Chapter 169: The Day of the Decisive Battle
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 169: The Day of the Decisive Battle
Life with one arm is incredibly inconvenient.
Especially for someone who had both arms perfectly fine just a few days ago. Whenever I habitually try to use my right arm, only an empty sleeve flutters in its place.
It'll take time to get used to, but by the time I do, my arm should be reattached. I just have to manage until the priestess arrives.
Ironically, it wasn't all bad. Azyeth had started doing things of her own volition.
Take this morning, for instance.
Without me even waking her, she actually made an effort to get up on her own.
Azyeth... getting up by herself?
It was an astonishing improvement.
And that wasn't all.
“Rami. Ah…”
Azyeth scooped up some soup and brought it to my lips. She intended to feed me, just as I had once done for her.
“It's alright. I still have my left hand. I can eat by myself.”
“Ah.”
A kindness that was practically a demand.
I tried to refuse, saying I could do it myself, but she paid me no mind.
Her voice was laced with a determination that said she would not back down.
I had no choice but to silently open my mouth and accept it.
“Is it… good?”
“Yes, well… I think it tastes even better because you're feeding me, Azyeth.”
At that, Azyeth nodded, satisfied.
But it didn't end there.
“Rami. Arm.”
“I can put on my own clothes…”
“Arm.”
“Arm…”
She even dressed me.
I felt the change in Azyeth even when we went for a walk.
We were out for a stroll to aid our digestion after breakfast.
As always, I was forced to feel the misery of having only one arm.
Wow. I can't even clasp my hands behind my back anymore.
I used to walk with my hands clasped behind me because they felt empty, but now that my right hand was gone, I couldn't even do that. My left hand, having lost its companion, had become a loner.
As I walked with my left hand dangling limply, I felt a cool touch. I looked to my side and saw Azyeth had come closer to hold my hand.
“Azyeth?”
“Because… you're lonely.”
“Are you lonely?”
“Rami is.”
She held my hand last time, too, saying I must be lonely. But while I appreciated the gesture, Azyeth's hand was too cold.
“I'm not so lonely that I need my hand held.”
“…You're lonely.”
“I'm telling you, I'm not that lonely.”
“You're lonely.”
“Your hand is cold. Please let go.”
“…I don't know.”
Even when I put it bluntly, Azyeth just played dumb, and instead of letting go, she squeezed my hand even tighter.
Hmm…
Azyeth, who had been like a spoiled child, had matured overnight.
I've raised Azyeth hundreds of times, but this was a first. Her entire character had been flipped on its head.
As a parent rejoices in a child's growth, or a master in a slave's, I should be happy, but I'm worried that the trigger was my arm getting blown off.
This is just like what happened with Rin.
The turning point for Rin's excessive obsession with me was when I got hurt. She secretly absorbed my essence and even confined me to keep me from going anywhere.
I had resolved to be more careful next time, but somehow, things had ended up like this again.
Don't tell me she's going to lock me up too?
Maybe she'll become a second Skadia and freeze me for all eternity?
All I could do was pray fervently that something like that wouldn't happen.
*
Azyeth's overprotectiveness of me showed no signs of ending, even as night fell.
In the room shared by the two humans, decorated with a magic stone mood lamp and a snow globe, a gentle melody flowed from a music box as it unwound.
The one sitting on the bed wasn't Azyeth, but me. Beside me, Azyeth read a fairy tale in a soft, gentle voice, just as I had once done for her.
If I closed my eyes and listened quietly, I would surely drift off to sleep, but…
“Azyeth? You really don't have to read to me.”
I found the situation nothing but awkward.
At my age, trying to fall asleep while listening to a fairy tale made me feel restless. It was embarrassing, or maybe just cringey.
“You don't… like it?”
But Azyeth used her ultimate move: an appeal so charming that no one, regardless of gender, could refuse.
It was all the more deadly for its lack of ulterior motives. I knew that refusing would wound her pure heart.
“No. I'll listen.”
In the end, I had no choice but to listen.
Azyeth began the story again.
It was nothing new. It was Snow White, a tale I myself had created and told Azyeth many times.
Nevertheless, listening to her voice, as clear as a ringing crystal, was a treat for the ears, so it wasn't all that bad.
“The sleeping Snow White received the prince's ki…”
“?”
“…ss and awoke.”
She even included the ending that wasn't in the book, the one I had told only to her. It seemed Azyeth was quite fond of that ending, too.
“The prince… put a ring… on Snow White's finger and pro-proposed…”
“…?”
But now, a new detail had been added. When I looked at her in confusion, Azyeth furtively averted her gaze.
“Where did the ring suddenly come from?”
“Perka said… you give a ring when you propose…”
“Well. She's not wrong.”
Azyeth was a woman, after all, so it was natural for her to find such things romantic. I thought nothing of it.
Afterward, Azyeth kept sneaking glances at me, but I didn't realize why, not even as I drifted off to sleep.
*
The day of the decisive battle was just around the corner.
Preparations for the battle against Skadia were in their final stages. But with the fight against the dragon looming, an undeniable tension filled the usually boisterous Doomheim.
The Drunkard’s Keg.
Dwarves conversed in worried tones.
“Is this right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Fighting a dragon. I'm starting to think it's too reckless.”
“Getting cold feet now? Didn't you say you were going to show your kids how brave you are?”
“I got swept up in the moment back then…”
Among the dwarves who had been swayed by my words, one or two were beginning to reconsider the fight.
They had been sincere at the time, but one can't stay drunk on passion forever. After nearly a month, they had suddenly sobered up.
“Hmm…”
The most contagious emotion is fear.
The primal instinct of a living creature to survive.
The dwarves' mugs felt especially heavy today.
Just then, a dwarf approached their table.
“You all look troubled.”
“W-Wolfram? What brings you here…?”
“Haha, what do you mean? Am I not allowed to drink in a tavern?”
“Ah, not at all! Please, sit here. Hey! A cold ale over here!”
“Thank you.”
Wolfram naturally joined them.
He downed the ale as soon as it arrived.
A hearty display, befitting the leader of the dwarves.
“Kuh! That's refreshing. So. Are you scared, with the battle so close?”
Startled by Wolfram's direct question, one of the dwarves answered cautiously.
“…Yes. We're a bit scared. To be honest, this isn't directly our problem, and I'm wondering if it's right to stake the fate of our kingdom on it.”
“Hmm. I can see why you'd think that. It's a perfectly natural thought.”
The reason Doomheim was fighting wasn't Skadia. To be precise, they were fighting to help Azyeth, who had been harmed by Skadia.
Upholding one's honor was something to be proud of, but it was inevitable that the question "Is this right?" would arise. It would have been strange if it hadn't.
But Wolfram firmly refuted the dwarves' doubts.
“Lads. I think you're mistaken about something. This fight isn't some service for others. It's for us dwarves.”
“Huh?”
“Do you know why dwarves live hidden underground?”
“Isn't it because there's a lot of ore?”
Wolfram shook his head.
“There are plenty of mines on the surface. What's more, we are blacksmiths. Even a master's armor, called a masterpiece, is nothing but a piece of junk if no one uses it.”
Just as producers need consumers, blacksmiths need users to have a reason to exist.
It was common sense that the surface, where most races lived, would be far better for trade. But the dwarves had settled in the exact opposite: deep underground.
It was not by choice.
“Since ancient times, dragons have been greatly interested in dwarven skill. They would enslave dwarves and force them to craft things to their liking. Until their hammers broke and the very last spark of their souls was extinguished.”
“…”
“The dwarves had no choice but to hide underground, away from the eyes of the dragons. Despite the endlessly high sky and the vast world, we were confined to this cramped space below.”
The great dwarf Hargran.
The legendary blacksmith who founded the underground city of Doomheim and created the Heart of Magmora. At the same time, Hargran was the greatest coward among the dwarves.
Because he fled from the dragons faster than anyone and built Doomheim hidden deeper than anyone.
Hargran was a hero, and also a coward.
“But now, a once-in-a-millennium opportunity has arrived. A chance to slay the evil dragon and go to the surface…!”
Excitement filled Wolfram's usually solemn voice.
When I first came to Doomheim with Perka, Wolfram thought little of it.
When I brought Azyeth, and he learned she was cursed by Skadia, he suspected it was a coincidence.
When I persuaded the dwarves with the story of Snow White, he became convinced it was fate.
The Slave Reaper, Karami.
He didn't know the exact meaning of the 'liberation' he'd heard about in rumors, the word I spoke like a mantra, but to Wolfram's ears, it sounded like this:
“This is the perfect chance to be liberated from this dark underground. Liberated from the dragons that have oppressed us dwarves.”
“…”
“It's fine to be scared. It's fine to tremble in fear. But please, do not run away. As blacksmiths, as dwarves, I ask you to set your souls ablaze.”
“W-Wolfram…”
Faced with a history they had never considered and the heartfelt plea from Meister Wolfram, not a single dwarf could speak.
A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment before Wolfram broke it with a laugh, rising from his seat.
“My, am I drunk? I've been rambling on foolishly. You don't have to pay it any mind, but just remember this: this fight is not for others.”
The dwarves nodded unconsciously.
A few more days passed.
And the day of the decisive battle arrived in Doomheim.