Episode 0-a. The Advancer (3)
Humans, as a species, tended to cluster with their own kind. Not limited to humans alone, all living creatures behaved the same way on a grand scale.
They formed clans under shared ancestors, tribes under strong chieftains. They built nations and united under rulers. Sometimes, entire continents became one community, bound by the vast fence of their race.
On a smaller scale, there were those who married, built families, bore children, and carried on life. There were bonds from school friends leading to the same careers. Or, like me, parties formed by fellow adventurers.
In other words, these groups, whether large or small, were made up of remarkably similar sorts. Elite societies had towering walls only elites could breach. Ordinary folk's circles demanded talk of the mundane to pass the gate.
So, by that logic, the society of incompetent adventurers was bound to draw together the inept, the deficient, or the flawed—my conclusion.
And I was incompetent. Thus, my side was filled with the deficient, the inept, or the downright odd as companions.
A mid-level adventurer who couldn't escape the essence of an extra despite assigning himself a role. Twins who weren't orphans by choice but ended up as war orphans taken in. And a quack plague doctor who self-taught medicine because holy church spells were beyond him.
Even setting aside the two others I hadn't introduced yet, this place was already overflowing with weirdos.
So.
"Um... Ain, it failed. D-do you perhaps plan to head back for more sun grass roots... or not?"
"Hey, you fucking idiot."
I hurled a curse first thing.
"N-no... There are still two roots left, so not right away. But you should prepare your mind..."
"Why not just say outright you want me dead."
Anybody who wouldn't curse at this mad quack telling me to gear up for that snowy mountain again wouldn't be some no-account mid-level adventurer—they'd be a sage who'd mastered something profound.
One root blown, and with that attitude, I half-suspected he really wanted me dead.
"No way. Wh-why would I kill my precious material supplier? You just sit there eating dumplings, and... you bring me research supplies."
"..."
That suspicion evaporated the moment I heard the rest.
"Haha... The next root will succeed. So don't pressure me—leave the room, and success odds might rise by 10%..."
"Fail again, and you're done."
"Eradicating plagues is my mission. Failure doesn't exist in my life."
Because of that, I glared at his hunched back for a good while before shutting the door and stepping out.
And.
A bit more time passed.
Returning to his room, an awkward laugh greeted me.
"Haha... Ain, are you about ready to head out...? Th-that... equipment shortage means 10% is tough."
"...Wanna die?"
Had I ever seen such a bastard? This wasn't a life without failure—it was a life of failure.
Maybe it was the quack doctor in him, but his mission and life seemed awfully lightweight.
Like that, I left the sheepishly grinning Aberly in his room and headed out of the inn.
No point cursing or prodding more—he wouldn't produce results. Time to prepare for climbing that snowy mountain again, and I had a place to go.
Where I was now: Crepen, the northern snow country a ways from the duchy. I'd been staying here half a year or so, and it was where I'd finally recruited someone who'd settled here.
Near the inn was a smithy where one who hadn't joined us yet lingered alone.
The blacksmith Horn.
In short, he was the first dwarf I'd met.
Races were generally closed off to each other. Humans with humans, elves with elves, beastkin with beastkin. Ogres, fairies, spirits, dwarves, dragons, demonkin too.
They stuck to their own, so unless you stepped into their territories, seeing them was damn hard.
Not that it meant outright hostility, but some lands required advanced adventurer rank to enter.
That was part of why I'd pushed so hard to raise my rank.
Anyway. Dwarves dwelled strictly in their own lands. They traded with humans but never lived in human nations.
Not hating each other unless gray-tainted, they clustered tightly in tribes.
I'd figured you'd never glimpse so much as a whisker without invading their turf.
"Horn, old man."
"What."
"Fix this robe."
"Brat, I'm a blacksmith, not a tailor."
Yet here was an oddball dwarf, popping out alone to live in human lands.
"You made it—you fix it. See, wolf teeth embedded here."
"Heard you spout mad talk about climbing mountains, but went to get eaten by wolves, eh."
Why he'd crossed to human lands, I didn't know. Not in the novel, and he never shared his tale.
"Gotta climb again today, so fix it thorough."
"...You're insane. Hand it over, I'll fix it."
Maybe he'd open up once we grew closer, but distance lingered, several steps away.
He was an old dwarf with a beard dragging the ground.
Clang—clang— The hammer striking anvil rang clear and refreshing. Sparks flew with each blow, flickering up like embers before vanishing.
Why anvil and hammer for robe repair? Questionable, but considering performance, necessary.
Clang—clang— The rhythm filled the smithy.
Flames roared fiercely from the forge, making sweat bead even from afar.
Horn stripped his shirt, sweat pouring as he hammered on.
Flames, anvil, hammer. Their harmony made a captivating scene, and staring blankly at the rippling sight...
I found myself pulling out the bead, tap-tap matching the beat.
Crackle— Ash specks burst from the forge. Blacker, less grand than what once wrapped her, but it vividly recalled the memory.
That unmistakably gray hue. Now beautiful to me.
Watching it blur and stain, my heart thumped, vision hazy and dreamy.
Maybe I regretted leaving on this journey. Maybe deep down, I wished to stay in the empire.
Too much piled up over time, becoming core to me.
When it surfaced like this, I bit my lip, clutching my pounding chest.
Tales of parents who loved me, Rendo who helped, Yansen always welcoming, odd but caring Rini and Idrin.
And.
The woman named Asha, always with me since childhood.
Those fragments never faded with time, rising from toes, bit by bit.
Even after childhood mysteries resolved, new ones bloomed.
Simple nostalgia? Or something else?
Too dumb for certainty.
Drifting between dream and reality...
"Brat, fixed. Don't zone out—take it."
"...Yes. Thanks."
"Business done? Get lost."
Feeling the robe's weight in my hands snapped the dream, grounding me in reality.
So.
I donned the robe again. Carefully pocketed the bead gripped tight.
Glanced slyly at the still-bound bracelet.
Tsk— Clicked my tongue, then stepped forward.