Honor
Honor
"Have you come to assassinate me, by any chance?"
An unexpected question. Aslan frowned at the words that had slipped from the nobleman's mouth. Before he could even process them, Ereta picked it up as though stealing the thought outright.
"Do people normally ask that sort of thing directly...?"
Her voice was cold as she delivered the rebuke. The nobleman heard the chill in her tone and scratched the back of his head as if acknowledging she had a point.
He let out a sheepish, self-conscious laugh and tried again.
"Then... who might you be?"
"I am Aslan, representative of the Crown Tribe, here to resolve the dwarf problem."
"Aslan... Master of Combat...!"
"That as well. Though... this doesn't look much like a situation in need of resolving."
The conversation, unfolding at the edge of the dim mine tunnel, was thick with bewilderment. The nobleman nodded as if conceding the point, and Aslan, his patience wearing thin, asked directly.
"And your name, my lord? I see no reason you shouldn't share it by now...."
An involuntary edge of reproach crept into the question, and at that slightly chiding tone, the nobleman let out a small, flustered sound.
"I am Dorel. Dorel, son of Remul. Son of the former chieftain Remul, and... younger brother to Acting Chieftain Gobil."
At least, that is how I see it. Aslan, reading the situation from those trailing words, watched as Dorel forced a smile across his grimy face.
"As for the dwarf problem... would you follow me? Seeing it for yourself will be faster than any explanation I could give."
A quiet invitation. No hostility, and his Luck gave no warning. Despite the skeptical glances from his companions, Aslan nodded.
"Lead the way."
Dorel smiled faintly and guided them forward, and the group vanished into the dark tunnel.
They pressed on, cutting through the gloom with the flames they carried in their hands. The tunnel widened as they advanced.
It expanded until it opened out entirely, soaring up into an impossible vastness. The floor was packed hard as stone, and the ceiling rose so high that craning one's neck revealed nothing but darkness.
Buildings began to surface from that darkness, merging into the sweeping panorama, the city slowly unveiling itself.
Structures that had once been grand or ornate now leaned or had collapsed, eaten away by ages underground, yet their basic forms remained.
The city stretched on endlessly, an array of buildings that held only their fundamental shapes, a vast sprawl vanishing into the distance.
It was far too massive to have been built beneath the earth, and it differed from most cities that currently existed in Geladrion.
As the party took in the distinctive architecture, the sound of indrawn breaths and a tail tapping against the stone floor could be heard.
"I've never seen an underground city this big. This is...."
"Ancient Imperial style. Looks like Belus Alpen."
Ereta and Tiyamal had spoken their thoughts aloud, and they were correct: this enormous subterranean city was built in the style of the Ancient Empire.
A city easily thousands of years old. As Aslan studied the ancient metropolis, he caught sight of small figures emerging from its gaps.
Dwarves.
Like the wild mage standing beside Dorel, dwarves covered in fur from head to toe came walking out from the crevices of the city.
"Ah, shit, they're coming!"
Angie spotted the advancing dwarves and shouted on reflex, but the dwarves showed no sign of hostile intent.
Instead, the shaggy, diminutive figures surrounded Aslan's party, radiating nothing but curiosity.
Sniffing sounds and guttural cries. There wasn't so much as a fingernail's worth of hostility in their demeanor, and Aslan felt certain of it.
The wild mage was the only dwarf who could speak a human tongue, but the absence of aggression held true for every last one of them.
Considering that dwarves in other regions were simply troublesome monsters that attacked mindlessly, these dwarves were extraordinarily unusual.
Monsters friendly to humans. Aslan was frowning, trying to piece together what was happening, when Dorel, who had been watching him quietly, spoke up.
"I have more to show you still."
Dorel's voice gently steered Aslan onward, and though questions lingered, Aslan followed without complaint. If there was more to see, he could observe first and judge afterward.
Dorel led the party deeper into the city. The damage grew worse as they went, and some buildings had been completely shattered.
Before Aslan could wonder why the interior had suffered more, the group came face to face with the cause.
"This is...."
"A monster's skeleton...?"
It was a skeleton.
The skeleton of a humanoid creature taller than Tiyamal.
The bones gleamed white.
Despite Angie's hasty conclusion that it was a monster's skeleton, there was none of the grotesque deformity characteristic of monsters.
The skeleton, which gave off a metallic sheen in places, was riddled with holes across its entire frame—practically a honeycomb.
Aslan studied the clear marks of destruction—the shattered ribs, a broken leg bone, the skull—and unconsciously picked up a fragment of bone that had been scattered across the floor.
The piece had the slick, distinctive texture of metal and imparted a chill sensation to whoever held it.
'This isn't bone.'
It was white iron.
The white iron said to be found only in the depths beneath Olpasbet, where the God of Law and Order had died.
White iron: the crystallized remains of that god's bones.
That very substance now lay before him, in the form of a skeleton.
It could mean only one thing.
"A Lesser Deity. One that served directly under the God of Law and Order."
"Correct. The God of Honor, he is called."
The God of Honor. As Aslan was filing away the thoughts that surfaced, the dwarves who had been trailing the party stepped forward to the skeleton.
Before anyone could consider stopping or questioning the sudden movement, the dwarves prostrated themselves before the skeleton or clasped their hands together.
Prayer.
The metallic skeleton answered their prayers by emanating a soft glow, and Aslan felt a jolt of confusion.
He knew what that light was.
Divinity.
As the god's skeleton, suffused with divinity, shone with a pale light, Dorel turned his back to the glow and smiled faintly.
"More precisely, it should be called the god's corpse."
Aslan swept his gaze around and confirmed his suspicion.
This was no ordinary colonial outpost of the Ancient Empire.
This had been a city ruled by a Lesser Deity.
A city once governed by a Lesser Deity, the divinity-laden skeleton, and dwarves offering prayers to that skeleton.
Aslan weighed the connections and let out a low murmur. Dorel, clearly meaning for him to hear, added more.
"It may come as a surprise, but... these dwarves are not mere monsters. They are creatures shaped by the God of Law and Order. Though they have fallen into this sorry state ever since their last protector, the God of Honor, was defeated and slain."
That was unexpected information.
Knowledge even Aslan had not possessed. He raised his gaze slightly to find Angie idly stroking the head of a praying dwarf as she spoke.
"How'd you figure all that out?"
Angie's question was reasonable. This was not the sort of information one ordinarily came by. Enough that even Aslan, who had lived through the game, hadn't known.
He hadn't even known this city existed at all.
The fact that Dorel knew what should have been unknowable put the party on alert, and Ereta's hand moved first to the greataxe on her back.
At the spike of wariness that flared in an instant, Dorel waved his hands in apparent alarm.
"W-wait, please wait. There is a way to learn all of this. The city is full of books on the subject. Diaries, histories—records!"
"Diaries?"
"Yes, diaries. My brother and I... we discovered this city some time before things came to this, and we investigated. We combed through the local histories and every written record we found in the city. They were all written in the Imperial language, so there was no trouble with the research."
Seeing that the skeptical looks had not abated, the nobleman added further.
"Though every time we ran into the dwarves, we had to flee, so it did take rather a lot of time."
Angie watched the nobleman hedging his words with a dubious expression. The girl's dislike of the aristocracy was quietly surfacing.
The rest of the party reacted much the same, and Dorel floundered, looking to Aslan. Aslan alone remained expressionless.
If anything, he was rolling his eyes with a look of interest, rubbing his chin.
"He has a point. The common tongue is the Imperial language, after all...."
Having considered it calmly, Aslan concluded that Dorel's claim was likely true.
If it wasn't, there was no way to explain it.
The real question lay beyond that.
If everything Dorel said was true and Gobil knew all of it, then what did Gobil want that had prompted him to send Aslan here?
Aslan shifted his gaze to the dwarves.
Even Aslan had assumed the dwarves would be hostile—until he had faced them directly and seen with his own eyes the flames they wielded.
He had anticipated combat, had prepared for it, had thought through how he would fight them.
The common understanding was that dwarves were monsters.
Monsters that, no matter how peaceful, would fight back if their territory was invaded.
That was the general rule.
Rebuilding his thinking around that bias, Aslan pieced together Gobil's scheme.
Gobil had intended to use Aslan to eliminate the dwarves he believed had killed his younger brother—clearing out a rival while securing the city for himself.
But what did he want the city for? Aslan turned the question over as he scanned his surroundings once more.
The thoroughly ruined city appeared to hold no value whatsoever. The iron deposits were enormous, but that alone didn't seem sufficient to justify everything.
With Aslan silent, the party stole glances at him, while Dorel looked between the party and Aslan with anxious eyes.
After a long stretch of quiet deliberation, Aslan identified the source of his lingering doubt.
"Lord Dorel."
"Yes?"
"Are you aware that divinity remains in the God of Honor's remains?"
"Pardon? Ah, yes, I had surmised as much. There was no other way to explain the glow...."
"And would your brother also know?"
"...Yes. But why do you ask...?"
Aslan ignored the question and thought.
Gobil knew the divinity was there. He had deliberately concealed that from Aslan. He hadn't said a word about the city, the divinity, or the white iron.
Aslan considered what advantage Gobil stood to gain by keeping silent, and a name flashed through his mind.
The Three Evil Gods.
An evil god that had recently lost its divinity and needed to replenish it.
Cosmic Inevitability.
It might have been reading too much into things, but the instincts Aslan had honed beheading hundreds of priests told him he had found the answer.
He couldn't be certain without investigating further, but the possibility was high. Humans had no means of using divinity, so if that wasn't the reason, Gobil had no cause to keep quiet.
If he had hidden something that there was no need to hide, it suggested some other intent behind it.
Aslan surmised that Gobil had made a deal with an evil god.
'If he's made a deal with an evil god, simply going back would be pointless. He'll have planned for this.'
Aslan replayed what Gobil had told him and what Gobil must have intended.
He would have wanted the dwarves dealt with, and he would have wanted his brother dead.
That would be part of the plan. Aslan opened his mouth.
"...Earlier, you asked whether I was an assassin."
"Yes. It was, something of a...."
"Did assassins come for you?"
"Yes, yes. The warriors my brother assigned as my escorts—they were assassins."
"Did you kill them?"
"Ah, no! I didn't kill them. The dwarves helped subdue them, so we only captured...."
Aslan nodded at that.
If there was a plan, the solution was simply to break it. That was his thinking.
***
The Artist had departed. Gobil stared at the shield left behind, his smile troubled.
The shield—paid out, so the Artist had said, as the remaining compensation—was a scale shield that gleamed with a rust-green luster.
It was plainly an exceptional object. Gobil gazed at the shield for a long while, then let out a sigh.
Knock, knock.
"Enter."
At the sound of knocking, he gave his permission, and the door swung open as a warrior burst inside.
"Acting Chieftain Gobil, the—the warriors have returned."
"...Warriors?"
"The warriors sent into the tunnel!"
"What?"
The warrior's voice couldn't hide its consternation. Gobil was equally taken aback.
The warriors returning was not something he had foreseen.
No matter how heavily armored they were, they should not have survived against wild mages capable of wielding flame.
And these were warriors who had entered the tunnel alongside Dorel for the express purpose of assassinating him, knowing full well what they faced.
Gobil was still wondering whether they had abandoned the mission and fled when the warrior spoke again.
"It isn't only the warriors who've returned. Dorel and the Crown Tribe representative have come back with them!"
Gobil's eyes flew wide with shock.
The warriors' return was not by itself a drastic deviation from the plan.
But Dorel's survival had never been part of it.
The plan required Dorel to die.
Gobil scrambled to gather his shield and longsword and hurried outside.
The warrior fell in behind him, and the two of them cut swiftly through the underground city toward the tunnel entrance.
As they rushed forward in haste, figures could be seen approaching from the direction of the tunnel.
The warriors Gobil had sent to assassinate Dorel, Dorel himself, and the Priest Slayer with his companions.
People who should never have been together were all gathered in one place.
Seeing the scene, Gobil could tell that the warriors had attempted the assassination and failed. The complete absence of weapons on the warriors made that plain.
Yet despite the failed assassination, they hadn't been killed. It meant the dwarves hadn't done anything. Gobil swiftly wiped the bewilderment that had flickered across his face and approached them.
'Territorial beasts that let intruders live? What in the....'
Gobil swallowed his confusion as he drew near. The warriors bit their lips and bowed their heads slightly. Gobil acknowledged them with nothing more than a glance and walked up to Aslan.
Drawing close to his younger brother, Gobil wore a practiced smile.
If the dwarves had been exterminated, at least one part of the plan was complete.
"Thank you for saving my brother. Words cannot express my joy at being able to see my sibling again, all thanks to you, our benefactor."
At those brazen words, Aslan gave a light nod. Gobil, unsettled by that nod, smiled as he spoke.
"As for the dwarves...."
Aslan was silent for a moment at the question, then shook his head. As Gobil's expression stiffened, Aslan looked at Gobil's shield and then met his eyes. There was contempt in the gaze looking down at him.
Contempt and a quiet fury.
Gobil, unable to fathom the source of that emotion in his confusion, barely managed to suppress the exclamation that rose belatedly from within him.
Gobil was holding a priest's shield.
Right in front of the Priest Slayer.
'He recognized it?'
Aslan watched Gobil swallow his shock in silence, then loaded his hostility smoothly into his words.
"You lied to me."
A chill ran through his voice. Gobil couldn't even muster a reply, frozen in place, and Aslan inclined his head as he continued.
"As representative of the Crown Tribe, I hereby declare that the Crown Tribe withdraws its support for Gobil, son of Remul, and endorses Dorel, son of Remul, as the new chieftain."
Aslan's voice was cold. Gobil's expression hardened at the words.
This was nothing less than the opening salvo of a political struggle. For Gobil, whose aim was to save as many of his tribe as possible, it was the worst possible outcome.
He was just opening his mouth to somehow smooth things over when Aslan raised a hand to stop him, then smiled.
A small smile, one that even seemed to carry a sense of leisure.
Gobil hesitated, unable to grasp what it meant. Aslan added,
"But I detest politics, absolutely. I've given my endorsement, but I'll do nothing. Decide your chieftain among yourselves."
Words whose intent was impossible to read. As Gobil's gaze shifted, he saw that Dorel wore an equally bewildered expression.
Gobil turned his eyes back to Aslan. Aslan wiped the smile away.
"If you take too long, warriors might come charging in."
"...Are you threatening—!"
Shing!
A dagger had appeared in Aslan's hand and was leveled at Gobil's throat before he knew it, and Gobil's words died in his mouth.
The dagger, shaped like a spearhead or a feather, gleamed with a keen brass sheen, and Gobil swallowed involuntarily.
The dagger slowly withdrew, returning to the cloak. Aslan adjusted his feather cloak and smiled lightly.
"We'll be taking our leave."
"Lord Aslan, the discussion—!"
"Lord Dorel."
Aslan gave Dorel a brief nod, as if preparing to depart, and turned his back.
"Do try your best."
Aslan turned and left, and his entire party turned their backs as well, heading for the city's exit. Watching them go, Dorel touched his own throat.
Though Aslan's face was hidden now that his back was turned, it had seemed, to Aslan's eyes, almost palpable how pressed for time Gobil felt.
Everything was proceeding exactly as planned. Aslan allowed himself a small smile, and Angie, watching his profile, murmured in a low voice.
"That young master sure lies well. I honestly thought you were really surprised."
The distance was more than enough; the words never reached Gobil.
Regrettably for him.