The Path to Immortality (2)
The fortress walls were, at a glance, nothing that human hands had built. The architectural style was entirely different. The walls bristled with jagged spikes, as if a blade had been driven into the ground point-first.
Sentries patrolled along the top of the wall. There weren't many of them. The few sentries visible were massive in build, with unusually long snouts. Not only that, but they sported long tails trailing behind them.
"Wait, they have tails?"
Srudal tilted his head after hearing my explanation.
"Lizardmen, then. A highly intelligent species that worships dragons."
"Worship? You mean in a religious sense?"
"Precisely. Lizardmen believe that dragons represent their ultimate form of being. Most lizardmen establish strongholds on the surface by following wyverns... but lizardmen in the Subterranean World—how fascinating."
Srudal seemed brimming with academic curiosity. For my part, I found the entire situation deeply unwelcome. I'd expected to deal with nothing but dragons, and now there was a whole colony of dragon-worshipping reptiles to contend with.
"Why would they build walls? Surely not to keep us out."
Humans and lizardmen had no history of contact. At least, not as far as I knew.
"While lizardmen worship dragons, dragons don't particularly protect them in return. They're fortunate if the dragons don't simply eat them. So they'd need means of defending themselves from other species as well."
"I'll need to scout first, then."
What I needed was the magma dragon's inner core. If these creatures were truly the dragon's minions, I needed to know how many strong warriors they had and how well-fortified their position was.
"Lizardmen are exceptional hunters. If they catch us, things could become... problematic."
"I'll manage somehow."
I turned back to Srudal.
"Srudal, you head back."
"But I cannot leave Your Grace alone."
"If I bring you along, we'll be spotted before we take ten steps. Leave this to me and go back to help fortify our base. If things go sideways, the base itself could be in danger."
"Understood."
"Take this."
I handed Srudal the communication talisman. With it, we could maintain unrestricted contact even deep underground.
After Srudal departed, I cast a transformation spell and took on the appearance of a lizardman. Then I lumbered toward the main gate.
Up close, the walls they'd built came into sharper focus. Technically speaking, human fortifications were far superior. The walls these creatures had made were nothing more than roughly hewn stone stacked together.
What surprised me was the sheer fact that they'd managed to quarry, transport, and shape stones of that magnitude at all. The only possible conclusion was that their species possessed physical strength far beyond that of humans.
"@#$$!"
A gatekeeper shouted sharply from atop the wall. It wasn't the common tongue—it was the lizardmen's native language. I immediately began chanting the incantation for Language Comprehension Art.
Language Comprehension Art, simply put, was a technique that enabled communication between individuals speaking different tongues. It was classified as a subcategory of illusion magic.
I shouted in their exact language.
"I've lost my way! Open the gate!"
"You want me to open the gate? Who in the blazes are you and where did you crawl from?"
A lizardman wearing a horned helmet berated me from atop the wall. A reasonable challenge, befitting a species of higher intelligence.
"Open it right now, or I'll smash my way through!"
And I responded in kind, as befit a species of higher intelligence.
"What? You insane newt!"
"One."
I raised a finger and began counting down.
"Two."
"Run that madman's head through!"
"...Three."
Thwip!
A bolt fired from a crossbow hurtled straight toward my face. I reached out and snatched it from the air. Catching an incoming arrow didn't require Daoist arts. After all, I'd received formal training in swordsmanship too.
"Then I'll take your lack of cooperation as your final answer and break down the gate."
I conjured a massive sphere of flame above my palm. The current me was untouchable. An anonymous mask, after all, has nothing to lose.
"F-f-fire!"
"He's a shaman!"
The lizardmen erupted into chaos the moment I conjured flame. They apparently called the power to manipulate elements "shamanism."
"What's all this racket!"
Someone bellowed in a thunderous voice. Simultaneously, the commotion died down at once. It seemed a superior lizard had appeared.
Moments later, a massive lizardman who looked a good thirty centimeters taller than the others appeared atop the wall and looked down at me.
"What are you?"
"Just a traveler passing through."
"Strange words. There are none of our cities to the south."
"Does a shaman learning his craft care about borders?"
"Hmm... a shaman, is it."
The massive lizardman nodded.
"Answer me this one question. Do you serve Ormarg?"
Ormarg?
A name I'd never heard before, but thanks to Srudal, I could make a rough guess. He'd said lizardmen were a species that worshipped dragons. So Ormarg must be the name of the magma dragon these lizardmen revered.
In that case, the answer should be "yes."
But something felt off. The lizardman hadn't attached any honorific after the name "Ormarg." According to Language Comprehension Art, the lizardmen's language had clear distinctions between high and low register.
"...No. I do not serve Ormarg."
I gambled. If it didn't work out, I could always try again with someone else.
"A shaman who wields the power of flame doesn't serve Ormarg?"
"That's right. I draw my power from elsewhere."
"Prove it."
"How?"
"Say that Ormarg is a worthless fucking salamander."
Profanity came flying out of nowhere, catching me off guard. I wondered if it was a joke, but the watching lizardmen's expressions were dead serious. It felt like they were thinking, let's see if you can actually say it.
"Uh... Ormarg is a worthless fucking salamander."
Thanks to Language Comprehension Art, my profanity sounded quite convincing. The moment they heard the colorful curse, the lizardmen's faces finally brightened.
"Good. No shaman would insult the master he serves. Open the gate."
Seriously? One curse word and they drop all suspicion?
But the gate really was opening. The gate was made from a single massive slab of metal, as if they'd torn it straight from a mineral vein. That enormous, weighty gate was being opened by nothing more than the raw strength of two lizards.
Gradually, the view inside the gate came into focus. A village of roughly eight hundred households nestled within. The houses were built from mud, but the craftsmanship was surprisingly solid. Large buildings three or four stories tall were scattered here and there as well.
Every lizardman walking the streets was heavily armed with hammer and shield. The atmosphere was reminiscent of a military fortress city.
"I am Zaktar."
The massive lizardman suddenly approached and addressed me. He was the one who had interrogated me from atop the gate. I briefly considered my greeting, then blurted out a single name without engaging my brain.
"I'm... Srudal."
"Srudal?"
Zaktar's pupils narrowed to slits.
"You claim to be from the south, yet even your name is peculiar."
"I hear that a lot."
"Srudal, what is your purpose in coming to our fortress?"
So this wasn't just an ordinary village—it was a fortress.
"Must I really state my purpose?"
"No. I have no intention of interrogating you. What concerns us is whether you can help us."
"Sorry, but I'm a busy man."
My engagement ceremony is in one week. I need to confirm your defensive posture and the dragon's location, then hurry back.
"But you have received our hospitality. Would refusing to repay kindness with kindness not be a betrayal of Korvash's teachings?"
Who the hell is Korvash now?
The two massive lizardmen who had opened the gate fixed me with fierce stares. As if I were committing some terrible heresy.
"...Let me hear what this is about."
"We intend to fight against Ormarg."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why? Didn't you just curse Ormarg earlier?"
"I only said it because I was told to. I don't really know what kind of being Ormarg is."
Zaktar flicked his tongue, producing a hissing sound.
"Ormarg is a false god. He turned our sacred swamp into a barren wasteland. Not only that, but he's been devouring our children at will. Our king upholds that greedy dragon as a god, but I can no longer stomach the sacrifice of our children."
Wait, you're rebels?
"That is why we broke away from our clan and built this fortress. We fight not only against Ormarg, but against the king's forces as well."
Zaktar bowed his head to me.
"Please, will you help us? You who bear Korvash's blessing."
So these were the rebel faction.
Zaktar was the leader of those who had risen against their god.
I knew nothing about lizardman society, but the fact that Zaktar had approached me so directly for help made it clear that shamans held a rather important position.
Moreover, Zaktar was a considerably powerful warrior. The aura radiating from him was unquestionably Master-tier or above. The warriors surrounding him were all exceptionally strong as well—yet despite this, they'd been exiled to a frontier fortress, which meant their situation was far from favorable.
"By any chance..."
I asked, on the off chance.
"If we were to bring down Ormarg... could you give me his heart?"
"What do you want with a heart?"
Zaktar asked, puzzled.
"Just something I need for a ritual."
"The heart is yours to do with as you please. All we need is his head."
"Good. I'll help you."
"My gratitude. Korvash's favor truly shines upon us."
Just as humans invoked Solitas at every turn, Korvash seemed to be the primary object of worship here.
"Follow me. I'll show you around the fortress."
Zaktar beckoned with a finger. As I followed behind him, I found myself wondering who had forged his armor and weapons. Considering the shape of reptilian fingers, the equipment he wore was nothing short of miraculous.
"That's the hatchery. Our goal was to rescue as many eggs as we could, but it wasn't enough."
Zaktar pointed to a round, flat building. I wondered if it was wise to share such critical information with a stranger who'd just arrived. What would they do if I suddenly went berserk and terrorized the hatchery?
Then again, perhaps the very fact that such a thought could occur to me was proof that humanity as a species was fundamentally rotten.
"This is the training ground."
On a spacious open field, shirtless lizardmen were sparring with savage intensity. My own knights trained rigorously in holy magic, but compared to the training intensity of these lizardmen, it felt like children playing games. I'd just watched a freshly severed limb go flying, after all.
"We were the royal guard under King Ksilak. We pride ourselves as the finest warriors in the kingdom. You're a shaman, so you probably have no interest in physical conditioning, but if you ever wish it, my brothers will gladly oblige you."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass."
Zaktar then led me to the back courtyard of the fortress. The sound of hammer striking something hard rang out repeatedly.
"This is the forge. Our most skilled brothers craft the finest equipment here. If there's anything you desire, just say the word."
But I wasn't looking at where Zaktar was pointing. Behind the lizardman workshop, a mineral vein jutted out from the ground.
The vein was eerily crimson, with red vapor oozing from it like blood.
"You recognize it."
A proud expression crossed Zaktar's face. His sharp claw gestured toward the vein.
"The blood of Korvash. It is what makes our brothers' equipment exceptional."
The blood of Korvash.
Language Comprehension Art translated those words into a term I knew.
Doomsteel.