Honor
Honor
Wild mages weren't exclusive to humans. Just as the rare giant wild mage had appeared, monsters and demi-humans could awaken as wild mages too.
Regardless of the odds, the possibility always existed.
He simply hadn't expected it to actually happen.
Aslan stared blankly at the man before him.
The former chieftain Remul's son, Gobil. The man serving as acting chieftain and the most likely successor. Temporarily filling the void left by the sudden death of the chieftain, he now led the Honor Tribe.
And that acting chieftain had come out personally to greet Aslan.
"I must beg your pardon. It seems I've shown you a rather unsightly situation."
The man strolled up to Aslan with an easy confidence. Aslan replied,
"Don't worry about it. I'm more concerned about the people. How many were hurt?"
His question was laced with genuine, matter-of-fact worry. At the words, Gobil swept a hand through his blond hair and smiled.
"Fortunately, no one was hurt."
"...None?"
How could that be? Aslan turned his gaze toward the mine shaft. The tunnel from which the flames had erupted was caked in thick soot. Traces of a blaze that would have instantly charred an ordinary human. Aslan's brow furrowed, and the acting chieftain responded with a grin.
"Whether our people are simply fleet of foot, or dwarves are clumsy with fire, no one has died to the flames so far. A stroke of luck."
The excuse barely held water. Aslan found it deeply strange, but he nodded anyway. No injuries was a good thing, whatever the underlying reasons might be. Though he'd certainly have to think about what those reasons were.
After a moment's thought, he spoke.
"So, what happened? As far as I know, dwarves can't use fire."
At the question, the blond young man scratched at his beard.
"We don't know the details. Whether a wild mage was born among the dwarves... or a mage stands behind them... or some subspecies emerged. We're entirely in the dark. And sending warriors in to investigate has been... problematic."
Gobil gestured with his chin as he spoke, and Aslan's gaze followed it toward the mine shaft. The tunnel, presumably narrow inside, offered no room to dodge if flames came roaring through.
Standard warriors, no matter how heavily armored, would never survive.
"In a tight tunnel like that, if fire comes bursting out, even the most heavily armored warrior dies like a dog. So, as acting chieftain, I've established a perimeter, set guards at the entrance, and requested aid from the Crown Tribe."
It was a sound decision.
Among the warriors of the Crown Tribe who bore mana tattoos, some possessed strong resistance to fire. If such men took the field, the matter could be settled quickly.
So when Aslan put the pieces together, his presence here made immediate sense.
"The perimeter wasn't terribly effective... but now that the Great Chieftain has sent reinforcements, that should change. I only ask one thing. Suppress the dwarves. Do that, and I will gladly take the mantle of chieftain and unite the tribe behind the Crown Tribe's will."
But the pieces only fit so far. Aslan listened to the young man's follow-up words and felt his expression twist in puzzlement.
Honor Tribe chieftainship wasn't hereditary. The role fell to the candidate who achieved the most honorable and greatest feat among them.
Given that, Gobil's current attitude was strange. He seemed utterly convinced he would become chieftain.
Aslan frowned.
"I fail to see how a suppression carried out by an outsider's hand qualifies as a great and honorable feat. Is there more to this?"
His question carried a certainty that made Gobil break into a grin. A sly smile that hinted at hidden motives. Realizing he was caught, Gobil chuckled softly and scratched his head.
"Truth be told, the mine the dwarves have occupied... it's not just any mine. It has the richest iron deposits of any shaft we've found recently. Locating and securing it first would certainly count as a feat."
Enough of a feat to ascend to chieftain. Aslan nodded along as Gobil tacked on the implication.
The Honor Tribe had built its wealth on metalcraft and mining. Of the four tribes, they were the most open to outside interaction.
Being an open tribe, they would clearly judge that a man capable of enriching the tribal coffers and spreading prosperity deserved the honor of chieftainship.
This wasn't a simple suppression request. Aslan nodded, seeing the situation as a crossroads of crisis and opportunity. A straightforward, uncomplicated favor.
"...Fine. I'll take it on."
"Thank you. You must be weary from the journey. Wouldn't you prefer to rest well and set out tomorrow? A guide can—"
"No."
Yet Aslan found that very straightforwardness unsettling.
Everything aligned with uncanny precision. It stank.
No one hurt by the dwarven magic.
The previous chieftain absurdly choked to death on a rice cake.
A massive iron deposit in the dwarves' mine, its existence revealed to an outsider without a flicker of hesitation.
Too many things were suspicious and murky.
And so, facing the bewildered young man, Aslan made a short, sharp demand.
"We'll settle this now. Prepare some rations and torches."
*
A mine tunnel burrowed into the earth. Long tracks stretched over the curving dirt path, echoing with the sound of several sets of footsteps.
Scales, boots, and bare feet made an uneven rhythm. Amidst them, Ereta spoke.
"Are you sure we shouldn't rest? They did say we could go after resting, you know."
It was a murmur that bordered on a sulk. Aslan shook his head and replied. The torch in his left hand flickered.
"No time. These people don't seem to realize it yet, but... this is the work of a wild mage."
"A wild mage?"
Aslan nodded.
"Wild mages left alone only grow crazier or more dangerous. I don't know its goal here, but we can't just ignore a wild mage. It has to be dealt with fast."
Of course, that wasn't the only reason. Personal concerns nagged at him. No wounded being carried out, no deaths, despite fire erupting the moment they arrived. No signs of combat even as they walked the tunnel. Gobil's dodgy, evasive attitude. Everything screamed foul play, and Aslan wanted to see it with his own eyes. He couldn't make a call without a full grasp of the situation, and he had no intention of bungling things with a hasty judgment.
He added,
"A wild mage that uses fire in a mine shaft should cause mass casualties. That no one's been hurt, that no one's died—that's not normal. Something is off."
At his words, Angie, who'd been quietly holding a torch, tilted her head.
"What's off about it? Isn't no one getting hurt a good thing? I mean, maybe they just dodged it?"
She was likely recalling the acting chieftain's words, but Aslan shook his head, rejecting the notion.
"There's no dodging fire in a tunnel. That's why I'm leading."
On open ground, there were plenty of ways to avoid flames, but inside a mine shaft, escape was impossible. The only way to protect yourself against the scorching gale and blistering heat was to block the fire outright. Aslan taking the lead was possible precisely because he could parry fire with wild magic.
Ordinary warriors or miners had no means to shield themselves.
Yet there were zero casualties?
It didn't add up.
"Uh... so maybe, what, they let 'em live on purpose or something?"
Angie, clearly failing to grasp the oddness of it, offered the suggestion, and Aslan nodded.
"Most likely. And that's the part I can't stop thinking about. Why deliberately spare them? Even just wounding them instead of killing would impose a serious loss of manpower."
"Maybe they don't wanna fight?"
"That's not it."
When Aslan dismissed it flatly, Angie's expression went blank. Unlike her, Fay seemed to have caught on. She nodded, her scarlet hair swaying.
"Fay gets it. Fay's cut off lots of legs before. It's 'cause if you're busy taking care of the wounded, there's tons of openings!"
"Hmm. Not sayin' this old-timer's done it, but... bleeding an enemy's strength by making casualties is certainly an efficient strategy. Smart beasts do it all the time."
Tiyamal, hunched deep at the waist due to the narrow tunnel, let the words hang before continuing.
"But deliberately letting 'em go? That's something else. Definitely not normal. And if it's to track down the main camp... is there really any need when there's a big city right outside the mine?"
The path from the mine to the city wasn't hard to find, so letting them go to trace a base didn't track.
As Angie's expression grew increasingly lost, Ereta spoke up.
"So you want to find out for yourself? Seek them out and see?"
Aslan nodded instead of replying.
There was no telling what lurked behind this, he thought. Perhaps a priest's scheme to block access and flood the entire city. Far-fetched, but possible.
Either way, the Honor Tribe was essential to Aslan's plans. No harm in being cautious.
Ready to draw and throw a feather dagger at a moment's notice, Aslan walked with the torch. He kept track of the position of his dangling hand.
The tracks laid along the length of the mine shaft gradually grew sparse, then stopped entirely. The oppressive gloom thickened, and a dense humidity began to press in from the darkened depths.
Aslan judged this marked the beginning of the dwarves' territory.
"Everyone, draw your weapons."
Leaving the sound of scraping steel behind him, Aslan pushed forward. Beyond the flickering torchlight, the walls and ceiling of the tunnel were rich with iron, just as the acting chieftain had said. The claim of heavy iron deposits appeared genuine. Securing a place like this could certainly earn a man the chieftain's seat.
The party stopped when Aslan flinched and came to an abrupt halt. As the others froze in unison, Aslan angled his torch downward.
Revealed in the wavering crimson light was a metal that gleamed with a pale, white luster.
Aslan knew this metal. A metal found solely in Olpasbet, the place where the God of Law and Order had died.
White Iron.
Aslan picked up the fragment.
"What's this doing here...?"
The moment he lifted the gleaming piece of metal, a presence intruded. A sense beyond mere Luck reacted first, and as Aslan turned his head, there, at the edge of the torchlight, stood something.
A dwarf. A small, fur-covered body. A monster with the build of a child and straight posture, but a face resembling a monkey's.
Aslan's eyes met the creature's.
He'd been too slow to draw a dagger while picking up the metal shard, but his hand moved swiftly for his cloak. The draw would take a single motion. He could throw it the instant it cleared the scabbard. But the dwarf's hand rose first.
Flame erupted from its fingertips.
Whoooosh!
A blaze surged forward, violently heating the air. Realizing his mistake, Aslan abandoned the draw and thrust his palm out instead. He had to block the fire, no matter the mana cost. But as he pulled mana for a barrier, he noticed something strange about the incoming flames.
The fire's momentum was weak. It flickered as if it might go out at any moment. Moreover, Luck didn't respond. Despite having hit 10 and entered the realm of foresight, his Luck was eerily silent.
Angie's earlier words flashed through his mind. 'Maybe they don't wanna fight?'
Harboring a sliver of disbelief, Aslan didn't raise a barrier. He couldn't afford to waste mana. It was tantamount to gambling, but he was certain.
He simply stood straight and faced the fire.
The flames wavered.
Whooosh. Fwoom.
The moment the surging fire vanished, Aslan let out a long breath. It was the sigh of someone who'd never imagined the most unlikely possibility would actually be the answer.
Aslan stared at the dwarf beyond the dying embers. Even at a glance, he could see patches where the fur had fallen off its arms and hands. Following those limbs upward revealed wide, terror-stricken dwarf eyes.
Inside them swirled only fear—not a shred of hostility. Aslan knew that stare was fixed directly on him.
Then the terrified gaze flicked past Aslan to the others behind him. The sound of shifting weaponry rang out.
"Aslan, get clear!"
Tiyamal roared, nocking an arrow. The rest of the party seemed ready to spring forward. Aslan glanced at them and raised his hands. He lifted them as if surrendering and let the dagger fall to the ground.
"Aslan?!"
Clatter. The blade rolled across the stone floor. Quietly, Aslan said,
"Everyone, lower your weapons."
"What? But that bastard—"
"Please."
At that single word, Tiyamal withdrew his arrow with a click of his tongue. Silence fell over the still-smoldering tunnel.
As the silence consumed the darkness, the dwarf stared blankly at Aslan and his party, then hesitantly shuffled closer. Tiyamal bared his fangs in a low growl at the timid advance, but the dwarf kept coming regardless. It stopped just a step away from Aslan, who still held his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.
With a burn-reddened index finger, it pointed at Aslan.
Then it spoke.
"Dwarf?"
Aslan's expression twisted. He'd never encountered a talking dwarf before. With no certainty about what was happening, he lowered his hands. The dwarf pulled back its finger and pointed at its own chest.
"Dwarf!"
What did this mean? What was it trying to convey? As Aslan struggled to parse it, the dwarf added one more word, spreading its arms wide to the sides.
"Friend?"
"...What?"
At first glance, it seemed like a mindless, simple string of syllables. But it wasn't. This dwarf was wielding language. It understood and spoke human speech, however clumsily. And in the eyes that had been frozen with terror just moments ago, there now flickered a faint glimmer of goodwill.
Looking into those eyes, Aslan felt he could guess at the meaning behind the dwarf's words.
The "dwarf" the creature spoke of—it meant "person."