The Patron of the Ruined Canyon
Even if you are being carried off by a tiger, you must keep your wits about you—but he was a veteran warrior who had seen it all. There was no time for theological deliberation over where this red miracle had originated.
Though his muscles were screaming, soaked in sweat and blood, he didn't hesitate to grab the bright red flare that had fallen to the ground.
"Waaaaaaah!"
He gripped the burning red pillar of fire and let out a roar. His beast-like shout echoed sharply through the narrow canyon.
The spider-humans were completely overwhelmed by the crushing wavelength of the light and the acrid smoke of the harsh chemicals. They didn't just keep their distance; they tangled their grotesque front legs together and retreated deep into the thick darkness of the canyon.
With the presence of the monsters vanishing like an ebbing tide, a heavy silence settled over the canyon.
Thud. Thud.
Only then did the air distort slightly, and a few small tactical flashlights, fired late, rolled onto the dirt floor. But the spider-humans had already vanished from sight.
The old dwarf, who had been keeping a sharp, watchful eye while holding the flare aloft, turned away reluctantly as the flame in his hand sputtered and died out completely. He took deep, ragged breaths and walked toward the wagon where his group was hiding. Fortunately, the half-dozen children hiding under the wagon were safe without a single scratch. But the two young dwarf warriors who had fought alongside him, shoulder to shoulder, had reached their limit.
They were slumped on the dirt floor, covered in lacerations, groaning and gasping for air.
The old dwarf picked up the strange, cylindrical metal rod that had been emitting light on the ground. He approached his group, turning the material—which was no longer hot—over in his hands with eyes like a wounded beast, a mixture of exploration, curiosity, and intense wariness.
"What is your condition?"
"Ugh... I won't die... but it'll be hard to walk right now, Elder." The one-eyed young dwarf groaned, clutching his blood-soaked shoulder.
The other young warrior next to him asked in a trembling voice, "Elder... have the gods... have they finally heard our prayers? Did the merciful Mother of Dwarves? Or the God of the Iron Anvil send down that pillar of fire?"
The old dwarf shook his head with a stiff expression. "Well... I don't think so. In my opinion... whoever helped us just now seems to be a heretical entity, like the Outer Gods who command those monsters."
At those words, even the children who had been sobbing stopped their crying. The color drained from the faces of the dwarf warriors. Everyone began to tremble, gripped by extreme terror. The fact that an Outer God—the very beings who had destroyed the world—had taken an interest in them was a despair more horrific than death.
The old dwarf looked at the wagon, which was sitting lopsided with a broken wheel, and swallowed a bitter lump in his throat.
'I tried to pull it somehow, but with the wagon in that state, I have no choice but to make the kids walk on their own feet.'
A canyon perfect for being attacked and slaughtered. Injured warriors and young children. He slapped his own cheek in his mind, desperately trying to steady himself.
'I have to pull myself together. That unknown Outer God, whose intentions I can't even begin to imagine, is surely watching all of this from somewhere. With the priests and saintesses going mad, there's nowhere for people like us to run. The children's lives depend solely on my conduct and composure. Please, stay calm...'
The old dwarf tore off a broken wooden plank from the wagon and pulled out a heavy iron safe from deep inside.
He lifted the heavy safe high toward the sky with his blood-stained hands and laughed heartily, loud enough to shake the canyon.
"Hahahaha! I don't know what noble being you are, but thank you very much for extending this old man's life!"
The other dwarves were startled by his booming voice and gulped dryly.
But the old dwarf's performance was cunning and perfect.
"If it is acceptable, please allow us to repay your grace with the tribute in this safe! If this is bait thrown to tempt us into a wicked path by coveting our souls... please, just for today, close your eyes and grant us mercy!"
He shouted, shaking the safe toward the sky.
"But! If you are friendly toward us! And if you wish to sponsor the seeds of our clan to survive in this harsh land! We will labor, sweat, and serve you in the way of the dwarves! Would you please accept this tribute as the first token of our gratitude for your favor!"
Silence. Only the cold wind of the canyon swirled, carrying the old dwarf's boisterous shout. The young dwarves stared at the sky with faces that looked like their hearts might burst at any moment.
That was when it happened. Vwooom-!
The small iron safe the old dwarf had been holding suddenly vanished into thin air, as if sucked into the void with a strange tearing sound!
"Eek!" The young dwarves were shocked and reached for the axes dropped on the ground. They thought a wicked magic that would swallow them all had begun. "Stay still!" The old dwarf barked, stopping them.
Immediately after, the air distorted once more, and this time, strange items rained down from the sky.
Thud. Thud-thud. Clatter.
The dwarves held their breath and checked the items rolling on the ground. Bundles of clean, white bandages. Soft white bread wrapped in layers of transparent plastic. And large water bottles filled with crystal-clear water.
"W-what is this..."
"Food and clean water... and pieces of cloth to wrap our wounds?"
Awe and shock swirled in the eyes of the young warriors. The Outer God, said to be so vicious, had provided perfect daily necessities they needed right now, in exchange for blood and souls—or rather, in exchange for things they valued so much they would have loaded them onto the wagon.
The old dwarf picked up a water bottle from the ground and forced himself to stand, his legs nearly giving out from relief.
He bowed toward the sky again, wearing the most cunning and shameless smile he could muster.
"Oh my! I am deeply grateful for such merciful support, noble one! We dwarves are a race that never forgets a favor! It was an excellent trade!"
He began to flatter the sky with exaggerated gestures, like a puppy wagging its tail.
How much time had passed? By now, thick darkness had completely settled over the canyon.
Using the broken wagon as a shield, the group of dwarves sat in a circle, carefully shining the light of the tactical flashlights provided by the Outer God toward their feet.
Under that faint light, they were enjoying a short, desperate feast for survival.
The shoulders and thighs of the dwarves, including Bjorn, who had been covered in blood, were wrapped tightly in clean white bandages. They tore off large chunks of the soft white bread the Outer God had thrown down, feeding the children first before carefully chewing and swallowing the remaining crumbs themselves. The transparent water bottles passed through the hands of adults and children, cooling their parched throats.
Once their hunger was sated and their tension had eased somewhat, the one-eyed young dwarf spoke up cautiously.
"Elder Bjorn... what on earth is going on?"
He was still looking dazed, fiddling with the empty water bottle and plastic packaging.
"I've never seen items made of such bizarre materials in my life. Even the greatest blacksmiths residing in our Nine Peaks couldn't craft such smooth, transparent containers so lightly."
"I don't know either," the old dwarf called Bjorn replied with a heavy sigh.
He was stroking the shell of the bright red flare that had already gone cold.
"When I was young, I served in the capital of the dwarves, the 'Nine Peaks,' and frequented the Hall of Records and the sanctuaries of the High Priests... but not a single line in any history or prophecy book of Eden contains records of such alien miracles or objects. Furthermore, I feel neither the wicked, filthy energy of an Outer God nor the holy energy of the Pantheon of gods we have served all our lives in these items."
At Bjorn's words, anxiety returned to the faces of the young dwarves.
"Then what should we do now? Getting involved with an Outer God is a shortcut to the corruption of the soul! Shouldn't we take the children and run to the capital, the Nine Peaks, right now?"
To the one-eyed dwarf's urgent suggestion, Bjorn shook his head firmly.
"Impossible. Realistically, the road from here to the Nine Peaks is too long and rugged. Crossing this continent, swarming with monsters, with injured people and young ones without a wagon, is tantamount to suicide."
Bjorn continued with a bitter smile. "Besides, do you think those noble aristocrats, who are busy acting high and mighty stuck in the middle of the capital, will welcome refugees from a frontier, low-level clan like us with open arms during this chaos? You all know the nature of those snobs well enough."
The young dwarves shut their mouths like they had eaten honey.
"Do you think our clan left the safe and massive Nine Peaks fortress and was driven to the frontier adjacent to the human kingdoms, living a humiliating life digging up small iron mines while paying money to gain favor with humans, for no reason? It's all because we were pushed out of the power struggles of those noble aristocrats."
"Haa... those rotten aristocrats who are only obsessed with their own property values and safety..." Another young dwarf spat on the ground in frustration. "Then what on earth are we supposed to do? Are we just going to beg for our lives in this canyon, relying on the goodwill of that mysterious Outer God, living day to day?"
Bjorn leaned his body against the wagon and closed his eyes heavily. The bleak reality with no answers was pressing down on his old shoulders.
"Rest for now. We all need to cool our heated heads and soothe our torn muscles and fatigue. The night is still too long, and I cannot even fathom how much further we must wander on this painful road of destruction, which lacks even a lighthouse to guide us."
He opened his eyes and patted the shoulders of the young warriors.
"I will stand guard tonight, so you all take the children and get some sleep. When the sun rises tomorrow, we will seek a way to live again. Young brothers, please, for now, just focus on the fact that we survived and lay your bodies down."
At Bjorn's heavy yet warm comfort, the young dwarves nodded reluctantly, leaned against the children's body heat, covered themselves with blankets, and drifted into a fitful sleep.
In the quiet canyon where everyone was asleep, Bjorn sat alone on the wagon, fiddling with the shell of the spent flare.
He looked up at the sky. The clear, starry sea of Eden, which would have shone brilliantly as if it were about to pour down in the past, was nowhere to be found. Instead, a bizarre and ominous night sky, burning red and murky as if bleeding from a massive wound inflicted by someone, was pressing heavily upon the world. It was a phenomenon that appeared from time to time while Bjorn's group was making a desperate escape from the mine, and it was like a brand proving that this world had gone mad, had perished, and was burning.
"Are we truly forsaken by the gods..."
A deep, muffled sigh that would reach no one escaped Bjorn's lips and faded into the cold darkness of the canyon.