The Mountain King's Lament
Mountain King muttered "It'll be fine" over and over, like a man under hypnosis. Ian caught the anxiety hidden behind his voice. The Mountain King knew he wasn't healthy. That was why he kept repeating it'll be fine, as if hypnotizing himself.
'...What's that?'
At that moment, Ian sensed a gloomy aura swirling around the Mountain King's body. At first, he thought it was just life force leaking from the beast. But looking closer, it resembled ghosts.
'What the hell—'
Ian was appalled. The ghosts circling the Mountain King's body were strung together on rusted chains, forced to orbit him. The sight was eerie and grotesque.
Ian easily figured out what the ghosts were. The spirits forcibly bound to the Mountain King were—
"Did you... eat Yakon?"
The Mountain King fell silent. Ian had hit the nail on the head. Despite being a herbivore, the Mountain King had forcibly devoured the animal Yakon! All to trap its life force inside his body!
Now it all made sense. For some reason, the Mountain King had suffered a deep wound, and to heal it, he'd torn into meat against his nature. It was the exact same principle as how northerners made their so-called health foods(?). The theory of like-attracts-like. By consuming Yakon, a beast brimming with life force, he'd hoped to claim that vitality for himself. As a Behemoth infused with mystery, he could absorb it far more efficiently than any human.
You've done something foolish, Winnie chirped.
Mountain King, that wound of yours can't be healed by drawing life force from lesser creatures.
Ian knew it was fact. For a normal injury, devouring a few Yakon would have done the trick. But look at the Behemoth now. He'd eaten enough to pile corpses valley-high, yet he still carried that festering wound on his back, oozing stench and maggots.
He must have realized long ago that like-attracts-like was useless. Facts have a way of pissing people off. Winnie stated the fact, and the Behemoth got scratched by it.
Shut your trap, Undying One!
Rumble!
The enraged Behemoth's roar made the cave reverberate. Belenca urgently drew her sword again, but Ian calmed her down.
You! What do you know? A being who's shed flesh and lives on—what gives you the right to spout off about the body?!
"Mountain King! Calm down!"
Ian hurriedly thrust Winnie forward.
"This young one's made a mistake! See, right here?"
[...A phoenix that hasn't discarded its body? What is that?]
The Behemoth had assumed Winnie was bodiless, but surprisingly, the phoenix still clung to flesh. Ian whispered quickly.
"Apologize, Winnie."
[My words went too far, Mountain King. But...]
Ian smacked Winnie's head. In this world, apologies with a "but" didn't exist. Anyone claiming otherwise was gaslighting you.
[...I'm sorry.]
Once Winnie apologized, the Mountain King reined in his rage. Before he could flare up again, Ian tossed out a question.
"How did you get that wound?"
[...]
The Mountain King shuddered, holding back fury. But soon, he spoke in a voice as feeble as a deep sigh.
[A beast with black wings... invaded my domain.]
"A beast with black wings?"
The Mountain King's eyes trembled as he said,
[Draka.]
His forepaw shook. As if even pronouncing it terrified him.
[The thing you humans call 'dragon'...]
Ian barely swallowed the curse rising in his throat.
'Son of a...'
Dragon? Had this Behemoth just said dragon?
Ian recalled Eredis's lessons. Dragons. Absolute evils you must never tangle with. Just as Japanese fantasy had demon kings and wuxia tales had heavenly demons, Western fantasy worlds had dragons. On par with those horrors—not scantily clad women, but world-ending final bosses.
Dragons were cruel and brutal. Their hobbies: slaughtering creatures and hoarding treasure. Temper as foul as a manticore's, if not worse; combat prowess incomparable. Eredis had drilled it into him: never, ever, EVER engage one...
And here he was, hearing that name in a northern barbarian's sacred mountain.
[It called itself 'Freydius.' Do you know it?]
"No, first time hearing it."
[...I see.]
The Mountain King explained calmly. One day, a black dragon named Freydius invaded his territory. Naturally, the Mountain King fought the intruder. And... got utterly crushed.
The black dragon stole the treasure the Mountain King guarded—the Lightning Cloud—and vanished somewhere.
Ian, that treasure holds the mountain's vital essence. It's the source of the Mountain King's power.
"Then..."
Winnie whispered softly.
Yes. Without it, the Mountain King will die soon.
"..."
Ian knew it was fact again. The wound wouldn't fully heal because the treasure containing the mountain's essence was gone. More precisely, the Mountain King had taken a wound that would kill any normal creature. The treasure could have healed it, but without it, death loomed.
But no matter how you sliced it, there was no curing the Mountain King's wound.
What nonsense!
The Mountain King bellowed at Winnie's words.
I... won't die! I'm the master of this land, enduring a thousand years! You think this puny wound will kill me?!
Thud! Thud!
The Mountain King limped off somewhere. Ian followed silently.
Deep in the ice cave, crude pens held countless Yakon.
"This is..."
The stench stabbed their noses, but Paira couldn't hide his surprise. Plenty of Yakon still lived!
But the Mountain King's next action made Paira grimace. He dragged one Yakon from the pen and crunched it down raw.
Crunch! Crunch!
The Yakon died without a scream. The Mountain King chewed messily, then vomited the half-digested meat into a revolting pit.
"What the..."
Terrified Yakon pissed themselves on the floor. Wordlessly, the Mountain King grabbed another and shoved it in.
Crunch!
Paira sighed lowly at the sight. Belenca hid her disgust poorly; Kira gazed with pity.
I... won't die... I'll heal this wound... reclaim my treasure... and get revenge on that bastard...!
Crunch! Crunch!
He puked the chunks into the pit again. Ian couldn't watch anymore.
"Mountain King, stop."
[...]
"You can't eat any more of that."
The Mountain King glared at Ian with fury.
[What do you know to say such shit?!]
As killing intent flared, Belenca reacted sharply.
"Ian, that's enough. Let's head out and handle it with the warriors."
"Agreed. He's not right in the head. We'll take care of it—you get clear."
They were right. Enraged northern warriors waited outside. There'd be sacrifices, but killing the Mountain King was doable.
But Ian refused. He understood the bizarre behavior perfectly.
Death stared the Mountain King in the face. Few could face it with detachment. Even mayflies thrashed for one more day. For a thousand-year-old like him, attachment to life dwarfed Ian's imagination.
"Mountain King, do you really think your wound will heal?"
[What...?]
The Mountain King raised his voice, but Ian stared straight with clear eyes.
"Humans of the lowlands praise you as wise and sage. I trust that wisdom. So answer me."
[...]
"Do you really think it'll heal?"
In that instant, the Mountain King rushed to the pit and heaved up his guts. Undigested meat chunks spilled with sour reek.
Hurk... hurk...!
His shoulders heaved in sobs. As northerners said, the Mountain King was wise. He'd known all along: the wound would never heal. No—from meeting the dragon, he'd already lost his life...
I...!
He wailed.
Death... terrifies me...!
Hard to admit. But once he did, he could be honest with himself.
I don't want to die like this! I want to keep living! That black dragon—if he'd only taken my treasure and left! Ah...!
His mournful cry echoed through the cave.
"Mountain King."
To some, it looked pathetic: thrashing ugly against death. But that was life's nature. Death's terror was hard to conquer—hence why the serene were praised.
Ian understood fully. So he pondered: what comfort for one facing death?
Time to go, so just go?Leave the rest to the next gen? All wrong.
Creatures feared death believing it eternal end. To ease that, speak of life after.
The afterlife.
"Takarion."
And here was the expert: priest Takarion.
"Uh... yeah? Me?"
"Come here."
Takarion approached as Ian directed, beside the Mountain King.
"Mountain King."
Ian soothed him calmly.
"Do you have a god you believe in?"
He'd switch to Paira if it was Hrun Dal. But the Mountain King shook his head.
[Gods? They don't care about us.]
"Isn't it the opposite? You're not disinterested in gods?"
Surprised, the Mountain King agreed.
[...True. I ignored them. No problems living without faith.]
Ian smiled.
"Humans are the same. Nobles fake faith and donate on deathbeds. No sin—death scares everyone."
[...]
"Want to try believing?"
[In a human god...?]
"Not human. This world's god."
Ian told Takarion,
"Takarion, perform the sacrament for the Mountain King."
"???"
Takarion gaped. Sacrament for a wild beast that barely talked sense?
"I can't!"
"Because he's a beast? He speaks fine, has humanity enough..."
"No! I'm a monk!"
"Yes, a monk."
Takarion yelled in frustration.
"How's a monk hearing confessions?!"
"Can't you?"
"Argh, have you seen nuns do last rites?!"
Yeah, tons—in fiction. Ian got it quick. Monks weren't priests. Takarion just mega-fanboyed Heavenly Faith, not clergy. Half-credit at best. Canonically, monks couldn't administer sacraments.
But... human rules meant nothing before gods.
"Then I'll ask."
"??? Ask what?"
"The god. If Takarion can do it."
"???"
What madness...? Takarion stared aghast, but Ian already clasped hands in prayer. Sincere plea from Saint Ian, guardian of coffee...!
"Lord of the heavens, do you hear my voice?"
Hehe. Yes, I hear you.
"Takarion wants to guide a lost soul to heaven... is that okay?"
Of course, Ian.
As Ian prayed, a miracle unfolded. Golden light shimmered around Takarion...!
"Whoa!"
Paira gawked in wonder. Was that heavenly sorcery?!
Meanwhile, Takarion felt near-faint excitement and tension. A miracle? This was it!
"Th-the heavens have answered!"
Takarion sounded priestly for once.
"Ian! I'll do it!"
"Please do."
Takarion closed his eyes, laid hands on the Mountain King's head, and recited from the holy book.
[What's happening?]
The Mountain King asked Ian. Ian smiled gently.
"Praying for your soul to reach heaven."
[...]
The Mountain King blinked his massive eyes. Warm tears trickled down his cheeks.
[I see... So I'm... dying...]
"Going up to heaven."
Some say religion is humanity's tool to conquer death's fear. Whether afterlife exists is mystery.
But if it saves a poor soul drowning in terror, religion fulfills its role splendidly.
Ian prayed long for the Mountain King.