Grimgal of Ashes and Illusion - Volume 14.1 - Chapter 4.06

6. Good

The red moon looked down as if laughing at them.

Wezel headed west and further west.

Ranta followed behind him, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings as he walked.

It was dawn in the forest. He couldn’t even see his feet. Not that this scared him. Doing dangerous things was, well, dangerous. Even Ranta would, just occasionally, trip, or step on something weird and think, Ew. Creepy was creepy, you know? But still.

Wezel walked without hesitation, as though he could see clearly. That was strange, no matter how you looked at it.

“Hey,” Ranta put in.

“...What?”

“I’ve been wondering. Do you gray elves have good night vision?”

“Tch, tch, tch, tch...” Wezel had a good laugh, then stopped and beckoned Ranta.

It felt like he might stab Ranta if he carelessly wandered over, but if the elf was gonna do that, then so be it.

I’d cut him up before he could stab me. I mean, seriously, killing him’d be easy.

When Ranta walked over, Wezel spread both arms upwards, narrowing his eyes and breathing deeply.

His red pupils sparkled ominously. Like his eyes were shining. Did it just look like that? No, no matter how many times he checked, they really were shining.

“Ruwintimroti... Ruwingwinbodoichiewiris...”

It was a low voice, different from when he talked, far too low.

Was he chanting a spell?

“Yeruwifi...” Wezel continued. “Imatebuimugaruwado... Tiwiyesuburidirevad... Igolusingweldinoswun...”

Suddenly, Ranta heard another whisper, separate from Wezel’s chanting.

What was this?

There were many whispers, going back and forth, not in any particular language—but something was strange.

Ranta tried plugging his ears.

I knew it, he reflected. He could still hear them. Why could he still hear them?

“Is this... what shamans do?” Ranta asked hesitantly.

Wezel pointed both hands at him.

“Whoa!” Ranta’s threw his head back involuntarily.

He didn’t know what it was. It might have had no form, no mass, but something—that was all he could call it—something had come at him.

Not just come at him, but come inside him.

It flowed in, racing around his body.

“Hah?!” Ranta shouted.

Suddenly, his eyes brightened.

“It’s bright...!”

He felt like the glare of the sun was shining straight into his eyes.

Ranta blinked. Nothing changed. It was still bright.

“This is... incredible,” he said, awed.

“It is Mooncraft,” said Wezel. “The most basic kind.”

“If you had this kind of convenient magic, you could’ve cast it on me sooner,” Ranta griped.

“It is not magic.”

“It’s close enough.”

“It is different. Completely different. They are similar, but not.”

Wezel started walking. His eyes must have been shining because of his shaman technique. If so, were Ranta’s eyes shining now, too?

Walking through the forest that seemed as bright as midday, Ranta realized it wasn’t always bright. It seemed that when the moon was behind the clouds, it got dark.

“Mooncraft, huh,” Ranta murmured. “I get it now.”

That aside, though, Wezel had strong legs. When they were resting, he didn’t lie down, just sat, and once they started walking again, he wouldn’t rest for quite a while.

Ranta had confidence in his own stamina, but he was in awe of Wezel’s toughness. Still, though, no matter what, he wouldn’t say, Uh, hey, I’m pooped. This’s tough. Let’s rest.

“Hold on,” Ranta said suddenly. “Weren’t we going south...?”

He had gotten sick of suffering in silence, so he’d just muttered that to himself, but Wezel actually engaged with him for once.

“You came from... where?” the gray elf asked.

“Thousand Valley.”

“South of there... the Nargia Highlands... did you cross them?”

“Nah. The security there was crazy tight, so I wasn’t getting through there.”

“...I’ll bet.”

“I went back and forth, wandering for over a year—going through the mountains, and stuff. I saw the Nehi Desert, too. Didn’t set foot in there, though, obviously.”

“Wise.”

“In the end... Let’s see, today would be the 1,113th day, so it’s been three years and change, huh.”

“South of here is...” Wezel looked towards the south for an instant. “...Lake Gandah. On the shore of that lake is what was once the city of Arabakia... Rodekia.”

“I know the name, but that’s it,” Ranta said. “It’s not Rodekia anymore, right?”

“Grozdendahl. It is a major base for the forces of the alliance.”

“The alliance—Wait, you don’t mean... the Alliance of Kings?”

“Tch, tch, tch...” Wezel’s shoulders heaved with laughter, but he gave no answer.

“The Alliance of Kings is gone now, isn’t it?” Ranta said slowly. “So why...?”

Long ago, the No-Life King had supported orcish, goblin, kobold, and gray elf kings, urged them to cooperate, and together they’d formed the Alliance of Kings.

The Alliance of Kings had destroyed human kingdoms like Ishmar, Nananka, and Arabakia one after another, and then, at the strong request of the orcish king and others, the No-Life King had become the emperor, establishing the Undying Empire.

However, when the No-Life King, who was supposed to be undying, had died, the situation had changed completely.

With no emperor appearing to succeed him, the Undying Empire had fallen into pieces. With the alliance fractured, the undead race created by the No-Life King now held power in the former lands of Ishmar, and the orcs were in the former lands of Nananka. Meanwhile, the comparatively weaker goblins had put down roots in Damuro, while the kobolds set up a base in the Cyrene Mines.

That was the human understanding of the situation, at least.

But it had been a long time since Ranta’s departure from Alterna. The situation might have changed by now.

There was something about this that bugged him, or rather, something he remembered.

Soma had said there were signs indicating the revival of the No-Life King, and he’d established the Day Breakers to infiltrate Undead DC in the former domain of the Kingdom of Ishmar.

Ranta was, technically, a member of the Day Breakers, but he hadn’t been particularly close to Soma or any of the others. He hadn’t been given any detailed information, and it was unclear whether there were actually any signs warning of his return or not. Still, he didn’t think Soma was bluffing. Soma didn’t feel like the kind of guy who would do something that underhanded.

So the man had most likely found something out.

And, the fact was, the Alliance of Kings was on the move.

“Hey, Wezel,” Ranta spoke up. “What’s in Undead DC?”

“Ishidua Rohro. It is the home of King Ishi, the king of the undead.”

“Ishidua? Sounds familiar.”

“If so... that is not surprising.”

“Is he famous or something?” Ranta asked.

“King Ishi... was the prince of Arabakia.”

“Uh...?”

“He received the blood of the No-Life King... turning him into an undead. He was... a loyal vassal. The No-Life King’s closest associates... were the Five Princes. He was one of them.”

“Hold on...” Ranta said slowly. “Just wait. Humans are given blood? And they become undead?”

“To give their own blood, and create undead... is something that only the No-Life King, and the Five Princes... were said to do.”

“So, if the term’s Five Princes, that means there are four more of those guys?”

“The Grand Prince of Igor, Deres Pain,” Wezel said. “The double arm progenitor, Gyabigo the Dragon Hunter.”

“Double arm... Wait!”

The undead in Forgan, the four-armed Arnold. He’d been a double arm, too.

If Gyabigo was the progenitor, did that mean he’d been the first double arm? That Dragon Hunter nickname probably wasn’t just for show, either. He probably had killed a dragon.

“And the other two?” Ranta asked slowly.

“The wielder of the original magic, Architekra. And Ainrand Leslie. Leslie’s whereabouts are unknown.”

“Ainrand... Leslie... Hey, is that Ainrand Leslie of the Leslie Camp?”

“On our side, he is also called Kidnap Leslie... Leslie the Kidnapper. In forests and wastelands, his home suddenly appears. You must never approach. Those invited in... never return.”

“I’ve heard stories along those lines myself, too,” Ranta nodded. “So Ainrand Leslie is an undead big shot? Seriously...?” Ranta sighed. “We really don’t know anything, do we?”

“You people, humans, are... insects here in Grimgar. Poisonous insects. Vermin. You were exterminated, driven to the frontier... and yet you returned.”

Originally this land humans called the frontier had been the mainland of Grimgar.

The remnants of Arabakia’s forces and its people had been chased away by the forces of the Alliance of Kings, escaping to the south of the Tenryu Mountains.

That area had been undeveloped land, blocked off by the Tenryu Mountains and the dragons. That was the true frontier.

But humans didn’t want to acknowledge that they had been driven from the center of civilization. So they had started to call the wild lands that had been frontier land in the south “the mainland.”

Basically, the reason humans called this land “the frontier” was out of bruised pride.

Wezel kept walking in silence.

By the time the sky brightened, the effects of Mooncraft had faded.

The two of them stopped by a mountain village. There were about twenty or so shacks clustered together in between the mountains. It was an insignificant thorp.

One orc stood in their way. He had a curved blade hanging at his waist. His messy hair was not dyed. He was tall, and well-built, but his left leg was a prosthetic made with a mix of metal and wood. On top of that, he was blind in both eyes, as if they had been gouged out.

“Ahyeah! Wezelred!” The orc called out to Wezel without drawing his blade.

He was clearly blind, but apparently he could see them somehow.

Wezel approached the orc. “Mugoh Sugedd. Lontai nosee.”

They greeted one another by bumping fists. The orc’s name was Mugoh, and the two were apparently acquainted.

There was a flat rock in the middle of the village, and a well was dug next to it. Mugoh, Wezel, and Ranta sat down together on the rock.

For acquaintances, Mugoh and Wezel didn’t talk much. They seemed to just be relaxing. Maybe they were closer than passing acquaintances, and they could feel at ease when they were together.

The villagers gradually gathered around, and they stared at Ranta from a distance. Many of them were orcs, but there were a number of undead, too. There were also a few gumows, not many. They were all dressed in shabby clothes.

The surprising thing was that the orcs, the undead, and the gumows were all equal in their poverty. As far as he could see, these gumows weren’t being treated as slaves.

“What kind of village is this?” Ranta asked.

After a short time, Wezel spoke. “Those who absolutely reject fighting... exist, too. But it is seen as... cowardice.”

“So this is a village of hermits, or something?”

“Tch, tch, tch...” Wezel’s shoulders heaved with laughter. “Mugoh, and his fellows... live here. That is all.”

“Well, we all have our own ways to live,” Ranta shrugged.

“And our own ways to die... Yes.”

One little orc who must have been a child hesitantly approached. He was asking Wezel something in Orcish.

Wezel stood up. It looked like they were going somewhere, and the orc kid was leading the way.

There wasn’t anything for Ranta to do, staying put here all alone. So he decided to tag along.

The two went to a hovel. It was a home made with pillars standing in the ground, surrounded by mud walls, and a simple thatch roof. Still, it had been constructed carefully, and the floor was covered in straw mats.

In a sleeping spot where straw had been piled on top of the mats, there was a single orc lying on his side. Unlike the orc that led them here, this one was no child. He was an adult.

He was constantly coughing, and seemed to be having an awfully rough time. He must have been weakened with sickness. He was emaciated.

Wezel knelt next to that orc.

The orc let out an intense cough, and hacked up something dark black. It wasn’t so much blood as bloody phlegm.

The kid was constantly rubbing the older orc’s back, but he wouldn’t stop coughing.

The orc finally shoved the kid away, as if to say, Enough. Stop it. Even that gesture was weak.

Wezel gave an order to the kid in Orcish.

The orc kid seemed to accept it, and he moved away from the adult orc, then sat down in the corner of the little house.

Making sure that he had, Wezel leaned in close to the adult orc’s ear to ask something.

The orc coughed, hacking up bloody phlegm, then nodded his head.

“Oh, I get it,” Ranta realized. “Wezel, you are a wandering shaman, after all. Lumiaris’s light magic isn’t that good against disease, though, from what I hear.”

“This is beyond me,” Wezel said. “No one can treat a deadly illness... not even the beings we call gods.”

“Huh? Then...”

Wezel took a little paper envelope from the leather bag which hung at his waist. Inside, there was a white powder. He put the powder into the leather water bottle which hung over his shoulder, then shook it.

Wezel turned his face towards Ranta. “Help me.”

“...Sure.”

Ranta had the orc sit up. Wezel passed the water bottle to the orc, but he was coughing badly. It looked like, in his weakened state, he didn’t even have the strength to lift the bottle.

“Make him drink it,” Wezel told him, so Ranta did as he was asked.

The orc took one sip from the bottle, but then immediately coughed it back up.

“No,” Wezel said. “Make him drink it. Every last drop.”

“Fine. If you say make him drink it, I’ll make him drink it...”

Now Ranta was feeling stubborn. He helped the orc to drink the contents of the bottle a little at a time. By the time he finished, the coughing had mostly stopped.

He lay the orc back down. Maybe he was at ease now, since his breathing was more relaxed. His eyes were opened only slightly, like he was half asleep.

The orc child approached, and sat next to the orc. The orc stared at him.

Wezel suddenly stood, then went outside, just like that.

“Ah! Hey!” Ranta hurried after him.

Wezel walked like he was going for a stroll.

Even when Ranta caught up, and walked alongside him, Wezel didn’t even look at him.

“Wezel, you... What did you make me give that orc?” Ranta asked.

He wasn’t expecting an answer. He thought Wezel would ignore him.

“A powerful drug.”

Wezel answered so easily, Ranta was actually surprised.

“So... poison, then,” he said.

“Anything... can be medicine or poison, depending how it is used.”

“And how did you use it?”

“He will... sleep soon. He will not wake. It is the eternal sleep.”

“You killed him?” Ranta asked.

“Tch, tch tch...” Wezel’s shoulders heaved with laughter, and he came to a stop. “Yes. He will sleep... and soon after, die.”

“Is that... what the kid asked you to do?”

“No.”

“What?”

“The child only said, ‘My father is sick. He’s suffering. Do something, please.’”

“You’re telling me that you pretended to give him medicine, and then made him drink poison instead?”

“He is not going to make it,” Wezel said simply.

The gray elf was likely telling the truth.

The orc probably had lung cancer, or something, and it was terminal. Every breath brought him pain too great to express in words. For that orc, every second was torture.

Of course, he wouldn’t want to leave his child behind. Still, that was what would inevitably happen.

Soon, that orc would be dead. He must have known his life was coming to an end.

The kid probably had known that, too.

“I saved him,” Wezel said. “That is all.”

“Man, just how many people have you... killed like that?”

Ranta didn’t expect an answer.

Wezel gave none, just a faint smile.