This world was made up of Words. When the trees rustled, or sunlight filtered through the trees leaving patches of light and shadow, a skilled sorcerer could pick out faint Words from the fluctuation in mana and interpret them.
Of course, there was a limit to how much information a sorcerer could read from something like that. Even magic users as great as Gus, who had raised me with Blood and Mary and was known as the Wandering Sage, couldn’t learn all there was to learn just by listening to the rustling of trees. But Gus had also told me that was because we humans read Words within the framework of human thought. If it was a being much closer to Nature, then…
“The Lord of the Woods isn’t as powerful as the gods, who can even read the unwritten future to an extent, but… if this is coming from him, you can bet there’s a damn solid basis behind it.” Menel’s tone was firm. “It’s less a prophecy and more, uh, an educated prediction.”
Bishop Bagley hummed quietly. “It appears necessary to prioritize this matter, Your Excellency.”
“Yes. The Rust Mountains… Fallen capital of the dwarves, and a den of demons…”
Everyone under the shade of the arbor had a serious expression. It wasn’t surprising. There had been nothing but trouble recently, including many incidents not worth an explicit mention, and now, on top of it all, we had to contend with a ‘fire of disaster’ that would come from a den of demons. It would depress anyone.
So I decided to laugh.
“Sounds great!”
The three of them turned to look at me. I did my best to put on a huge grin.
“I can go as wild as I like!”
If you got ripped, you could solve pretty much everything by force. Blood gave very good advice. “We know the location of the problem, and even better, it’s in enemy territory, desolate to the point that there’s no risk at all of me hurting any bystanders! This problem was made for me!”
I clenched a fist as I said it, and Ethel couldn’t help but laugh. “Come to think of it, you’re right. Can I trust you with this, then, paladin?”
“Of course!”
Bishop Bagley and Menel both sighed at once and automatically glanced at one another, then snorted and looked away again.
“Give the word, and I’ll gather some men and head out at once—”
Ethel chuckled at my eagerness. “No, I doubt there’s a need to rush it that much.”
I nodded. I’d suggested it energetically on purpose to help clear away the gloom, but actually I was of the same opinion.
Everyone here was a quick thinker, so I was sure they’d all realized as welclass="underline" regarding the “fire of disaster,” the Lord of Holly had said that “it shall not be long in coming,” but he had also promised us “a bountiful harvest” for the autumn. That meant that unless something happened that the Lord of the Woods didn’t foresee, we could safely assume that nothing would happen until autumn at least.
“I’m afraid that we don’t know very much regarding the Rust Mountains, either,“ Ethel said. “Can I also ask you to gather information?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I will try asking my friend who’s a troubadour and the dwarves who live at the port. As for the prophecy from the Lord of the Woods, we should keep it a secret between all of us here for the time being.”
Everyone nodded, as if to say they’d already been planning on it. The period from the summer to the autumn was the busiest time of year for the farmers, who made up the majority of the population. The summer wheat harvest wasn’t yet over, and they had a lot ahead of them once autumn came around: planting winter wheat, fattening up their livestock with nuts and berries from the woods, harvesting fruits, and making alcohol. Now that the threats of beasts and demons had finally been alleviated, everyone’s lives had begun to settle down and they were all looking forward to the harvest. At a time like this, none of us wanted to arouse fear in people by spreading unsettling rumors.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure this will work out somehow.” I forced a smile.
The duke laughed. “I start to believe it when I hear it from you.”
“Hmph. Don’t let the hero treatment go to your head, or your complacency will be the end of you,” Bishop Bagley said, showing his concern in his usual way.
Menel and I looked at each other and exchanged wry smiles.
There was some further discussion over a host of little details, and then we left the mansion. His Excellency and the bishop seemed to have even more to talk about. They had it tough.
“So, what are we doing?” Menel asked. “Right now, I mean.”
“Let’s go see Bee first to get information on the Rust Mountains. She should be in the plaza right now.”
Menel gave a small grunt and pulled the hood of his cloak over his eyes.
There was a reason he preferred to avoid attention.
“Fff.” Menel scrunched up his face as if to say he’d known this was coming.
The plaza was filled with the sound of a three-stringed instrument known as a rebec.
“Near and far away, vicious-looking beasts ran riot. People and horses came and went no longer. The north wind drowned out wails and cries. Around the woods, the howls of beasts echoed.”
The tale being recited was one I had heard before, of people suffering at the hands of demons and the beasts they controlled.
A single young holy warrior with the blessing of the god of the flame appeared from parts unknown. The young warrior reformed a beautiful half-elven hunter who was turning to crime in that time of distress, and the two became friends. The warrior saved him from his predicament, and they headed to the city together.
What they encountered there was a wyvern bent on the city’s destruction. The warrior broke its neck with his bare hands and gained renown. He raised the people’s plight with the lord, who dubbed him a paladin for his commendable resolve. His name drew brave adventurers to his cause.
At last, the paladin and his party finally headed to the barren valley that was the base of the demons and their beasts. But they were caught in a despicable trap and forced to flee. The paladin fought his way out of the battle with the dark power of his sealed demonblade. But when his friend was gravely injured, the demonblade’s darkness came close to engulfing him.
As the warrior was nearly reduced to a berserker, his friend the half-elf brought him back with words and fist. Hot tears were shed; an embrace was shared. The two regained their solidarity, and gave battle to the beasts.
“Thus the heroes marched on the valley, where a great, clawed beast stood in their path. The head of a lion, with razor fangs. The head of a goat, with evil magic. The head of a dragon, with crimson fire. And its wriggling tail, a venomous snake. Its raging roars rent the wind, and its feet shook the earth as it walked.”
Leading the other beasts was a gigantic beast with three heads called a chimera. The warriors set up a wall of shields, raised their swords high, and bravely took on the pack. Among those warriors was a swordsman also known as the Penetrator, who used a sword faster and sharper than anyone else’s.
“William the Faraway Paladin and Meneldor of Swift Wings charged into battle together.”
Around here, the storyteller’s speech style began to heat up.
“O great god lost to history, O reticent guide of souls! God of the flame, ruler of the eternal cycle, Gracefeel! Will you guide our heroes to the darkness ravaging the frontier, and show your radiance to the world once more?!”