Chapter 30: From the Bare Mountain, a Figure Descended

From the bare mountain, a figure descended. It was tall, wrapped in an ashen cloak, and shouldering a massive sword that towered over its body. A hood was pulled down to obscure its face; however, the strands of hair that peeked out were silver and smooth as silk thread, and its angular jawline seemed masculine.

The man looked around as he slowly made his way down. His cloak flapped and billowed in the wind, and he had to take hold of his hood to keep it in place.

“That bloody tomboy... Where did she go?”

He seemed to be searching for someone, and he had been at it for quite a while. There was a palpable irritation in his voice as he muttered to himself.

He looked down at the forest that stretched over the base of the mountain. The ground he was standing on was so high up that there was only low grass around him, and hardly any trees, all of which gave him a fine view of the village near the foot of the mountain. When he strained his eyes, he could make out flocks of sheep and the dogs chasing them, as well as the herdboys nearby.

After a moment’s thought, he decided to head for the village.

○

A dead grayhund fell to the ground. The young man who had swung his sword swiftly retreated while another youth switched places with him, thrusting a spear forth to impale another grayhund that was pouncing from behind its fallen brethren.

“Good, that’s the way to do it! Don’t get too big for your britches! Take them out consistently, one by one!”

Belgrieve kept at the ready, able to join the fray at any moment. He kept wary of their surroundings as he gave orders to the village youths. They had established a formation uphill from the forest, luring the grayhunds to charge at them from below. The terrain advantage had been theirs before the battle even began.

There were roughly ten youths helping him out, fighting the fiends as a unified force. At regular intervals, a few of them would venture out to draw in the grayhunds, then retreat so the ones in the back with the spears could deal with them.

Belgrieve and Duncan supervised from both flanks, fully prepared to rush in the moment things turned sour, but otherwise stood back; Turnera would be a far safer place if the villagers grew accustomed to combat.

The battle, which lasted just under an hour, ended in their victory. A few injuries were sustained, but none were severe. These were decent results, and Belgrieve went around patting his young fighters on the shoulders.

“Well done. You’re getting there.”

“Heh heh, you think I could be an adventurer, Mr. Bell?”

“Up to you. But Angus would be pretty sad if you left the village.”

“Urk... But, you know...”

“And it’s not that easy out there. Duncan and I, we were the lucky ones. If you become an adventurer, you’ll be toeing the line between life and death. Even if you don’t die, you could lose a leg like me.” Belgrieve tapped his peg leg against the ground.

The young man hung his head. “I know, but...”

“Ha ha... Anyways, you did good today. Let’s go home.” Belgrieve spurred the small group down the path. Fighting fiends was a good experience, but it would also change the hearts of the younger generation that only knew Turnera’s idyllic lifestyle.

There wasn’t much entertainment to be had in the countryside. Quite a few of them already longed for a life of adventure, and this began to feel like a realistic goal after they had fought and slain some fiends for real. The second and third sons had a bit of freedom, but there were houses where even their heirs began yearning for the adventurer life, and their parents looked on with conflicted faces.

Belgrieve shared their view. He had been an adventurer, so he was reluctant to stand in the way of their dreams, but raising Angeline had taught him how to worry as a father. Furthermore, letting the heirs leave would also be a loss to the village. Although there was little that could be done to put a damper on their enthusiasm with fiends appearing one after another, Belgrieve still felt some remorse, having had a hand in spurring these youths towards the world beyond Turnera.

“I know it can’t stay the same forever...”

But when things did start changing, where was he supposed to stand? He had lived over forty years and still didn’t have an answer. It was all unknown—in fact, the things he felt he had figured out were dwarfed by the vast amount of things he just wasn’t certain about anymore.

They returned to a village enveloped in a somewhat festive air. A caravan had arrived a while ago, and now tents were erected in the town square where various goods were lined up while travelers played their folk tunes.

After telling his students to maintain their weapons properly, he let them go on their way. They scattered into groups; some went home, while others headed straight for the stalls. After training them up a bit more until they could handle the village’s defenses on their own, Belgrieve intended to join Duncan in investigating the cause of the outbreak. The youths were skilled, but not fully accustomed to combat. They could fight, but they were no adventurers. These were children he had watched for all their young lives, and he had even been there for some of their births; he did not want even a single one of them to die.

Duncan leaned his battle-axe against his shoulder. “The kids here all have potential. They could become fine adventurers with a bit of training,” he said.

“Yeah, but that’s why it’s so complicated. If they all leave, then the village is done for.”

“Hmm... That is...difficult. I left my homeland myself, so I understand where they’re coming from.”

“I’m not oblivious to their feelings either. But I also understand how the people of Turnera feel, and ultimately, I’ve been tilling the fields here a lot longer than the time I spent as an adventurer.”

“Ha ha ha! I’m in awe that you became as strong as you are!” Duncan gave a thunderous laugh, patting Belgrieve on the shoulder. “I always thought the best training was the thrill of the hunt! But you got to where I am with your own path, Bell! I guess flexibility goes a long way!”

“I’m not so sure. I think my daughter Ange played a large part in that...”

Namely, it was his stubborn desire to not lose to her. Her abnormal skill and talent had undoubtedly been quite the motivation for Belgrieve to keep up his training even when he was past his prime. From time to time, he would think, I doubt I would have trained my sword to this degree if I had kept my leg and continued as an adventurer. Perhaps instead of his leg, he would have gone on to lose his life on some other occasion.

“Que será, será, and all that.”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Just talking to myself,” Belgrieve said with a grin.

Duncan smiled back and began walking. “Now, how about lunch? I’m starving!”

Belgrieve was about to walk after him when he heard a commotion brewing in the village square, causing a suspicious look to cross his face. “Duncan.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“I’ll catch up with you.”

“Something come up?” Duncan looked at him quizzically but continued on his way to the house.

When Belgrieve arrived at the square, he found an unfamiliar man standing there. The villagers seemed surprised, keeping their distance while murmuring amongst themselves.

The man was tall and clad in a gray cloak with a large sword slung across his back. His long, silky, silver hair and clean-cut features were eye-catching on their own; however, what stood out the most were his pointed ears, which elicited awe from the humans.

“Th-That’s an elf, isn’t it?”

“Silver hair, pointed ears... No doubt about it.”

“What’s an elf doing here...?”

The elf in question looked around bashfully. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle anyone...”

His voice was solemn and stately, but had a peculiarly reassuring tone to it. The villagers exchanged glances, not knowing what to do. This had made him even harder to approach, and their troubled whispers only grew more intense.

Turnera was located at the northernmost point of the dukedom, with elf territory beyond the northern mountain range. There, the cold was even harsher than in Turnera, and the forests even denser. Humans rarely ever set foot in those lands, nor did the elves often visit the dukedom. There was no proactive exchange between the two nations. At most, a handful of peddlers would do business on both sides.

The organ that produced mana was far more developed in elves than it was in humans, and this excess mana allowed many of them to achieve immense longevity. This was similar to how Maria, a human adventurer, had used magic to halt the effects of aging, but on a completely different level.

Both their men and women were beautiful without exception; they were a race that preferred to live a peaceful life of seclusion, valuing spirituality over wealth and fame. Humans regarded elves as lofty, high-minded beings, and the lack of cultural exchange did not help. Generally speaking, they were treated with awe and seen as difficult to approach.

For Belgrieve, this was not his first time meeting an elf. He recalled the elf girl who had once fought by his side and stepped forward with a sense of nostalgia.

“Welcome to Turnera, Mr. Elf. My name is Belgrieve. If it is no inconvenience, might I ask what your business is?”

The elf looked at Belgrieve and smiled. With their longevity, the elves were supposed to maintain a youthful appearance even long into their seemingly interminable lifespans, but this man had deep wrinkles and creases carved into his face, his very being exuding the weight of years lived.

“You have my gratitude. It seems I’ve scared them...”

“Ha ha, they’ve never seen an elf before. Please overlook it.”

“I apologize for my own lack of consideration.”

Belgrieve guided the courteous elf to his own humble abode.

The sudden appearance of an elf had Duncan open his eyes wide, but his innate heartiness kept him from complaining. “Ha ha ha! You’re always surprising me, Bell!”

“Sorry about that, Duncan... Sorry it’s such a mess here, but please have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

The elf propped his sword against the wall and sat down. Belgrieve brewed a cup of tea and placed it in front of him.

“Please have some.”

“Much obliged...”

The old elf seemed to relish the flavor. Belgrieve patted his chest, relieved it was to his guest’s liking as he sat down across from him.

Duncan looked at the elf, then his sword. He narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard. “Hmm... That sword is quite the weapon.”

The elf returned his stare. “Oh, you can tell?”

“My name is Duncan. I am a traveling warrior of sorts and am currently mooching off of Belgrieve here. Might I know your name...?”

“How rude of me. I am called Graham.”

This name startled both Belgrieve and Duncan.

“You wouldn’t happen to be Graham, the paladin elf, would you...?” asked Belgrieve.

Graham answered with a slight smile, “I have been called that before.”

“Ooh... To think I would meet an elven hero out here... I am honored.”

“It’s all in the past, Sir Duncan. I’m but an old man now. You don’t need to stand on formality with me.” Graham took another sip of tea, his lips twisted in a complicated smile.

Paladin Graham was known as “The Holy Knight” or “The Paladin,” monikers attributed to the noble image of his race on top of countless accolades even beyond slaying demons and dragons. He was a bona fide living legend—the first elf to make a name for himself as an adventurer. Whenever humans spoke of elves, most would at least mention his heroic tales. He was so famous that he featured in children’s fairy tales. What could someone of his caliber need in Turnera?

“So what brings you to Turnera, Sir Graham?”

“Hmm, truth be told, I’m searching for someone.”

It can’t be anyone ordinary, thought Belgrieve.

Duncan tousled his beard. “That someone is around these parts?”

“I’m not certain, but I tried searching around places she might be, and this is where I ended up... My age is catching up to me, you see. I felt weary, so I stopped by your village which I saw from the mountain.”

“The person you’re searching for is a woman then?”

Graham nodded. “Indeed, a rather troublesome lass... She does not understand her own position.”

“Oh? Is she someone important?”

“Yes.” Graham sighed. “She’s the sole daughter of Oberon, king of the Western Forest.”

○

Angeline rested her chin on her arms which were folded atop the table and gazed at the drops of condensation on the outside of her glass. The smaller ones would gradually grow, then mix and fuse with the ones around them to grow even larger, until they finally dripped away.

She could hear children frolicking in the yard. A refreshing summer breeze blew through the open window, billowing the faded curtains. It was so sunny outside, and yet so strangely dim and haunting within.

She was at the orphanage adjacent to a church in downtown Orphen. It was a two-story building made of wood and stone. There was a vegetable garden in the yard that the sisters carefully maintained day after day, filled with the sort of beautiful produce that Anessa would often bring over.

Ever since she learned that Anessa and Miriam had grown up here, Angeline would drop in from time to time. After gifting them with sugar, floral tea, and some furnishings the orphanage needed, the children and the sisters happily welcomed her.

That day, they had arrived in the morning and helped with some cleaning and maintaining the garden. However, despite her own insistence, Angeline was treated as a special guest. As she watched the two girls interact so closely with the sisters, she felt a sense of alienation, even though she knew they didn’t intend to make her feel that way. It wasn’t as though she despised socializing, but she had no motivation to strike up a conversation. So after she had finished helping out, she retreated to the kitchen and spaced out. She had already been here numerous times and was free to help and rest as she pleased. It was as if she was more there to play than to volunteer, and even if that wasn’t so, she always came with mountains of gifts. No one would complain.

Anessa entered through the wooden door with a basket full of vegetables. They were all so glossy it was clear they had been plucked moments ago. After setting them on the table, Anessa looked at Angeline doubtfully.

“What are you doing?”

“Relaxing...”

“I can tell that much... But aren’t you too lethargic? What would Mr. Bell say if he could see you?”

Angeline pursed her lips. “Nothing... My dad would be very kind and considerate.”

“Good grief...” Anessa sighed before pulling a few vegetables from the basket. “I’m making lunch. How about helping out?”

“Sure.” Angeline stood.

At that moment, a sudden clamor manifested in several children bursting in from the back door. The orphanage taught them many skills, from reading and writing, to housework, to helping around the garden; of course, cooking was also a part of their daily routine.

“Hey, where are your manners? You have to wash your hands first!” a young sister said in a clear voice as one of the younger children reached for a pot with dirt-caked hands.

It was up to the church sisters to corral the rowdy children. The director of the orphanage who had raised Anessa and Miriam had grown quite old, while the sister in the kitchen was comparatively young. Her name was Rosetta, and she was cheerful and kind. The children adored her, and she got along quite nicely with Angeline.

Angeline patted the head of a nearby child as she said, “What are we making today, Ms. Rosetta?”

“Right, we’ve got plenty of vegetables, so let’s stew them and make pasta! Take care of the dough, Ange! Anne, go get some water for the pot!”

Sister Rosetta donned an apron, adjusted her ultramarine-colored coif, and tied back her curly, bright-brown hair. She rolled up her sleeves and issued precise orders to the children while she lit a flame under the pot, before moving on to deftly slicing vegetables with her knife.

Angeline kneaded the pasta dough as she watched the sister work from behind. Her hips were so prominent that she could make them out clearly through the loose-fitting habit—those were childbearing hips indeed. Angeline had been convinced that motherliness rested in the chest, but it seemed that the bottom also factored into the equation. She nodded to herself.

Anessa had nice hips, but hers were toned and not very motherly. Rosetta had her beat in size, by any case. Then is softness what it means to be motherly? Angeline wondered.

As she watched Rosetta cook and give instructions to the children, she wondered what it would be like if Rosetta was her mother. Of course, Rosetta was still only twenty-nine years old. Perhaps she was a bit too young, but she was cheerful and energetic when she was dealing with children. There were freckles on her cheeks, and though she wasn’t exactly beautiful, she had large, round eyes and an adorable face. She was more like a big sister than a mother, but that wasn’t too bad either. As she was always vivacious in anything she did, she would surely support Belgrieve, come sun or rain.

Angeline’s hands hadn’t stopped moving as she made her observations. Rosetta gave an amused laugh. “You sure you aren’t overdoing it, Ange? Really giving it your all, I see.”

“Hmm...” Angeline rolled the dough into a ball, cut it in half, then took out a rolling pin and began stretching it. She had kneaded it so hard that she was having a hard time rolling it out.

Rosetta hummed a tune as she shoved the chopped vegetables into a pot. Anessa added dried herbs sparingly and said, “Looks like the harassment has stopped lately.”

“Right, right. Those cultists or whoever they were. They were pretty noisy for a while, but they’ve gone remarkably quiet. A relief, if you ask me.”

For a short period of time, a peculiar group had been giving sermons about the glory of Solomon and his demons. Angeline had confronted a demon directly, so she could tell that it was not the sort of entity that would bring any benefit to humanity if worshiped. However, those who weren’t so well informed and were dissatisfied with their circumstances might cling to anything that was different from the current institution.

Apparently, the group had come to the orphanage, which was also part of a church to Vienna, and denounced the goddess and the entire curia of Lucrecian churches, scaring the children immensely. Nothing was broken and no one was kidnapped, so it didn’t cause very much upheaval.

Suddenly, Angeline thought back to the turmoil in Bordeaux. The albino girl Count Malta brought along had also said something about Solomon. Come to think of it, the cultists in Orphen had calmed down as soon as she returned from Bordeaux. Perhaps the girl—and the boy Angeline fought near the manor—had something to do with the cult.

She thought over these things, absentmindedly working with her hands, and by the time she realized it, the dough was so thin she could see the cutting board through it.

“Hmm... I can’t get distracted,” she said with a grimace, pinching it up with her fingers.

Rosetta chuckled. “What’s this, Ange? You’re messing up a lot today. The heat getting to you?”

“Not exactly... Have you ever thought about marriage, Ms. Rosetta?”

Rosetta looked taken aback at this. “Huh... That came out of nowhere.”

“I just thought you’d make a fine bride... You’re a good cook and all.”

“O-Oh, look at you, you little brat! Don’t go teasing adults!” Rosetta prodded her, her face a bright red.

Angeline frowned. “I’m not teasing... Hey, would you like to meet my father to discuss the prospect of marriage?”

“Eh? Wait, what are you talking about?!”

“Dad is a bit older, but...he’s a very good person.”

“Hey now, Ange! You’re taking this joke too far!”

“I’m serious... I think I would be fine with you as my mother...”

“Th-That’s not the problem...”

“No good...? You’re cute, Ms. Rosetta, and you’re a hard worker. I think you’ll be a good wife...”

“Ah, er... I mean...”

Angeline stared at her with absolutely serious eyes, and Rosetta didn’t know whether to act troubled or bashful. She opened and closed her mouth blankly, her eyes cast down. Meanwhile, the children ran around poking her.

Then came a thud, as Anessa tapped a fist against Angeline’s head.

“What nonsensical thing’s gotten to you now?”

“It’s not nonsense... I’m serious.”

“Mr. Bell’s the one who’s supposed to make the call on that one. You can’t go off on your own all willy-nilly.”

“That’s why it’s just a meeting... Nothing definite. Every fated encounter needs an opportunity.”

“I mean, I guess...”

“Please think about it, Ms. Rosetta... My dad is a good man.”

“Ah, for crying out loud! Let’s get back to cooking! We’re only halfway done!”

Keeping her response noncommittal, Rosetta headed for the sink. It was then that Miriam entered the kitchen, a shopping bag in hand.

“Am I late...? Why’s your face so red, Rosetta?”

“It’s nothing!” Rosetta said loudly.