Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Saving the Dwarves
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"Yes, understood."
"Good. Go spread the word to the mercenaries. Tell Stellman yourself."
"Yes, Grandfather."
Fiot left the room first.
Sion then turned to Priel.
"I'm counting on you. As I said yesterday, just tell the current elders of the South Mountain and High Mountain Elves about me. Anyone old enough to be an elder will know who I am, so they'll accept it."
Even if not, Bael—closer to Sion than any other elf in the Dukedom—would confirm it, so the High Mountain and South Mountain Elves would eventually fall in line.
"Understood, Sion."
"Your role is crucial. If any warriors from the High Mountain or South Mountain Elves check levels, make sure to convey exactly what I told you."
"I'll record every rune they see and note any changes."
"Good. I trust you. And for any opinions about our family or the Dukedom..."
"Through Sir Fiot."
"Thank you."
"Not at all. I'll go to my brothers now."
Once Priel headed to the North Mountain Elf warriors, only Yonas remained.
Sion burst into a hearty laugh at the sight of his middle-aged great-great-grandson, who kept glancing around nervously with a complicated expression.
"Why are you acting like a puppy desperate to poop?"
"Pardon? Oh, no, Ancestor."
But Sion, guessing Yonas's worries, kept smiling and said,
"What? Worried because I'm not going and you're just taking Fiot to the ducal castle? Blint and the others there will suspect you at first. And you're afraid your brother might say something?"
"W-Well..."
Yonas wanted to deny it but couldn't, so he bowed his head.
It was exactly the situation where the shrimp gets crushed in a fight between whales (though Yonas was at least a swordfish, maybe even a blue shark).
Sion had told Yonas to take Fiot to the ducal castle.
Even with the Stellman Mercenaries accompanying Fiot, if high-ranking direct descendants of the Sion Ducal Family like Yonas and Sirban escorted him, it would paint the picture of the ducal family holding the upper hand.
It would become a heartwarming tale of the magnanimous ducal family welcoming back a long-lost blood relative (real or not).
But Fiot wasn't just with the Stellman Mercenaries.
North Mountain, South Mountain, High Mountain—the warriors of the three elf tribes in the Sion Dukedom were going too, bearing messages from each tribe's highest elder.
And as Sion had told Priel moments ago, all "official" talk would go through Fiot.
This was Sion's measure to bolster Fiot while he was away.
It was a way to ensure Blint Sion and the ducal castle nobles wouldn't treat Fiot—the other "Sion"—lightly.
The authority from the three elf tribes, intimately tied to the ducal family's founder Sion, would protect Fiot.
And that authority surpassed even Yonas and Sirban, direct descendants and key figures in Paloma.
So.
-The heartwarming tale of the ducal family showing mercy to a distant blood relative wouldn't hold.
Instead.
-The main house escorted the rightful direct descendant Sion back in honor.
That story would take shape.
And it was natural that Blint Sion—the eldest son at odds with his uncle Gede Sion and the Paloma port city's relatives—wouldn't trust Yonas and Sirban, who had "escorted" Fiot.
Gede Sion, who had sent Yonas and Sirban to Augst Territory to evaluate Fiot, would suspect his youngest son and brother too.
Thus, Yonas was the swordfish or blue shark caught between two whales vying for the next Sion Ducal Lord's seat: Blint Sion and Gede Sion.
The bigger issue was that even the usually bold Yonas turned into a total mess mentally in front of his brother Gede.
"Yonas."
"Yes, Ancestor."
"When it's just us, you can call me Grandfather."
"Y-Yes! Grandfather!"
Overwhelmed with emotion despite his worries, Yonas bowed even lower.
"I know you're confused. But remember just one thing."
"..."
"You are Sion. And I am Sion."
"...!"
Sion spoke calmly to his great-great-grandson, whose eyes widened and body trembled.
"Keep that in your heart and stand by Fiot's side, watching. You can take your time with judgments and decisions. I trust you, Yonas."
"Grandfather..."
Yonas's voice shook as he called out to Sion.
But that was it.
The absolute being that was Sion himself trusted him. All he had to do was live up to that trust.
Yonas was Sion, after all.
* * *
"Let's go, boys."
Parting from the group, Sion traversed the forest with only his beloved steed Blackie and Yellowie.
Though his last visit was decades ago, Sion didn't lose his way even in the deep woods.
Having wandered the echo-less forest alone like his own home for long years, he used landmark trees and unique rocks as guides toward Iron Mountain.
Covering in three days what would take an ordinary person six or more, Sion heard a distant clang-clang-clang around noon.
"What is that? Sounds like metal clashing."
With senses far superior to a normal human's—not just sight, but hearing too—Sion recognized the noise as metallic.
He spurred his horse toward the sound.
He crossed dense stands of towering firs and spruces, weaving through waist-high underbrush. Amid the ringing metal clangs echoing through the forest, human voices began to emerge.
"Grab him! That damn dwarf!"
"Don't kill him! Fuck! I don't care what happens later—just don't kill him now!"
"Aaagh!"
The shouts, curses, and screams mixed together.
"Faster."
Whether Blackie understood or his warhorse blood boiled at the battle sounds after so long, he snorted and charged full speed through the woods.
Whoosh!
Bursting through low shrubs like the wind, they emerged into a fairly large clearing big enough for dozens to camp.
"Huh?"
"W-What!?"
The fighters in the clearing—swinging spears, swords, and metal-bound clubs—turned their gazes to the sudden intruder, Sion.
Sion grasped the situation instantly.
About twenty well-armed humans in quality weapons and armor, and over ten dwarves—either captured or wounded and collapsed, bleeding.
The only dwarf still standing unharmed locked eyes with Sion and bolted toward him.
"Help! Save me!"
It had been ages since he'd heard that awkward dwarf dialect. But before he could feel any warmth, the humans menacing the dwarf with long spears and staffs chased after.
"Grab him!"
Slower than humans due to short legs, the dwarf fleeing for his life covered ten meters in a flash.
Then one pursuer swung his arm wide.
"Hey, fuck!"
The dark iron club left his hand, spinning toward the dwarf's back.
In that instant, Sion—who had prepared the moment before it launched—moved.
Crack!
Blackie kicked off the ground, leaping clean over the dwarf. Before his iron-shod hoof hit dirt again, Sion's sword flickered like a ghost.
Clang!
The halved club hit the ground as Blackie landed, positioning to shield the dwarf and snorting fiercely at the humans.
"W-What...?"
"...!"
Sion addressed the shocked group.
"You don't look like bandits. Mercenaries?"
"......"
As if their identities pierced, the armed humans flinched, then glared at Sion with grim faces.
"You must know this is near the Sion Dukedom's mines. So you attacked the dwarf scouts knowingly. Who the hell took this commission?"
"Kill him!"
At the apparent leader's shout, over ten mercenaries—including the two chasing the dwarf—charged with gleaming spears and swords.
No—they tried to.
If Blackie hadn't charged them at nearly the same moment.
Thud-thud-thud!
Without even a wind-up, Blackie closed the distance at high speed the instant his hooves moved.
And Sion, atop that legendary steed, swung his sword with an expressionless face.
Not one sword, but two—gripping the reins loose, wielding both blades at invisible speeds.
Swoosh! Crack!
Horse hooves thundered, mingled with spine-chilling whooshes.
About four or five seconds later, Sion had pierced through the mercenaries in a flash.
Those along his path sprayed blood fountains as they collapsed.
None even screamed.
Necks half-severed or split side to side, they toppled like bundled straw.
"C-Crazy...!"
Before the stunned leader could order his remaining men,
Sion veered toward the group guarding the captured dwarves.
"Uwaaaah!"
These mercenaries were all killers, seasoned in murder.
But the shocking sight—the first they'd witnessed since taking up the blade—and the protagonist charging them sent them into panic.
"Ugh!"
"D-Dodge!"
Frantic to evade the madly charging Blackie, they failed to notice.
Unlike the first charge, Sion hadn't inflicted lethal wounds, instead herding them in a specific direction.
Yes. Sion was driving the mercenaries into one spot.
And the first to realize it was, naturally, their leader.
"What are you idiots doing! Form up! Group in threes and fours!"
Shouting, the leader yanked a crossbow from his back. With a bolt already loaded, he quickly released the safety and aimed at Sion.
"You fucking bastard."
Distance: barely twenty meters. No escaping this.
The leader pulled the trigger, and the bolt flew free.
That instant.
"...!?"
The leader clearly perceived it.
Locking eyes with Sion as he fired.
Then the illusion of time slowing, as the target's arms blurred in motion.
The leader clearly perceived it.
And that was the last scene his brain registered.
Twang!
The bolt's launch echoed as Sion simultaneously swung his two swords.
One flat blade blocked the bolt; the other sliced the air like a beam of light.
Slower than the crossbow bolt but too fast for human reaction, the sword pierced the leader's forehead.
Thunk!
The blade buried halfway, protruding from the back of his skull, and he toppled backward.
Thud.
As the leader fell, Sion unleashed the killing intent he'd suppressed for the dwarves' sake.
A special infrasound audible only to his targets froze their nervous systems and bodies in an instant.
Directed at the mercenaries clustered away from the dwarves, the undying ancient monster's malice delivered death's greeting.
(To be continued next time)