"Assassin, Erase My Past" V5 Chapter 2 - The Usual Victim
The city of Taphrem had been destroyed three times so far. At least, that's what the legends said. Of those three times, only two of its collapses were recorded. Once during the conflict between the humans and the Wyrd Dragons — and again during the separation of the Kimrak Church and the sorcerers, what was once known as the Sand War.
However, despite being completely destroyed twice in the span of 200 years, the city still set orderly roots in the earth. That is, the carefully planned city was as beautiful as a gorgeously decorated pastry. Bordered by the mountains to the west and an artificial lake fed from the Forest in the east, the Tower of Fang crowned the city's center as its largest building, the chalky white World Map Tower.
The only place on the continent of Kiesalhima where black-magic sorcerers could live comfortably.
... And now he was back there.
"This city has a lot of history. In some ways, even more than Alenhatam."
Dortin mumbled to himself and nodded. He was sitting in a white chair at a white table — he'd taken a seat at the cozy student café-bar, opened his book, and continued, by himself.
"Thanks to the impressive diligence of the black-magic sorcerers in recording their own history, there were none of the 'blanks' that you'd typically find in historical accounts. To tell the truth, the worst quality history books that you'll find in that regard are actually from Alenhatam. After all, it was the former capital of the kingdom, so there must've been many things there that couldn't be recorded in books. Nevertheless, the sorcerers were truly honest — not only about others, but also about themselves."
The dwarf, who was wearing thick glasses, was about 130 centimeters tall — part of a minority race that lived on the southern tip of Kiesalhima. However, they were an indigenous people that had lived there since before the arrival of human settlers 300 years ago, and they still had their own self-governing territory. In a sense, it was what cynics would call 'unprecedented treatment.'
He wore a tattered fur cloak — very average garb for dwarves, which he never took off, even indoors. Dortin shuffled around, adjusting his glasses.
"The city has been rebuilt twice in the past — that's a great achievement. Two hundred years ago, it was uprooted once in the confrontation against the Nornir, and half a century ago, it was destroyed in the war against the Church. This was probably due to the security system that transports all of the people in the city to the Tower of Fang in case of emergency. However, the Tower, which was designed to be a fortress from the beginning, is probably easier to defend than the city itself."
"Um..."
Suddenly there was a voice — right behind him. Dortin ignored it completely.
"What I don't understand is, if the inhabitants of the city ran away to the Tower, why did the Celestials and the army of the Church bother making the uninhabited city a target for destruction? It must've been an enormous effort — in fact, it's the reason why the Kimrak Church was defeated in the end. They were destroying the uninhabited city of Taphrem when they were flanked and attacked by sorcerers who had been building up their strength. Even though it was a surprise attack, they multiplied the power gap between the two armies by ten fold, so it seems that the fighting abilities of the sorcerers must've been extraordinary — but certainly nothing to be impressed by nowadays. I've seen it first hand."
He added those last words in a hushed tone, as if remembering something. Dortin shook his head to shake off the bad memories, then continued.
"Well, whatever—"
"Excuse me, sir..."
The person spoke up again. He ignored them again.
"There are no such armies that can mess with Taphrem anymore — the Celestials are no longer here, and the Church has had its army taken away by the Aristocratic Federation in the Royal Capital. The Aristocratic Federation is... a bit more complicated, but I'm sure they don't have the time to go on an expedition to this city, all the way on the other side of the continent."
"So..."
"In the end, it's all smooth sailing from here. There's no industry, but there are plenty of people coming and going, so the city is reasonably well off."
"............"
At last, the voice behind him was silent. Only by then, Dortin had nothing more to say, and his voice trailed off as he stiffened, looking at the book. A helpless silence passed over the place for a short time.
It was Dortin who finally lost his patience. He slammed the book closed and turned around — where a muscular waiter was patiently waiting on him, while another dwarf, dressed similarly to Dortin, was hanging from his hand like a cat snatched up by its scruff. The waiter was about 30 years old, with a mustache around his mouth. He was wearing an apron from the waist down and could be described as the master of the establishment.
The waiter was looking down at him with a sort of friendly smile on his face. Despite his physique, he had a childish face, and there were no hints of his underlying intent showing through his polite smile. To Dortin, however, the smile looked more like the grin of a pastor as he stood before a condemned prisoner.
That's probably it — he thought.
Dortin analyzed the situation and realized in disgust that it was probably because the store was in a state of ruin. The cafe, which should've been neat and tidy only a few hours ago, now had half of the tables and chairs broken and scattered across the floor for some reason. Of course, there was no one in the shop other than Dortin and the waiter, plus the other dwarf he hung out with. They'd run away from home long ago. The waiter looked at him with a smirk, and he wondered if he was even aware that he was standing amid the remains of a broken coffee cup and the brown puddle that surrounded it.
The waiter slowly opened his mouth, his lip twitching.
"Is this a relative of yours?"
Then, with a glance, he indicated to the 'this' he was holding up with one hand — Dortin followed his gaze, as though being guided. It was the same old 'this'. Nothing ever changed. It was always the same thing...
The dwarf, hanging from the waiter's hand, was also fully covered by a fur cloak. His small stature and shaggy hair were similar to Dortin's, but he didn't wear glasses. Instead, this dwarf had a sword sheath peeking out from the hem of his cloak. It was an old beaten up sword, which was obvious at first glance.
Dortin answered bluntly.
"No, I've never seen that man before in my life."
The waiter's expression didn't change — Rather, it was the dwarf hanging from the waiter's hand who looked panicked.
"Hey! Dortin!"
He shouted, pointing a finger at him.
"You're a cold bastard, aren't you! You'll make your brother sad!"
Dortin looked at his brother and took a deep breath before explaining at length.
"We get to splurge once a year, and you ordered a sugar cake even knowing that we'd starve for the next three months, then while I was in the bathroom, you ate the entire cake that was supposed to be for both of us, even licked the sugar jar on the table, then got into a brawl and broke some of the other tables. So yeah, the type of person who goes in and wrecks a restaurant becomes a stranger to me."
"What the hell do you mean 'becomes a stranger'! That's not how blood bonds work! When we share our suffering, we halve our pain, and when we share our joy, we double it!"
"You're just putting all of that synergistic suffering on me, though..."
"Don't be so mean! You're the brother of Volcano Vulcan, the Fighting Dog of Mazmaturia, but you're so pathetic!"
Vulcan, the dwarf hanging from the waiter's hand, shouted in a flabbergasted and exaggerated manner. If he'd been closer, he might've hit him a couple of times, but the waiter was firmly gripping his brother by the collar and wasn't letting go. The waiter hadn't even changed his expression — if only he'd petrify him and leave him hanging in the air like that forever.
"Brother this, brother that, don't put so much emphasis on it. We're strangers."
"Brother, brother, brother! I don't think there's any other way to say it, brother!"
"I told you to stop emphasizing that brother part!"
"Well, whatever..."
The waiter suddenly spoke up. Both Vulcan and Dortin stopped talking. He could see the muscles under the waiter's white polo shirt twitch.
He continued, still smiling.
"I don't care if you're strangers or not, help me clean up the store."
"Yes, sir..."
Dortin nodded languidly. Then—
Creak...
The door opened with a clanging sound. He turned around to see a boy open the white wooden door, revealing himself to the ransacked store.
"Huh?"
He mumbled as he brushed back his black hair. His long hair, which reached down to his back, made him look like a woman at first glance — not only that, but he had a jokingly feminine face, and Dortin could only tell he was a boy from his clothes and extremely thin build. He was about fourteen or fifteen years old, and dressed all in black. His whole outfit, including his general atmosphere, somehow reminded Dortin of someone he knew.
(The black-magic sorcerer...)
Dortin mumbled to himself. In fact, there were many black-magic sorcerers in this city due to the general nature of the region. However, it was rather rare to find one dressed as blatantly as this boy.
The boy turned his gaze to the waiter and asked in surprise.
"What happened, Flip?"
"Ahh, Tifis... I didn't recognize you dressed like that."
Flip and Tifis — with their names committed to memory, Dortin glanced at the boy, Tifis. For sorcery to work it required a certain amount of strength, so he couldn't help but wonder if it was really okay for the boy to be that thin. For that matter, black-magic sorcerers in particular usually had short hair. In which case, this boy, Tifis, might just be a student dressing up as a sorcerer.
(How could that be?)
Dortin asked, denying the possibility to himself. It would be more likely that he was a black-magic sorcerer with some kind of exception.
Whatever the case, the answer was easily confirmed by Tifis' own words. He was embarrassed as he stroked the pitch-black clothes he was wearing.
"Yeah. I had to go to the Tower of Fang for some business. That's why I'm wearing formal clothes. It's just someone else's uniform."
"Business?"
Flip asked back. Tifis shrugged.
"It's no big deal. I'm just filling in for Master. She's away today, picking up an old friend."
"Master... Tish. So — she's picking up an old colleague?"
Dortin looked up at the strange sound of his voice and saw that for the first time, the smile had disappeared from Flip's face. A suspicious look furrowed his brows. He continued with that look on his face.
"I hope it doesn't turn out to be anything bad..."
"Huh?"
Tifis asked. Flip smiled and waved his hand.
"No, I just had a feeling. She's a big deal around there, isn't she?"
"Master? I don't know about that. In this time of emergency, she's pulling out old photo albums and sighing wistfully at them..."
Tifis, realizing what he was saying, abruptly shut his mouth. He'd just noticed the condition of the store, and started looking around—
"So, what happened to this place?"
"These guys happened."
Flip sighed.
"I shouldn't be lumped in with that 'this' guy..."
Dortin mumbled quietly, but he didn't seem to have heard him. Vulcan nodded in agreement.
"Yes, yes. The only one to blame is my heartless little brother, who betrayed his own brother."
Hearing this, or perhaps ignoring it, Flip tossed Vulcan onto the floor near by. Vulcan fell flat on his chin with a thud.
"Well, we'd better start cleaning up.
Flip murmured, rubbing his hip.
"I'll help you."
Tifis said. Flip smiled a good-natured smile.
"Are you sure? I could certainly use your sorcery."
"I'll help you, but I've gotta buy lunch too, since Master isn't here today. Could you please make me something?"
"Sure, it'll be cheap."
The conversation seemed to be heading in a mild-mannered direction, so feeling a little relieved, Dortin decided to ask.
"Oh, well umm, what about me?"
Flip replied with a grin.
"You guys are going to put those two hundred kilogram shelves back together.
"Yes, sir..."
Dortin answered, as he thought to himself, that's just the way the world works.
The highway went on forever. From Mazmaturia in the south to Kimrak in the north—
Summer was reaching its peak. Even though the forest trees surrounding the road were only a few meters tall, the vividness of their branches and leaves reflected more vitality than could be contained in their bodies. The sun was infinitely higher and whiter as it approached noon. The wind blew in from the south, whipping up a hazy cloud of dust from the dry ground of the street. And then...
"Uwaaaahh!"
The scream came from somewhere far away — Orphen glanced up, giving a quick listen, and then swiftly returned to his work. The reins of the carriage had broken, and he was fixing them.
The reins - true to the Everlasting family's heritage - were made of fine leather. They were made of a combination of soft black leather and thick cloth that had been hardened with oils, so they were troublesome to fix.
"I don't know."
Orphen grumbled as he sewed the reins together using hemp cord, repairing the section where they'd been severed. He was resting his heels on the horse's rump, relaxing from the coachman's seat of the carriage, which was parked on the side of the road.
"Since I've come here, things have actually gotten extremely complicated."
I glanced at the back of the horses' heads, but the unsympathetic mares didn't even shake their heads. Undaunted, Orphen continued his work.
He was a man of about 20 years old, with black hair, black eyes, and the appearance of an average commoner. His eyes are dark, but now they seemed rather troubled. He was dressed all in black, and was dressed in a way that made it easy for him to move around. A silver pendant hung from his chest — the crest of a one-legged dragon entwined with a sword — sunk into the wrinkles of his shirt.
And again, a scream echoed from the distance.
"Eeeee—kyaaaah!"
Next, there was a booming roar as if the ground was being blown apart — and this time, Orphen didn't even look up.
"At first, it was just a hunch. I thought something was strange."
"Help meeeee—EEEEEEK!"
Another sob. Also another explosion — and mixed in with it, this time he heard something like a high-pitched cry.
"Orphheeeeenn!"
And then, with a whoosh, a fresh blast of warm air rushed in, causing Orphen's black hair to flutter. But he decided to ignore it. He blinked away the dust from the wind and continued to mumble.
"Then there was that next time. I secretly threw away the breakfast that Cleao made me without eating any of it, and then a series of misfortunes started happening — a huge boulder fell right in front of me, a pitfall was dug in a place that made no sense, and so on. No one should've seen me throw away my breakfast."
Boom! The sounds of explosions were getting closer. Tremors shook the ground, and Orphen's hand jolted on the coachman's seat. The tip of the five-centimeter needle he'd been using to thread the cord through the leather stuck into his thumb.
"Ouch!"
Orphen put his left thumb in his mouth as a small red blob of blood swelled up around the wound. He glanced toward the forest that stretched along the highway — This area was close to the last unexplored region of the continent, Fenrir Forest, where everything was forest except for a few inhabited areas and the highway. A short distance north of here, however, the forest suddenly disappeared to reveal a "dry" land known to all inhabitants of the continent. The region run by the Kimrak Church, so-called Promised Land — Gate Rock.
Anyway, as far as he could see, the forest was still quiet. Though there was a glimpse of a flaming red flashes through the trees.
"And—"
He continued, still holding his finger.
"It was around that time that I started to think that there was something wrong with him. No, actually, his very existence is more than strange enough in the first place."
He gave up on trying to fix the reins — he could always use sorcery to fix them later, anyway — and pressed his back against the back of the coachman's seat. He closed his eyes and stretched out.
"It's overwhelming — all right. There's an age-old legend about Nantoka's knives—"
Then—
"Master~!"
Orphen opened his eyes wide at the sight of the blond boy who came running out of the forest, crying.
"Majic, you idiot—!"
The boy, Majic, clung to the coachman's seat, his ill-fitted black cloak fluttering behind him. His handsome face was drawn back in unmistakable fear.
"That demon..."
"Don't be so loud! I told you not to run to me when you're running away!"
"You're heartless, Master..."
Orphen rushed to kick Majic back as he was sobbing, trying to climb onto the coachman's seat. Almost as if frightened himself, he looked around the forest where Majic had come from.
"You can't depend on me for everything! If you're going to be my student, you need to take care of yourself!"
"But I don't know what I'm supposed to do against such an evil beast..."
Orphen tried to pull away from Majic's persistent clawing at his feet, but Majic resisted, a desert look on his face. Orphen, unable to stand the waste of time, was the next to shout.
"I don't know either! You're no longer an amateur, so think for yourself! There are countless ways to tackle the issue: Like, say, turn around and stab that black devil in the back, or cut your own throat right here and now to get it over with!"
"Then we'd both die!"
"I don't care! Just leave me out of it!"
The horses were snorting and scraping the ground with their front hooves. Were they startled from the two men arguing on the coachman's seat? Or perhaps—
Orphen had another idea, but it was a horrifying one.
(Or is there something that's already close enough to frighten the horses?)
"Come on, Master, please help me—!"
"Stop crying! I'm not immortal either! There are some things I can help with, and some things that I can't—"
"Oof—Master, move your hand. P-please calm down."
Then the next moment—
A rustling in the grass put an end to their yelling.
"............"
Orphen mumbled as he slowly removed his hand from Majic's neck.
"Am I already too late...?"
Majic mumbled next, his voice cracking.
"Maybe... we should die together, Master."
"I don't wanna die!"
Orphen shoved his student and sent him tumbling to the bottom of the wagon, then looked up when he heard a noise. There it was—
A small black dog emerged from the forest. Only, it wasn't a dog — it looked different. The most decisive difference was its eyes. The puppy's eyes were a brighter green than the trees in the forest behind it. This was a trait that was unique to the most powerful sorcery-users on the continent, known as the dragon races, and it had jet-black fur, which could only be found in Deep Dragons, which were said to be the guardians of the Sanctuary. But this one here was only a baby.
But even so, there was no doubt that this little dog-like creature was a master of sorcery that Orphen, who was only a human black-magic sorcerer, could never stand up against. Moreover, it was the very "Demon," "Evil Beast," and "Black Devil" — Well, all of those things, really — that'd been bothering him for the past few days.
Orphen pointed a sharp finger at the little dragon.
"Look!"
He shouted as loud as he could.
"I've had enough! — Enough of fighting with pesky little monsters that attack me every chance they get, of getting into all kinds of ridiculous trouble, and of listening to that bitchy little girl's stupid, selfish whims!"
Majic mumbled from under the carriage in a completely different tone.
"We're really cornered, aren't we—"
"Shut up! Anyway— I'm done with this! I'm going to buy a cozy house and retire! I'm going to get a cat and I'll never let anybody come near my house!"
The baby dragon didn't answer — It swayed on its short limbs, its head turning this way and that, as if searching for something. Perhaps it was awaiting further instruction.
Only, the master who was supposed to give it those instructions hadn't appeared yet.
Orphen drunkenly continued alone.
"Anyway, I'm sick and tired of it all."
"You're cornered..."
"I said shut up—"
Orphen stopped in the middle of his words.
"Huh...? Was that you just now, Majic?"
He looked for his student, but before he knew it, Majic was gone. It seemed that he'd seen the baby dragon and ran away somewhere.
"Then... who was that?"
He looked around the area. The only other person around the wagon was the baby dragon, but the voice had sounded so familiar.
"Tish...?"
He mumbled, and a moment later, he heard something crashing through the grass again. Then a thud — louder than before. What appeared was even louder.
"Orpheeen!"
A girl of about seventeen, with blonde hair down to her waist, came running out of the forest crying. One of the buttons of her blouse was undone, so perhaps she'd put it on a little too hastily, and her skirt, which she rarely wore, had dirt on it, probably because she'd been running through the woods. She picked up the baby dragon and continued to cry.
"I can't believe it!"
"C-Cleao—"
Horrified, Orphen uttered the girl's name. The girl — Cleao burst into tears and stomped her sneakers on the ground.
"I can't believe him, that idiot! Who do you think I'm talking about? I'm talking about Majic—"
"Uhh, oh yeah — Of course."
With a vague nod, Orphen hid behind the railing of the coachman's seat and assumed a defensive position. Like he'd said before — Nantoka finally ahold of her knives.
Cleao continued without changing her tone, as if she hadn't realized what was going on. Her blonde hair fluttered around every time she shook her head, but it was a little flatter than usual, probably because it was wet, and the bright blue color of her eyes was distorted by tears.
"Do you know what that kid did just now? I can't believe it — I really can't believe it!"
"Oh—...Yeah?"
Orphen had a pretty good idea of what had happened, and averted his eyes with a blank stare. Cleao continued.
"I found a beautiful river over there, so I told him to keep an eye out for me while I washed up, and he was sneaking a peek from behind a rock! Can you believe that?"
"Oh— ... Uh—... Yeah, that's unbelievable."
Orphen mumbled as he tried to sneak away. He figured it was better not to mention that this wasn't the first time Majic had committed such a crime, and started to climb down from the coachman's seat — on the opposite side from Cleao.
Cleao suddenly shouted so loud that it was almost a scream.
"Why aren't you more angry about this! Orphen!"
"Huh? Oh... What the hell!? That son of a bitch!"
Orphen turned around with a start and, without getting down from the bench, pounded the seat with his fist in an obvious over-reaction.
"It's an unbelievable crime! He stepped foot where he never should've invaded, and brought my dearest friend to tears! He won't escape, not from Heaven's Net nor the Rope of Humanity! Well, anyway, I've got some business to attend to—"
"Where are you going!?"
Cleao rushed to the side of the wagon and jumped up on the platform. Without giving him time to escape, she grabbed his belt from behind and shook it while shouting.
"Those lines were a little forced, don'tcha think!?"
"Uhhh — Well then, that little bastard, the next time I see him, I'll break all of his fingers and tie the pinkies of his left and right hands together in a knot. And with that, I've got some business to attend to—"
"So why is it that you always have some errand to run? Orphen!"
Cleao suddenly sounded calm.
"Or maybe you don't care that he was peeking at me?"
"Of course I care!"
Orphen spoke in a natural tone. All while secretly adding in his head.
(Because I'm the one who has to get caught up in the middle of it, you know.)
And while casually pushing the girl away, as well as the baby dragon in her arms,
"By the way, I heard an explosion coming from the forest a little while ago."
"Yeah."
Cleao nodded her head in agreement. She wiped away the tears in her eyes.
"I had to hurry and put some clothes on, so in the mean time, I sent Leki to chase him around for a bit."
As she said that, she touched her lips to the top of the little dragon's head, as if thanking the little creature held tight in her arms. Leki was the name she'd given the baby dragon, but since Orphen and Majic preferred calling it "The Black Devil" or "Hell's Demon Beast", the dragon itself (?) didn't seem to know what its name was.
Orphen continued, almost arguing.
"Yeah, yeah. If you sent that thing to chase him around and scare him like that, even Majic would regret his actions. So why don't you let him off the hook this—"
"What!?"
Cleao raised her voice.
"I'm not claiming that I didn't scare him, but I only hit him with enough of Leki's sorcery that it wouldn't really hurt him, just make him run around in the woods for a bit! How much more can you ask for?"
"That's more like a death scare..."
"What!? I'll never forgive this. He ran over here, didn't he? Do you know where he ran off to?"
Actually, he didn't, but even if he said that, she wouldn't believe him.
Orphen tried to persuade her, but was about to give up.
"And uhh, personally, I'd rather you guys not fight, if you can help it..."
Or rather, he didn't want to involve himself in their fights, but that didn't seem to matter to Cleao.
"We're not fighting."
"Really."
Orphen said. He was sure that her expression darkened, and what she said next, she said with a straight face.
"I'm going to execute him."
"Whaaat!?"
Cleao wouldn't listen, even if he begged her. She glanced around at the coachman's seat, then spoke up in a clear voice.
"Get out here, Majic! I know you're hiding around here somewhere! Were you peeping on me with your left eye or your right eye? — I'll cut out whichever one you prefer, so come on out!"
"... What if it was both eyes? Are you going to gouge them both out?"
Orphen asked, somehow curious. Cleao answered quietly, her expression never changing from the same straight face.
"I'll cut a hole in his face right between the two."
"I thought you used to be the daughter of a good family?"
"I still am! But peeping is the worst thing a human can do! So this kind of punishment is only natural."
"No, but... it was just a quick glance, right? It's not like he was wearing your underwear on his head while spying on you."
"He was wearing it, though."
"I was not!"
— Then —
Majic's voice suddenly rose as if he'd realized the blunder he'd just made when he'd unintentionally spoken up. He stopped, frozen in place. Both Orphen and Cleao quickly and quietly looked in the direction of his voice — Majic had wedged himself halfway between two trees while escaping back into the forest. He was dressed in black clothes and a black cloak. A handsome red-faced boy had an overly suspicious appearance. His expression was one of pitiful fear.
A beat later and the baby dragon — Leki's gaze also turned toward him.
"Majic."
Cleao's voice was eerily quiet. Too quiet.
"Yeeaahh..."
Majic replied, as if even his tongue was frozen. He turned his trembling gaze away from Cleao and looked back at Orphen, as if pleading for his help — but Orphen helplessly shook his head. There was nothing he could do to help.
Cleao patted Leki's head and asked with a wry smile.
"Any last words?"
"Uuu—uuhhmm..."
From Orphen's position, he could clearly see the boy mark the holy seal on his chest. If Majic hadn't done it, he would've thought he was prepared to die.
Fearfully, Majic spoke up.
"I don't suppose you need some breast pads, do you?"
"Death penalty."
Cleao answered immediately. At the same time, she grabbed the little dragon resting against her chest and held him forward. Without any signal to do so, Leki's eyes narrowed — green eyes, the hallmark of the dragon races.
The Deep Dragon race used their gaze to cast their spells. Suddenly, a flash of green-colored light filled the space around them — an illusion, he figured.
The huge explosion that went off the next instant, obliterating the forest and blasting Majic was no illusion, however.
"—That's why—"
Tck, tck, tck, tck, tck...
The man holding the pen was a middle-aged ranger with a beard that covered most of his face. He had a lot of gray hair mixed in with his beard, making him look more like an old man than a middle-aged man. He was wearing a dark brown jacket with a ton of pockets, which was standard equipment for forest rangers. On their patches, alongside the bear design, was their motto — "We will not invade."
The ranger was tapping the butt of his pen on the desk, but the papers were still blank. He'd barely filled in today's date — along with his name and the number of the ranger filing the form — his name — and finally the classification.
The date didn't matter much — it was just today's date. The ranger's name also didn't matter much. In fact, the ranger's handwriting was so messy that it was unreadable. The name was self-explanatory anyway. Orphen. It was misspelled, too. What mattered the most was the classification. That is, why the document had to be written in the first place.
Like the other columns, it was illegible from his bad handwriting, but Orphen somehow got the gist of it. It must've said 'sabotage' — What else could it say?
Huff, the ranger let out a big sigh. He cleared his throat and spoke in a barely audible voice.
"So you're saying that the unlucky young girl with you was being peeped on by that boy, and in retaliation, she obliterated about seven hundred meters of protected forest?"
"Y-yes..."
The ranger must've repeated the exact statement he'd given him, but for some reason, Orphen still felt like it was a blatant lie. He put his hand on the back of his head and gave a friendly smile.
"It's a rare occurrence..."
"Rare, huh..."
The ranger mumbled, looking thoroughly annoyed. He never stopped tapping the desk with his pen.
"What part? The young girl having that boy peep on her? Or getting back at him by burning down a whole forest?"
"... Uuhhh, both of them, kind of."
The ranger didn't respond to Orphen's answer. He didn't even nod.
He was standing in the nearest ranger station to where the incident had occurred. It was a cramped, drab room with only a desk and a chair, a tired old hat rack, a filing cabinet, and three bottles of liquor on the floor — two of which were empty.
Orphen saw the ranger cast a somewhat questioning glance at the single remaining bottle. In the end, he'd probably want to consult someone about it — There was no way in today's peaceful world that, unless you had the will to rebel against the state, you could set fire to the Fenrir Forest, which was protected by the Aristocratic Federation — that is, the Royal Family — and the Kimrak Church. Of course, poachers were still an issue out there, but they were a completely different level from this.
It was the Kimrak Church, which had just been founded several hundred years earlier, that first appealed for the protection, or rather inviolability of Fenrir Forest. This "Decree of the Goddess", which had been issued by the leader of the time, Ramonirok, had been protected ever since by the Aristocratic Federation and the Church. There were two reasons for that — one was that the Forest wasn't a very attractive place to develop in the first place. The other was that even if humans didn't bother to protect it, the Forest had a more powerful guardian. In other words, the many dragon races.
As he thought about such things, Orphen closed his tired eyes.
(Perhaps I'll be the first person to destroy the Forest since the establishment of the Kimrak Church.)
"My friends are investigating the damage situation..."
Then, the ranger continued, scratching at his ragged beard.
"There was no fire — we don't necessarily understand why, but it doesn't seem like there's going to be any additional damage."
Orphen figured there was no fire because it was a magical fire. He kept quiet, however, and waited for the ranger to speak.
He continued plodding along.
"But after burning so much of the land controlled by the Aristocratic Federation — regardless of what the Kimrak brass has to say — I'm sure you'll at least be locked up, though I can't be sure what other penalties are awaiting you. We're supposed to be custodians authorized by the Aristocratic Federation—"
He glanced at his chest— He'd seen the dragon pendant, Orphen realized.
"Although, this is still the Kimrak Church's jurisdiction. If that's the case, I'm required to hand you over to the church. But you—"
Orphen nodded, raising his pendant as he answered.
"I'm a sorcerer."
The dragon emblem — a one-legged dragon entwined with a sword. This was a sign that he'd studied sorcery at the Tower of Fang, the pinnacle of continental black magic.
This time, the ranger nodded.
"That's right. If we hand a sorcerer over to the Church, best case scenario, you get tortured to death."
"I'm sure you're right. The Kimrak Church seems to hate the existence of human sorcerers — I don't know why."
"So why would you do such a stupid thing?"
The ranger snorted impatiently. Orphen vaguely recalled a time when he was a child and had wrestled a stray dog. He ended up needing seven stitches. The doctor had said the exact same thing to him then.
At that time, he'd blamed it on someone else. This time, however, it seemed like he could come up with a better excuse. Orphen replied with an uncertain feeling in his heart.
"It's just... my life doesn't seem to be going well."
Ka-chunk.
"What should we do..."
He shifted his gaze from the iron bars in front of him to Cleao, who was sitting next to him, and narrowed his eyes. He waited until the sound of the departing ranger had disappeared around the corner and down the hallway, then mumbled in a sly tone.
"Are you in any position to ask me that?"
The moment Cleao heard that, she jumped to her feet. Leki, who'd been cradled against her chest with his eyes narrowed, tumbled to the floor.
"Are you saying this is my fault!?"
"Well who else is to blame!?"
When Orphen snapped back, obviously in a bad mood, Cleao swallowed her words. Orphen sprawled out on the floor and looked around the prison where they were detained. This girl didn't seem to understand, but the situation that they were in wasn't exactly one to be optimistic about...
"It's bad that we were found by a ranger who just happened to be guarding the place. At this rate, we'll be handed over to the Kimrak Church for the crime of destroying the Forest — Majic and I will be executed, and you... I don't know, maybe you'll be converted and taken under protection by the lower class, or sold off at trade, but that's the way it is."
There wasn't much inside the prison, of course — just a pitcher of water, a tin cup, and a dirty blanket bunched up in the corner. Majic was laying right next to it, looking rather similar with how torn up he was — he'd been crippled by Leki's sorcery, and at one point was in a pretty critical state, but now he was just trembling and talking in his sleep. As far as he could tell, he'd recovered.
At any rate, the three of them were cramped together in the small space.
Sighing, Orphen continued. He lightly patted Cleao's despondent hand.
"Well, the old ranger here said that he'd contact the Tower of Fang to help delay our handover to the Church for as long as possible. So the situation's not completely hopeless."
"The Tower of Fang..."
Cleao parroted as she looked down at Leki, who was pawing at Majic's cheek.
"Isn't that where you grew up, Orphen?"
"Yeah."
Orphen nodded quietly. He looked up at Cleao's face from the floor.
"You — You remember Hartia from the Damsel's Orisons in Totokanta, don't you? We were both... raised there. By our Master."
Cleao's eyes seemed to light up at that. She blinked.
"Master? I remember you mentioned a Master, Orphen."
"Well, yeah."
"What was he like?"
Orphen smiled when she asked that — he slowly pushed himself up and sat back down next to Cleao. He snapped his fingers and saw the little dragon turn to look at him, drawn to the sound. He picked up Leki, who came stumbling over to him, and sat him in his lap as he took a moment to think — coming up with an explanation that kept things nice and simple.
"He was a black-magic sorcerer named Childman."
"... That's the same thing you told me when we first met."
"Is it? Well, he was the most powerful black-magic sorcerer on the continent... I can't think of any other way to describe him."
"Is he stronger than you, Orphen?"
Cleao leaned forward, no doubt intrigued. Orphen nodded slightly as he stroked Leki's neck.
"It's not even a contest — to put it bluntly. You could say the same thing for all of the students of the Childman class, though... None of them ever managed to catch up to our Master. Childman had superhuman power that was unmatched by anyone else in history."
"Really, just him? But why?"
Orphen blinked at Cleao's question.
"That's a strange question. He had power. He was born with it. There is no greater reason."
"Is that so?"
She looked up doubtfully.
"So effort, training, and that sort of thing, none of it matters?"
"No, of course it does. However, no matter how much talent you have, if you don't have appropriate control over your power, it'll just run wild when you release it. Majic is a good example of that."
Orphen said, throwing a pebble from the floor at Majic's face.
"But even so, the amount of innate magical power is important. It's kind of like — Ahh, yes, height. It's just like height. No matter how hard you try, you can't make yourself taller than your natural height. To some extent though, what you do can affect your growth."
"I've been wondering something for a while—"
She took Leki from Orphen's lap as he listened. Once he was settled in her arms, she continued.
"What kind of place is the Tower of Fang?"
"... It's hard to explain in few words."
"It doesn't have to be in few words. Not like we've got anything to do anyway."
"And who's fault is that?"
Orphen asked, his eyes half closed, and Cleao instantly looked away. It caught Leki's attention too, and he also looked away.
(If I don't tease her every now and again, she'll forget about it all too quick, won't she?)
As he thought that, Orphen breathed a sigh of relief and continued.
"The Tower of Fang can refer to the entire city. It's not like there's a literal tower. Well, no, I mean, there is a Tower, but..."
"What are you trying to say?"
Cleao asked, a confused look on her face. Orphen started his explanation over, troubled.
"The term 'Tower of Fang' has many meanings. One is the tower. Two hundred years ago, when human sorcerers were born on this continent, the Wyrd Dragons, the Nornir, who had been responsible for their emergence, built a structure for them that they called the World Map Tower. Well, even if you were to walk into the Tower today, you probably wouldn't really understand what it was built for, and to begin with, entry into the World Map Tower is strictly prohibited, but the Tower is... Well, the Tower is a curved conical shape, or in other words, it's shaped like a fang. That's why it's called the Tower of Fang."
"Okay."
Cleao nodded, and he continued.
"So, another meaning... is the city itself. There's a city that spreads out around the World Map Tower, and it's commonly known as the Tower of Fang city. The official name is Taphrem. It's a fairly decent city with a large population."
"Is it like Totokanta?"
"... No, you can't compare it to Totokanta. They're a completely different scale. It's at most a third the size of Totokanta. Then there's the last and primary meaning — a huge facility a little further away from Taphrem City, used for training black-magic sorcerers. It's the pinnacle of black magic on the continent, and is referred to as the Tower of Fang. Its official name is... you guessed it, the Tower of Fang."
"And that's where you studied, Orphen?"
"Yeah."
Orphen folded his arms behind his head and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes, continuing that thought in his mind. The name Tower of Fang has many meanings—
"...and every Tower of Fang has its own memories."
"... Huh?"
He asked. He was sitting in bed, alone in the bleak room. It was the bottom bunk of a bunk bed set. The beds were made of iron pipes, and were placed parallel to each other on either side of the room. The center of the room was a main corridor with no other furniture. There was only a single window, the frame of which was made of iron, and its shape slightly distorted with red rust.
He stared at an old man standing in the doorway of the room. He was dressed in a black robe with a gray overcoat that indicated his rank. Only high-ranking sorcerers of the Tower were allowed to wear robes. The gray overcoat meant that he was an Elder, the highest ranking sorcerer among them.
The old man spoke in a low voice from beneath his long beard. He watched him with calm eyes.
"It's you."
"You mean... me?"
"Yes, you. You're moving up."
The elder's words were clear — and with his voice firm and calm, he continued.
"Our Tower is in a delicate position. You understand that, don't you?"
He should have, but he didn't. He was only ten years old, and to tell the truth, he didn't understand much about politics. In this Tower, however, naivete was unacceptable. That much was clear to him.
So, he immediately nodded his head.
The elder didn't confirm whether that was the right response, or not.
"We need good people to staff this Tower. People that won't leave to be a court sorcerer, one of the Thirteen Apostles. You're been chosen. No, you must."
"............"
"We've already selected six young sorcerers — young individuals like yourself — to move up. You'll all be a part of that man's classroom. Every one of them has shown some form of genius. Just like you... Krylancelo."
"I..."
He was about to say something, but he couldn't continue. He had no clear idea of what he was going to say, the word just came out of his mouth without any meaning.
Perhaps the elder knew that. He simply ignored it.
"You're still young, but you're not at a bad age to begin a serious education."
"............"
"You'll have only one subject. Just one."
The elder closed his eyes and continued.
"Surpass those who teach you. That is all."
— Huff...—
Orphen woke up with a start, jolting upright. He wasn't sweating in his sleep — his heart wasn't even beating hard.
Even still, he was keenly aware of his panicked state, or perhaps it was more like agitation.
"Tch..."
Orphen clicked his tongue. He scratched his temple and looked around — in the pitch-black prison, the dim moonlight shining through the window lit up Majic's pale face, sleeping soundly. Cleao wasn't there — She alone had been given permission to borrow the staff's napping room.
Orphen stared at the moonlight that slanted in through the window. He sat there, still, without thinking.
He was picked up the next morning.
Table of Contents
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| (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) |
The Usual Victim The Sudden Assassin The Melancholy Homecomer The Persistent Visitor The Night Walker The Seeker Confronted The Successor of Steel |
- Notes
- Though I wasn't able to find an exact origin for the story of Nantoka's Knives, the saying seems to consistently refer to an unstable person who, while being dangerous to begin with, has been made even more dangerous when given a deadly weapon. This seems to be how Orphen feels about Cleao being given something as dangerous as a Deep Dragon.
- Heaven's Net is a saying that implies one can never escape retribution for their wrongdoings.