083. SaeKi - I've Seen Every Damn Thing in My Lifetime

Pellelian marveled, even though he was already dead. Living long enough to see this. Honestly, I felt the same way. A dwarf who loves nature? That was the image. From an elf's perspective, dwarves were vile destroyers of the natural world. They cleared forests, burned trees to fuel their forges, and ravaged the earth's veins for mining. That's why nature-loving elves despised them. Humans speculated that was the root of the bad blood between elves and dwarves, but they only got part of it right. People assumed elves were pure-hearted because of their beauty. But elves weren't that devoted to conservation. They just lived in the woods, ate meat, and chopped trees for houses. Dwarves truly didn't give a damn about nature, though. In that sense, Dungkel—with his indoor garden and vast botanical knowledge—was a black sheep among dwarves.

Meeting that outlier was what kept Isil's seed from rotting. If that wasn't fate handpicked by the heavens, what was? I stared blankly at Pellelian.

—"……What!" My gaze must not have been kind. Pellelian hadn't even guessed why Isil's seed wouldn't sprout.

—"I know far more than I don't. I encompass countless fields of worldly knowledge."

Then why didn't you know?

—"Isn't it too much to expect a grand archmage to know every little gardener's trick?"

I snorted with a sharp pah!. Even Pellelian, putting on his haughty airs, seemed a bit bruised in pride. Dungkel wore stylish round spectacles, shone a light, and examined Isil's seed meticulously. He carefully peeled back the outer shell, brushing on a germination elixir with a fine brush. Totally cool. Then he brought a pretty terracotta pot instead of a stew bowl. The heart-patterned pot brimmed with rich, black soil. He planted the seed and finally wiped the sweat from his brow.

"All done."

Shouldn't it go under sunlight?

"Doesn't seem like a sun sprout. Better in the shade."

Expert's word was law. In return, I'll fix up your garden.

"Oh……!"

If there was a dwarf gardener in the world, there had to be an elf versed in dungeons and architecture. Pellelian was that elf.

—"Ventilation's poor. Wire mesh could block bats in the vertical shaft, but I've got a simpler fix."

The vertical shaft pierced straight to the surface, but not perfectly straight—slightly slanted. Rain didn't pour directly down; it trickled along the walls. I can solve your moisture woes with something dead simple. Mold from damp air and bad airflow was Dungkel's headache.

"There's a way like that?"

A dwarf knowledgeable in architecture should've known. But the garden was his secret spot, and he apparently had no one else to confide in.

I stabbed nearby poles into the ground right under the shaft with my Transparent Hand. Slanted and crossed, they formed a stand for a round cauldron on top. I stuffed it with kindling. Dungkel looked puzzled about my intent. I smacked the floor with my tail for dramatic flair—totally unnecessary.

The kindling ignited. Whoosh! Instant campfire. Not for light—another purpose. A cool breeze rustled Dungkel's eyebrows. The stagnant, humid air never stirred. Where was the wind from?

"Ah……!"

As a dwarf, Dungkel got it instantly. "A ventilation rig using fire."

No need to keep it lit always—just fire it up now and then to control humidity.

"Smart! So simple!"

Dungkel beamed, crediting my "knowledge" from Pellelian's tip as his own. Then he declared confidently, "Alright, time to sprout it."

Right now?

I was thrown. Didn't sprouting take time?

"Definitely a mana herb. From the World Tree root, right?"

Yeah?

"Germination needs mana. A magic stone would help—higher grade best, but my Grade 1 will do……."

High-grade magic stone good?

"Mana herb quality depends on the purity of mana absorbed."

I glanced at Pellelian. His face paled as he tried to speak, then squeezed his eyes shut, knowing it was futile. Perfect—permission granted! Got a magic stone!

I pulled a Grade 9 stone from my subspace. My highest-grade one. Dungkel's eyes bulged.

"Wh-what grade is that?!"

Grade 9.

"How do you have such a high-grade……!"

I wiped my "nose" with my tail. Just lucked into it. Pellelian's dungeon haul was dwindling. Seemed plenty for life, but I'd given Dad ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a hefty share. Better used than wasted in death. Pellelian breathed raggedly—the stress-relief technique I'd taught him.

"You should do it yourself."

Dungkel said gravely. Meaning place the stone with the seed and infuse mana personally.

"You're its master. Has to be you."

Got it.

My heart thumped oddly. I buried the seed lightly, topped it with the ruby-like Grade 9 stone, and laid my tail over it. What now—just pump mana?

—"Think of yourself as a conduit. Not forcing mana, but cracking the door open."

Pellelian advised calmly, quicker than expected. I'd thought he'd grieve the stone.

—"Strictly speaking, that's a World Tree seed too. A Grade 9 stone's just roadside gravel by comparison.

That good, huh, Isil? I followed his advice. Easy. The stone soon melted gooily.

"Ooh!"

The melt was pure mana essence, radiating light. Isil's seed slurped it greedily. Grade 9 held vast mana—even tough for me to digest. Yet it vanished into the seed in seconds.

Pop—

Germination began. The inner shell ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠split; a sprout emerged. Cotyledons unfurled, then pop, leaves burst. Mana kept flowing in. Finally, the stone's mana depleted, and it started siphoning mine.

—"Snap out of it! Don't shrivel up."

Y-you thief!

My own mana drained into the seed. I tensed my tail, holding firm. The sprout's gluttonous growth—the starved babe at the teat—slowed. Then it stopped sucking.

I finally pulled away. —"Phew."

"Wow."

Pellelian and Dungkel exclaimed together. No wonder—the new sprout swayed like it was dancing. Adorably plump cotyledons. I raised my tail to stroke a leaf gently.

"It's following!"

Saaak!

The leaf leaned toward my tail instead. Same wherever I moved.

"It knows you're master."

Dungkel said. My chest swelled warmly. Isil……

Should I call it SaeKi now, not Isil? SaeKi……

—"Born from your mana, so it follows you."

As Pellelian said. Or maybe Isil's spirit lingered. Savoring the moment, I resumed with Dungkel.

"Right, you wanted to see the mine lord."

About meeting Bluebeard.

"He's in the deep layers now."

The deepest excavation front. A king who worked the coalface himself?

Can you take me?

Dungkel hesitated. "Uh, well……."

He shook his head. "I've got work. Two-man job. Not sure if I can ditch. Gotta ask."

Then let's ask together. Say you're taking a quick break.

"Uh……."

Dungkel looked troubled.

—"He's beating around the bush to say no."

Gasp—really?! I hadn't noticed.

Dungkel nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, probably won't fly, but let's ask."

* * *

Most Red Anvil Mine dwarves were miners or smiths. But not Dungkel. Someone had to grow food—and to dwarves, it was boring, filthy drudgery. They raised potatoes and cabbages that thrived underground. And Steel Hogs that ate iron ore. Dungkel and his partner tended a hundred Steel Hogs. The barren "farm" sprawled wide, crawling with massive, crimson pigs. Piles of iron ore feed nearby. They ate, shat foul manure, which composted for the veggies. Grueling work. Especially the hogs—docile monsters, but they bickered and tusked owners. Tough for two dwarves.

That's why Dungkel hesitated to leave his partner.

Clang—clang!

His partner was an elder. But dwarf elders weren't frail like human ones. White beard, bald pate, but ripped torso. "Bit tricky, eh? Busy lately, and the pigs are rowdy……."

He was repairing a fence at the pens when we arrived. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hammering stakes like a beast. One-armed too—left elbow hooked with a metal prosthetic.

"Then let's haul pig feed quick……."

"Go!"

The elder fixed Dungkel with piercing eyes. "Go on."

"……Pardon?"

"How long you gonna shovel pig shit, Dungkel?"

His sunken eyes showed only black pupils. Cool craftsman.

—"Feels familiar."

Pellelian muttered. Old dwarf—maybe crossed paths before.

"No, I'm content with my work……."

"The snake wants Bluebeard."

"……Yes."

"Good timing. Bluebeard needs a wake-up. Or croak and pass succession."

Kingly figure, yet no respect. I asked Pellelian if dwarves were always like that; he just shrugged.

"So go. And don't come back if you can help it."

"……."

Dungkel looked stunned. Head bowed, he nodded. "I'll feed the pigs first."

"……."

The elder ignored him, hammering on. Cold demeanor. Bad blood? Riding Dungkel's shoulder, I asked. He gave a wry smile.

"Raised me since I was little. I'm an orphan."

Not bad blood. Yet so curt.

"Wanted me mining. 'Real dwarf thing.'"

I see.

"Well, chance to see the depths ain't bad."

Forcing cheer, Dungkel loaded ore into a cart. Hog feed. Interesting critters, Steel Hogs.

Cowards in traits, but far from meek. "Squeeee!" "Oinkkk!" Buffalo-sized pigs bellowed and snorted, charging-ready. Dungkel panicked, dumping the cart fast. They swarmed, devouring ore greedily.

"Phew, that's the issue."

Reason for his reluctance. "Steel Hogs are rowdy. Could get hurt. Gramps alone……."

Worried for him. Sweet guy. Since I'd pushed Dungkel to go, a little help was fair.

Thud.

I hopped off his shoulder. Step back a sec.

Dungkel freaked at the notepad script. "What're you—dangerous……!"

I ignored, approaching the hogs. They paused feeding, heads up, wary.

"Grrr……!"

Not just ore-eaters, saliva dripping.

"Snake!"

Saaak!

Quiet! I'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once led Daesurim's zoo beasts. Temporary Overlord skill gone, but achievements lingered.

Feedlot swine baring teeth at me? No chance. Hesitant, they backed as I advanced. Dungkel's jaw dropped in awe.