Chapter 400: The Story(3)
Chapter 400: The Story(3)
Even after I had tucked Ariel in for a nap, Clark’s storytelling didn't stop. He spoke of the past with a fluid ease, as if he were finally unburdening himself of long-held memories.
By his own account, he had lived as a wanderer for over thirty years. Considering he had barely managed to stay settled in one place for more than a decade, he had spent a truly vast portion of his life roaming.
And most of that time had been spent following the family’s will—tracking down Demon Worshippers.
"Grandfather, were you part of some secret organization? You mentioned a group earlier."
[I’d say you’re half right and half wrong. Rather than a formal organization, we were more like a decentralized network, scattered about and only coming together for specific purposes. Of course, that damned Cardinal ruined everything.]
"Then when was this group formed? I’m curious about the name, too."
[It didn't have a name, and it was never properly established. Every time we tried to set up a hideout somewhere, they’d raid us within days. We had no choice but to live as nomads.]
I nodded at Clark’s explanation. In truth, this was the safest and only viable option. The Demon Worshippers were powerful enough to twist history itself.
Since they held a firm grip on the underworld and maintained connections with the nobility, forming a centralized organization would have been suicide.
Clark added that since there were so few people who shared their cause, he had essentially conducted his pursuit alone.
Apparently, this wasn't just Clark’s experience; the wandering lifestyle had been passed down through generations. My father raised a question at this.
"But while I saw my own father, I never met my grandfather. Did he die before I was born?"
[Hm? No. I don't even know if the old man is alive or dead myself.]
"……"
[I’m joking. I personally held his funeral, so you don't need to worry. I had him cremated, though, since those bastards can use sorcery to resurrect the dead. You should make sure to cremate me later, too.]
Every so often, he would say things that left me wondering if he was joking or telling the truth. Watching my father’s expression shift in real-time whenever Clark teased him was quite a sight.
One might think he was a bit immature, but he simply had a jovial personality—and more importantly, he was in his fifties.
Technically, I should refer to that as his age at death. He mentioned that while he had protected my father as a spirit, even those memories weren't entirely intact.
"……So, when will you be leaving? I’d like you to stay as long as possible."
My father let out a sigh and asked Clark in a voice thick with complex emotions.
Despite his blunt phrasing, it was clear he wanted Clark to remain in this world a little longer.
There were misunderstandings and pent-up feelings between father and son that needed to be resolved, and more importantly, Clark had lived a life burdened only by duty.
Shouldn't he be allowed to taste a bit of freedom? At least, that was what I thought.
[Well, it won't be right away. I have to meet my daughter-in-law, and I haven't met my other grandchildren yet. Dave and Nicole followed in your footsteps and became knights, didn't they?]
"They did."
[I’ll have to meet them and challenge them to a duel. I should at least see them show off their skills before I go, shouldn't I?]
I wondered if "showing off" was the right term. Dave and Nicole were formidable individuals who had graduated at the top of the Academy’s Martial Studies Department.
Of course, compared to Clark, who had single-handedly defeated Demon Worshipper Lords, they likely still had much to learn.
[Since we’re on the subject, why don't we have a go for old time's sake?]
"Forget it. At my age, I have to show some consideration for the elderly. Besides, you’re nothing but bones; can you even muster any strength?"
[Hahaha! Listen to the way this son speaks to his father. You haven't changed a bit.]
"I lived a rough life thanks to someone, after all."
Despite the sharp words, their relationship didn't seem bad. Rather, they were like a father and son who interacted more like brothers despite the passage of time.
My father had mentioned before that Clark hadn't been a good father, but he likely meant that Clark had failed to fulfill the role properly, rather than being a bad person.
Seeing them converse so amiably(?) now, one could easily guess the depth of their bond.
At least during the times they were settled, they must have enjoyed a peaceful daily life. Until the Demon Worshippers attacked, that is.
[By the way, it’s quite fascinating. To think a literary kid like this was born under you.]
Clark gestured toward me with his chin, sounding genuinely intrigued. At that moment, everyone’s eyes, including my father’s, turned toward me.
Feeling the weight of their gazes, I scratched my head awkwardly. I suppose to Clark, my existence must be quite a novelty.
A novelist born into a family that valued martial prowess. Not only that, but one who repeatedly shook the world with his writing and was revered as a prophet.
My mother was said to have been an elegant writer in her youth, but even that wouldn't quite explain my situation.
"I find it a bit strange myself. Ever since he was young, he kept books closer than weapons. He wasn't always as physically sturdy as he is now, either."
[Perhaps he takes after me. You might not know this, but I used to write a bit back in the day.]
"Your lack of conscience is as consistent as ever. Did you think I didn't know you only ever wrote in a diary?"
[Oh? And have you ever written anything? Should I tell him about how you got chewed out by your superior for writing a report that looked like chicken scratch?]
"Why are you bringing that up all of a sudden?"
They were at it again. Watching two grown men bicker like children, I could only manage a bitter smile.
I suppose it was my turn to step in. I quietly interjected while they were squabbling.
"That’s enough, both of you. Aren't you embarrassed with other people watching?"
"This old man started it with his nonsense."
[I was only telling the truth. It’s my son who refuses to believe it.]
"Regardless, I’m just an ordinary person who likes books. I taught myself how to write."
[Then what about the plots? How did you come up with those?]
"Let’s move past that."
Part of me wanted to tell him the truth. That Grandfather Clark had slaughtered all the Lords, and though the summoning ritual failed, I was summoned as a byproduct of the backlash.
He didn't seem to know that yet, but I planned to tell him eventually.
I wondered how he would react. Would he let out a hollow laugh, or would he show some other unexpected response?
Either way, I was looking forward to it. Having skillfully navigated the crisis, I moved on to another question.
"By the way, Grandfather. Did you also learn martial arts from your father—my great-grandfather?"
[For the most part, yes. However, it’s unclear exactly when it all started. There are records that our ancestors used a wide variety of weapons. Not just axes, but swords, shields, bows, spears, blunts, and more. They mastered countless weapons.]
"Mastering even one is hard enough..."
[Back then, war was everywhere, and King Morgan was a conquering monarch. If a weapon got damaged, you had to be able to pick up another immediately. It was only natural.]
True, humans back then likely couldn't even manipulate mana properly, let alone use magic. It probably looked similar to the Middle Ages of my previous life.
Moreover, since most combat was melee, they must have been a nightmare to face regardless of what they held. A muscular giant, no less imposing than a Beastkin, charging at you would be terrifying.
Then, through what process did the axe become the primary weapon? Was there a secret hidden in that transition?
"So you don't know exactly when the axe became the main weapon?"
[That’s right, but it’s certain that it’s been passed down for at least 300 years. It’s said we taught martial arts to the Beastkin King, Hik.]
"Ah, I see... Wait, what?"
Did I hear that right? I was about to nod and move on when I froze.
I wasn't the only one; the others had similar reactions. Mari and Adelia’s eyes went wide, and my father cocked an eyebrow.
Unlike Mari and Adelia, my father looked skeptical, but he had clearly heard it too.
Seeing our reactions, Clark let out a confused "Hm?" and acted as if he was the one who didn't understand.
[Why are you all reacting like that?]
"No... did you just say Hik? The first Beastkin King who founded Animus?"
[Yes. That’s right.]
"And someone from our family taught him martial arts?"
It was an unbelievable story. Of course, it is briefly mentioned in history that Hik, unlike other Beastkin, used martial arts and that his weapon was an axe.
For something mentioned so briefly, it was a crucial record, because at the time, 'technique' was virtually non-existent among the Beastkin.
As a result, during the Race Wars, they were often slaughtered or enslaved by humans who were far superior in technical skill.
Hik was the Beastkin who appeared like a comet in that era of chaos. A hero who believed that basic techniques were necessary to build a civilization and that those techniques stemmed from individual ability.
He gradually united the tribes through Holmgang, a Beastkin tradition, and eventually established the new civilization of Animus.
[What? Didn't you say you read a lot of books? Even if you didn't know we taught him, surely you knew he learned his techniques from a human.]
"There isn't a single sentence in the records stating that Hik learned techniques from a human. Even taking that into account, this is still shocking."
[Is that so? I thought there might be a few lines about it, but I guess not.]
"Who on earth did you hear this from?"
[I heard it from my father... I think?]
Clark scratched his skull, looking tilted as if his memory was fuzzy. To drop such a massive bombshell and then give that kind of reaction was honestly draining.
[Anyway, it’s said our family helped Hik when he was held as a slave. After that, we just taught him martial arts and went our separate ways.]
"……Hik was a slave?"
[Good grief. You didn't know this either? Was it too shameful a past to record officially?]
"Or perhaps our ancestor told him not to mention their meeting. You said they killed everyone with red hair."
[Ah, that’s possible. Just having a connection would have made him a target for the Demon Worshippers. Maybe it’s recorded in a personal journal somewhere.]
I doubted a personal journal would have survived intact. Papermaking back then was far inferior to what it is now, making preservation difficult.
More than anything, the fact that Hik was a slave was shocking. If Leona heard this, it would be a huge blow to her.
Even though she was only half-Beastkin, she took great pride in her race.
"But are you sure Hik was a slave?"
[Otherwise, there would have been no reason to meet him. Most of what our family did was liberating slaves. Some of those slaves were even intended as sacrifices.]
"I suppose so... but it’s still surprising. It’s hard to believe so easily."
[Believe it or not, it’s more good material for you, isn't it?]
How did he know? I flinched slightly at Clark’s words.
The cliché of rising to a high position while hiding the fact that one was a slave was common even in my previous life. If the character undergoes self-reflection along the way, it only increases the reader's immersion.
And usually, they either reveal their past as a slave at the final moment or use it as a symbol of their journey.
"……Still, since this involves the founding king, I think I’ll have to handle it carefully."
[You do that. Come to think of it, was it Leona? Why don't you ask that girl? She’d surely help you.]
"I’ll think about it. It’s not something I need immediately."
Afterward, Clark continued to pour out a wealth of stories, as if determined to say everything he hadn't been able to.
Some were in fields I was interested in, while others were a bit dry.
Still, Clark’s storytelling was quite skilled, so it wasn't boring. His life had been filled with nothing but duty, yet it didn't seem bleak at all.
He had struggled to shed that weary duty and had actually succeeded. To not lose his sense of humor despite everything—he was a man of immense mental strength.
"Grandfather, what did you think of the Demon Clan back then?"
[To be honest, I didn't think much of them. I was focused on the Demon Worshippers; what did race matter? More importantly, the Demons rarely came out to the surface back then. I met a few occasionally, but they were all good people.]
"With that kind of power, why didn't you try to reveal the truth to the world?"
[No matter how strong an individual is, they are infinitely weak before a collective, child. There was no way to make it known other than a method that influences the collective itself—like your books.]
His experience was unparalleled, and he offered advice that rivaled that of a sage. Thanks to that, the conversation continued until I lost track of time.
However, as time passed and it became time for a meal, we briefly dispersed. Clark had no need to eat, and my father, wanting to talk with him more, moved to the training hall for a moment.
A short while later, vibrations and loud booms echoed from the training hall. I left them to it, knowing I’d likely be caught in the aftershock if I stepped inside.
While Adelia and Mari prepared the meal, I waited quietly in the room. There was no real need for Mari to help with the cooking, but she went anyway.
Finally, I……
"Um…… Lord Isaac."
"Yes. Go ahead."
"……I’m sorry."
"Pardon?"
In the room where Ariel was sound asleep, I received an apology from Kate.