The Old Man and the Sea (4)
It had been roughly two weeks since The Old Man and the Sea was published. During that time, all sorts of evaluations had circulated. Some praised it for its beautiful portrayal of human greatness, while others insisted that humans were weak and far from great, claiming the story only rang true because of the Goddess’s words. Among all the novels Eden had released, this one drew the most divided opinions. The reasons could not be pinned to any single cause. Perhaps it was because Eden’s previous works had already prompted people to think deeply. Or maybe society itself was shifting as technology advanced. It could simply have been a novel released during a period of transition. Theories of every kind were exchanged. Yet one truth remained unchanged.
Eden’s books still exerted all manner of influence. The knight now seated on a rock, absorbed in his reading, was living proof of that power. He was the very knight who had once read Don Quixote and set forth on a journey, the first man of this era to hunt a vampire—though it had only been a lesser one. His name was Don Salman von Roman. Of course, it was a pseudonym he had taken after reading that legendary tale.
“Hmm. Now that I think on it, I have heard of a rather troublesome dungeon of late.”
Even after slaying the vampire, he had continued his wanderings. He roamed far and wide, living the life of a true knight. He returned home from time to time, but had ultimately laid down his position as family head on the condition that he would visit occasionally. Since then he had fulfilled various requests on his travels, stopping at villages to buy provisions and repair his armor. This time his path led toward a dungeon. He had received no formal commission, yet the rumor he had caught wind of was far too intriguing to ignore.
“They say none have ever reached its end, and that a monstrously powerful creature dwells within.”
The rumor felt almost like destiny. It had reached his ears at the precise moment he finished reading The Old Man and the Sea.
“Do you suppose I might clear that very dungeon— ahem.”
His mouth snapped shut before the bold claim could escape. The words of the old man in the novel had suddenly risen in his mind. To speak a good deed aloud before it was done was to risk seeing it vanish in an instant.
He slipped the book into his pack and rose slowly from the rock.
“First I shall stop at the village to resupply, then set forth.”
Gathering his belongings, he began walking toward the village. His armor clinked and clanked in a curious rhythm. He strolled at ease, taking in the scenery, and soon reached the settlement. He filled his stomach first, then purchased the supplies he needed. As he wandered the streets, he overheard the villagers talking.
“Did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
“That dreadful monster lurking near the village and snatching away maidens!”
The man nodded at his friend’s words, his face weary.
“Aye, I heard. Sigh… how did such a rumor even start?”
“It’s not a rumor, it’s true! I saw it with my own eyes!”
He found it hard to believe, but nodded anyway to placate his friend. The lukewarm reaction only spurred the other man to embellish the tale with every dramatic flourish he could muster. Don Salman, listening from nearby, gave a quiet nod.
“This is the place, then.”
He had only heard the rumor himself and had not been certain, but the dark tales spreading among the villagers removed all doubt. The being he sought was here.
“It grows late. I shall rest the night and depart at dawn.”
He took a room at the inn and slept. The next morning he rose before the dew had even settled, while the sky was still pale.
“Right, then. Shall we begin?”
Leaving the inn, he set off in the direction of the dungeon. Despite the terrifying rumors, the village lay peaceful. No one was rushing about to reinforce the defenses. That meant nothing had happened during the night.
“It does not appear to follow any set pattern.”
Irregular behavior could make an opponent difficult to predict, he thought. Still, it was not entirely a disadvantage.
“With luck, the creature is curled up inside the dungeon even now.”
Dungeons varied wildly, and so did the strategies required to conquer them. He could not be sure, but this one might be an open type.
“If it is open, I must seize it firmly so it cannot flee toward the village.”
At the same time, he would give it just enough slack to understand there was no need to run. This, too, was a lesson he had drawn from The Old Man and the Sea. When hunting monsters, relentless pressure could ruin the effort; sometimes one had to ease the line.
“Combat with such creatures is nearly always a battle of endurance.”
Humans—especially knights—could be called monsters of stamina. More often than not, the creature tired first. Hunting was always about waiting. Waiting for the monster, and the monster waiting in turn.
“It is truly like approaching a maiden.”
Move too quickly and she would flee in fright. Move too slowly and she would lose interest. The proper distance had to be kept, the tension maintained.
“Therefore, composure is essential.”
After walking for nearly an hour, he arrived at the dungeon. In the heart of the forest rose a dilapidated stone building of unfamiliar design. The mana coiling around it was ominously thick. Certain he had found the right place, Don Salman established a base camp before the entrance—in case he should go missing, and to safeguard any valuables he might acquire inside.
“I pray no thieves come prowling.”
He would, of course, place a Mana Stone that even ordinary folk could sense. That alone should deter casual intruders. Besides, he had no intention of clearing the entire dungeon in a single day.
After an hour of solitary labor, the simple base camp was complete. He brushed off his hands and surveyed it with satisfaction.
“Well done. Now it is time to enter.”
Camp established, the dungeon awaited.
“Goddess, grant me your blessing.”
After a brief prayer, he stepped slowly inside.
** Around the time Don Salman von Roman entered the dungeon, a fresh wind was blowing through a certain coastal city.
“Prometheus’s new work has arrived! Come have a look!”
Eden’s book had reached a harbor town in one of the kingdoms beneath the Empire. This had not been Genectra’s intention; the publisher still operated only within imperial borders. So how had the book crossed the frontier?
The answer was simple. It was thanks to Eden’s invention. Some merchant caravans that traveled between nations had begun using the trucks he had created. They loaded crates of books onto those vehicles, crossed the borders, and sold them. Genectra might have thrown a fit had they known, but the people welcomed the books with open arms. Works by a famous imperial author were worth paying extra for.
“Grandfather!”
“What is it, lad?”
“Grandfather, have you seen this book?”
A boy in his late teens, nearly a young man now, approached the old fisherman. The boy’s name was Henden. The old man’s was Herilton.
“This story’s a lot like you, Grandfather.”
Henden held out The Old Man and the Sea. Herilton gave it a sidelong glance and answered gruffly.
“That so?”
“The personality’s a bit different, though.”
As Herilton was thinking what a blunt boy he was, Henden shoved the book into his hands.
“Just read it. I’ve got to go see Father now.”
“What am I supposed to do with this? Books at my age?”
Herilton grumbled, but Henden had already turned away and vanished as though he hadn’t heard a word. The old man watched him go, muttering to himself.
“Young folk these days are downright strange.”
He clicked his tongue and set the book aside. Then he drank the strong local liquor while watching the sunset. After sitting in a long, hazy silence, Herilton murmured under his breath.
“Looks like I can head out to sea tomorrow.”
He lifted his cup again, then paused as the book Henden had forced on him came back to mind. He turned and looked at the spot where he had left it. The volume still lay there, untouched. Most people in this town knew him well enough not to meddle with his belongings. The sunset had turned the cover a deep red, as though it were burning. At the same time, it seemed to be urging him to open it.
“Can’t be helped, then.”
Telling himself it was only because of what his grandson had said, Herilton opened the book. It began with the story of an unlucky old man. That old man looked a great deal like Herilton himself, and the boy at his side resembled Henden. When the old man in the story declared that today felt different, Herilton found himself nodding.
“A fisherman gets that feeling sometimes, sure enough.”
Of course, whether the feeling was good or bad could only be known by going out. But on days when that intuition came, he had always caught something big.
“I’m feeling the same way right now.”
The old man in the book believed he would catch a truly great fish tomorrow. Just as the character had felt. The longer Herilton read, the more interesting he found it.
“Now that I think about it, it’s been a good while since I last caught anything.”
The old fisherman closed the book and stood. He decided to turn in early. He had been debating whether to go out the next day at all; the feeling had been there, but no real certainty. After reading, certainty had come. Or perhaps it was courage he had gained.
“Right. Let’s get ready.”
He hurried home. There was much to prepare if he was sailing at dawn.
“Oh, and the book…”
He glanced down at the volume and decided to take it with him. It would be the perfect thing to read when the sea grew dull.