I told Al that in any case, there was no need for him to worry, and he looked at me with eyes full of all kinds of emotions. They were eyes that looked up from below, as a child on the street might look up to an adult, and they were full of envy, respect, admiration, and probably a little self-deprecation and submissiveness.
“You’re amazing.”
I recognized those eyes somehow. I had probably looked just like this in my previous life. That was probably why.
“You’re strong, dependable, you can even manage other people. Seriously, compared to me…”
“Well, why don’t you give it a go yourself?”
“Huh?”
I couldn’t help it anymore. I had to do something for him. “You can reach a certain level of strength just by eating and training. Seeming dependable is all down to how you act and building confidence through experience. And you naturally learn how to manage other people when you have enough experience interacting with them.”
All a person needs to gain those things is an average body, an average brain, and a little bit of strength to act on their desires. That was the case both in my past world and in this one. If a person is unable to gain those things, it’s often the case that their motivation is broken, or has been broken. Some event may have broken them down. It can happen to anyone.
Going by the information I could remember, I seemed to have received a reasonable education in my past life, and I had been doing well up until a certain point, ambitious in my own way. I couldn’t remember where I’d broken or been broken, but there are often other factors besides willpower, ability, and talent that play a part in things like this.
For instance, one’s environment and luck. Even the most determined and talented person, if they are unlucky enough to be cast into a hostile, cruel, negative environment, can be knocked down and beaten until broken. And whether they can recover from that is entirely up to the whims of fate.
Life is not always wonderful. Not everything in life is beautiful, nor is it good. There are people who love to put others down and make them suffer. If you look for the reason they became so twisted, you will find a second perpetrator, and if you look for the reason that perpetrator became twisted, you will find a third. I had learned through leaving the city of the dead that even deplorability like that was simply part of the reality of this world.
I now found it understandable that the god of death, Stagnate, had come out with the idea of a paradise for only the most distinguished of undead. Of course,
“it’s understandable” was as far as I could go. Faced with the question of whether I could accept it or not, the answer was no, I could not, and I’d decided I wouldn’t. Which was why—
“It must be some kind of fate that I met you here. If you’re willing, Al, would you consider assisting me by becoming my squire for a while?”
As one who had decided not to accept the god of undeath’s ideals, I felt as though I had a duty to make sure the way I lived was equally principled. For instance, by not saying goodbye here and instead offering a helping hand to a person on the verge of giving up.
Al avoided my gaze, looking at the hand offered to him.
“D-Do you really… mean it…?”
I nodded and smiled at him.
Even though I’d made the offer with the best of intentions, there was no guarantee that he’d take it. Trust was something to be gradually fostered, and helping people took patient, steady effort. It was much rarer that one could just come up with an idea and have everything sort itself out at the snap of a finger.
Even if I couldn’t get him to be receptive to my suggestion now, I thought I’d like to build up a friendship with him while I kept my arm patiently extended.
“Don’t worry, I’m not just saying it. After all, sorcerers are free to change the subject or remain silent, but lying is the one thing they must never do.”
“Ah… I think I’ve… heard that before…”
“Yes. It’s true. And I’m also a user of magic.”
According to Gus, if a sorcerer lied, the power his Words held would be weakened. Words could carry different weight depending on who used them, and could be blunt or sharp. The Words of a liar accustomed to telling falsehoods would lose both their weight and their edge as time went on. That was why, even though magic was something that could be studied and practiced, only a handful of people were capable of becoming great sorcerers.
“So I don’t lie. If you have some kind of ambition, and you want to try doing something about it, I want to help you.”
Al was silent for a while. He sheepishly extended his hand, then pulled it back. “I might… cause you a lot of trouble…” He breathed in deeply. “But please teach me.”
He took my hand.
Not only was Al a recent migrant here with no sense of where anything was, it was also nighttime. So for the time being, I decided to help him back to Dwarftown.
When I got there, there was a bit of a commotion going on. As I got closer, wondering what this was about, I saw a frenzied group of dwarves, each of whom was carrying a light. They noticed Al and their faces changed color.
“Young master!” They rushed up to him noisily.
“Where in the world have you been?!”
“You have to tell us where you’re going!”
“We were all so worried…”
These and other comments pelted Al like machine-gun fire. I could tell that they’d all been worried for him, but they seemed to be making his head spin.
“In any event, I’m glad you’re safe!”
“I, I’m sorry!”
Ahhh. Yeah. Yeah. I got the feeling I understood Al’s upbringing and his problem. I had no idea how important Al was, but he was probably descended from dwarven nobility.
Based on the old stories I’d heard from the dwarves, their most ardent desire was the revival of the Iron Country. They wanted to take back their lost homeland. Of course, I thought that was a good thing. The noble bloodline was also one of the integral components in achieving that, so I could understand them not wanting to lose it.
But in Al’s case, that attitude seemed to be toxic. I figured he was more or less an adult now, yet simply going out on his own to check out the city and coming home late was enough to create a big fuss. He had probably been protected to such an extent that he had never had a proper fight before and had been raised with care, a lot of care, too much care.
I didn’t think of him as a spoiled rich boy brought up under the protection of adults.
I remembered from my previous life. I had read it at some point. I knew.
Overprotection and excessive interference are forms of abuse.
Don’t do that. Don’t do this. You should do this. You should do that. The correct decision to make is this one. How many children manage to develop decisiveness, action, and willpower when everything involving them is decided by others like that? I understood the reason why he’d shrunk into his chair when he told me he went exploring: he was being raised in an environment where even that wasn’t allowed as it should have been.
“Anyway, please, don’t do this kind of thing anymore,” one of the dwarves said, trying to wrap up the discussion.
Wearing an expression that kind of showed he was feeling smothered, Al went to nod.
“Excuse me,” I said.
This was a family problem and none of my business, but I didn’t want to see how Al would end up in the future if things continued as they were. Even though it may have been a bit headstrong of me, I thought that this alone was a good enough reason for chiming in.