets pleasure from resisting my threats and refusing to cooperate.)
Orphen realized, and let out a sigh of frustration.
"You son of a bitch! You'll die for real if you keep being stubborn! This is nothing more than a little chat!"
"Huff... Huff..."
"Damn...!"
Orphen groaned and let go of MacDougall. Even as he shoved him back and slammed the back of his head against the wall, MacDougall only smiled.
"You moron..."
He closed his eyes, opened them again, and seemingly no longer caring, he brushed the shards of wood off of MacDougall's body with a few careless swats. After removing all of the door shards, he held up his hand and chanted in a whisper.
"I heal, the scars of the setting sun!"
MacDougall's wounds were easily healed with the use of sorcery — well, really, they were mostly only grazes, but he'd have a hard time sleeping if this guy believed his lie about them being fatal injuries a little too much, and ended up dying anyway.
As the wounds disappeared, MacDougall's energy also returned.
"Heh—Heh—Heheheh—"
The old man's laugh was terribly eerie. Horrified, he backed away — then suddenly—
MacDougall pulled out the hand that'd been pinned under his body. In that hand was the pistol. Orphen couldn't tell where MacDougall was trying to aim, or if he was even trying to in the first place — was he confused? His aim was first somewhere toward the ceiling, then — the muzzle fell back, against his temple—
BANG!—
—......
The bullet that went off went straight through MacDougall's skull. MacDougall's neck stretched sideways from the impact of the bullet, like a doll that'd been snatched by its head. Then — the man who knew the secret fell flat on his side.
"Wha..."
As Orphen just stood there, shocked, another voice spoke up.
"Your spell apparently hit the pistol itself — the cylinder must've heated up. Look, the hand holding the pistol and the grip are all melted together. If the cylinder gets that hot, it's bound to go off."
It was Salua speaking. He'd escaped into a nearby room, and was now carrying his own sword, with the woman in the blanket behind him.
Salua shrugged his shoulders as he stepped across the floor of the hallway, which cracked under his weight.
"Well, I guess my mission is done — I didn't want to kill him in the village since it'd be too dangerous. Under the circumstances, I don't think there's any way they could pin it on me. I mean, I'll just be a dead end at that point, right?"
The woman behind him put her hand over her mouth, her voice fearful.
"H-hey, why is he dead?"
"Because it's a nice morning. Isn't that right, Krylancelo?"
Salua winked at him. Orphen didn't react.
"What's wrong? He didn't kill Fiena, so there's no reason to feel bad about it, right? Anyway, I'm gonna go — I'll take Fiena with me on my way out, as promised."
"............"
"H-hey, how can you be so calm about a dead guy?"
"It's called being diligent. Obviously, right?"
The two of them were talking to each other as they rushed toward the front door. Just as they were about to leave, Salua looked over his shoulder.
"I'm not just saying that because the end result was favorable for us. Myself, I just really like traitors. Anyway, see ya."
"............"
Just like that, Salua casually disappeared — and while watching him leave, Orphen just stood there, stunned.
(It didn't explode... MacDougall did indeed aim at me once, and then put the muzzle to his own head. He pulled the trigger himself.)
He was sure of it, recalling those last few moments.
(Why? ... Was it so unforgivable to be healed by sorcery? No — was it because he couldn't let the secret get out...?)
"Whatever it was, that was a stupid way to die, MacDougall."
Orphen mumbled to himself. He wiped away the blood flowing from his forehead with the back of his hand.
The sheer ridiculousness of it all even made him laugh...
"Heh... I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I must be out of my mind too — so let's just call this an outburst. Speaking of crazy, this whole morning has been insane — I didn't expect those damn tanukis to save my life."
He forced the corners of his mouth into a smile, remembering the moment when MacDougall had almost shot him. His tension was gone, and he felt like he wanted to cry.
"I guess even those tanukis can come in handy every once in a while. Just this once, I owe you my thanks."
Just as he was about to mumble something along those lines, he heard a familiar voice from outside the mansion.
"Everyone—!"
After all the commotion, a crowd must've gathered outside — and Orphen could feel it through the walls. He looked around the hallway. There was no sign of the dwarves, and he wondered when they'd had a chance to run away—
He suddenly remembered Salua's words. If Salua wasn't going to be held accountable, then who was?
His answer came in the form of a shout from outside — Vulcan's voice.
"Everyone!"
"I knew that fool would be involved..."
Orphen held his head as he listened to the angry shouts of the villagers outside.
"... There's no time."
Cleao murmured as she hid behind the grass. Several men were gathered beside her.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Heh."
"............"
Cleao, holding the sheath of her sword, stared at the three men — all were about 30 years old, all wore ranger jackets, and all were mumbling some form of complaint.
They were on the outskirts of the village. The huts were lined up in front of them, so they couldn't be seen from inside the village. The huts all looked like barns or something, with entrances on the opposite side. Cleao was in the same hiding place that she and Orphen had hid in during the previous night. Just as Orphen had instructed, she and the three rangers she'd brought with her were waiting on the outskirts of the village.
"... You guys don't have much ambition."
One the rangers sighed, his mouth agape. He wasn't armed like Cleao was, but he carried a knife for self-defense.
"Why couldn't you just rescue him yesterday?"
"Because uhh... it just couldn't be helped. Orphen told me we couldn't make a move until morning. I don't know why I agreed to it..."
"And why the hell is the rescue team working under the hostage's orders?"
Cleao's temples twitched at the ranger's line.
"You guys, you're just trying to dampen my morale. Even when we were leaving the station, you were making superstitious excuses like saying that your shoelace broke, or your tea cup broke on its own, or that you could hear a cat meow when there wasn't any cat there, and that you saw a three-legged crow fly away..."
"I don't want to hear you talking like we left voluntarily. I was threatened at knife point, forced to go along with this, and then there was the whole shoelace thing, so I think it's a natural reaction to be a little anxious about it..."
"What are you talking about!?"
Cleao thumped the chest of her dark purple jacket.
"Ever since I left home with Orphen, my shoelaces have broken every day, my teacups have broken, and so have my mirrors, even when I never dropped them — You get used to it."
"So, was it a peaceful trip?"
"Uhh..."
Cleao hesitated for a moment at the ranger's muttered question, but decided to ignore it for the time being and turn back to the village.
"For now, we have to come up with a strategy."
She said with enthusiasm, but the rangers weren't fooled.
"Hey... Doesn't it feel like something's wrong here?"
"The god of pestilence, perhaps?"
"It was my mother's last words... 'If you get fooled by a blonde, there'll be no saving you.'"
"Oh, god! Just shut up! I'm sorry, okay!"
Cleao shouted as loud as she could while still whispering, puffing up her cheeks.
Then—
"What's that?"
Cleao noticed something strange and screamed. At her feet — touching the toe of her sneaker — something that looked like a black tuft of hair was plopped onto the ground. The tuft was only about a handful thick, and Cleao thought for a moment that it was a black fox tail, then realized that there was no such thing as a black fox. The tuft — a black tail — lead into the nearby grass. It wasn't very long — at least not as far as she could tell through the grass. It was about the length of a dog's tail.
"Hey, what's this?"
Cleao asked, tugging on the arm of the nearest ranger. The ranger glanced over.
"Hmm... That's a dog, isn't it?"
He said without giving it much thought. Cleao gently touched the tail while speaking.
"It's not a dog. Dog tails don't really get damp."
"Damp...?"
The ranger asked in a horrified voice.
"Yeah."
Nodding, Cleao carelessly grabbed the tail. A moment later, the grass shook with a small thud—
A black puppy emerged from the grass as if to confirm that someone had grabbed his tail. He curled around and looked back and forth between her face and her hand, which had hold of his tail. The movement was too intelligent for a dog — and when her eyes met the puppy's — Cleao's mouth dropped open with a gaping smile. The puppy's eyes were bright green.
"D—De—Dee—Deep Dragon!"
The three rangers all screamed at the same time.
"Deep Dragon...?"
Cleao mumbled in aghast amazement. Or, more accurately, like a child. The little Deep Dragon pressed its snout against Cleao's hand without making a sound. It wasn't trying to be affectionate, but instead trying to push her hand away. Cleao couldn't help but let out a little giggle at the gesture — remembering who Orphen had referred to the creature as an incredibly dangerous tyrant.
Then — Cleao gasped. Right next to her, a ranger raised his iron bar. His target — the Deep Dragon child, who was still trying in vain to get her to let go.
"Hey!"
Cleao yelled out, and threw herself forward to protect the Deep Dragon. Just as she thought she'd embraced the black, damp fur, she felt a metallic blow against the back of her head. A short gasp escaped from her nose, followed by a blunt force against her face — she'd slammed into the ground face first.
"Ow..."
Cleao groaned as she felt the Deep Dragon squirming in her arms. The ranger yelled, almost yelping.
"H-hey — are you all right?"
"Of—"
Suddenly, she was furiously angry.
"Of course I'm not all right!"
She leapt up with the baby dragon in her arms, and struck the man in the side with the scabbard of her sword.
"What were you thinking! I could've died from you hitting me with that thing!"
"It's barely a scratch — right...?"
Another ranger mumbled in an incredulous tone. Cleao turned and glared at him.
"That child, it's—!"
He jutted his chin out to indicate the baby dragon in her arms. Perhaps the baby dragon had given up on squirming, or perhaps it just found its position surprisingly comfortable, but it had curled up snuggly in her arms.
"N-no, wait a minute—"
The ranger, still on his butt after being knocked down, shouted while holding his aching jaw.
"It's a Deep Dragon — if you run into one in the forest, you'll never survive — They're dragons, you know? They're extremely dangerous—"
"He's just a baby! And stop shouting. The villagers will notice."
He stopped talking when Cleao said that. They were on the outskirts of the village, and there wasn't a soul in sight, so she guessed that they'd be all right.
"B-but... why is this... happening?"
The other two rangers came over and tried to poke the Deep Dragon in the back. Cleao blocked their hands with her shoulder.
The dragon looked up at them with a puzzled look on his face.
Cleao touched the tip of his chin with her nose.
"Well obviously even dragons must have children. If they live in this Forest, then it's no wonder he's here."
"No, I mean, dragons don't usually come so close to human settlements..."
"Well I don't know about that. Maybe he's lost—"
Cleao swallowed her words abruptly. It wasn't like anything had happened, but she felt an overwhelming sense of dread behind her. The rangers who'd been staring at her were now looking behind her — only they were looking up.
Terrified, she turned around — only to see a huge, black creature standing behind her.
"Uhh—"
The fallen ranger groaned, at a loss for words. There was no sound — literally any — yet there stood a huge Deep Dragon. It must've been hidden among the tall trees—
"How could I not notice—"
Cleao asked, asking no one in particular. The ranger answered in a trembling voice.
"Deep Dragons can appear and disappear as they please..."
"It's all over now..."
The other two spoke up.
"I knew it — my family has been deceived by blondes for generations..."
Cleao looked up at the Deep Dragon.
It was about three to four meters tall at the head. The wolven dragon race with jet-black fur. The tip of its pointy nose was pointed directly at her. Cleao was about to be drawn in by the calm green eyes, which seemed to have no sign of agitation, when she quickly caught herself.
(What a beautiful beast—)
She thought. For the first time, Cleao felt as if she understood the reason for the existence of the Dragon Faith.
And then, the Deep Dragon's eyes, which had been staring at her, suddenly narrowed. The giant dragon brought the tip of its snout close to her and gently grabbed the young dragon in Cleao's arms. It then picked up the dangling baby dragon — and set him down by its side. When the little dragon touched the ground he flopped over on the spot, looking quite happy.
The parent moved its head quickly, and began to look out at the village beside Cleao and the other dragon.
(He must be this dragon's baby, but why is the dragon here?)
It looked almost like it was waiting for something from the village.
"What do you guys want with this village?"
She asked, without any deeper reason for doing so. Yet, she had a feeling that if she asked, the dragon would answer.
Only, the dragon didn't answer.
"Hey—"
Cleao stopped again, looking just behind the dragon in front of her — to another dragon. She looked around in a panic.
"Wha..."
She let out a startled groan. Around them — surrounding the village — stood countless other dragons, all perfectly still. Not all of them were accompanied by children, but there were a few smaller dragons here and there.
Cleao stood there, sword in hand. She looked at the three shivering rangers, at the sharp snout of the dragon, then at the village still in the early morning, and shook her head. She wondered if she was dreaming. There were dozens of dragons surrounding the village. Orphen had told her that an army of sorcerers wouldn't be a match for even a single one of them. Whatever the purpose of the Dragons — she, Orphen, Majic, and whoever else was trapped in the village, were completely surrounded by unimaginable danger.
As she stood there, stunned — something nudged the side of her shoe. She looked down and saw that the baby dragon from earlier, which had been rolling around on the ground playing by itself, had rolled back over to her.
Cleao picked up the baby dragon and sighed — it might be better for the two of them to secure an escape route.
Table of Contents
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| (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) |
Priestess of the Forest Deep Dragon Orphen's Imprisonment Fiena's Request MacDougall's Secret Rapid Slaughter |
- Notes
- As was mentioned in the earlier chapters, people in frontier areas tend to be a little superstitious. When Cleao's talking to the rangers, they mention several superstitions that make them nervous about going along on the trip, as they believe the trip is cursed with bad luck to begin with. The first being that it's bad luck if your shoelace breaks, sometimes even being as serious as to hint that you might die! The cat meow is a similar bad omen. Depending on the culture, breaking dishes can be either good or bad luck. The last superstition is about Yatagarasu, a three legged crow whose presence is said to be evidence of divine intervention in human affairs, typically showing up after terrible battles
- When MacDougall says "It all comes back to Urthr..." he is referring to Urðr, one of the three Norns of Norse Mythology. Urðr, the oldest of the sisters, is said to represent the past. MacDougall's line implies "The past is the cause of all things..." with some unnerving throwbacks to his connections to Kimrak (who, as a religion, worship the three Wyrd Sisters / Norns.)