There's More Than One Dragon
The spear and the hammer.
Weapons long familiar to my hands—and weapons that were, in a sense, the very essence of who I was.
The Celestials had been called the tribe of the spear, but we had never wielded spears alone. Ours was a race skilled in every manner of armament, and we handled a great variety of weapons. The spear had simply been one among them.
Truthfully, I preferred the hammer to the spear.
Its overwhelming destructive force. The weight that settled into the grip as if it belonged there. And that single, devastating strike capable of sweeping an entire battlefield.
I had no particular techniques for the hammer, yet whenever I channeled my Divinity, the power that flowed into it far surpassed what any spear could carry—
as if the two had been one body from the very beginning.
But that didn't mean the spear was lacking. The spear was a perfectly useful weapon, adaptable and cunning in any situation. Above all, most of the techniques I used had been born from the spear.
'The spear is technique. The hammer is power.'
If I were a fervent spear devotee, I would have chosen the spear without a moment's hesitation...
I was no fervent devotee of the spear.
Nor did I harbor anything fanatically devoted toward the hammer, for that matter.
If I truly had to put it into words...
"Would it be impossible to take both, by any chance?"
"Do you have a conscience?"
"Not that I don't have one..."
Well. I supposed I did have one, didn't I?
Ahem! Drak rose to his feet, straightening his rumpled clothes.
Torn to shreds as he'd been, his outfit showed barely a scratch compared to when I'd first laid eyes on him—some manner of clothing regeneration, perhaps.
"Greedy indeed. You seem to have no desires at all, and yet your appetite is endless."
"So, will you do it or not?"
"As I said, the Masterpiece I forge for you is one."
And yet.
"There is a way to wield that one as though it were many."
"?"
The transmutation material, Metamor.
A special substance that shifted its form freely and without the slightest resistance—one of the principal components of the Metamorphosis, one of the Concept Races.
So rare, and so scarce in quantity, that even Celestials and Demons could hardly lay their hands on it. Only the highest-ranking among them could ever claim it for their primary weapons and equipment.
"Whoa."
Uncharacteristically absorbed, I prodded and fiddled with the grayish substance Drak had presented.
This elasticity. This trait of dismantling and reassembling its own structure at will.
This really was genuine Metamor.
"You recognize its value, I see."
"Wh-where in the world did you get this?"
As my hands trembled, Drak's shoulders lifted with an inexplicable surge of pride.
"A material I obtained long ago, when I first defended Talikal. The transmutation material, Metamor. So precious a substance that I have never once used it, save for a small portion in forging my first Masterpiece."
"Then this..."
"With that, you could transform it between two weapon forms—spear and hammer—and wield both. The problem, however..."
Drak rummaged through the molds embedded in the corner of his workshop.
Weapon molds for every Masterpiece he had ever created.
Even if he poured in everything I currently held, he would still fall short by nearly half.
"Ordinarily it is mixed in small amounts with other materials, to lengthen a blade or extend a weapon. Transforming the weapon itself is impossible."
"...There isn't any more of it left anywhere?"
"Not at present."
At present...?
Did that mean more of it could be found somewhere else?
Drak broke into a wide grin at my question.
"As far as I know, the Empire holds a few holy relics made of Metamor."
"......"
"Well, if you can simply bring one back, what could possibly be impossible?"
"If it proves truly beyond reach, I could instead forge you a halberd-like weapon from different materials. With a touch of Metamor mixed in, the size could be freely—"
"No."
What I wielded was the pure, unadulterated spear.
And the colossal hammer, many times the size of my own body.
'A halberd... no thanks.'
I would sooner swing a wooden staff or a boulder than carry something like that.
"I'll go find one."
I did have some business with the Empire anyway.
Besk Lonhadia was the young head of the Lonhadia Duchy, a storied old house of the Empire.
Though he sat at the very bottom rung of the Eight Swords, he was still among the ten strongest individuals in the Empire.
Notably, he wielded twin-blade swordsmanship, a notoriously demanding discipline—but not simply because Besk possessed a rare gift for it.
'The holy relic.'
The holy relic known as the Twin Moon Swords was a weapon forged from a special substance, possessing the singular ability to freely alter the length of its blades.
A weapon passed down exclusively through the successive heads of House Lonhadia.
Besk inherited both the title of Duke and the Twin Moon Swords from his father, and with them rose proudly to a seat among the Eight Swords.
That he had recently earned the favor of a venerable senior among the Eight Swords—the living legend herself, the Grand Duke of Extreme Magic, Karia Machelpid—was due entirely to those twin blades.
'Of course, my own reliability must play a part as well. Heh heh.'
True, he was younger and less seasoned than the other Eight Swords. But the fact that she had chosen him—him, rather than any of the other Swords—surely meant she placed her trust in Besk, did it not?
Besk strode with full confidence toward the place where a member of the Empire resided.
A small girl, standing among the knights.
"Well, well~ if it isn't the Spirit Otherworlder!"
"Ah. So you've come? That. That..."
"The Duke of Twin Moons, Besk Lonhadia. Surely you haven't forgotten?"
"Ah, the Duke of Twin Moons! N-no, of course not. How could I ever?"
Leo giggled and turned her head away.
She had clearly forgotten something, but he let it pass. For now.
Leo was an Otherworlder—strictly speaking, not a member of the Empire at all. Moreover, Besk himself had only recently been formally invested as Duke of Twin Moons.
'I must use this opportunity to make myself unmistakably known to her.'
Even now, whispers circulated freely that Besk fell short of the names 'Duke of Twin Moons' and 'Duke of Lonhadia.'
Of course, he severely punished anyone outside the Eight Swords and the Imperial family who dared spread such talk—but he could do nothing about judgments passed beyond the borders of his own territory.
'...And for that, I shall have to distinguish myself.'
The immediate priority was the subjugation.
He would use Leo and the knights to slay the dragon at the summit, then proclaim to all that it was he who had resolved this incident.
Leo glanced around at her surroundings, then tilted her head.
"Where is everyone else?"
"I came alone. An Eight Sword, no less—support is more than sufficient."
"...Ah. Haha! Of course it is."
"......Are you mocking me right now?"
Me, of all people?
Tzing! Besk drew the Twin Moon Swords slightly from their sheaths.
True to a holy relic, the moment a sliver of the blade showed itself, its aura began to dominate everything around it.
Leo hastily waved both hands.
"Of course not! It's just... if the Grand Duke of Extreme Magic sent you, I thought a few mages might be coming along as well..."
"...Hmph. I brought the Isolation Barrier you spoke of. The Grand Duke sent no mages."
"Ah, I see. Yes, sir!"
At Leo's nod, Besk slid the sword back into its sheath and clicked his tongue.
Leo was not retreating out of fear.
She waved her hands without a trace of trepidation, and above all—she was still smiling.
'...I don't like it.'
This was exactly what Otherworlders were like.
"By the way, where are you headed?"
"Before felling a tree, one must first clear away the weeds."
After all—the dragon wasn't the only one out there, was it?