Baramunz
Baramunz
The Master of the Bow.
If Aslan was being honest, this particular Master hadn't ranked high on his list of priorities. He felt the bow didn't contribute much to hunting priests. It had excellent penetration and killed humans efficiently, but against priests its lethality lagged behind other weapons.
Priests were beings that could pass for demigods or lesser divinities. He couldn't imagine any of them standing still long enough to let an arrow do its work. Given their abilities, their sheer size, their natures, he doubted a simple arrow could land a decisive blow or a finishing shot.
So he had pushed the Master of the Bow to the bottom of his list. A Master was still a Master, and the fact that the name he'd once heard had contained "Clo" meant the possibility of priesthood was slim, but that didn't make the bow-wielder worth chasing down.
What he needed right now was a Master with overwhelming offensive power. The Master of Magic, for example.
He had no intention of exhausting himself for a companion whose role overlapped with his own, so Aslan had moved at a leisurely pace, figuring he'd track down the Master of the Bow once the party grew larger. The current party was fine as it was.
From that perspective, Tiyamal's existence caught him entirely off guard.
A welcome surprise. It felt like a Christmas present or a birthday gift after twelve years of nothing.
An ordinary Master of the Bow, no matter how skilled, would have been a borderline case. But Aslan had seen Tiyamal's ability firsthand. The accuracy and range to loose an arrow from a hilltop and strike a mountain peak, the brutal penetrating power and force implied by arrows as long as a short spear.
A sniper with that kind of offensive punch could fill the gaps and imbalances in the current party.
That was why, despite the brief glimpse of insanity Tiyamal Clo had displayed, Aslan was convinced he needed to recruit him. If they were going to gain the upper hand against the priests who'd be appearing from now on, Tiyamal's firepower was essential.
The fact that Tiyamal Clo didn't seem especially normal did nag at him, but the party already contained a psychopath Elf and a masochist Saint. One nudist Dragon-kin archer was hardly a problem. Finding a sane Master anywhere was the real challenge — this was entirely within expectations.
The actual problem was something else.
"He's imprisoned?"
"Yes."
Aslan delivered the news the moment he stepped inside the palisade beyond the border, permission barely granted. Ereta tilted her head and echoed the word back. Angie was gazing quietly at the mountains — probably at the peak Tiyamal had struck with his arrow.
As Aslan answered Ereta and glanced over the group, Fay, still riding on Angie's back, pressed her chin firmly against the crown of Angie's head.
"Angge, what're you looking at?"
"Huh? Just looking at that peak. The one with the arrow stuck in it."
"That one?"
Fay stretched out a hand and pointed. The peak was there — the one that, to Aslan, Angie, and Ereta, showed nothing but a faint veil of mist.
"Probably...? Can you see it?"
"Mm-hm, Fay's eyes are su~per good!"
Fay answered with a laugh. Angie pouted at that. Considering the Elf body's uniquely specialized physiology, it was entirely plausible. Elven eyes could pierce through kilometers of forest. Angie, who didn't know that, sounded unconvinced.
"What's the trick?"
"It's stuck there! Stuck into the side of the peak like a hat decoration! The top part's broken off!"
Chattering with a child's bright energy, Fay drew an Oh from Angie, who seemed to accept the plausible description. Angie didn't know the geography, so she left it at acceptance, but Ereta, who'd overheard, had gone stiff-faced.
The distance from that hill to the mountain peak was considerable.
"If his skill is enough to strike a mountain peak from here and break it, that's decisive."
The problem was, Ereta's expression clouded as she began. Even as a former high priestess, she could see the situation was bad.
"The fact that what he shot was the Sacred Mountain of the Mountain Kingdom, specifically — that's the problem. The minimum sentence is drawing and quartering."
Aslan nodded. As far as he knew, desecrating the Sacred Mountain was a capital crime in the Mountain Kingdom. The people of the Baramunz Mountain Kingdom lived on the mountains, were born from the mountains. Their own legends said even their ancestors returned to the mountains; to harm one was close to blasphemy.
He turned his head slightly and looked toward the makeshift fortress attached to the palisade. Inside, Tiyamal Clo would be imprisoned. Soon he'd face summary judgment and summary execution, or be hauled off to the capital for execution there.
The situation wasn't great. If left alone, they'd lose a Master who could become a vital asset.
But in another sense, it was an opportunity.
Aslan glanced at Angie. She had been giving Fay a shoulder ride and caught his look, blinking twice before mouthing, Why?
Angie had started out with a measure of trust in Aslan, the man who'd broken her out of prison. She'd been wary at first, suspecting ulterior motives, but pulling someone out of a corner was one of the fastest ways to build trust.
That was why Aslan saw Tiyamal Clo's imprisonment as an opportunity. The problem was how to get him out, and Aslan had several methods available.
Having pieced together a plan, he lifted his head and said simply, "Wait nearby. I'll be back shortly."
He meant to meet Tiyamal Clo and talk.
*
Aslan hadn't only mastered combat skills. The auxiliary skills, things that didn't directly help in a fight, were also leveled to their maximum.
One of them, Hunting, granted its possessor a degree of stealth performance as the stat rose. It erased scent and softened footfalls, drastically reducing the chance of detection. Combined with Maneuver, Aslan could move with both extreme stealth and speed.
He evaded the sightlines of the watchtowers carved from stone, sprinted through the terraced shadows, leaped lightly, planted a foot against the wall, flipped his body, and slipped legs-first into the building. It was an infiltration so silent and fluid that Fay, had she seen it, would have laughed and called him a snake.
Inside, dodging the eyes of four watchtowers, Aslan gripped the hem of his cloak to kill the sound and walked swiftly and quietly. His destination was the jail.
The jailer in the dim corridor was asleep. Aslan moved past him silently toward the cell. Torchlight cast the bars' shadows in a lattice across every surface.
When he reached the cell, the Dragon-kin inside spoke first.
"Quiet as a beast, aren't you. Not the jailer, so you came to see me?"
Aslan stiffened at the words, then glanced back. The jailer was still asleep. A bit of talking didn't seem likely to wake him.
"How did you know?"
The Dragon-kin let out a scoff and shrugged. The man, Tiyamal Clo, had his eyes covered. Aslan's question was a reasonable one.
"Guess."
The Dragon-kin chuckled, leaning his large frame against the bars so that his whole forearm jutted out. Aslan studied the arm and thought.
'I'm not overconfident in my stealth, but... he shouldn't have been able to hear me.' Even if he had heard something, how could he be so certain it wasn't a guard or a soldier? Short of that blindfold being transparent, there was no way to deduce that the visitor wasn't the jailer.
So it wasn't hearing. Sight was unlikely — Dragon-kin had poor vision, and his eyes were covered besides.
Aslan narrowed his eyes and stared at the bare-chested Dragon-kin. The man wore trousers now, but when he'd shot the mountain peak, Tiyamal had been completely naked. At the time, sheer bafflement had made it seem like simple deviance, but for a Master of the Bow, the behavior might carry meaning beyond that.
It was only a guess, but Aslan gained certainty as he watched the wind stir the torch flames. This jail was nearly a semi-basement, and air flowed through it.
"Tentacles," he said.
"...Oh? He gets it. Though it's no fun when someone actually guesses."
The Dragon-kin pushed himself off the bars, which groaned in protest. As if the sound had nothing to do with him, he raised his manacled hands and said, "Still, correct. These old scales aren't just for show. They pick up when the wind shifts — that sort of feeling. Lets me know most things."
Tiyamal, who stood a full head taller than the average Dragon-kin, scratched his chin and added, "Ah, my fellow countrymen can't do this, by the way."
Aslan stayed silent, wondering whether Tiyamal's hyper-tactile senses were the secret behind his archery. Tiyamal lowered his hand from his chin and let out a heavy sigh.
"Well, since you came all this way, I'd have preferred the woman. A dark and gloomy man showing up really doesn't do much for my mood."
"...What?"
"Didn't you see her? This bastard's got no eye."
"Hold on, what are you talking about—"
"The woman, I'm talking about. Woman."
Tiyamal leaned against the bars again, and they squealed under the excessive weight.
"You saw me put that arrow into the mountain peak earlier, right? What do you think that was about?"
Aslan frowned at the abrupt question but answered readily. "Showing off your skill, wasn't it? You even called out your name while shooting."
"Right, showing off. But who was I showing off for? Naturally, a skill like that is for chasing women, no?"
Aslan, who was reasonably upright in these matters, couldn't understand and tilted his head in inquiry.
"When I looked earlier, one of the young ones lined up was a pretty decent woman. Thick tail, big hips and chest. Heh, the moment I saw her, I thought: 'That's a woman too good to let slip!'"
Aslan recalled one of the people undergoing inspection to enter the palisade — a Dragon-kin, just as Tiyamal described. A large frame and a thick tail. The moment he pictured that female Dragon-kin, his mouth fell open slightly in disbelief.
"...You shot the Sacred Mountain just to attract a woman?"
"Well, that's about the size of it. Seems it didn't work, though. Tch."
Tiyamal clicked his tongue regretfully, then leaned fully against the bars with a snickering laugh. Aslan spoke into the creak of the metal.
"Are you aware you could be executed? Desecrating the Sacred Mountain is a capital crime in Baramunz."
"I know. But what's more important, that or love? If you want to impress a good woman, you've gotta do at least this much, right?"
An incomprehensible mindset. The man seemed to think entirely with his lower half. By now, Aslan's face was a full grimace at Tiyamal's flippant words.
"Your life, for something like that?"
"Isn't a woman a major matter? Worth staking your life on."
That settled it. Tiyamal Clo was a lunatic. They said no Master was normal, but Tiyamal's abnormality was a different flavor altogether.
As Aslan fell quiet, Tiyamal seemed to interpret the silence in his own way and blurted out, "Ah, but don't get the wrong idea. I've got no interest in women who aren't my own kind."
"What?"
"I don't swing that way for tail-less creatures."
Aslan's expression twisted further. Tiyamal let out a rumbling chuckle that spread eerily down the jail corridor. Not as booming as the laugh he'd unleashed on the hill, but still loud. Aslan thought it wouldn't be strange if the mountain warriors came to check, or if the jailer woke up.
Tiyamal Clo was definitely deranged. But that same derangement gave Aslan confidence the man wouldn't become a priest. Which Evil God in the world would answer a heartfelt wish to seduce thick-tailed Dragon-kin women?
Personal distaste aside, Tiyamal Clo passed as a companion.
"Master of the Bow, Tiyamal Clo."
Aslan let the words hang. The laughter died. The expression on Tiyamal's face sharpened, clearly enough for a human to read.
"Would you like to leave this jail, or would you rather accept the consequences of your actions and die quietly?"
Aslan added the question while watching that expression. Tiyamal's face slowly bled killing intent.
"Are you a Warrior Monk?"
The bloodlust was only a hint. The forearm that had been hanging through the bars withdrew; the scales along the arm bristled erect as the muscle beneath swelled. Watching Tiyamal ready himself for a fight, Aslan smiled with satisfaction.
Judging purely by the way he prepared for combat, Tiyamal Clo was an excellent Master.
But he hadn't come here to trade killing intent, so Aslan answered immediately. "I am Aslan, the Master of Combat."
Again, clear enough for a human to read. The look on the massive Dragon-kin's face shifted — visibly more sober now. Seeing the faint suspicion in that expression, Aslan spoke.
"And I came here to get you out."
At the word "out," Tiyamal's nostrils flared — the gesture Dragon-kin made when they were focusing.
"...Thought you were some whelp who didn't know the true flavor of women. Turns out you're a big name."
The swelling muscle and raised scales subsided. As his bulk shrank back, Tiyamal folded his arms and lifted his chin.
"What do you want? And what do you gain by breaking me out?"
Aslan watched Tiyamal's tail thump against the floor — a sign of interest — and smiled thinly.