Southeastward Bound

It was a strange sensation.

The metal that erupted from the earring, which had felt weightless as though defying the law of conservation of mass, flowed rapidly like molten steel and took form. Through magic composed of some incomprehensible structure, a leather chin strap, a lining that softly wrapped the head, and a visor and face guard that obstructed the view were created.

The helmet, which had taken a certain shape, seemed to fully cover down to the nose while adopting a form with a horizontally long eye slit. I could feel that the thickness of the helmet had definitely reduced my field of view, but I could see far more than I had expected.

Soon, once the heavy sensation pressing on my trapezius muscles was added, Luwiming's creation finally stopped its transformation. I touched it out of curiosity and found that neck-protecting armor had been formed along with it.

Ever since I came to this place, it had been a nonstop parade of things I couldn't believe even while seeing and experiencing them firsthand.

While I stood frozen stiff like a cat grabbed by the scruff of its neck with a clothespin, utterly at a loss due to the helmet that had suddenly appeared, Luwiming approached me, touched the helmet here and there, and nodded with satisfaction.

"Even when there's no particular need to protect the face, I referenced the down visor format so it can at least protect the neck. As you use it you'll figure it out, but it's not a structure supported by leather straps at the seams. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠referenced the mechanical engineering of the dwarves, which has recently begun developing by leaps and bounds. Each individual iron plate is interlocked and supported like chain mail, and if necessary, the visor's position can be firmly fixed. Here, with the visor open, if you press firmly around this lower jaw area, it locks, and..."

She seemed so thoroughly pleased that she kept pouring out explanations, but there was little I could actually understand.

It was already overwhelming just to grasp the basic explanations—that the visor could be lowered and locked in that state to serve as a front neck guard, that the face guard was connected to the neck guard, that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the helmet's structure was designed in a form similar to my gauntlet so turning my head and moving would pose no discomfort, and so on. After somehow ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠managing to learn the basic usage, I belatedly picked up a mirror to properly check my appearance, and I couldn't close my mouth.

I had thought I'd be getting something like a Spartan helmet, but the gap was so vast that it felt like being handed an Iron Man helmet instead—all I could do was marvel.

"...It's incredibly impressive."

"I always strive to pursue functionality without losing aesthetic sensibility."

Ah, well, sure. The external appearance was certainly stylish in its own way, but that wasn't what my exclamation was about. I was so busy being astonished by the existence of a helmet and neck guard so perfect it was impossible to believe they had been a tiny lump of metal attached to my earring just moments ago, that the aesthetic aspects honestly hadn't even registered.

From the fact that it had blocked the hammer Luwiming threw with zero recoil, to its absurdly light weight, and a range of motion so flexible it was hard to believe I was wearing a helmet at all.

It was such an outstanding piece of equipment that it made me think the perforation line that had been making me gloomy until just moments ago might actually be nothing more than a truly trivial flaw.

"The weight of the helmet is distributed to some extent through the neck guard, so the fatigue you feel should be minimal. Of course, your shoulders will get a bit tired as a result, but that much shouldn't be any problem for you."

"I'm already utterly stunned as it is. I barely feel any weight at all—just how much impact can it withstand?"

"Enough that even if you headbutted an ogre head-on, the ogre's skull would shatter first? Your head might ring a bit, but the recoil shouldn't be too severe either."

An explanation of why the recoil was minimal followed once again, but it was content I could absolutely never understand, so I let it go in one ear and out the other. Meanwhile, when I lowered the visor as Luwiming had instructed, it settled into place like a massive face guard, accompanied by a clanking sound that struck a chord in a man's heart.

"But what's the connection between this and the tattoo?"

"It designates the coordinates from which the metal must not deviate. Without it, the metal can't even maintain its shape properly—you could say it would cling to all the wrong places and try to become armor. Or rather, it would harden into a mere lump of metal instead of armor? It's not that it can't be reversed, but in an emergency, it would cause very serious complications."

Once again, a detailed explanation followed without fail, and once again it didn't reach my ears. The only thing I managed to pick up was that over time the tattoo would gradually fade, and eventually, aside from glowing faintly when activated, it wouldn't show at all.

"Because if it's too noticeable, there's a risk the enemy will figure out its structure."

Thanks to that truly sound and reasonable statement, I was able to let out a deep sigh of relief.

It wasn't that I held any particularly negative stereotypes about tattoos... but the perforation line looked so damn attention-seeking that it was hard to endure. After the basic explanations concluded and I voluntarily learned how to store and deploy the helmet, the sun had already risen to its zenith before I knew it.

From the brief conversation we'd had in the meantime, Luwiming seemed to have more or less caught on to the fact that I used Magic Power. For now, since Cellevian next to me appeared unaware of that fact, I expressed myself vaguely, but knowingly or not, that kind of nuance practically radiated from her.

That said, she wasn't wary of me or anything. On the contrary, she patted my shoulder ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with something like pity, offered the strange well-wish that I should keep struggling hard, and before parting, showed a very cool reaction, asking if I had anything else I wanted to know.

"Someone of Luwiming's caliber could handle elf hunters without much trouble, couldn't you?"

So I coolly asked. About the strange reality that I had assumed might be possible before coming here, only for it to be shattered to pieces the moment I faced her.

Elf slaves were expensive not simply due to aesthetic factors and their lifespan. As could be seen from the fact that I had made an enormous amount of money by scraping together and selling the Ear Hunter's belongings—to the point of having to convert it into jewels—they truly went into the hunt with every conceivable preparation made. It went without saying that all the costs involved influenced the 'product price' within a reasonable margin.

The magic tools designed to neutralize elves or inflict severe injuries while still allowing live capture were truly diverse. Starting with sonic bombs, there were bizarre magic tools that disrupted Mana cohesion, magically crafted signal flares, steel nets capable of temporarily producing effects similar to the sealing shackles Asilie had worn back in the day, and more.

I had learned, while ransacking the bastards' camp, that they hunted by mobilizing a truly vast array of tools—so much so that I'd wondered if they might even be able to catch a dragon with that much. That was why, before meeting Luwiming, I had considered it somewhat plausible that such methods could catch elves.

But after seeing this thousand-year-old elf who had walked a single path her whole life, nothing but questions arose now. So when I asked outright, Luwiming answered with a bitter smile.

"How old do you think Cellevian is?"

"...Since you speak so casually with each other, around the same age, isn't he?"

"I've probably lived... about 1700 years? Cellevian's around the 500 mark now. Right?"

"Roughly, more or less."

Cellevian, who had been silent until now, nodded calmly and answered. When my expression turned peculiar at this, he added an explanation.

"High elves regard one another as equals, you see."

It was a short explanation, but one that made everything clear in an instant. Luwiming nodded slightly upon hearing it.

"Passing the World Tree's trials carries that much value. Things like age aren't particularly important. Anyway, there aren't many elves in this village or other villages who've lived as long as I have. The village chiefs of each settlement, and the pilgrims who remain in the World Tree's territory? I doubt there are even a hundred across all the elves on the continent combined."

I could grasp the point of what she wanted to say without needing to ask.

She was not the average of her race. There were others similar to her, but they did not move recklessly.

"In the past, when the Evil Gods' influence had swallowed half the continent... it wasn't so hard to see elves who'd lived as long as I have. But the vast majority of them gave their lives to end that era of despair. It was a time that brutal, and as a result, it was a time when you had to grow strong to survive."

But... she began, swallowing her words for a moment, as Luwiming stared into the brazier with her unseeing eyes and slowly opened her mouth.

"...But now is different from back then. The Evil Gods are dead or sealed, the forces of evil have lost their power, and in response, the Celestial Scales that adjust the world have shifted as well. You may not agree, but to me and my peers who lived through that age, this era is an era of peace. To demand and pressure that we grow as strong as we did in the past, in such a peaceful era—that is not conduct befitting the will of those who did not hesitate even at death to gift peace to the children of a new age."

"...Even if it means those who hunt elves appear because of it?"

"Hahaha, even in the age of the Evil Gods, there were elf hunters, my friend. In fact, back then they were worse than the ones now. Because they didn't rely on tools."

Fuck. Just what kind of world did you live through...?

Even while reminiscing about a distant past so far removed I couldn't even imagine it, Luwiming was still smiling.

"That's how this thing the gods established called Balance works, it seems. There appears to be something that adjusts things so they don't tip to one side, regardless of the standards of good and evil. That's why people from that era, myself included, see 'our' era as having drawn to a close and stay as silent as possible. When the time comes that we truly must move... well, we'll move."

Let the children living in the present overcome the matters of the present era on their own.

At the very least, the elves who had lived as long as she had appeared to have reached that consensus. That didn't mean they sat back with their arms crossed doing nothing—that would be unbecoming conduct for people who were perfectly alive and well, so they seemed to move about in various ways—but at least, matters related to elf hunters didn't seem to fall within their radius of action.

Because of that, even though it was effectively no different from the situation that had nearly led to Asilie becoming a slave, I didn't feel inclined to raise any objections. If this was the decision that those who had carried on lives spanning nearly 2000 years had reached by pooling their intent, I felt a strange conviction that there must be reasons I couldn't easily understand or guess at.

"So, my Human Race friend, you'd do well to give it plenty of thought yourself. The gods' scales never tip to one side, after all."

Our conversation came to an end amid the sensation that her eyes, which surely could see nothing at all, were looking precisely at me this time around.