The Ascended and the Descended
The following morning.
As Elbridge awakened from his slumber, the Goddess’s oracle descended at once, as though it had been waiting eagerly for the moment his eyes opened.
High Paladin Elbridge. Truly, I never imagined the number of my followers would swell by so much.
It had been only a day since the Goddess of the Rusty Shield had wrung out the very last dregs of her divine power. Yet the oracle she delivered now rang clear, without the slightest trace of interference. The rapid expansion of her faith must have restored her strength.
Elbridge answered respectfully, “My Goddess. Were there truly so many who offered prayers during the night?”
It exceeded every expectation. I had assumed that more than half the dwarves would remain loyal to the Iron Anvil Order.
Elbridge’s mind snapped into sharp focus.
The Goddess’s words hinted that more than half of all dwarves had turned toward the Rusty Shield Order.
“More than half the dwarves offered prayers to you, my Goddess?”
Indeed, High Paladin Elbridge.
No wonder the oracle had arrived the instant he woke. The Goddess of the Rusty Shield had clearly been waiting for him to rise so she could boast.
“The God of the Iron Anvil maintained three seats using only the population of the mountain city of Varkuntol… If we have secured more than half this city’s people as believers, then claiming at least one seat by year’s end is all but assured, is it not?”
Why settle for only one? It may well be two…
Elbridge almost rose from his seat and clapped in delight. Two seats!
Of course, the number was laughably small compared to the Golden Platter Order’s sixty-two seats or the Olive Tree Order’s well over thirty. Yet when the field of competition was limited to the combat orders of the slums, the picture changed entirely.
The Laurel Wreath Order, currently the strongest among the slum faiths, held three seats. Their chief rival, the Bloodied Spear Order, held two. Even if every single order in Soleneon’s slums pooled their seats together, they still fell short of ten.
If the Rusty Shield Order suddenly claimed two seats and rose as a major power in that district, the thrill would be indescribable.
“Congratulations, my Goddess.”
This is all thanks to your devotion, High Paladin Elbridge.
It would have been a warm and pleasant note on which to end the conversation, but the Goddess could not resist adding one last remark.
That fellow who once called our order a wrecked ship… Felix, I believe his name was. I would very much like to see the expression on his face the day your Goddess claims two seats.
It seemed the wound left by Felix’s well-meaning but sharp tongue had cut deeper than expected.
Wishing to spare his Goddess from painful memories, Elbridge smoothly changed the subject.
“In any case, the reason so many offered prayers to you yesterday was likely due to the dwarves’ nature. They dislike being in anyone’s debt, don’t they?”
When someone received a great favor yet had no clear way to repay it, it was common to express gratitude by entering the benefactor’s order. The dwarves, who had long lived in isolation, appeared to have reached the same conclusion.
That must be so. Yet the dwarves’ faith has stood as firm as stone for the last thousand years, so even your Goddess never expected so many of them to offer prayers.
Elbridge pondered for a moment, then said, “The temporary nature of their faith may have worked in our favor. Because the commitment has a clear end, they could offer prayers without agonizing over it, couldn’t they?”
No matter how disappointed the dwarves were in the God of the Iron Anvil, they would never have prayed so readily to the Goddess of the Rusty Shield if it meant pledging the rest of their lives. But as Elbridge had pointed out, the faith they now displayed was only temporary.
It would last until the day Rombel ascended and became a god—or until the day he failed and fell. A faith measured in years at the shortest, decades at the longest.
To an ordinary human those decades would feel like an eternity, but dwarves lived four hundred years on average. The weight of those years was fundamentally different for them.
Elbridge continued, “The timing is also excellent. To absorb so many new believers when the order is at its most vulnerable… Even if every dwarf eventually leaves, this will still prove an enormous help in the days to come.”
High Paladin Elbridge. Even when that day arrives, the dwarves will not easily abandon our order.
“Why do you say that?”
As I told you, not long ago your Goddess learned from the Goddess of the Olive Tree how to keep her followers. And at that time, your Goddess did not learn only the pyramid. There was also a technique known as “getting one’s foot in the door.”
“…What sort of technique is that, if I may ask?”
The Goddess of the Olive Tree said that once even the smallest connection is formed, it becomes difficult to sever the relationship. Over the coming years the dwarves will fall under the charm of your Goddess and our order. Therefore, even if the day truly comes when Rombel ascends…
The door burst open.
Just as the thoroughly excited Goddess of the Rusty Shield was painting a bright and hopeful future, the door swung wide and Rombel strode in. The oracle cut off naturally.
Rombel looked at Elbridge and said bluntly, “Elbridge. Got a question for you.”
“What is it?”
“Before you were sealed or after you were freed—did you ever get the chance to ascend?”
Elbridge shook his head. “No. Never.”
“Huh. You were already making waves two hundred years ago, so I figured you must’ve had the opportunity.”
“Me? There was no reason for me to ascend ahead of the knights who accomplished far more than I did.”
“Knights who accomplished more than you?”
“Sir Leonhardt, for one.”
At the time Elbridge was sealed two centuries ago, Leonhardt had been the senior holy knight of the Rusty Shield Order. While others marveled at Elbridge’s prowess, Elbridge had always believed Leonhardt stood several steps above him.
“There were many other rising holy knights in different orders, too. Even if their actual achievements were fewer, when you consider that they received less divine power than I did…”
Rombel cut him off. “I don’t know about the rest, but Sir Leonhardt definitely ascended.”
“He did?”
“I heard he ascended not long after you were sealed.”
Elbridge learned news of his old comrade in a completely unexpected way.
“Truly?”
“It’s common knowledge. You wouldn’t have heard while you were sealed away for two hundred years.”
“Do you know what Leonhardt’s divine name became?”
“No idea. But it’s clear his order never properly took root. Among all the gods who ascended in the last two centuries, not one has claimed a new seat.”
“Ah…”
When Elbridge let out a sigh, Rombel shrugged. “Things don’t always work out perfectly after ascension, you know? Besides, Sir Leonhardt’s temper was never exactly mild. If his order had been running smoothly, that would’ve been the real surprise.”
As Rombel said, ascending through great deeds and becoming a god in heaven did not solve every problem. Just as mortals on earth competed fiercely to survive, the gods in heaven did the same. The competition there was brutally fierce.
Only a tiny fraction of ascended gods ever claimed seats in the Heavenly Assembly, and even those who succeeded could lose them with a single mistake and be cast into the outer circle. Once a god was pushed outside, regaining a seat was exceedingly rare. Therefore, if the Goddess of the Rusty Shield managed to return to the inner circle by the end of this year, it would be a rather remarkable event.
Rombel muttered, “Your achievements back then might have fallen short of Sir Leonhardt’s, but after being sealed for two hundred years I thought you might have earned the right to ascend. Still not enough, huh…”
Elbridge sank into quiet contemplation.
If the opportunity to ascend were offered, would it be right to take it?
Rombel stretched his arms and said, “Since it’s come to this, I’ll have to visit the Central Magic Tower.”
“Why the Central Magic Tower?”
“The current master of the Central Magic Tower is someone who descended from heaven to the mortal world.”
“What?”
Elbridge had heard that just as mortals could ascend to godhood, gods could descend and become mortal. But that had always belonged to the realm of theoretical possibility. This was the first time he had ever heard of such a being actually existing.
“Why in the world would someone come down from heaven?”
“I don’t know the reason. Still, if I want any clues about ascension, it looks like I’ll have to pay them a visit.”
As Elbridge and Rombel spoke, a new set of footsteps approached. Expecting Marcus, Elbridge turned—only to find the mayor’s secretary standing there.
The secretary offered a courteous greeting to both of them. “The mayor requests your presence.”
The secretary escorted Elbridge and Rombel to the reception room at city hall and then withdrew.
Marcus had arrived first. His expression was exceptionally bright; it seemed the Fox Rain Order had gained quite a few new believers the previous night.
Rombel asked him, “Hey, Marcus. Any idea why Mayor Baldrek called us?”
“We came here on a request, didn’t we? Requests are usually followed by rewards.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgotten.”
Rombel’s goal had simply been entering the Red Mountains, so he had shown little interest in any material reward. Elbridge, likewise, had completely forgotten about it. Receiving a vast number of new believers and helping the Goddess of the Rusty Shield gain seats had been reward enough.
Still, if someone was offering, there was no reason to refuse.
While he was idly imagining what the reward might be, Mayor Baldrek strode into the room and greeted them.
“I hope you slept peacefully last night.”
“Thanks to your hospitality.”
The moment the greeting was returned, Rombel asked directly, “Mayor Baldrek. Has the God of the Iron Anvil delivered a new oracle?”
A faint note of suspicion colored Rombel’s voice—the suspicion that the god might still harbor a grudge and be plotting something.
Mayor Baldrek read the implication at once. “I tell you this only to set your mind at ease: the God of the Iron Anvil will not harm you, Master Rombel.”
“Is that so?”
“If nothing else, his desire to protect our race was utterly sincere.”
“That much I do not doubt.”
“The old order has collapsed. There is no returning to the past. Therefore, I believe the God of the Iron Anvil hopes the dwarves will find stability—even if it must be through the path you forge, Master Rombel.”
The mayor’s voice carried a trace of bitterness. Having watched the downfall of the god he had served his entire life, how could it be otherwise? Yet Baldrek was a dwarf capable of separating public duty from private feeling.
“As you have likely guessed, I asked you here to discuss the reward for completing the request.”
At the word “reward,” an irrepressible look of joy bloomed across Marcus’s face.
“I will grant each of you the opportunity to take one item of your choice from Varkuntol’s first-class vault.”
Only one item each? Both Elbridge and Marcus looked somewhat underwhelmed, but Rombel actually seemed surprised.
Dwarves were born craftsmen. Their skill had been so great that in the distant past every dwarf had lived as a slave. The God of the Iron Anvil had chosen the Red Mountains for two reasons: first, no better sanctuary existed for his people; second, the depths of those mountains contained veins of every rare mineral imaginable. The city of Bronzimmar connected to Varkuntol had once been nothing but a mine, and a colossal shaft still ran beneath it.
In other words, only the greatest masterpieces crafted from the rarest ores were stored inside Varkuntol’s first-class vault. Items worthy of that vault appeared perhaps once every ten years. Their value was almost impossible to express in coin.
“We can also craft a new item according to your wishes. Though without mages, we cannot provide enchantments…”
Marcus’s rear was practically hovering above his chair in excitement.
“Let’s look at the vault first and decide. Shall we go at once?”
But Mayor Baldrek was not finished.
“Additionally, apart from the official reward, there is one more item I wish to show Sir Elbridge.”
“What is it?”
“The shield of Sir Leonhardt—who has now ascended—has been kept in Varkuntol.”
Elbridge’s eyebrows twitched.