Chapter 10
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: The Visitor from the Kingdom of Carbonihar
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#
The sun rose over the vast fields. The winter snows had melted with the coming of spring, and the rain that had ridden in on the wind last night had ceased. The earth was a dark, russet brown. The rich scent of soil filled the air as shoots poked their heads up everywhere.
Dozens of round tents, called gers or yurts, stood upon the plain, and as the livestock began to stir, people emerged one by one. They checked to see if any animals had wandered off during the night, feeling sweat bead beneath their layered coats.
Here in Dithmarschen, winter and spring had long been one and the same. Recently, however, the boundary between them had grown distinct. The flow of mana was entering a cycle of stability.
The cause of the disasters that had once bent nature to their whim was subsiding. The people of the Bard Tribe praised the mercy of the gods and offered their prayers.
Among them, a young girl carrying a basin made her way toward one of the tents.
The girl was the chieftain’s daughter. Aside from her sharp eyes, a trait she shared with her father, she was no different from any other nine-year-old girl. And lately, she had been caring for a strange man.
‘He’s still asleep.’
The man lay alone on the bed.
Even as the sunlight streamed through the open flap and fell upon his face, he remained motionless, lost in a deep slumber. The girl set the basin down beside the bed and watched him.
“…”
His skin was pale and bloodless, his black hair as disheveled as a lion’s mane. A life spent outdoors was bound to tan the skin and etch it with wrinkles, yet he looked like some young master, raised in luxury.
But he was neither a young man nor a young master.
He was the lord of Dithmarschen, Ulrich.
The elders of the Bard Tribe called him by many names: Ulrich, Lord, Master, and Elder. The girl understood the first three, but the title of Elder made no sense to her.
Why would they call someone younger than her father that?
The girl’s father had told her that he was a man who had lived a very long time. The elders said that even when they were her age, he had looked exactly the same as he did now. It was hard to believe.
The girl was eight years old. She was too young to fully comprehend that time makes people old. Likewise, she could not fully comprehend how someone who had lived longer than anyone else could possess such a youthful appearance.
‘A strange man.’
Therefore, to the girl, he was a strange man.
And the strange man was lost in a deep sleep.
It wasn't just a deep sleep. Nor was it the kind of sleep that lasts a day or two. It was a slumber so profound—lasting from three days to a week—that it sparked worries that the man they called Elder might be afflicted by a curse or an illness.
Yet the tribe's elders seemed unconcerned by how deeply he slept. In response to the girl’s worried questions, her father had said:
“He’ll wake when the time comes.”
He added, “This isn’t the first time the elder has slept so deeply. Once, he slept so soundly that he didn’t wake until the following winter.”
This, too, the girl could not understand.
But what could she do? The adults said it was so.
Ever since the elder had departed for the land of dreams, the girl had entered his tent every morning after prayer time to clean and wipe his face.
At first, she worried, *What if I wake him?* But the elder never stirred. Her father was such a light sleeper that he could hear the footsteps of a wolf from inside his ger, yet the elder lay still, not even a change in his breathing, no matter what she did.
She had even taken to placing a hand under his nose.
After wiping his face, she would always gently place her index finger beneath his nose to check if he was breathing properly. A faint, very faint breath would touch her skin, and each time, the girl would leave the tent with a sense of relief.
But today, this moment was different.
“Oh?”
The instant her finger touched his skin, he opened his eyes.
“Huh?”
Their gazes met. As the elder’s dark eyes looked up at her, the girl froze, her index finger still poised under his nose. She looked down at him, the corners of her mouth beginning to tremble.
‘Did I wake him? Did he wake up because of me?’
A sudden wave of worry washed over her. She had only done it out of concern for him, with no other intention. She opened her mouth to make an excuse, but the words wouldn't come. She was afraid of being scolded.
“I’m thirsty.”
He spoke as the girl’s expression began to crumple.
“I-I’ll get it right away!”
Like someone who had found a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, the girl quickly turned and bolted from the ger. Her cry of, “Daaaaad—,” followed.
#
‘The weather is warm.’
Ulrich thought to himself just after the girl left.
He lay still on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling.
It wasn't the color or shape he was used to. His own bedchamber was built of gray stone, but what he saw now was yellowish fabric.
‘Why?’
He blinked a couple of times.
Then memory spoke, telling him this was not the lord’s manor but the dwelling of a tribe. He was inside a ger, a circular tent set up for him by a tribe called the Bard.
A warm breeze blew through the slightly open flap of the ger.
‘Has winter passed?’
Still groggy from sleep, his memories were momentarily jumbled. He couldn't recall the dream he’d had, but his spirits were high. It must have been a pleasant one.
He raised a hand and covered his face.
‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’
He had fallen asleep near the end of winter.
After finishing a monster hunt, he had stopped to rest with the Bard Tribe and was suddenly struck by a sense of ennui. It happened sometimes when one lived for a long time. Life would become so familiar that the familiarity would curdle into boredom.
When that time came, he would fall into a deep sleep. Just as a bear hibernates to survive a winter without food, he too would occasionally fall into a deep slumber because of the nature of his life. He never set a duration. He had once slept for decades on end.
For an ordinary person, it would be a waste of time. But for him, it was fine. He didn't die, nor did he age. Even dragons had asked him if he lived forever; such was the vastness of time he possessed.
It was his way of escaping boredom.
“You’re awake.”
As he was lost in thought, the girl returned with two others.
“The weather is lovely, Kurth.”
“It is. Spring is in full bloom.”
Kurth, the chieftain and the girl's father, smiled and nodded in greeting. His expression reminded Ulrich of an elder named Brase. Brase was Kurth’s father, and he had died last winter.
The last time Ulrich had seen Brase was the previous summer. He had seen death looming over the old man's face, which was why he had returned the item Brase had entrusted to him in his youth. It had been like a grim prophecy, but the old man had simply said one thing. Thank you.
Now the old man was gone, and his fourth son stood in his place.
Traces of Brase were in Kurth. They were two different beings, yet somehow connected, they stood before him. It was a sensation he had seen and felt too many times.
“…”
Ulrich sat up and asked.
“How long was I asleep?”
“You’ve been asleep for a little over a month.”
Kurth added, “This time was quite short.”
“This time? Ah, right.”
A memory suddenly surfaced.
“I’ve seen you before, haven’t I.”
“You remember? I served as an attendant at the manor.”
About thirty years ago, before Kurth was even ten, there had been a time when he had stayed at the lord’s manor as an attendant and received Ulrich’s tutelage.
If his memory served him right, Ulrich had fallen asleep in the summer and woken up the following winter. It was the first time he had slept for so long while serving as the lord of Dithmarschen, and it had caused quite a stir.
“Compared to that time, this is less than a tenth of the duration.”
Kurth smiled.
“I suppose so. Compared to that time, you’re right.”
Ulrich smiled back, nodding, then looked at the priest standing beside Kurth and spoke.
“Did you hear that, Roberta?”
Roberta awkwardly scratched the back of her head.
“Yes… It seems I worried for nothing.”
Her gaze flickered toward Kurth.
The young chieftain responded to her look with a smile in his eyes, as if to say, “See? I was right.” It seemed there had been some disagreement over whether Ulrich would wake on his own.
“I’ve never seen anyone sleep like you, my lord.”
“I hear that often. Among other things.”
Accepting a cup of tea from the girl, Ulrich asked Roberta.
“Has anything happened while I was away?”
“Nothing. Nothing worth mentioning, at least.”
Ulrich felt a piercing gaze on him.
“Is that so?”
It was her interest in him. She tried not to show it, but she couldn't fool him. He’d had this experience more times than he could count. When people observe a creature they cannot comprehend, they adopt the eyes of an observer.
Roberta, the head priest of the Duchy of Dithmarschen.
Nearly a year had passed since her appointment, but her intense curiosity about him seemed to have remained unchanged. To her, he must have been a bizarre lord, a being that shattered all common sense.
She must have dug through records and confirmed that he had lived for 300 years. She would have also heard numerous claims that he had lived even longer than the records stated. With her own eyes, she had seen him perform the Infant Sacrament and witnessed his wounds heal as they reabsorbed the blood they shed.
It would be impossible for her not to be interested.
“While you were sleeping so soundly, my lord, Sir Bernhard handled his duties perfectly. So much so that the people of the domain didn't even know you were asleep.”
He nodded at her jest.
“He’s doing well. That boy has always done his part.”
Ulrich took a sip of tea and continued.
“However, I wasn't asking about him, but about you. Bernhard is a boy I raised, so I have no worries about what he does out of my sight. But you? Roberta, have you been faring well as head priest?”
She averted her gaze.
“…You ask as if you don’t already know.”
“I thought there might have been some change, but it seems not.”
Just as Roberta’s interest in Ulrich had made no progress, her efforts as head priest to manage the parish had also stalled.
Upon her appointment, she had to travel all over Dithmarschen to restore the parish that her predecessor had ruined. The parish wasn't just suffering from a temporary administrative vacuum due to her predecessor's disappearance.
The position of head priest had changed thirteen times in sixteen years, and during that time, the temple had burned to the ground. The relationship between the temple and its congregation, built over generations, had been obliterated, both privately and publicly.
Now that he looked, her cheeks had thinned considerably.
“If you need help, speak up.”
Roberta let out a short sigh.
It was a sigh that carried the weight of her predecessors’ deeds.
“It’s alright. This is something I have to handle on my own.”
Ulrich hummed, studying her.
“It seems you didn’t come to see me about the parish.”
He narrowed his eyes.
“For what reason did you seek me out? Did Bernhard, that boy, ask you to?”
“Yes. Sir Bernhard asked me to see you, my lord. We have a visitor.”
“Tell me more.”
Roberta didn't answer immediately but looked at Kurth. Sensing the signal to leave, he led the girl out of the tent. Only then did she begin to speak.
“Do you know about dragons?”
Dragons?
The unexpected name made him tilt his head.
“The species with scales and wings. Not monsters.”
“Of course, I do. It would be strange if I didn't.”
“Have you ever seen one in person?”
“Certainly. My knowledge isn't just from books or stories. I have seen many of them as living beings. They possess very long lifespans. If one were to list the people I’ve formed connections with in chronological order, dragons would be at the very top of that list.”
He continued, figuring that if her curiosity had suddenly turned to the race of dragons, it must be because a peculiar visitor had come asking about them.
“Yes, that’s right.”
She nodded a few times.
“Someone is looking for a dragon. They say they need a guide.”
“Why? Why are they looking for a dragon now, of all times?”
When she replied that they wouldn't say, he furrowed his brow.
“I don’t understand. Of all the things to search for, why a dragon?”
“Is there a problem?”
“Perhaps.”
Ulrich pondered for a moment before asking.
“Roberta, how much do you know about dragons?”
“About dragons… I don’t know much. As you know, my lord, it’s very rare for them to appear in the world in their true form.”
She knew they were one of the races created by the gods when they resided in the heavens, and that after the gods departed, dragons occasionally intervened in the world in human form. Roberta replied that what she knew was limited to what was written in the scriptures.
Ulrich murmured, “That’s to be expected.”
“Dragons have rarely shown themselves in history. The last time one left its name was in a bygone era. In the age you live in, dragons are nothing more than mystical beings from fairy tales that appear in human form and then vanish. It’s only natural to think of them that way.”
He paused between each phrase.
As Ulrich began to speak, he felt memories from a distant past—so distant he hadn't even realized he'd forgotten them—surging forth.
It was a truly ancient memory. A story so old that even the dwarves and elves had failed to carry it on in their recorded histories, a story now severed from time. He was likely the only one left who had experienced it or remembered its history.
He couldn't be sure how much of the memory, diluted by oblivion, matched the facts of the past. He had to proceed cautiously, word by word.
Because what he said would be taken as historical fact, as a truth that no one else could refute, he had to be careful when testifying about an old history that others did not know.
“It’s a pity. The flow of history is not a continuous line. So much of it has been lost. The dwarves and elves are remembered because they established their own eras, left deep and lasting marks, and their numbers are still great today. But the dragons are being forgotten, having never had an era of their own.”
Ulrich cradled the teacup in both hands and looked down into it.
“Few people now know that the first intelligent beings were dragons. That a certain four-legged lizard was gifted with intellect and a name—Ruobeidra. And that he was a wise and affectionate dragon.”