Chapter 210: Indomitable (2)
Chapter 210: Indomitable (2)
Youthful vigor surged within the Arena of Ferma, the Steel City. In this stadium, which had stood since the Age of War, countless youths gathered to test their valor against one another. Some died and vanished, while others seized glorious victories, shining brighter with every passing day. Among them, he was the only elderly man in the Arena of Ferma. For eighty-four days, he had dueled every single day without fail.
And in all that time, he had not won a single match.
Not even once.
"The man’s gone senile, I’m telling you."
People whispered many things about the old man.
"I heard his young grandson entered an arena duel out of bravado and died. They say he became a gladiator at his age just to get revenge on the fighter who ruthlessly killed the boy."
"No, that’s just a rumor. I heard he used to be a prominent knight back in the day. He’s old now, but he joined to reclaim his past glory."
"Hah! If that were true, how could he be so pathetic? The knight story is nonsense. No matter how old you get, the habits of your youth stay with your body. That old man is just out of his mind."
It was impossible to know which of those rumors was true.
All three could be true, only one could be true, or all three could be lies. Ultimately, to know the truth, one had to ask the man himself. One day, driven by curiosity, I approached the old man as he sat slumped near the Arena’s reception desk. Despite his age, he had a very sturdy build, yet he carried a rapier that seemed ill-suited for his large frame—a slender blade of the sort nobles might carry for self-defense.
"Elder, there is something I wish to ask."
When I approached and spoke, the old man slowly turned his head.
The moment I saw his eyes, I realized that at least one of the three rumors was a lie. The old man was not insane. His eyes burned far too fiercely for him to be senile. I had never seen a youth with eyes that blazed quite like his.
"What is it you wish to ask, little kid?"
The old man’s voice was solid, as if it were filled to the brim with conviction.
"Elder, why do you keep entering the duels?"
"I wonder."
"People say you’re a senile old man, or a formerly promising knight, or a grandfather dreaming of revenge for his grandson. Which is the truth?"
"Many rumors have been flying about, it seems."
The old man slowly pushed himself up.
"What does it matter what is truth and what is a lie, kid?"
"..."
"Whatever I was in the past, whatever I proved back then, it means nothing now. I enter the duels for one reason: because when I duel, I think of nothing else. When I grip my sword, I become a single human being who must prove something anew."
The old man placed a worn helmet over his head.
"In the Arena, I am neither an old man nor a youth. I become nothing but a single sword, pitting what I have built against my opponent. A soul dwells within the blade. I simply enjoy the process of testing how fiercely we have each lived our lives, kid."
"..."
"There is a place in the Arena called the Hall of Fame. It is a place forgotten by the young gladiators, and even by the old who remember the past. There, the blades of heroes who fought glorious duels are displayed alongside the blades of insignificant men whom no one remembers."
The old man in the worn helmet smiled, revealing his wrinkled mouth.
"That place feels like me. Blades that are old, weakened, and forgotten, yet they remain on display without vanishing. An honorable hall where the trivial and the brilliant hang together as equals. It felt like a human life—shining in youth, then fading and disappearing in old age."
"..."
"Kid, I am merely an old gladiator. I am just a fighter who struggles so that I may feel, desperately, that I am alive. If someone were to ask me why I duel, I could only say this."
As he stood, the old man looked much larger than he had from a distance. Perhaps he was even taller than the young gladiators.
"I simply fight. I simply fight until I die."
"But you haven't won a single victory."
"True. I haven't won once since I came here."
At my words, the old man did not look resentful. Instead of getting annoyed, he simply offered the same smile as before.
"Even so, a man is not created for defeat."
"..."
"I lost yesterday’s duel. Had it been a battlefield, my life would have ended there. It would have been the end of an old man. But listen, kid. I do not believe that failing to win is a total defeat."
The old man’s eyes were shining like the sun.
"Because a man can be destroyed, but he cannot be defeated."
The old man entered a duel that day as well. The old gladiator lost as he always did, and dragging his worn, broken body, he exited without receiving a single cheer. During the duel, his blade had snapped, and the audience mocked him. I followed the old man as he left. He left his broken sword at a smithy in the Steel City and took a sip of golden beer. I had watched his duel from beginning to end. His sword was slow and weak. His technique was clumsy and full of openings. Yet, the old man never once took his eyes off his opponent’s blade. He stared death in the face. His sword had broken, but it had not bent. Not until the very end.
"You’ve come again, kid."
"Yes."
"It is an honor to have at least one spectator for this old man."
"My name is Tom, Elder."
The old man sat under the twilight, staring intently at me.
"I wish to know your name, Elder."
The clang-clang of the smithy echoed. The voices of Dwarves selling wares and merchants of the Steel City calling out to customers rang like echoes. As the orange sunset dipped low, the sounds momentarily ceased. In that brief silence, the old man spoke his name.
"Santiago."
*
The Dragon Kalua wandered the vast sea, pursuing the traces of the Caravan. However, no matter how much he searched with his great dragon eyes, he could find no sign of them. It was as if they had evaporated like smoke.
This was abnormal. Whether through magical or shamanistic means, every method leaves a trace. And to the eyes of a Dragon, which can pierce through the Middle World, the Spirit World, and the Spiritual World, those traces are visible. There was no way Kalua, who had spent his life as a Watcher honing his tracking skills, would miss a trace left by a Caravan.
"...Where on earth did they go?"
He suspected that one of the Nine Goddesses, the Goddess of Stars, had intervened. But even for the Goddess of Stars, it should be impossible to hide traces so perfectly. She was a great goddess, but she was bound by many restrictions when exerting influence over the Middle World. The Goddess of Stars was not a deity with authority as powerful as the other gods. Befitting a goddess who loved peace and harmony, her religion was small, and the faith she received from her followers was not immense; thus, the power she could wield in the Middle World was limited.
If there were traces Kalua could not find, there were only two possibilities: the Caravan was already dead, or they had been moved to a place where traces could not remain.
【Dragon Kalua. Regroup.】
Ignoring the voice of his kin, Kalua continued his thoughts. A place where traces cannot remain... Such places certainly existed on this vast continent. "Mysteries" like the Great Forest or the Sky Mountain Range. Just as mysteries existed on land, they existed in the sea as well. Kalua knew of a "Mystery" located in the ocean between the Western and Southern Continents.
Ernest. A mystical place existing in the gap between the Middle World and the Spirit World, inaccessible to ordinary humans.
【We need your help, Kalua.】
"...I have a matter to finish first."
【Do not act on your own judgment. Have you forgotten your memories as a Watcher? When acting as a group, listen to me. This matter is more important than yours. This is the time for Dragons to reveal themselves for the first time in centuries.】
"There is something more important than that."
【Wait—】
"I will contact you later."
Kalua cut off the connection. Then, he flew high and looked down at the sea. His dragon eyes, which pierced through all worlds, began to search for the "gap." If the descendant of the Caravan had fled to Ernest, it would make sense. If they had headed to that place, which was essentially another small world, it was natural that no traces would remain and that even his tracking skills could not gauge their location.
I will not lose them. Never.
Concentrating his mind, Kalua scanned the sea.
Kalua, a Watcher who had become disillusioned with the Ancient Dragons, had left his nest and joined other Dragons who had departed the Dragon Land before him. They spoke of grand beliefs and ambitions, prattling on about the future of Dragons and a world ruled by the sky. Kalua had played along, but in truth, he was not moved by them.
Kalua had his own reason for coming out into the world: to slit the throats of the Caravans, erasing them from the world entirely, and to prove to the Ancient Dragons that "we were right." He sought to doggedly pursue and punish the intruder he had let slip as a Watcher.
Before this goal, which aligned both his duty as a Watcher and his pride as a Dragon, Kalua intended to ignore all other objectives. And he was confident. The "Caravan" he had faced in person was not the great or terrifying being the Ancient Dragons spoke of. He was merely a single human, nothing more than a weak soul. There was no reason for Dragons to cower before such a bloodline. Never.
Kalua intended to step forward himself, sweep away the remnants of the past, and reclaim the Age of Glory. If the Caravan vanished, the formless fear would vanish with them. Then, the old Dragons huddling in the mountains would emerge into the world once more—true Dragons, existing since the Mythical Era, who had gained power rivaling the Seven Chief Gods and the Nine Goddesses.
The true "Masters of the Sky," who possessed the qualification and ability to seize this world—incomparable to the young Dragons who had crawled under Ian Chervil with grand ambitions.
"Where are you? Where are you?"
Kalua searched the sea again and again.
Until then, Kalua did not know why the Ancient Dragons feared the Caravan. He did not know just how quickly the bloodline of Steel could grow strong, or just how different they could become in such a short span of time.
*
Old Santiago and I became close very quickly. It wasn't that the old gladiator didn't want friends; contrary to his mysterious image, he was a talkative old man. When I asked why someone who liked people so much hadn't made any friends, Santiago replied:
"When you’re old, you shouldn't be alone. But it’s unavoidable."
"..."
"Because eventually, every human must face their time alone."
I felt it from time to time, but Santiago seemed more suited to be a bard than a gladiator. I thought he looked more natural wearing a stylish hat and plucking a harp in a tavern than he did holding a sword and wearing a worn helmet.
"You aren't from around here, are you, kid?"
"How did you know?"
"You don’t have the dreary smell of the Iron Kingdom on you. Your way of speaking, too. People here aren't so polite. Be careful; you have the kind of speech that nobles who enjoy the company of boys would love."
"You’re teasing me again."
Santiago occasionally threw out trivial jokes, yet his life remained unchanged. He always entered the duels, like a man who would die if he didn't fight for even a single day.
"...I came from the Central Continent."
"The Central Continent, eh? You came from a romantic land."
"It is a romantic land. But just as there is shadow where there is light, despair runs deep where there is romance."
I told Santiago many things.
"Do you know about Dragons, Santiago?"
"I’ve heard of them."
"The place where I lived vanished because of a single Dragon."
I told him even the past I hadn't told others.
"The village I lived in was at the foot of the Sky Mountain Range. It was close to the Dwarf Kingdom, a place where people gathered to live by supplying the steel and jewels they needed. Our village was small but wonderful. There were only warm, kind people there."
"A good memory."
"It is. My father was a miner, a man who always took the lead in swinging his pickaxe. He had a fever when he was young and couldn't speak well; he found it hard to utter more than two syllables at a time. My mother said that’s why my name became Tom. Easy to call, easy to write. Tom."
Why was it? I could speak easily to Santiago.
"The Dragon appeared suddenly in a village where every day was much the same. It was as sudden as a downpour on a sunny day. Casting a shadow as it appeared, the Dragon burned our village without a word and took all the young children. It was only after I barely escaped that I learned the truth of the incident."
"What happened?"
"They say it was after the 'Golden Treasury' of the Dwarf Kingdom. So it attacked all the villages around the Dwarf Kingdom and took everyone living there."
It wasn't the first time I had told my story. Everyone else had mocked me or didn't believe me. They would say Dragons weren't like that, or they would ignore me, saying it was a fairly realistic story for a child to make up.
"I still dream of that time. The Dragons in the legends people know are different from real Dragons. They aren't benevolent, absolute beings. They are pure evil. I still remember the look in that thing's eyes as it tore off my father’s legs, as if it were plucking the wings off a dragonfly. Its attitude, treating our sorrow and our deaths as nothing more than a game or entertainment."
"..."
"I don’t even remember how I escaped. When I fled down the mountain to the capital of the Sky Empire and explained what I had been through, no one believed me. 'Dragons haven't left their nests for centuries,' 'They are benevolent creatures that respect other life,' 'It’s not good to make up such rumors, kid...' No one believed me. No one."
Perhaps it was because I was certain Santiago wouldn't be like them. This old gladiator didn't dismiss my words as a child's talk, no matter what I said. In front of Santiago, I sometimes felt like a full-fledged human being. Not a boy, but a man.
"Since no one believed me, I had to prove it myself. Santiago, I came all the way to this distant Steel City to kill a Dragon. The nations of the Central Continent that follow the order of the Sky Empire don't give minors the chance to wield a sword. I left the Central Continent and found the Machine Empire and the Iron Kingdom, but after hearing that no magic in the world could harm a Dragon, I came straight here. To this Steel City, where the Arena exists—where even an infant can participate in a duel as long as they wear a helmet."
"..."
"Santiago, I’m studying history to learn about Dragons. I’m looking for all the records that exist about Dragons and the heroes who once held the name of Dragon Slayer. And in my spare time, I swing my sword. So that one day, I can take revenge on those things that took everything from me."
And I felt a sense of kinship with Santiago.
"I didn't expect to hear such a deep story, kid."
"..."
"Why did you tell me this?"
"I thought you were like me, Santiago."
"Like you?"
"The way you endlessly face your enemies without winning. The way you aren't broken no matter how many times you lose, and you keep facing them. Even though you’re a weak, slow, old gladiator, you don't avoid or run away from the young, strong fighters; you clash with them until the end. That image... it felt like me now, trying to get revenge on the Dragons."
The image of running toward the impossible. The old man’s image was like seeing myself in a mirror.
Santiago fell silent for a moment. After a quiet stillness, he slowly opened his mouth.
"A Dragon. A more magnificent foe than any I have fought, and more magnificent than any enemy I have ever heard of or seen in my life. And yet, you intend to kill it."
"Yes."
"It will be a hard task. A very hard task."
"..."
"...But how fortunate is that?"
Fortunate? What did he mean? While I was wondering, Santiago spoke.
"What if you had to kill the moon? The moon would have simply run away. What if you had to strive to kill the sun, or the stars? What if you had to strive to kill the sky and this world? It is a great relief that you haven't ended up with such an enemy."
"..."
"It is merely a Dragon. A living, tangible creature made of flesh and bone."
Santiago gave a wide grin.
"Kid, I have been fighting an enemy stronger than that my whole life."
"Is there something stronger than a Dragon?"
"There is. An enemy far more powerful than a mere Dragon. An enemy you cannot catch with your hands, that is invisible, and that slowly kills every living thing in the world, including me. Every human has been fighting it from the moment they were born. You are fighting it too, kid."
"What is it?"
"Time."
Santiago stroked my head.
"It’s late now. Get some rest, little kid."
"..."
"And then, go back and challenge it steadfastly. Live like yourself, just as this old man endlessly picks up his sword. Just as a person, a lark, a great Dragon, and this old gladiator do."
The sky was clear that day.
"To one who challenges, the world is bound to look different. Even in the darkness, light exists; in the vast sky, clouds exist; and between the swaying leaves and the blowing wind, life and the song of life are bound to be contained. To one who has slumped down, the world is the loneliest place. But it is different for the challenger. In the world of an unyielding human, no one is ever truly alone."
With those final words, Santiago returned to his worn inn. The old man vanished from my sight, but the words he left behind did not vanish; they stayed with me.
I couldn't sleep at all that night. After spending the night with my eyes wide open, I went out to the square of the Steel City and bought a blade exactly like Santiago’s. The rapier was an inexpensive sword. Holding the slender blade, I practiced thrusting it clumsily, imagining an enemy before me.
But I soon realized such training was meaningless. The enemy I would face was not at my eye level.
Soon, I snapped my head back until my neck felt stiff. At the same time, I thrust the sword I was holding straight up until it was vertical. Yes, this was the eye level of the enemy I had to face. An enemy that existed in a place higher and more arrogant than anyone else.
My sword had to point toward the sky.