Chapter 189 - Strange Currents (1)

Beyond the wavering candlelight, the bobbing motion of his Adam’s apple as he gulped down his drink was hearty.

Yet even in his hazy, drunken eyes, there was no hiding the seething anger within.

“We do not trust humans.”

It was a banquet laid out to welcome their guests, but at the table where Joseph sat, the air was heavy.

Even though if one rose from the seat and walked only a few steps away, there were plenty of people merrily drunk.

Feeling the strange atmosphere, as though the space itself had been separated, Joseph quietly set down the cup he was holding.

“Even so, the reason we sought you out was because we saw the faintest hope that perhaps...”

Fugitives, survivors, and now Nidavellir, a tribal alliance that had risen up to liberate their own people.

Olmukar, the great chieftain who could be called the leader of that Nidavellir, looked at Joseph sitting across from him as though searching him.

“If we help you, can you become the next Family Head of Bayezid?”

“...”

Olmukar was not making this offer to Joseph simply because he had saved a few young dwarves.

Because there was no opponent easier to predict than one whose desires were clear.

For Nidavellir, Joseph’s situation, in which he had no choice but to ask for help after being eliminated from the competition for Family Head, was a sufficiently attractive alternative.

“The reason we ended up like this in the first place was because we trusted the western lords. Nidavellir will not repeat the mistakes of our ancestors.”

Because they had relied on others instead of themselves, they had ended up in this state.

Having learned their lesson through painful years, the dwarves now wanted to hold the initiative themselves, no matter what happened.

“If you promise that you will become the Family Head of Bayezid and grant our demands, then even now, we can give you our full support.”

Ships, technology, and even soldiers could be given.

So long as he continued to follow their words in return.

It would be difficult to oppose Bayezid directly, but if it was only to shift the balance of power by putting forward Joseph as a banner, then even for Nidavellir, it was something worth attempting.

“I have heard well the words you have kindly offered me, Great Chieftain.”

Olmukar was certain that Joseph would have no choice but to accept his offer.

For Nidavellir should be the only last lifeline left to Joseph, whose every opportunity had been cut off.

If he did not want to stop at being a mere loser, Joseph had to take his hand.

“However... it seems you are slightly mistaken. What I want from Nidavellir is not such things.”

Yet Joseph merely expressed gratitude for Olmukar’s offer and showed no great interest.

In Joseph, who had set down his cup, there was not even a trace of the desperation of one driven into a corner; instead, only a calmness like quiet waves could be seen.

“Then why have you come all this way?”

Joseph, who had said he needed neither ships nor soldiers, quietly took out a small letter at Olmukar’s question.

A letter covered entirely in pitch-black.

Even from the outside, it looked like the kind of letter that must contain every sort of ominous thing.

“That is...”

“It is a letter someone sent from a city filled with fog.”

Joseph tucked that ominous letter beneath a wine cup and slid it over.

Now, black eyes without a single deep shadow beneath them were looking at the great chieftain of Nidavellir.

“For the sake of an unavoidable great undertaking, I would like to ask you to lend me the dwarves’ divine artifact.”

“... Divine artifact?”

Olmukar had thought until now that he held the initiative in this conversation, but that had only been his misconception.

An opponent whose desires were clear could be predicted.

But Olmukar could not begin to gauge what the young man sitting before him wanted.

※※※※

In Soara, in Varna, and in Sturma as well.

If one had to name the tallest and largest building in a city, it was, of course, the church.

“... It’s incredibly big. Like a church.”

And here on Lemnos Island, too, there was a building that could be compared to the churches of humans.

If there was a difference, it was only that unlike the churches with their chilly atmosphere, this place was filled everywhere with a sweltering heat.

[This is a forge, after all. To dwarves, it is a place of faith and belief.]

The sound of hammering came without rest.

Watching the dwarves all around, sweating as they brought their hammers down, Vlad could not help but gape.

The sight before him, so unlike the back-alley forge, was, to Vlad, truly no different from an entirely new world he was encountering for the first time.

“Come on already, you brat! Don’t get distracted in a dangerous place!”

Seeing Vlad lose himself in looking around, the old dwarf shouted in a shrill voice.

They were words telling him to be careful, but to the listener, the sharpness of the voice struck first.

“I guess anyone gets cranky if they stand in front of fire.”

[Let us call it craftsmanship.]

The old man’s name was Rukhta.

Having lived for so long, he knew many of the dwarves’ secret arts, and by that same measure, he was someone who had been harshly exploited by Gaidar of the West.

And long ago, he was also a man whose life had been saved as if by a miracle by Jorge.

“Take off your armor.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? What do you think it means when a blacksmith asks for armor in a forge?”

Rukhta had brought Vlad up to the highest workshop, where only craftsmen could climb.

Seeing Vlad climb to a place they themselves could not dare reach, several dwarves let out sighs.

“By any chance... are you going to fix it for me?”

“I am.”

At Vlad’s cautious question, Rukhta gave a small nod.

He was neither a son who had inherited his blood nor a successor who had inherited his will, but even so, the only trace Jorge had left behind was Vlad standing before him.

That was why Rukhta intended to gladly lend Vlad his hammer.

Because the dagger Vlad wore now was no different from a token of his promise to repay a debt of gratitude left unpaid.

“I don’t have any money.”

“... I’m not taking money or anything like that, so for the love of all things, just hand it over.”

At Rukhta’s words that he would do it for free, Vlad quickly removed his armor along with his cloak.

As it happened, he had already been wondering whether he should buy different armor to replace the elven armor that no one could repair.

“The furnace is here.”

“It’s the one I treasure most.”

Looking at the familiar furnace hanging in the workshop, Vlad smacked his lips.

It felt strange to keep discovering traces of Soara on this far, unfamiliar island.

Perhaps if he had closed even his left eye, he would have been able to see a young lizard wagging its tail at him.

“Leave the dagger too. I’ll look over it for you.”

“Then, by any chance, my sword...”

At the sight of Vlad trying to sneakily ask for even his sword, the eyes of the extremely aged Rukhta narrowed.

It seemed this foolish brat thought that thing was merely a sword.

“The sword is out.”

“... Why?”

“Because there are no suitable materials to handle that.”

All he had asked was to sharpen the blade a little, but at Rukhta’s grand mention of materials, Vlad could not help feeling awkward.

“Why would you need materials just to sharpen an edge?”

“That is the kind of sword it is. It is still unfinished.”

It had the form of a sword, but in truth, it was possibility.

Looking at the trace of the World Tree that no one knew what would become of, Rukhta only turned his gaze away.

To sharpen that sword’s edge and make it sturdier, metal of a fitting grade would be needed.

“Now go on. It’ll take a few days.”

“... All right.”

He had expected him to grumble at least a little, but Vlad merely scratched the back of his head awkwardly and turned away.

In truth, if anyone saw Rukhta begin to immerse himself in work, they would feel that they must not disturb him.

“What in the world has he been doing to go around wearing a sword like that? Tsk, tsk.”

After confirming that Vlad had gone down, Rukhta began inspecting the armor he had left behind with half-closed eyes.

He was a lad connected to him through his bond with Jorge, but what he wore and what he swung were both extraordinary, every last one of them.

“Hm?”

Rukhta, who had been frowning for a long while as he examined the damaged areas, saw a part that somehow felt out of place and his eyes gleamed.

Unlike the finely crafted armor, a piece of metal with a different grain, as though deliberately attached, was fixed to the breastplate.

—A knight who protected the breaths of children.

A part of the breastplate made of a material completely different from the armor being worn.

There, a single phrase that called to mind a scene from the past had been engraved in tiny letters.

["Just because. The brats kept crying."]

“... I don’t know about his looks, but his personality is exactly the same.”

And even the way he acted, too.

Rukhta ran his fingertips over the phrase, knight who protected the breaths of children, and nodded.

It seemed the dagger he had made had found its proper owner.

※※※※

The harbor of Lemnos Island, where the sun was now slowly beginning to set.

Looking at the sight before him, Haven had his mouth wide open as though he could not believe it.

Not as much as Haven, but Otar and Nibelun, who had followed him out, were also looking toward where the Zemina was with startled expressions.

“... Otar. What am I looking at right now?”

“...”

“This is a dream, right?”

The Zemina was burning.

Because of the flames bursting out from all over it.

Seeing the Zemina glowing red-hot like the hair color of the lady it had been named after, Haven’s captain’s hat dropped limply to the ground.

“What the hell are you doing!”

It was a speed that was impossible to believe came from someone leaning on a cane.

Before Otar could stop him, Haven had seized the dwarf man by the collar and began roaring in a scream-like bellow with blood-red eyes.

“You crazy bastards! Stop right now!”

“No, this is—”

“I said stop, you bastards!”

How many captains could maintain their reason in front of a burning ship?

The dwarf who had been directing the work realized that Haven was firmly misunderstanding the situation and hurriedly opened his mouth.

“We’re not burning it!”

“Bring Zemina back to life!”

While the mage who arrived late was fascinated and the captain was going mad, only the dwarf realized that their intentions had gone awry.

“You have to disinfect ships with fire every now and then so the things eating away at them disappear! Don’t humans do this kind of maintenance?”

“You bastards call setting it on fire maintenance?”

To dwarves, it was common sense, but to humans, it was still unknown.

Haven knew only how to scrape off barnacles and seaweed stuck to the bottom of a ship; without the concept of roasting a ship to disinfect it of germs, he had no choice but to badly misunderstand the scene before him.

“Hm?”

In the midst of that clash of common sense, while Haven and the work foreman were shouting, one of the dwarves silently roasting the bottom of the ship with a pack full of fire on his back discovered something like a pearl giving off a strange light.

It would not come off easily even when he tried to pry it away by hand, as though it had been attached with glue.

“... This isn’t a pearl?”

Nibelun, who had been watching the dwarves’ curious work for a long while, suddenly twitched his nose.

Because he had sensed a familiar thread of presence in the wind blowing along the sea.

A hint of mystery that only a mage could feel.

Only then did Nibelun recognize the shining pearl, and his eyes began to narrow strangely.

The bizarre pearl, shining of its own accord, continued blinking even now as though it were sending some sort of signal.