The World's Last Druid
"Good day to you."
A man in a splendid nobleman's suit, looking every bit the aristocrat, showed up at our party's base first thing in the morning. Never mind Noksu freaking out—no one else could stay calm either; the whole place was buzzing. Riko grabbed her broom, eyes wide, blurting out, "What the—?" while going on high alert. I wasn't much different. The sheer pressure radiating from him was immense, his mana so vast it was practically undetectable.
Having finally learned to sense mana myself, I'd also picked up the downside: you could still get utterly overwhelmed by someone else's. I stared at the sharp-eared young man standing at our door. An elf. With his black hair and black eyes, those long ears screamed "elf" to anyone who saw him. He looked human otherwise, but... the mana pouring off him felt like a giant's presence, even if he wasn't flaunting it. This was elven power—the kind where you'd be dead before you could even react. It hit home hard.
No one outright turned hostile toward an elf popping up in the heart of the Trust Union, but the tension was thick. ...Well, except Larirure Larirarion and Po'runga, who seemed tense for entirely different reasons.
"I'm Gorbain Trust, master of the Adventurer's Union."
Wait—the Union master? That made him basically the king of this city, right? Like a president or something...? No, elves were long-lived, so he'd probably held the post from the beginning right up to now.
His keen, sparkling eyes—full of wisdom—fixed on me with what felt like genuine warmth. Was my [Mantra] skill picking up on it faintly? Whatever the case, the Union master had come to see me, and for some reason, he was deeply moved. His gaze, lost in reminiscence, even glistened a little with moisture.
After standing at the entrance for a good while, he cleared his throat with a "Ahem," and Noksu finally snapped to, welcoming him politely into our base.
"Haha, treat me like always? I'd love to hear 'big bro' again after all this time."
Wham—
Noksu headbutted the Union master square in the chest. Larirure Larirarion foamed at the mouth and passed out on the spot. Po'runga was in full panic, ranting that the crazy woman had finally done it—headbutting the Union master would get us all kicked out of the adventurers' guild. Lemon Hyacinth had apparently shoved his head in a box to shut out the world and himself. In the end, the only ones keeping it together were Nex, whose brain was still half-asleep from the early hour; me, who didn't fully grasp just how big a deal the Union master was; and Leona.
Riko just muttered something dumb like, "Pretty mild for an elf, huh?"
The Union master didn't even flinch from the chest-hit. He brushed off his clothes lightly, said "Pardon the rudeness," and stepped inside.
"Looks like you got the reward for that griffon incident properly."
Glancing at the plaque on the bookshelf, he warned that reckless actions could cost lives, so be careful—words laced with genuine concern. After slowly taking in our base, he praised the deed again: it had been courageous, for the sake of others.
"But still, you're too weak. No need to rush."
"Y-yes, sir..."
Was this really worth a personal visit from the Union master for praise? An E-rank adventurer beating an A-rank monster? He explained it was because I had talent and could help the Union later—he was just stamping his approval early. But I couldn't shake the ominous feeling in his eyes; there was something more there.
Wishing me well going forward, he announced my promotion to D-rank effective today. Then, cautiously, he asked if we could speak alone. When a Union member asked if it was okay without anyone noticing, I nodded. Everyone was still stiff and frozen, so I had Leona pass the word, and we headed up to the third floor, to my room.
What if he suddenly turned hostile? But... his surname was definitely "Trust." Who else but a descendant of the hero Trust? Recalling what the goddess had told me, I sank into thought. Was this grown man before me the reason Heroes Trust and Captain Eagle had fought to the death?
"...You don't seem surprised to see me. Most would be curious about a lofty name like Trust."
"You mean 'grandson of Trust'? ...Mind if I ask how much you've figured out?"
"No need to be wary just because I'm an elf. Not that I should say that... I've never actually lived among them."
We'd both pieced together a fair bit already. It wasn't in the history books, and the reclusive Union master rarely showed his face. But those in the know would have some inkling of that history... though how he'd learned it mattered less. Most people probably just asked him why an elf bore the name Trust. They probably hadn't bothered recording it to avoid trouble. Few even knew his full name.
But I didn't pry. Had he heard it from the gods? I wondered, still lost in his nostalgic haze.
"Straight to the point: you are a hero."
"And you must be the hero's grandson. Would it cause trouble if word got out? If our party knowing the Union master's full name became an issue?"
"Haha! You really know nothing! Don't make it so obvious... Historians and high-rank adventurers know some of it. And even if they gripe, it's over 300 years old. Not the fondest memory—being born without a blessing, you know."
His face darkened, like we'd touched a raw nerve. The cause of two heroes killing each other... and the tangled web of relationships woven into it. An elf who turned against his kin to fight for the hero, the hero's daughter who married that elf. Then Hero Trust, who hated elves, and Captain Eagle, who accepted them. The founder of the Union versus the savior of the races... I couldn't imagine the chaos.
"And at the Union master's level, you wield immense power. Even personally."
"Seems that way."
"Of course, retirement or marriage? Dream on."
He laughed heartily, saying he'd come alone to avoid the nagging from position-obsessed folks. The man at the top bore the weight of responsibility, he said with pride—but this story could fill 100 years, so let's move on; one day wasn't enough.
"You are a hero."
"And my class is [Druid]?"
"What's a druid, exactly? I've heard the term, but..."
"Hmm... well, records are scarce..."
Rubbing his chin, he sat on the edge of my bed, promising to share what he remembered about druids. Two guys sitting side by side on a bed in one room—what a sight. Noises filtered in from the door—footsteps, pounding fists. He chuckled about all the eavesdroppers, snapped his fingers, and an invisible barrier sealed the room, muffling the racket.
I bowed my head, apologizing for my party's behavior.
"No worries. Noksu might be listening in—better safe. If she knew about a hero, she might not sleep. She's obsessed with hero stuff."
"Figures..."
Wait, how old was Noksu, anyway? Calling him "big bro" and all—she had to be over 300, right? Long-lived races lived long, but it never sank in. And with my own Curse of Longevity, potentially 10,000 years? Even more unreal. I could always delete the skill if needed, but...
He asked me to look after Noksu—she had a quirky personality but top-notch skills—like some matchmaker uncle.
"Ahem, sorry. Eating up a young man's time like this... It's been nearly 90 years since I could chat so freely."
That was enough time for one human generation to die off and the next to birth another. Despite his youthful looks, the laid-back uncle vibe kept derailing us; he cleared his throat awkwardly and got back on track.
"Druids are guardians of the forest—the forest itself, they were called. They communed with nature and beasts, maintaining life's balance. Allied with forest-keeper Levitfoot and magical fairy folk. Some historians call them all 'human'; others a single race or spirits. But now? Just words in history books—no traces left."
"Wiped out by elves?"
"Yes, before the heroes even arrived. Elven arrogance did them in. They realized too late that only druids could revive the World Tree. Elves killed them, absorbed their lands, turned their nurtured nature and animal kin into tools. Countless species vanished into history."
"Even called 'the forest itself,' and they couldn't beat the elves?"
"Details are lost, but fairies abandoned them, staying in their sanctuaries. Levitfoot struggled just against elves—and their forests bordered elven lands, so no aid came. No matter how long they resisted, elves burn forests if cornered."
"...I see."
"So be careful. Elves have a mission to revive the World Tree—it's their duty. If you're truly the last druid of this age, we may face war. They might come for you, extinction be damned. Though no one knows if you'd even revive it. We won't hand you over even if the Union falls."
Let a hero get kidnapped from a Union founded by heroes? Other kings would rage and chop his head off, he said with a grin—war was on the table, so no worries. Officially, I was just a promising D-rank; only the kings knew about the hero.
"A hero is a sign the world's balance is tipping. If this hopeful symbol is still a young sprout, we must protect it. The Union stands as its bulwark."
"..."
"You hate the idea of sacrifices, huh? I get it—relieved you're not the type who sees it as inevitable. Meaningless sacrifice is the worst."
"Better if no one finds out, then."
"Exactly. Known druid traits? Beast speech, forests obeying. Watch your actions."
Skills needed caution. Larirure Larirarion had once said something like "Druid, huh?" Fine to tell the party, but leaks could spark war. No taking chances. Forests and shapeshifting weren't daily needs anyway; I'd be fine if careful.
"And the group behind your [Hands Collector] stalker—we're investigating. They don't care much about heroes, one way or another."
"They want me dead, but not enough to go all-out?"
"Not Maou affiliates or elf-aligned elves—relax."
"Elf-aligned elves"—an odd turn of phrase. He warned there might be elves in that group. A bizarre outfit with dwarves, demons, and elves, lurking over a decade—what were they after? He didn't know either. If they wanted the Union down, they'd target kings or him. His calm assurance that killing him wouldn't topple it was impressive.
"I figure you're a druid. Can you talk to animals?"
"Yeah, I can."
"Then tame one!"
"Tame...?"
He urged taming intelligent, strong monsters—legendary beasts from druid tales, elite forest dwellers. Dialogue could lead to bonds, negotiations, alliances. Made sense; druids had beast companions, right?
"Hope we meet again. Busy times... Honestly, peace without needing to is best!"
Before leaving as abruptly as he'd come, he handed over pricey liquor as a gift. Noksu shook my shoulders, demanding what was said; the others pried her off, yelling to quit it. Amid the chaos, I set the bottle on the table and stroked Leona's hair.
A mystery group indifferent to heroes. Elves ready for extinction to revive the World Tree. Factions gunning for the hero. In that short talk, the Union master had warned of it all.
If weak, find strong partners to protect you—that the advice? But even if elite monsters talked, would they follow? Felt like I'd lost my way again.
Oh—and not a word on the Maou. Why was I summoned? What tipped the scales? Was I tipping them? Why alone? Questions chained endlessly, but answers? None.