Now, some time after, everything had finally settled a little. I was in Torch Port. The dragon’s roars were still continuing intermittently. At the same time, conflicts were occurring because of all the creatures changing their habitats, although they weren’t going as crazy as the first time this had happened.
Naturally, we were starting to see victims as well. Fewer people and horses were traveling on the roads, and I got the impression that the ships going back and forth looked a little lonely on the river.
Everyone was terrified of the dragon — and the rumors that those were a dragon’s roars spread incredibly quickly — that lived in the Rust Mountains.
Dragons were that much of a threat. It would only have to wake up and take to the sky on a whim, and never mind Torch Port, even Whitesails could be destroyed. It’s a fact that everyone dies sooner or later, but how many people could remain calm after hearing the roar of their own death?
At the moment, I was in the gloom of my office with all the shutters closed, passing my eyes over a letter from the temple under magical light.
A reply to my letter had arrived from Bishop Bagley.
The information he had found about the foul-dragon backed up what the god of undeath had revealed to us. Valacirca, Calamity’s Sickle, was an Elder Dragon who had been alive since the time of the gods. Its claws tore through steel and its scales broke the swords of heroes, and as if to reflect its own nature, it had breath of toxicity and mania.
Toxicity and mania. I could never forget those properties. They were the same as the abnormal wyvern and chimera I had encountered two years ago.
Those creatures were said to have been created from evil research carried out by hell’s demons. They had probably been experimenting using the breath that spilled from the mouth of the foul-dragon as it slept, and mixing that breath with beasts and attempting to tame them.
In his letter, Bishop Bagley warned me that there was unmistakably a high-level demon there in addition to the foul-dragon. At length, he attempted to dissuade me from fighting, saying that I was not experienced enough, that he couldn’t imagine me winning, and that there would be no shame in running away.
“No shame in running away, huh?”
He was saying that because he thought that I would go. What had made him think that? How exactly did he perceive me? I was still agonizing over that decision myself…
The dragon would probably awaken soon. If the god of undeath and the Lord of Holly’s words meant anything, there would be casualties, too. The first thing that was likely to happen was that the dragon, once awoken, would attack a nearby settlement on a whim, and people would die.
It wouldn’t end there. There’s no way a lively, smooth circulation of money and goods could exist in a place that a dragon could fly over at any moment. The flow of things would stagnate, the to-and-fro of horses and ships would cease, and beasts would once again stalk human settlements as if they owned the place.
Traders and manufacturers that depended on that circulation of money and goods would fail one after another, and people would start to become jobless. The destitute would turn to crime, public order would worsen, the government would become powerless, and its authority would hit rock bottom. Far more people would probably drown under the waves created in the wake of the dragon’s whim than ever succumbed to its claws.
A complete region, a whole society, would be brought to ruin by a single dragon. That was a situation I couldn’t allow. I had to take action to stop it, and after the dragon got started would be too late. Once there were direct victims, it would be impossible to stop the effect from spreading. I had to solve this problem before dragon fangs ever ripped into human flesh.
Yet even now, I couldn’t make the decision to take action. The word around town was that some people were saying the paladin had turned chicken. I couldn’t call that complete and total nonsense, either.
— Thou shalt challenge the dragon with the protection of the god of the
flame and die defeated, thy purpose not fulfilled.
I hadn’t been able to sense any deception in the god of undeath’s words. His revelation was true. I couldn’t win, not right now, with the power I currently had.
Ever since I’d become aware of that, I’d been unable to move forward.
Before I knew it, my hands were together in prayer.
I didn’t know what to do. I offered an imploring prayer to the god of the flame, but I felt no response at all. My god wouldn’t answer me anything. Of course not. God wasn’t a chummy friend or a useful business contact. But I wanted to hear her voice right now. I wanted her to tell me there was a way I could win. Or even if there wasn’t, I wanted her to order me to fight and demonstrate my righteousness. If she would say that to me, if I could just have her say that to me, I was sure I could head into battle.
I let out a small groan. Memories of my previous life flashed into the back of my mind: a dark room, the light of a monitor. Myself, unable to take that step forward. Time passing idly.
Time passing idly.
The feeling of restlessness burning in my chest.
Time passing idly.
Groaning.
Shedding tears.
Time still passing idly.
Unable to take that step.
Unable to take that step.
I tried to summon the courage many times, but I still couldn’t take that step.
Unable to step out, I continued bathing in the status quo long after the water had lost its pleasant heat. And the final collapse grew gradually closer.
I groaned again. How much had I changed since that time? My world was different. My environment was different. I had a muscular body, wondrous magic powers, miracles from God. I had been given, I had obtained, abilities like the hero of some story. I had been acting the part this entire time.
And what had changed about me?
I was stronger and could do more now. So what? Had I become able to cope with failure? Had I become able to do something to combat despair? In the end, wasn’t my spineless nature still just the same as my previous life?
I heard a thick, muddy voice coming out of a pit of coal-black mud deep inside my heart. Did you have fun, it said, winning against opponents you had nochance of losing to? It must have felt very good, being praised to the skies as ahero and acting modest. Were you able, for a brief moment, to think you couldbecome someone successful in this world? Being loved, being raised. Obtainingincredible power. Being the center of all your friends. Being respected, beingvalidated. You enjoyed all that, didn’t you?
But when you can’t win, this is what you are.
The voice gurgled out of the black pit of mud deep inside my heart. Deep down there was my past self of my previous life. And “I” laughed, as if to say, You know, really, don’t you?
You are me, and I am you.
I clutched my chest. I understood. Even I understood. I understood very well that I was only being weak-spirited. It was the side of me that felt sorry for myself, just like the time when Mary told me off. But my mom wasn’t here to admonish me now, not anymore. I had to stand on my own two feet. But what was the way to do that? In my previous life, I just stayed down on the ground.
Even this life was no different. I would have stayed down forever if not for Mary. I had no idea how it was possible to stand back up.