The Passing of Time
No one can hold back the flow of time.
That is why the years already gone always feel so short.
A warm spring breeze. The sun’s gentle blaze. Falling leaves and a world blanketed in white snow.
Five times those seasons had turned, and once more the season had returned when a mild wind began to thaw the frozen earth.
…
In the vast forest that stretched across the northern reaches of the Valentine Countship—known as the Black Forest, a place thick with dangerous monsters—stood a boy.
Outwardly he looked to be in his early to mid-teens. Neither particularly tall nor short for his age, he carried a calm, composed air. What caught the eye most were his black hair, tinted with the deep blue of a night sky, and his amber eyes that somehow recalled a reptile’s.
“Still not there yet…”
Muttering to himself, the boy idly fingered the pair of horns on his head and the black-scaled tail that jutted from above his trousers.
Polymorph—the magic also called transformation magic.
Three years had already passed since he first gained the ability to take human form, yet his horns and tail still refused to vanish. They flaunted their presence as if determined to prove he was no human at all.
“Nngh…”
As though their existence displeased him, the boy let out a low groan and continued to fiddle with them.
Neither fully human nor fully dragon—an awkward, half-finished shape. Anyone who saw him would surely point and call him a monster.
“Haa…”
What exactly was the problem? The thought drew a short sigh from him—just as something happened.
Meat… smell…
With a splintering crack, the tree behind him shattered, and a massive shadow fell across his back.
“…?”
At the same moment the boy turned his head toward the sound.
Ogre… hungry… eat you…
What met his eyes was a towering figure roughly shaped like a man. Its ugly features looked as though a goblin and an orc had been mashed together and then inflated to house-sized bulk. It wore crude garments of beast hide and carried a clumsy club—a thick tree trunk with animal skulls lashed to it by leather thongs.
An ogre. A man-eating monster, by another name.
Drooling filthy strings of saliva, the ogre lumbered toward the boy with heavy, thudding steps.
Yet the boy paid it no more mind than he would a buzzing fly, as if the creature’s presence were not even worth noticing.
The ogre felt a flicker of puzzlement at that indifference, then decided it hardly mattered. It raised its enormous club high above the boy’s head.
In that instant—
Gwek…?
Sudden heat made the ogre falter and glance around. Beneath its feet something began to glow brightly.
Bewildered, the ogre looked down. What it saw were radiant, unidentifiable geometric patterns.
The next moment—
Fwoooosh!!
Gyaaaaaaaaah—!!!
Flames erupted in an instant and swallowed the ogre whole. Writhing and shrieking, the monster rolled across the ground in a desperate bid to smother the fire clinging to its body.
But the flames would not die. The thrashing, howling form gradually stilled.
Before long, all that remained where the ogre had stood was a blackened, unrecognizable lump and a scattering of ash.
“Hoo…”
Even after felling in a single breath a creature that would normally require dozens of well-armed soldiers, the boy only exhaled a short, unimpressed sigh.
“That should be enough for today…”
Brushing soot from his shoulder, he muttered the words and lifted his gaze.
The canopy was so dense that not even a scrap of sky showed through. To him, though, that made no difference.
With a low groan he crouched, and his body began to change.
Bones shifted with wet, cracking sounds; muscle swelled. Gleaming black scales rose across his skin, and his teeth lengthened into sharp fangs.
“Nnnngh…”
The stiff, aching sensation that always followed a transformation drew another low sound from the boy—no, from Schwarz—as he unfurled vast wings.
A moment later he launched skyward on a sudden gale, loosing a great cry as he turned toward the Valentine count’s manor.
The Valentine Countship had always been a place few travelers visited.
Today, however, was different.
Below him stretched a long procession of carriages and people. In every town and village of the territory, crowds hurried to and fro.
And every one of those streams of traffic pointed toward the same destination: the Valentine family’s manor.
As the manor came into view, Schwarz began a gradual descent toward the secluded corner of the grounds that served as his own quarters.
“Schwarz!!”
Moments after he touched down, a girl hurried toward him, calling his name.
Long silver hair fell straight to her waist, with short side-tails tied on either side. The lively energy of a girl still growing into herself gave her a charm that made anyone who looked at her smile without thinking.
“Did you have a good walk?”
“Kyau!”
Answering her question, he gently nudged his snout against Milia’s cheek.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy this week I couldn’t come with you.”
“Grruung.”
He shook his head as if to say it was nothing. Milia let out a soft laugh and stroked his head.
The reason she was so busy was the same reason so many guests were pouring into the countship today: it was her fifteenth birthday.
Many people assumed that a count who ruled a frontier march must rank lower in prestige than the central nobility. The truth was the opposite.
A count who governed the borderlands—a margrave—was exempt from royal taxes and, because of the special duty of holding back foreign invaders, was legally permitted to maintain a private army.
That legal right to keep troops also meant the king’s trust ran deep.
In a world of nobles where power was everything, a margrave who could field a lawful army and who enjoyed the king’s firm confidence wielded influence that could rival even a duke’s—despite the mere title of count.
It was only natural, then, that so many guests would gather for her fifteenth birthday.
“How about we sneak out tonight?”
“Grrung!!”
She offered the suggestion with a mischievous smile. Schwarz scowled and stamped a heavy foot—a silent protest that asked whether she had already forgotten what had happened five years ago.
“All right, all right. It was only a joke.”
“Grrn…”
Honestly… she was impossible.
With that thought and a discontented rumble, Schwarz looked at Milia.
“My lady!! Where are you?!”
Just then a hurried voice calling for Milia rose from nearby. It was a voice Schwarz knew well.
“My lady!”
A moment later a woman rounded the corner, exhaled in relief, and hurried toward them.
Brown hair and eyes, both neatly gathered up. The crisp maid’s uniform and large spectacles gave her an intelligent air.
“Heine? What’s the matter?”
“You slipped away in the middle of getting ready again—what on earth are you doing out here?!”
The head maid of the household, Heine, scolded the puzzled Milia without preamble.
“I had to make sure Schwarz was back, didn’t I?”
“Not today, you don’t! Come along this instant! The count himself told me to take extra care!”
Milia tried to stand her ground, but Heine’s expression made it clear she would not yield this time. She began propelling the girl toward the manor by the small of her back.
Having served as Milia’s personal maid since childhood, Heine handled her charge with practiced mastery.
“Ah! W-wait just a moment!!”
“No matter what you say, no means no!!”
Milia protested, asking for a little more time, but Heine paid the cries no mind and marched her straight into the manor.
Silence settled once more over the spot where the two had vanished.
“Pff…”
Watching them go, Schwarz let out a quiet snort of amusement, then turned, opened the door of the shed that served as his quarters, and stepped inside.
Straw rustled underfoot as he made his way to the bed of piled hay. After a brief tidy of the space, he curled his long body into a coil.
Bright sunlight streaming through the high window began to warm his black scales. Lulled by the pleasant heat, he opened his great jaws in a wide yawn.
Judging by the situation, Milia would have no free time today either…
Might as well sleep first and decide what to do afterward.
With that thought, Schwarz closed his heavy eyelids and slowly drifted into a sweet afternoon nap.