༺ 𓆩 Chapter 30 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
Underground, in a dark, stale room where not even light seeped in, Isaac was alone.
He had always been alone, and would remain alone hereafter, such was the life of a prisoner who had imprisoned himself.
If only there had been another prisoner.
If only he could have felt the trace of another’s presence.
If only had been some common affliction suffered by anyone at all.
Isaac would not have read so many books.
Misfortune suffered alone was a hell beyond comparison to misfortune suffered together.
And so Isaac went searching for misfortune.
Plays, epics, novels, fairy tales, all manner of them.
Among them all, what Isaac read most were histories.
Within history there was packed misfortune: the ruin of a single house, the ruin of an entire nation, and everything in between.
He read and read until the pages grew ragged.
Until one corner of history unfolded vividly before his eyes.
Until he had measured, one by one, the meanings and possibilities hidden in the blank spaces of records where petty details had been omitted.
Isaac devoured them.
Only by doing so could he endure.
The sound of silence that rang like a scream.
The song of tragedy that sounded like a clamor.
The mute longing of stillness, speechless as a corpse.
In that way he could keep from drowning in all those whispers tolling at his ears and through his mind.
‘Who would’ve thought it would help like this.’
Isaac gave a bitter smile.
[The new King of Wolves appeared in the Black Forest. The hell wolves gathered into an army and reduced Vinfeldt’s military camp and villages to ruin. Nothing grew there any longer, and no one lived there. The Margrave abandoned Vinfeldt. He lacked the blood and coin needed to reclaim the wasteland.]
That was how the history book recorded Vinfeldt’s end.
Because it had never been considered especially important land, historians had left no detailed account behind.
And because of that, Isaac had to experience Vinfeldt for himself and eliminate, one by one, the dozen or more possibilities he had imagined.
This inspection was for the sake of finding the clue that would let him do so.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
Hans grumbled.
They had visited two villages belonging to different tribes, but in neither place had they been welcomed.
The crudely built huts all lowered their awnings and refused contact.
At one point they had even nearly shed blood from a spear that came flying at them.
“They all seemed to say the same thing. What was it?”
“……They were telling us to get lost.”
The tribal-born soldier answered Carlson’s question.
“They’re all thin. Nothing but old people and women.”
“There’s nothing worth eating around here. The land is cursed, so it grows nothing, and the Black Forest swarms with demonic beasts. Not a single young man who went hunting into the Black Forest ever came back. Most of the tribal villages survive only by clinging to the goodwill of soldiers who share their blood.”
At Isaac’s words, the soldier explained, a resentment in his voice.
“It sounds, somehow, as if you’re blaming Goethe.”
“And wouldn’t I be?” The soldier shot back bluntly.
“Goethe asked for peace. But the tribes of Vinfeldt alone chose battle. This is the price they pay.”
“They did not choose battle. They tried to defend their own land.”
Isaac stared straight at him, but the soldier did not avert his gaze.
His eyes trembled, but the will to stand his ground still seemed firm enough.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“……Günter.”
The soldier lowered his eyes as he answered.
Only then did he realize Carlson’s hand was resting on the hilt of his sword.
Isaac was still looking at him.
Goethe’s eldest son, the one who had even defeated Bessemer.
The cursed noble.
Some said he was mad.
Günter regretted his words.
For his own sake, yes, but more than that because his rash remark might bring harm upon his people.
“P-please forgive me. People often say I have a vicious temper.”
Gulp—!!!
Without meaning to, Günter swallowed.
Even if Isaac killed him here and now, not a single problem would arise from it.
Such was the fate of a tribe that had lost its land.
“Günter.”
“…….”
“You might be right.”
“What?”
“You’re not going to guide us?”
“Yes, yes.”
Günter lifted his lowered eyes back to Isaac.
There was not the slightest hint of anger or discomfort on the face of the twelve-year-old noble boy.
There was only that same chill in Isaac’s eyes, the one Günter had felt when Isaac first faced Bessemer.
Unchanged.
There was not a trace of childishness in him.
It was impossible to guess what lay inside.
The one mercy was that he did not seem inclined to harm Günter.
Carlson had taken his hand off his sword.
“Hoo.”
Günter let out a breath of relief.
The last village.
The village whose chief inhabitants were of the Baitur tribe stood at the edge of the Black Forest.
“Y-young master.”
Günter, who had been riding silently ahead, finally spoke.
“He’s the lord.”
“……My apologies. My lord.”
At Carlson’s correction, Günter amended himself.
“What is it?”
“Must you really go to the last village?”
“Why?”
“As you know, it’s as good as a Baitur village. They’re all foul-tempered like Bessemer, every last one of them…….”
“And?”
“This is impertinent of me, but they’re the tribe with the fiercest resentment toward Goethe. And the village lies in the Black Forest…….”
“So we might run into hell wolves.”
“That’s exactly the point. There are demonic beasts in the Black Forest stronger than hell wolves.”
“That’s why we have to go.”
“What?”
“If you’re afraid, you may go back first.”
“I’m not afraid. I was only trying to warn you…….”
Wounded in his pride, Günter tried to defend himself, but the other two horses were already entering the Black Forest along the narrow path.
“…….”
Günter looked back and forth between the dark forest road under the heavy canopy and the barren plain behind them.
“Ah, damn it.”
Left with no choice, Günter followed after Isaac, and before long regretted it.
“We’re surrounded.”
“We are.”
“Carlson, can you handle them without killing them all?”
“It’d be hard enough even if I did kill them all. If it were just me escaping alone, that would be simple enough.”
“That’s underhanded.”
Compared to Hans and Günter, whose faces had turned pale, Isaac and Carlson spoke with utter indifference.
In the thick tangles of grass, trees, and vines, arrowheads and axe blades flashed.
Yet brighter still were the eyes of the tribesmen.
Like Bessemer, they had painted their faces white and marked them with patterns in blood.
Anyone could see they were Baitur.
And not just Baitur, but Baitur who had made full preparation for battle.
“Let’s see. Two, four, six, eight sturdy men…… there have to be at least twenty.”
“This is really the time for that? One wrong move and we’ll be hacked into meat.”
Hans scolded Isaac, who was calmly counting heads.
“Isn’t it strange?”
“Yes, very strange. You counting heads in a situation like this. Can’t you see what’s happening?”
“The other tribal villages didn’t have men like these. They were all old, or women. And this is the Black Forest, but these people look perfectly fine.”
“They said the Baitur were the strongest battle tribe. That’s not what matters right now. Do something. You came here with a plan, didn’t you?”
Hans’s eyes darted nervously.
“Take out the axe.”
“The axe? Ah, that.”
With slightly trembling hands, Hans opened the bundle tied to the saddle.
“The warrior who defeated Bessemer has come to meet the prophet!”
Isaac raised Bessemer’s axe high overhead.
But the tribesmen only blinked.
“I wonder if any of them even understand.”
“Quiet. The warrior who defeated Bessemer has come to meet the prophet!”
Isaac repeated the same words again and again, and the murmuring among the tribesmen concealed in the brush gradually thickened.
Then one tribesman with a massive build stepped forward.
He looked like a Baitur warrior.
“Bessemer, even when sleeping, even with women, leaves, axe. Bessemer, dead?”
“He lives. We dueled according to Baitur tradition.”
The whispering among the tribesmen swelled, then stopped.
“Young, warrior. Only, you.”
The Baitur warrior pointed at Isaac.
“He cannot go alone. Who knows what they’ll do.”
Despite Hans’s protest, Isaac was already busy getting down from the horse.
Being still short, he had some trouble dismounting from the fine horse by himself.
“Would you give me a hand?”
“No.”
“And why exactly do you get to decide that? Carlson.”
“Yes.”
Instead of Hans, Carlson helped Isaac down from the saddle.
“You’re really going alone?”
Hans asked anxiously.
“I have something to confirm, so yes, I have to go. Hans, if something happens with those bastards and I’m harmed, then run aw…….”
“Don’t say such unlucky things. Run, what do you mean run? If that happens, I’ll, yes? I’ll, with this sword, yes? With this sword…… ngh, I’ll cut them all down.”
Hans wrestled with the scabbard for a while before finally drawing the blade.
His face was grave enough, but he was not particularly convincing.
“Who told you to run? Don’t run. Fight until you die.”
“……Huh?”
“You said if I died, you’d follow me in death.”
“Yes, well, that’s true, but.”
Hans looked incredulous.
“And Carlson.”
“……I still haven’t taught him swordsmanship.”
Carlson answered first, as though he already knew what Isaac was about to say.
“Then while you’re waiting, start by teaching him how to draw a sword. At this rate he’ll cut off his own fingers before he cuts anyone else.”
“Understood.”
Isaac followed the tribesmen with an expression as light as though he were going for a stroll.
There must have been a fair amount of passage here, because the forest path was hard-packed earth and not overgrown with brush.
That made the walking easy enough, but the tribesmen’s constant little shows of hostility battered Isaac this way and that.
‘Savage bunch.’
The tribesmen surrounding him would deliberately shoulder into him or press a blade against him while pretending it was accidental.
After walking like that for some time—
“Welcome, young warrior.”
An elderly man who spoke the common tongue fluently stood waiting for Isaac.
Though his waist was bent, he still stood taller than Isaac.
In his younger days he must have been a warrior with a frame no less formidable than Bessemer’s.
The scars strewn across his face said as much.
“That necklace. Is it made from hell wolves?”
The old man, who wore a headdress of abundant feathers, had several necklaces around his neck strung with fangs and claws.
“It is.”
His eyes, clouded white as though sight had long since left them, turned toward Isaac.
It was not a pleasant gaze.
“You seem to have known I was coming.”
“The goddess granted an oracle.”
“Then I suppose you know why I came too.”
“I do. Because of the greed to seize this land in your grasp.”
“Was that part an oracle too?”
“It was not.”
“That’s a relief. My faith in that goddess still remains intact, then.”
Isaac spoke back and forth with the old man while he examined the tribal village in detail.
The shapes of the huts.
The totems and symbols placed here and there.
The style of the tribesmen’s clothing.
The weapons they carried.
Every part of it was a clue.
‘……They’re using the belongings of other tribes as if they were their own. Have I confirmed everything I needed to?’
Isaac’s deduction was hardening into certainty.
Now only two possibilities remained for this fragment of Vinfeldt’s history.
‘Two hypotheses left. Whichever it is, it’s dreadful all the same.’
“That is enough. Speak your true purpose, young warrior. For what have you come all the way here?”
The old man spoke.
Those milky eyes seemed as though they were peering straight through Isaac.
“Or perhaps I should speak the true matter first.”
Shing—!!!
The instant the old man finished, the chill ring of steel rose from all around.
The tribesmen had leveled iron at Isaac.
It was a murderous atmosphere, the kind that looked ready to stab and cut at once.
“Little Goethe, bloodline of the northern devil. Is there any reason we should not kill you?” the old man asked.
“There is.”
Isaac gave a faint smile.
This had gone almost exactly as he expected.
“What reason?”
“Because I’m going to save all of you.”
“……It seems the little Goethe has gone mad.”
The old man spoke, and the tribesmen burst into loud laughter.
It was the same hearty, half-mad laughter Bessemer had.
But it did not last long.
Vinfeldt was certainly a cold region, but in spring it was milder than most other northern lands.
That was because the sea lay beyond the Black Forest.
And yet every time they breathed or laughed, white vapor spilled from their mouths.
Frost settled in an instant over the dark green brush.
‘Time to find the final clue.’
Isaac let cold mana pour from his fingertips through the Frost Runestone.
Mana with no target scattered in all directions, freezing the air.
Cooling, cooling, cooling, cooling.
And more cooling still.
All five circulation paths were in violent motion.
Mana overflowed the circuits and flooded out.
“A c-curse!”
The old man’s face blanched with shock.
The faces of the tribesmen, who worshiped more gods than any other people in the kingdom, shifted moment by moment into terror.
Isaac was unleashing mana in such abundance not to trigger an explosion, nor to cow the tribesmen.
Awooooo—!!!
From somewhere very near came the enormous howl of a wolf.
At the same time there came the heavy tremor of great bodies striking the earth.
‘They’re here.’
Drawn by the source of the concentrated mana Isaac had scattered, the demonic beasts came surging in.
More precisely, the hell wolves.
Whoom—!!!
For an instant a vast shadow passed over the heads of the tribesmen.
The beast that landed on the ground made almost no sound compared to its size.
“……Oh?”
Isaac was genuinely a little surprised.
Dense mana drew demonic beasts.
That was why he had raised his mana on purpose, to provoke the hell wolves.
The final clue could be found simply by forcing the Baitur tribe and the hell wolves to stand face to face.
And yet he had hooked a far larger fish than he expected.
It was a wolf larger than any barracks in the camp, with a long scar cutting across one eye.
Unlike the other hell wolves, its fur was not black, but silver.
Even compared with the other hell wolves that arrived moments later, the silver wolf dwarfed them all.
There was no mistaking it.
The King of Wolves had come here.
The monster that, as scheduled by history, would destroy Vinfeldt and turn it into land belonging to the demonic beasts.
‘I found it. The final clue.’
END σϝ CHAPTER