Chapter 3: Encounter

In a small, secluded corner of a hallway, a girl was surrounded by classmates that she would hardly call her friends...

“Know your place, you dirty half-breed!”

“Yeah, you’re awfully cocky for someone that got kicked out of House Denan.”

...Her classmates were busy ridiculing her lineage.

The girl looked significantly younger than the others, and her ears, unlike theirs, were long and pointed, proof that she was not a pure-blooded human.

Half-elves like her were a frequent sight in the eastern kingdom where she’d once lived, but here in the west she stood out like a sore thumb, which made her an easy target for contempt. She’d worked hard so that no one could find fault with her, but all that effort had only earned her the wrath of the young nobility.

Nowadays, “knights” weren’t really knights. The era of donning armor and helmets, and riding into battle on horseback, had ended. The majority of soldiers now wielded magic wands and sorcery on the battlefield instead of swords, and in recent years many knights had taken up work as military commanders or reserve soldiers, at the beck and call of the royalty and nobility alike. Some had even become bureaucrats. All across the southern region, the line between “military officer” and “civil servant” grew more and more blurry.

A few kings ago, the Royal Knights’ Academy of Igris was established “in order to appoint people to positions as needed, regardless of status,” according to the needs of the time. Compared to neighboring lands and territories, where personal connections ruled, it was a fairly progressive principle.

But over time, those principles waned, and in recent years, the Royal Knight Academy was more akin to a feather for well-bred youths to wear in their caps. At the very least, the system still allowed some upward mobility for the common folk, one of its few saving graces.

This girl had ignored all of that, besting the scions of the gentry with her excellent grades. The other students of common birth knew better than to interfere with the nobles’ peacocking, and would purposely underperform to stay out of their way. She, on the other hand, did not yet know enough about their world to practice these kinds of self-preservation tactics.

She’d been taken to Igris relatively recently, in order to preserve the Denan bloodline, so it made sense that she wouldn’t know about internal politics at the Academy.

“What does this kingdom even need a shrimp like you for?” One of the young aristocrats, a blonde boy, grabbed her by the ear and twisted it. She winced in pain and let slip a small whine, but put up no resistance—or rather, she couldn’t.

Elves lived very long lives, which meant it took a longer time for them to reach physical maturity. Their emotional maturity, possibly held back by their physical growth, also lagged behind that of humans. And because of her mixed blood, the young woman was no exception. At seventeen, she was old enough to attend the Academy, but her face and stature did not reflect her age.

All she could do was wait for them to tire of their harassment.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears, even though she’d done nothing wrong.

Even as one of them spat on her face, all she could do was endure it, apologizing over and over again.

Why am I even here?

Once a proper, suitable heir had been born to House Denon, she was no longer needed, and so she’d been thrown into the Knight Academy.

She had no support. They wouldn’t send her back home. Even if she were to escape, she had nowhere else to go. Nowhere at all.

Mom, why did you sell me off?

“What were they thinking, letting a half-elf like you into this glorious Academy?” the blonde boy spat. He grabbed her chin and jerked it up, forcing her to stand on tiptoe.

“Get the hell out of here,” he whispered in her ear. An inky blackness began to spread over her heart.

I can’t take this anymore. I don’t want to be here. I just want to run away.

That was it. Even if she had no destination in mind, even if she were to die alone it would be far better than staying here.

So I’ll—

At that very moment, an enormous hand grabbed the young noble’s arm. Very tightly.

When she looked behind her—or rather, above her, she saw that the boy’s face was frozen in fear. She, too, found it difficult to breathe at the terrifying sight before her.

...A bad omen. That was the best way to describe his appearance. His face was covered in scars, and a ferocious glint was in his eye. A tattoo was neatly inscribed on his left cheek. No matter how you looked at him, the man was clearly trouble.

The fact that someone like him had snuck into the Royal Knight Academy, full of children from very important families, was a major problem.

The man reminded her of the adventurers that had brought her here from her homeland, but the air of intimidation he possessed was far more oppressive. A kind of miasma practically radiated from him, one of murderous intent and violence incarnate.

“Eek! Wh-Who do you think you are?!” “Where are those useless guards?!” Her classmates’ panicked shouts overlapped one another.

But very shortly afterward, one of them gasped in realization.

“Baron Beldarus...” Hearing that, the rest of the group fell deathly still, as though frozen in place.

I’ve heard that name before... she remembered.

The hero of the Five-Year War, whose brave feats were eclipsed by the terrible names he had been given: “Ally-Killer,” “Gaius the Maneater.” Known as the previous king’s mad dog, and a bloodthirsty monster. Baron Gaius Beldarus!

The Black Rose of Igris...! He was just as, no, even more horrifying in person than in the rumors. Her knees trembled.

The aristocrats’ children were in the same state she was.

“Ah. Just now...you...said something or other about half-elves, yes?” the baron said slowly, releasing the blonde boy’s arm. Still shaking, his head bobbed up and down. The girl couldn’t tell whether the movement was a response to his question, or a reflex of the terror that had seized him.

“To tell the truth, I’m one-fourth troll myself.” Astonished, her classmates’ jaws dropped.

“Perhaps I should not have attended this academy, either...?” he went on, his teeth bared.

“Th-That’s not it, milord!” the blonde boy managed to choke out. “I-I’m sorry!” He fled, on the verge of tears. The others scattered like roaches.

Gaius groaned as he watched them run away. Then, after a slight sigh, he turned to face the girl.

“Are you all right?”

“Y...Yes...” She only barely got her voice to work. Thinking about how petrified her classmates looked, she didn’t blame them one bit.

The baron drew a cloth from his breast pocket and handed it to her, gesturing for her to wipe the spit from her cheek.

It finally dawned on her that the Lord Beldarus had just saved her.

“Th-Thank you so much.”

Gaius the Maneater replied, once again grimacing threateningly, “It was nothing. But I have a favor to ask of you. Could you show me to the teacher’s lounge?” In a trembling voice, she agreed.

“That would be a big help. I have a delivery, you see.” In his left hand, he held a bag labeled “Gym Clothes.” He came just to deliver...that?

“This building was very different in my day. I can’t find my way around now at all.” The half-elf girl could only reply with a vague, “Mm.”

“Now then, after you,” Lord Beldarus said, waiting for her to lead the way.

...She couldn’t recall much of what happened along the way.

All she remembered was the fear of turning around, and the speed with which she had walked.

After showing him to the teacher’s lounge, Lord Beldarus thanked her and gave her another intimidating snarl before passing through the door. She gasped and jumped back before making a run for it.

...That was how Sashalia Denan and Gaius Beldarus first met.

It wasn’t until much, much later that she had realized that his expression had been a smile, not a snarl.

The wagon jostled its way down the road, jumping at every turn of its wheels. Sashalia was lying fast asleep in one of its seats when a particularly nasty bump shook her out of her dream and back to reality. She hurriedly adjusted her glasses and scanned her surroundings, but all she found was that her fellow passenger was slumped over asleep, just as she had been. At least she wasn’t the only one embarrassing herself.

A dream about the past... She smiled nostalgically.

It’s been five—no, six years since then... Despite her young looks, Sashalia had grown rapidly on the inside ever since she’d found someone worth pursuing.

After that incident, Sashalia had continued to earn top grades without fear of reprisal, and she had graduated admirably as second-highest-ranked student in her class.

It’s likely that she would have been valedictorian, if not for the fact that physical strength was an important factor in the final assessments. However, her grades were so strong that they made up for that lack, and no one could deny that she had worked incredibly hard.

Her well-bred bullies were no longer a problem, so she no longer had to keep her head down. With her strong academic performance, Sashalia had easily secured the post of her dreams. That assignment had been with none other than the Knights of the Chain, captained by Baron Beldarus. By that point, this station was by no means a path to success, as its personnel and budget had been slashed by the current king. But to Sashalia, it was worth all the blood, sweat, and tears; all the scorn, and all her wasted youth.

She got to spend a year and a half with the Knights of the Chain—eighteen months working under Captain Beldarus. It was no exaggeration to say that those had been the happiest months of her entire life.

But now...

That brilliant time had suddenly been cut short by the demon called “personnel restructuring.” She bid her captain a tearful farewell as she left for her new post in the royal bureaucracy. Between that time and now, she’d worked as just another bureaucrat. She was now en route back to the capital after a long-term business trip in Lucastle, the earldom of House Raftia. Lucastle lay to the west of the capital, and in between was a fort where, for the past two months, Sashalia had been assisting with repairs. Securing supplies, recruiting labor, revising plans—they’d overworked her the whole time. Once the repairs themselves were underway, Sashalia was finally set free.

Why even bother fixing up that dump of a fort, anyway? In the fifteen years following the Five-Year War, there had been no signs of any further conflict between Igris and its former enemies, the three neighboring nations that once banded together to fight Igris. The current king’s cousin, Princess Lula, had married into the royal family of one of those three kingdoms to secure the peace that existed today.

Not only did Lucastle have forts, it was also a buffer between Igris and the kingdom to the west. If national defense was a priority, then wouldn’t it make more sense to work with the earldom to construct new forts, ones nearer to the border with Igris’s neighbor? Surely that would be more effective than fixing up a dilapidated old fort so close to the capital.

Not that those of us on the ground know what the higher-ups are thinking... Perhaps they considered it maintenance of a public utility, or a project to promote the peace. At the end of the day, a low-ranking official like Sashalia’s opinion bore no weight in political affairs.

Realizing this grim fact made her exhaustion come creeping back once more, and her eyes grew heavy. Sashalia welcomed it, using the fatigue to her advantage—sleep would make the journey feel shorter.

＊

Sashalia was on her way back to her housing complex when someone called to her. It was the landlady of her boarding house.

“Welcome back, Redhead. A letter came for you while you were away.”

Sashalia took the envelope her landlady held out to her, and her eyes went wide when she saw the sender’s name. She thanked her landlady quickly before racing off to her room, dropping her things by the door and sitting down to read before properly putting her things away.

Sashalia took a moment to appreciate the penmanship, which had quite some charm to it, before she began reading the letter.

Dear Miss Denan,

Have you been well? I am in good health. All the traveling you do with the royal bureau must take a toll on you.

While it is certainly a worthwhile position, work fatigue is the enemy of health. You have a tendency to push yourself too hard, so I worry for you. No overdoing it allowed—captain’s orders.

As for myself, I’ve taken leave of my position and have decided to return to the countryside. I also intend to renounce my title. Since the Beldarus name was a dear gift from the previous king, I shall keep it.

Quite some time has passed since I was married to Princess Lula, and our relations with other kingdoms are peaceful now. You could say I have outlived my usefulness. It is about time a new generation took over the Knights of the Chain, as well.

I do not believe my home village exists anymore, but I will search for a place to settle down in the surrounding area if it does not.

I will write you again once I have settled in.

—Gaius Beldarus

After reading the whole letter, Sashalia’s already-wide eyes grew even wider. She’d been muttering along to herself in a low, quick voice as she read, but once she finished she blurted out—“Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-Wh-What on earth?!” Her head was positively spinning. The sudden transfer, the way her superiors pushed their work off onto her, the scorn of the well-bred knights—the only reason Sashalia could endure all that the royal bureau had thrown at her was because she’d had hope, hope that one day she’d be allowed to return to the order of the Knights of the Chain. And now, that hope was gone.

“What’s the point anymore...” Sashalia’s shoulders slumped, the strength leaving her body.

“Wait, no...that’s not true...!”

She quickly lifted her head, and in her heart renounced what she had just said. Sashalia had realized something: this was her chance.

As soon as it dawned on her, the young knight leapt into action, and she began to draft a letter of resignation on the spot. Mentally, she drew up a rough plan: how she would vacate her lodging, and what the journey would look like. With that first step completed, she set off back toward the bureau.

That’s right. There’s no reason for me to stick around here anymore.

She recalled her past self, the one who had remained trapped at the Knight Academy because she had nowhere else to go. Had she changed at all since then?

No, it’s different now.

She had no reason to stay, but now, she most definitely did have a place to go—somewhere she wanted to go.

＊

“That’s fine, right?” “I think it’s a good idea.” The kobolds were all in agreement. All except one:

“How could it possibly be a good idea?!” shouted none other than the village elder.

Everyone had gathered in a large pit-style dwelling built for meetings. With Gaius’s help, village construction had improved by leaps and bounds, making buildings like this one a possibility.

Even so, it was still too cramped to give every head of household their own seat, which meant that several kobolds were perched on Gaius’s shoulders and knees. Young and old, it seemed they all wanted to try climbing that gentle giant.

“Go on then, see what happens if you let him go back! He’ll tell the other humans where we are and bring them right to us! They’ll attack! Can’t you see?!” he shouted, his heated tirade punctuated by the occasional glare at Gaius.

But another voice spoke out in disagreement. It was from a middle-aged kobold named Red Eye, the father of Fishbone, the young kobold that Gaius had saved from a collapsed house.

“Gaius won’t do that. Elder, your nose is even better than ours most of the time. If we can tell he’s not that kind of guy, then there’s no way you can’t.”

“Hmph! I’m not buying it. Just watch, the second he leaves the forest, he’ll make a run for it.”

“Then all we need to do is send someone to keep an eye on him.”

“That’s not the problem—”

“White Fog!” Red Eye cut him off. “You go with Gaius. If he says anything about this village, you kill him right then and there! Got it?”

Confusion flitted across her face momentarily, but she soon understood the meaning behind his words.

“Of course,” she replied with a smirk.

“This farce is going too far!” the elder cried, but the kobolds around him simply brushed away his anger, hushing him gently to calm him down.

“How many days will this take, Gaius?” asked Fog.

“Claudette won’t need to stop for food or rest, so it should be no more than three days, one way.”

“That’s quite a trip.”

“The next town is a fair distance away, even once you leave the forest. The dried river does help, though,” Gaius said. He rubbed his chin, then muttered something else, more to himself than anyone in particular. “Not even an infantry unit would make it through these woods in a single day...” He seemed lost in his memories.

“...All the twists and turns in the riverbed add a considerable distance to the trip,” he continued. “You can all run through the trees unimpeded, but my wagon cannot. It’s confined to the path made by the riverbed. If I just rode Claudette, I wouldn’t have that problem, but without the wagon we can’t bring back nearly enough supplies.”

“Do we really need to bring that much back?”

“I intend to.”

“Hmm...” Fog thought it over as she turned to Red Eye. “Right, then. Red Eye, can I leave the little ones with you?”

“’Course you can,” he said, nodding. “Fishbone’ll be happy to have the company.”

“That’s that, then.”

“Meeting adjourned!”

“Whew! I’ve been needing to take a leak this whole time...”

“Same here.”

The chattering of the older kobolds signaled an end to the gathering, and everyone else followed suit.

And so, it was decided that Gaius and Fog would go into town to purchase supplies.

＊

“Whoa, Mom, that’s so cool! I wanna go too!”

“Auntie, that’s no fair!”

The two children were raising a fuss as usual, rolling around on the floor, but for once they were on the same side. Fog gave them a sideways glance as she continued to pack for the trip. “We’re not going for fun! We’re doing a job for the village.”

“No faaair!” They whined in unison and continued to roll about.

Gaius laughed. “I’ll buy you two some souvenirs, so be good.”

“Really? Yay!” Fluff cheered. He and Amber Blossom leapt up, wagging their tails.

“All right, all right, time for bed,” chided Fog. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

“Okaaay.” The two children and one middle-aged man singsonged in harmony before all heading off to bed.

...As the next day passed, the two made it safely through the forest and reached the highway without any trouble from magical beasts or any other obstacles. Their journey along the highway, too, was a peaceful one.

They arrived safely at Ryburgh, a moderately sized city in the territory of the Marquis of Northplain.

Many of the rivers that ran through the western kingdoms originated in the depths of the Greatwood. After reaching out beyond the woods, they converged into larger rivers that led to the sea. Water sustains life for all creatures, and rivers sustain livelihoods, so towns naturally tend to form in river basins. The town of Ryburgh was no exception. Even its name was a shortened and corrupted form of a phrase meaning “city by the river.”

＊

“Maaasteeer!”

The young blacksmith’s apprentice burst into the workshop earning him a glare from the salt-and-pepper-haired “master.”

“What’re you yelling about, boy?”

“C-C-C-Customers, sir! Th-Th-Th-They say they have work for us!”

“Have you been hitting the bottle early this morning?” the smith asked in exasperation. “If someone wants to buy from us, let ’em in!”

“M-Me, sir?! Please, don’t make me do it!”

“And why in the hell not? How am I gonna take their order if they don’t get in here? Just do it like you always do.”

What’ll it be this time? thought the blacksmith. Spades, hoes, sickles? No wait, let me guess: horseshoes. Day in, day out, it’s the same old thing. Ever since becoming a blacksmith, he’d longed to forge swords and spears. Smithies were for making weapons—a slightly skewed way of looking at the craft, but for a long, long time, that’s what he’d believed.

But now, fifteen years after the Five-Year War, requests for weapons were very few and far between. House Zigan, Northplain’s ruling family, was embroiled in a power struggle between its eldest daughter and the second son, but no actual conflict had broken out yet, which meant no requests for weaponry. So long as there was no fighting, their power plays were of no use to his workshop.

If anything, they only made things worse. Failure to maintain the settlements meant they were being abandoned one by one—and that meant no more jobs from those fighting off magical beasts on the frontier. Adventurers still came through now and again, but only rarely. There wasn’t nearly enough work to satisfy the blacksmith’s spirit.

“B-But, sir...” the apprentice hesitated yet again.

“No ‘but’s! Get out there already and...”

He was interrupted by the sight of a man in the doorway. The apprentice disappeared through the back door in the blink of an eye. In that moment, the blacksmith realized why his disciple had been so afraid.

The massive, muscled figure towered nearly seven feet tall. His countenance was covered in battle scars. An ominous tattoo stood out on his left cheek. A gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce through the smith’s heart was directed entirely at him.

This was their “customer.”

“I apologize for the sudden request. Might you be the master of this forge?” the customer asked, his words slow and deliberate.

“Th-That’s right.” His reply came haltingly, seemingly daunted by the presence before him. But on the inside, he felt like lightning had struck his heart.

This guy’s not your everyday peasant! He gulped.

Sure, he’s trying to act like a nice guy by carrying a dog around, but I can tell! He stinks of blood! There’s a man that was born to fight, a natural killing machine!

“I’d like to place an order. Custom, not ready-made.”

The blacksmith couldn’t help but laugh aloud triumphantly, his face alight with joy.

“What’ll it be?! A sword? A sword, right? Maybe a broadsword? Or a falchion? Haha! A big guy like you probably wants a claymore you can wield one-handed, don’tcha?!”

“No, I don’t need a sword—”

“Polearms, then! A spear? A pike? A glaive? You look like you’d know your way around a halberd!”

Again, the customer shook his head.

“Axes.”

The blacksmith couldn’t contain his wonder.

“Axes, yes, axes. Goes well with all that muscle. Any axe you swing would hack through a shield like wet paper. So what kind’ll it be? A battleaxe? Crescent axe? A bardiche, perhaps? Or maybe...an executioner’s axe?”

“No, a felling axe. One with enough heft and thickness for someone of my size.”

“You’re cutting...trees?”

“Yes.”

There was a pause. The blacksmith was the one to break the silence.

“Heh heh, you’ve gotta be sly about it, eh? ‘Cutting trees...’ Can’t get caught by the missus, I understand. I’ll make you one that looks just like the real deal. I hear ya. Loooud and clear.”

“Excellent. I have other items I’d like to commission.”

“Like what? Maces?”

“More felling axes. Lots of them. Twenty or so. About the size a child might use.”

“Child-sized...? Oh, I see now. You want to use them for throwing.”

“For felling trees,” the customer reminded him.

“Ah, ’scuse me. Right, ‘felling trees.’”

“I’ll also take twenty hoes, ten sickles, and ten metal hammers, all as small as the axes.”

“Gotta pretend they’re just everyday household objects? You’re good.”

“I’m not pretending to do anything.” The customer scowled, his eyes ablaze.

“Come on now, don’t look at me like that. No harm, no foul. I’ll do it.”

“I should have more than enough, but what is my total?”

The customer withdrew a leather pouch from his breast pocket and set it down on the table with a satisfying jingle. The pouch opened, gold coins spilling out.

He just throws around that much money like it’s nothing... This guy really is a shady character.

The blacksmith withdrew the man’s fee from the pile of coins.

“Should you need any more payment,” the customer said, “do let me know.”

The blacksmith waved a hand in front of his face with a light laugh and replied, “No need, I’ve already taken my hush money along with the bill.”

“Is that so? Allow me to finally introduce myself—my name is Gaius. For the next two days, I will be staying in a lodge just outside the city. I’d like you to deliver the tools once they’re completed. Would that be all right?”

The blacksmith agreed. He didn’t bother to look into the name, nor did he ever intend to—after all, it was surely just an alias.

“I’ve got no other rush orders, so I can do that. Might not look it, but this is the best smithy in town.”

“You do seem trustworthy. Now then, I leave it in your hands.” With that, “Gaius” gave the smith a nod and took his leave. Immediately afterward, a pair of voices could be heard on the other side of the workshop wall.

“‘Hush money...?’ Is that an industry term for ‘customization fee’?”

“How should I know?”

The blacksmith, however, didn’t hear a thing; he was lost in an elated stupor, a look of utter bliss on his face.

“I knew it... A smithy ain’t a smithy if it ain’t makin’ weapons!”

＊

“Are you still hung up on that?”

The pair was homeward-bound, the wagon now loaded up on supplies. The now-full wagon rolled down the highway. Along with the tools from the smithy, Gaius and Fog had also purchased seeds and seedlings for planting new crops.

Fog stretched her legs out in the back of the wagon, leaning against the pile of goods. “It’s not a big deal. So what if you made some kids cry and some ladies faint?”

“...They called the guards, as well,” Gaius mumbled dejectedly, his hands tightly gripping the reins. “After staying in the kobold village, that sort of reception feels new again...in a bad way.”

“Huh... I can’t read human faces too well, but seems you’re pulling a real awful one right now, aren’t you?”

At that, Gaius’s shoulders fell into an even deeper slump. After a brief silence, he turned to Fog. “Never mind that. How was your experience in town with me? Was it all right?”

While the residents of Ryburgh were not themselves the killers, she had still lost her husband and loved ones at the hands of humans. Gaius had been concerned about effectively taking her into the lion’s den, so to speak.

“Wasn’t my favorite thing in the world, to tell you the truth. But being surrounded by so many humans meant I smelled lots of different kinds of souls. You know, they weren’t all like the bunch that attacked us, so there’s that.”

“Is that so?”

Fog, however, had already known that the human race was not a monolith, that they even killed their own.

“Some folks’ souls really stank, though... Gaius, wait a sec!”

Gaius gave Claudette the order to slow down, spinning around to see that Fog was now sitting up straight. Her ears stood at attention, her expression grim as she appeared to be listening closely for something.

“What is it, Fog?”

“Angry voices, and moaning. And the smell of blood. To the left.”

Jumping from the parked wagon, Gaius looked in that direction and focused. It didn’t take long to find the source: several people were gathered in front of a thicket of trees just off the highway.

“I don’t think that’s an ordinary gathering...” The reasoning behind Gaius’s judgment was clear. The group was armed, standing around something that they were taking turns kicking.

“...Thieves.”

Unlike the guards that watched over cities and towns, and the mutual surveillance and neighborhood watch systems that villages employed, there was no one to stand guard out in the plains. Thieves and murderers used this to their advantage. In light of this, nobles and royalty would typically arrange for there to be some kind of highway patrol system along major thoroughfares to maintain the peace. Whether or not there was order on the road was a barometer of sorts, a reflection of that region’s honor, so much so that the ruling lords fought for the right to preside over them. And yet, trouble was happening on one of those very roads—one not far from the city at all. That a band of outlaws could do their “jobs” in broad daylight was proof that Northplain’s marquess was losing more and more control over the region.

“Humans really do love doing this kind of stuff... So, what’ll we do?”

“I can’t let this be. Would you mind waiting a mo—hmm? What is it, Fog?”

Fog had crawled out from the wagon bed and was now resting her elbows on the driver’s seat, barely suppressing a snicker.

“Heh heh heh... You know, I kinda like that part of you.”

Gaius tilted his head. “Oh? You do?” He then picked up a broom they’d bought in town and took off running.

＊

“Oi! You over there!”

The group of men looked up from the victim they’d been tormenting and turned in the direction of that shout.

They saw a lone man running toward them. In his hand, he was waving something: not a weapon, but what looked like a broom.

“What an idiot,” one of the men spat. He looked to be in his forties, and on his cheek was a nasty burn scar. As the oldest one in the group, he served as the leader of the band of thieves.

“Thieving” was perhaps too light a term for it. They stole by force, and were not above resorting to murder—and in fact, they had before. Indeed, the scarred man’s subordinates were just about to dispose of the evidence of their latest robbery. One would have to be an absolute fool to approach them now.

“Is this guy crazy or something, boss?” one of the lackeys, a one-eyed man, asked, although the question was purely rhetorical. Any sane person who knew the reality of life in this domain would recognize the dangerous scene for what it was and stay far away.

“Who knows? Doesn’t matter. Now that he’s seen us, he’s a problem. Let’s fix that.”

The group of six robbers left their half-dead victim to welcome the strange man, their swords brandished.

“If he really is a lunatic, we can’t just rush him. Once we’ve surrounded him, we’ll all go for the...gut...” The boss’s voice died out, and he began to blink repeatedly and squint his eyes, as though dust had gotten inside them.

Strange. He was closer than he should have been.

“Is that even a human? He’s huge...like a giant...”

“And his face...he’s bad news!”

The boss sneered at his underlings. “What the hell are you scared of?! Who cares if he’s got a little muscle on him?! He’s basically unarmed, just kill him!”

“Yeah!” the gang replied in unison, having regained their spirit. They rushed toward the man and soon encircled him.

“Go, now!”

At the command, the five robbers all thrust their swords simultaneously. Tragically, the giant of a man was skewered...zero times.

The man managed to dodge all five assailants’ swords, then used the handle of his broom to jab a robber in the throat. Before they could recover from their missed strike, the giant man struck another assailant with a swift chop to the back of the neck, knocking him unconscious. The remaining three narrowly managed to avoid stabbing each other and finally regained their footing, only to find that the large man was resting the broom handle across his shoulders, waiting patiently to ask them a question.

“I’d like to make sure of something before I continue. You are highway robbers, is that right?”

“Don’t let him scare you! Keep going!” The leader of the bandits started shouting before Gaius had finished his question. In the blink of an eye, the madman had taken down two of his own; the boss wanted to end this before his underlings fully processed that and hesitated. Fortunately, the huge man was now stuck standing between the boss and his lackeys.

We can take him. We can still kill him.

As the boss reassured himself of their chances, he took a step forward—but in that same moment, their target quickly dropped into a crouch and grabbed one of the fallen bandits’ ankles. In the same motion that one would use to shake excess water from a piece of clothing, he lifted the unconscious man with ease and swung his body around, mowing down the remaining three lackeys before tossing the limp body back on the ground. He turned to face the bandit boss just as the smaller man tried to flee. But before he could even finish turning away, his escape, and consciousness, were cut short. The last thing the boss saw was the handle of that broom digging into his solar plexus.

＊

With one last glance at the incapacitated robbers, some passed out and some collapsed in agony, Gaius walked back to the person they’d been surrounding. As he’d expected, their “prey” was still on the ground, but was now sitting legs crossed.

The robbers had treated their victim terribly: the swelling was dreadful, and while there was quite a bit of blood, he was still conscious; fortunately, the worst-case scenario had not come to pass.

The man wore traveling clothes, and his build was relatively small. Downright short, actually; if he were to stand, he would likely be the height of an average human child. His build, however, was muscular and broad-shouldered, giving him a stout yet powerful impression.

“Are you all right?” Gaius asked.

“Bloody hell, yer a proper beast! And lookit the size o’ that broom!” He exclaimed in reply. Despite the terrible swelling, his face was visibly that of a young man. He went on excitedly.

“Thank ye, gramps! I’m a right fierce warrior come from the Great Anvil, son o’ Dwaske, the great dwarf Dwaemon! I’m off to make a name for meself as a hero—and a proper harem too, so’s I can feast and drink all day!”

...Dwarves. They were a race that lived in the Great Anvil, a mountain that towered up from the heart of the Greatwood. Their numbers were few to begin with, making them an extremely rare sight in the western kingdoms, but even so their existence was known throughout Igris—as protectors, natural-born warriors, adherents of a unique culture, and so on. They appeared in most tales of heroism that were brought over from foreign lands. In other words, their race was practically legendary.

“You’re the first dwarf I’ve ever seen,” marveled Gaius. “How unexpected. All I ever see here in the west are humans.”

“Ye’ve got some troll blood, don’t ye? ‘Bout one-quarter, I’d say.”

“You can tell?” Gaius was more than a little taken aback at having been seen through in an instant.

“Great Anvil’s got all sorts. Ye develop an eye for it. Me greengrocer’s a troll, and so’s the missus that lives three doors down. Troll lasses, can’t git enough of ’em! When they flex their muscles, their chebs go bouncin’!”

“Hm? I suppose they would,” Gaius nodded, recalling the faint memory of his mother’s appearance before remembering himself.

“My apologies. My name is Gaius. We just happened by on our way home from a supply trip.”

“Ye saved my hide, Gaius. Crivvens, I’d ’eard the roads round here were crawlin’ with trouble, but this is summat else.”

“Especially here in Northplain, with all this political turmoil. It’s no place for a child on his own.”

“Who’s a child? I’m almost fifteen!”

Gaius winced at his accidental rudeness.

“In any case, Dwa...emon, was it? You’re badly hurt. Will you let me treat your wounds?” he asked; the dwarf looked the type to put up a fight. The swollen face he stared at looked like a ragged rock, and there were most likely broken bones underneath.

“Naw, I’m awright. A li’l spit and I’ll be good as new. Still got a little enchanted medicine with me, too. Haven’t you heard? Ye wanna kill a dwarf, ye’ve got tae lop ’is head off, otherwise he’ll keep kickin’. And even if ye do that, stick ’is head back on and that’ll heal, too! At least, that’s what they say!” He threw his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands as he joked and boasted in equal measure.

“So, gramps,” he continued, “What’ll ye do with those robbers?”

“Restrain them, take them back to town, and leave them to the guards. Allow me to take you back, as well.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll return to my village,” Gaius replied, holding a hand out to help Dwaemon to his feet. The dwarf accepted his help, and for a moment, he stood there in thought, his hand on his chin.

“...Hey, gramps. Yer village, does it have a few bonnie lasses?” This time, Dwaemon’s expression was noticeably more meek. Gaius, on the other hand, lit up at the question.

“It does! More than a few. Every girl there is absolutely adorable! Everyone is so kind and gentle! I, myself, can’t believe how much fun we all have every day.” He threw his head back and laughed, his face glowing with happiness.

“Really? Is that right? Well, now...”

“Indeed, it is.”

“Gramps, can I tag along wit’ ye back to yer village?”

“I’m a new resident myself, so it’s not for me to say... I would have to ask my traveling companion firs—”

“Gaius! Something’s coming down the road!” shouted a voice from his wagon. It was Fog, and she’d noticed an approaching presence. When Gaius looked in her direction, he could see it too: three or so horseback riders were approaching from the distance.

“Fog, stay hidden!”

“Got it! You be careful, Gaius.”

“Eh? What is it? More bandits?” Dwaemon asked as he tried to see through his swollen eyelids. He had to use his fingers to open them wider.

Gaius also kept his gaze locked on the approaching figures, but as he realized there was no more need to keep his guard up, he sighed and let his shoulders relax.

“No, not bandits—knights.”

＊

“My name is Wyatt. I serve as a knight to the head of House Zigan and marchioness of Northplain, Lady Keighley. I also preside over the Ryburgh Adventurers’ Guild.”

The man that introduced himself appeared to hold the highest rank among the three knights. He stood tall, at just over six feet, and together with his gallant features he cut a very dashing, knightly figure. He appeared to be around the same age as Gaius, or perhaps ever-so-slightly younger.

Gaius recognized the crest emblazoned on his chestplate; that gauntlet motif most definitely belonged to House Zigan. Unauthorized use of a family crest was a crime so serious it could result in execution, but from the man’s words alone, Gaius could tell he hadn’t spoken a single lie.

Gaius turned to face Wyatt and knelt before him before speaking.

“My name is Gaius. On my way home from purchasing goods in Ryburgh, I happened to apprehend these bandits. I was just about to take them back to town and turn them in to the guards.” Behind him, Dwaemon was binding the bandits’ limbs and making them sit up in a neat line.

One of the younger knights behind Wyatt stepped forward and whispered to him, “Sir, the man with the burns... I believe there are wanted posters for him. Suspected of murder, they say.”

Wyatt nodded as he listened, then asked, “You captured all six men by yourself?”

“I have a bit of martial arts training.”

“Are the scars on your face from combat?”

“Some are not, but most are.”

“Did you serve in the Five-Year War?”

“I did, in Igris’s army.”

“As did I. Although at the time, I was just another private. Were you at the Battle of Snake Bush?”

“I participated, yes.”

“Is that so? My, that does take me back.” Wyatt gave a light-hearted laugh. “Excellent work, Gaius. Will you come back to town with us? The reward for their capture will be yours.”

“I will pass, Sir Guildmaster. I would like to continue making my way back home. Forgive me my shamelessness in leaving you with this lot, but if you could see to them, I would be much obliged.”

“That I don’t mind, but the reward...?”

“Transporting these goods to their destination is most important to me at the moment, so I’m afraid I must decline.”

“An unselfish man. Understood. I’ll see to it.”

“I am grateful. Now then, if you would excuse us.” Still kneeling, Gaius bowed his head even lower in appreciation before standing and walking away with Dwaemon.

“Oi, gramps, ye really don’ need the reward?”

“No, I do not. We need to get these seedlings to the village. I’d like to hurry back, too.”

Wyatt watched as they chatted and walked away.

“Gaius, eh...” He mulled over the name—and the next second, his eyes widened in surprise. Now agitated, he yelled after Gaius.

“Hold it right there, you—I mean... You are Baron Gaius Beldarus, correct?!”

Gaius stopped and turned around slowly.

“I remember now! That black rose on your left cheek! ‘The Black Rose of Igris,’ ‘Slayer of Fifty,’ ‘Ally-Killer...’” Wyatt cut his own rambling short, clearing his throat before continuing.

“You’re the Baron Beldarus? Captain of the Knights of the Chain?!”

Gaius sighed, scratching the side of his head in embarrassment.

“That is indeed my name. And that was once my title. However...”

“Oho, I knew it!” Wyatt exclaimed, rushing to catch up to the pair. In his excitement, his breathing grew labored, and his eyes shone. The two knights that seemed to work under him couldn’t hide their exasperation.

“To think that I would meet you...here! What an incredible honor, Lord Beldarus!”

“Wait, please. I am no longer a baron, nor am I the captain of the knights. I am simply Beldarus now.”

“I beg your pardon...?”

“Working in the capital was tiring. The other day, I resigned at last, renounced my title, and returned to my hometown. I no longer hold any special rank now. I’m simply an unemployed commoner.” He ended with an embarrassed laugh, scratching his head once again.

“Impossible...! You’re the hero of the Five-Year War!”

“I was never a hero. I simply survived.”

“But you were given peerage...direct control over the Knights of the Chain, and all its rich history! ‘Stand by the Sword’—the very motto itself reflects every soldier’s truest desire! And you threw it all away—even your rank among the nobility—!”

Wyatt had been deeply shaken by his conversation with Gaius; the words spilling out rapidly.

“Well, I was never very good with all of that.”

“I can’t believe this...”

“In any case, I’m currently the guest of a village close to where I was raised. They’re teaching me how to fell trees and till land, though I’m not any good at it.”

“The Black Rose of Igris...felling trees...?!”

“Yes. Now then, Sir Guildmaster, if you’ll excuse us. I leave the bandits in your hands.” Gaius bowed deeply before climbing back into his wagon, together with Dwaemon, and driving off down the highway.

Still in utter astonishment, Wyatt simply stood and watched them leave.

＊

One of the young knights, having cautiously waited for a chance to speak, finally tried calling out to Wyatt. When her boss turned around, his expression was the most displeased she’d ever seen him look. His eyes burned at her as he scowled.

“...What.”

One of his subordinates withered under the harsh gaze, while the other managed to muster enough courage to reply.

“We should head back soon, sir. Walking with this lot will cost us some time, as well.”

After letting out a sigh, Wyatt nodded, then turned to face the bandits.

“You said one was wanted for murder?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Which means they’ll be executed, no doubt.”

“I believe so, sir.”

The captive bandits moaned, but otherwise seemed to accept their fates.

“In that case... There shouldn’t be any problem if I take care of them here and now.”

“Transporting their heads alone would be easier.”

At this, the bandits began to wail. Wyatt approached them briskly, sword in hand...

...a sword that was said to be enchanted.

The blade itself faintly glowed with every color of the rainbow, a characteristic exclusive to magical mythril alloy. Impervious to heat and cold, it was more appropriate to call it a magic-enhanced blade, rather than a magical blade. A blood-red engraving starting from the hilt spidered down the length of the blade, clearly a sigil of some kind. The complex blade combined multiple kinds of sorcery, and was no doubt incredibly rare, if not the only one of its kind.

Wyatt held that very blade up to the neck of one robber, but said, “...No, I don’t think I will.” The captive, sure he was just about to lose his life, choked out a sigh of relief.

“But why, sir?” asked one of Wyatt’s subordinates.

“They may prove useful in that job we spoke of earlier. Riffraff like this will raise less suspicion. We haven’t had anyone this qualified come through the Adventurers’ Guild recently.”

“That is true,” the knight replied, as she and her cohort nodded at one another.

Wyatt crouched down in front of the bandit he’d spared so that they were at the same eye level.

“Now then, bandits and gentlemen. Take your pick. Will you become rust for my Sword Eater, here and now? Or will you serve me and live on as new men? You’ll be given money and new names. I won’t force you to choose...but choose quickly. I’m in the worst mood I’ve been in for some time.”

＊

“Stop your wiggling, uh... Dw...emon?”

Back in the wagon bed, a white kobold tended to a young dwarf’s wounds. Dwaemon, after initially insisting he was fine, had eventually given in to the force of Fog’s demands.

“Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow! Slow it down a little, lady!”

“Who’re you calling ‘lady’?! What was it again...Dorae...?”

“Jus’ call me Emon, if ye cannae say it right! Jings, that stings...”

“Man, this kid... You’ll be all done once I put this medicine on, so just hold still a little longer!” From the look on Fog’s face, it was clear she would have preferred to leave Emon behind. It almost looked as though her treatment was so effective, his swelling was already going down. No, in fact, it was no illusion; the young dwarf actually was healing incredibly fast. It seemed he may not have been joking when he said dwarves could even survive a beheading if you stuck the pieces back together.

“Oi, gramps, you were a fancy noble? I’d’ve pegged you for a monk,” Emon said, leaning over the divider between the wagon bed and the driver’s seat.

“Really? Why is that?”

“That mark on yer cheek. It’s not a tattoo, it’s a curse, innit? A spell cast on ye that makes yer bits like they’ve been snipped. Monks all over the world get ’em. But yers is lookin’ proper screwy.”

“That it is. You know quite a lot.”

“The bird that lives five doors over from me, she’s a sorceress. Used to practice her marks all the time on me bum, the bloody witch... Said she had to get ’em just so, else they’re harder to dispel, or the stupid things unravel themselves and turn into a mess. The wee ones at her school used to always make fun of her, called ’em scribbles.”

“The sorcerer that placed this one was also unskilled, I hear. It’s come to look like a black rose, and I’ve had no end of teasing over it.” Gaius gave a carefree laugh as he scratched the back of his head.

“And you, a baron! That big shot knight looked way more baronly than you.”

“Ah, the master of the Adventurers’ Guild?”

The man, Wyatt, hadn’t given them his full name because he had no last name. Plenty of the common folk had family names, but for a noble to not have one was impossible. No matter the man’s stature, that fact alone made it clear that he was of common birth.

Those who aspired to become knights in a region with no academy had two other options. They could join the ranks at an aristocrat’s recommendation, or have someone of rank attest to their exceptional ability; Wyatt most likely made knight through the latter.

“...His presence struck me more as that of a soldier. A very capable one.”

“How could ye tell?”

“His stance, his walk. And intuition, I suppose.”

Emon listened along—whether he understood or not was anyone’s guess.

“Ach, who cares ‘bout all them fancy-dans?! Even me maw’s a princess up north. Ye wouldn’t know it now though, lookin’ at the fat ol’ boot!” He roared with laughter.

“You? The son of a princess? Smells like a big fat lie.” Having finished putting away the medical supplies, Fog also drew closer to the driver’s seat.

“It’s the truth! Dwarves never lie.”

“I don’t believe that either, coming from you.”

“Yer a cruel one...”

Their exchange was like music to Gaius’s ears, and it brought a smile to his face.