Shin Translations

Early DAR Vol. 5 Chapter 17 Part 5

Added 2025-09-29 12:38:29 +0000 UTC

Full title: Starting a New Life for the Discarded All-Rounder

Note: If you found any typos/mistakes, pls write them in the comment. Thanks.

Translator: Airis

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“If even you say you were strict, then you really must have been harsh, right Uncle Gry? You don’t know your limits, and you always think by your own standards, so you end up being unreasonable. That’s probably why they resent you. The twins had stamina, so even with you training them, they could manage, but sometimes they were completely worn out. I had to take them outside or let them hide in my room just to give them a break, you know? Now it looks like they just ignore you when they need to and adjust for themselves.”

“That’s just another way of saying you corner them.”

Roa nodded to himself, convinced Uncle Gry needed to learn restraint.

If Uncle Gry had truly put them through training until he was satisfied, then even a hardy Gryphon would have felt like it was being worked to death. No wonder they bore him a grudge.

And that was every single day. It was doubtful they even had proper mealtimes or hours to sleep.

Roa had imagined Uncle Gry, the Dungeon Master, ruling with the oppression of a cruel lord. But the reality was even worse.

Abuse disguised as training. Uncle Gry had thought he was being generous, which made it all the more insidious.

<Well, well! The past doesn’t matter! What matters now is that these wretches have turned against me and dared to attack! Such insolence cannot be forgiven!>

Uncle Gry tried to cover up Roa’s accusation with a loud declaration.

He looked slightly awkward, but there was no sign of repentance.

That was Uncle Gry’s way; unless it concerned something truly important to him, he cared for nothing. If his training drove others to hatred, he would not regret it. If someone died in the midst of his training, he would simply say it was their fault for being too weak.

The only exceptions, at present, were Roa and the twin Magic Wolves.

Beyond them, even those who had earned a measure of his pity would be cast aside without hesitation. Even when he was at fault, he never concerned himself.

He had saved the soldier who was taken hostage only because Roa wished it. To Uncle Gry, letting the man die—or even killing him himself if he proved a nuisance—would have meant nothing.

<Hm? Brat, can you fall back a little?>

“Okay.”

Sensing something, Uncle Gry gave the order, and Roa obeyed at once. Holding the unconscious soldier, he hurried back.

Almost immediately, a stone wall surged up before Uncle Gry. It was the work of another Gryphon. Not positioned to block an attack, but to rob him of his vision.

<So, the one with earth magic has come to help! The coward who fled returns, relying on petty tricks!>

Uncle Gry unleashed Wind Cutter, shattering the wall.

As the stone collapsed, a torrent of thick vines poured through like an avalanche.

He slashed through the vines too, but their numbers were overwhelming. Each time they were cut, they regenerated, so his sight never cleared.

Then countless stone pillars sprouted from the floor, rising like a forest and filling the hall.

The vines wove between the pillars like serpents, still surging toward Uncle Gry.

He kept cutting with Wind Cutter, but the pillars hampered his swings, and his counterstrikes began to slow.

Annoyance colored his voice at the sheer quantity of attacks.

Alongside his Wind Cutter, he flung Fire Lances to burn the vines. The blades of wind smashed the pillars, the spears of flame scorched the vegetation. The blaze filled his sight with smoke and fire.

“Cough!”

Roa choked on the smoke of burning vines.

Even as he battled the surging vines and pillars, Uncle Gry stirred the wind to clear the air around Roa.

He maintained Wind Cutter and Fire Lance to break and burn the assaults, wind magic to defend, and wind currents to ventilate.

For ordinary humans, even one of those spells would demand concentration. Uncle Gry wielded four at once, in constant succession.

“Uncle Gry! Above you!”

<Quiet, brat.>

A massive block of ice, big enough to reach the lofty ceiling of the hall, plummeted from overhead.

Uncle Gry conjured multiple stone spears and sent them shooting upward, piercing the ice.

<Hmph. And behind the ice, you’ve hidden another strike, haven’t you?>

Smiling in confidence, Uncle Gry summoned countless globes of water above his head.

Earth magic for pillars, plant magic for vines, ice magic for the falling block.

And the Gryphon that had used fire had gone silent. Which meant only one thing: while the others pressed him, the fire-user had cooled its anger and was preparing a great spell.

That was his prediction. And to counter any attack, he chose water magic.

Through the shattered ice, the glow of fire shone. Uncle Gry’s foresight was correct.

But—

<What!? >

Between the broken ice and the enormous fireball waiting behind it, something had been hurled.

“Huh? The twins?”

One of the few things Uncle Gry could not strike.

It was one of the twin Magic Wolves—the red wolf.

Roa gasped. It should not have been here.

Its whole body was limp, its limbs and tail flailing helplessly in midair. Seeing it, both Roa and Uncle Gry froze in shock.

<Tch!>

Uncle Gry abandoned the water spheres and launched himself forward.

“Uncle Gry!”

<I’ve no time to draw it in with magic!>

He dove before the looming fireball, catching the red Magic Wolf in his beak. Curling his body, he turned his back to the blaze.

“Uncle Gry!”

The massive fireball struck Uncle Gry square in the back.

<What’s this? You think such a spark could break me?>

Wind magic flared across his back, halting the fireball just before impact. If it fell, Roa below would be caught in the flames. He had no choice but to hold it suspended and smother it.

Uncle Gry moved to extinguish it with the water spheres he had prepared—

But before they could strike, countless stone spears lanced into the globes and shattered them.

Some of the stone spears turned toward Uncle Gry, or more precisely, toward the red Magic Wolf he carried in his beak.

The Gryphons had judged that striking at the Magic Wolf would be more effective.

Attacking Uncle Gry directly was harder; targeting what he protected made their strikes more likely to land, and it forced him to expose himself as a shield.

They had also noted the other figure Uncle Gry was desperately guarding.

The one he would not even allow smoke to touch.

Of course, that was Roa.

Barbed vines slithered along the floor, lunging for him.

His voice now brimmed with true fury. Uncle Gry slashed down the stone spears and creeping vines with Wind Cutter. A tornado-like gale rose around Roa, reinforcing his defense.

Sensing Uncle Gry had grown serious, the Gryphons pressed their attack even harder.

With Uncle Gry moving farther from Roa’s side, the burden increased; he now had to split his defenses and counters between two fronts.

That alone doubled the strain.

Worse, the Gryphons were scattering their spells haphazardly, showing no pattern. The lack of rhythm forced Uncle Gry to respond with multiple spells at high precision.

The number of spells he was controlling simultaneously had already climbed past ten.

Though they were all elementary-level and his mana would not run dry, the effort was showing; Uncle Gry was beginning to look strained.

The Gryphons saw it. They judged his limit was near. And so they unleashed another trump card into the storm of spells.

“What!? Why!?”

Roa cried out.

What he saw was the blue Magic Wolf.

Like the red one before, its body hung limp as it was hurled into the air, flung from the Gryphons’ blind spot.

It arced toward a point between Roa and Uncle Gry.

He moved to weave defensive magic around the blue Magic Wolf, to catch it safely.

But at that moment, the enormous fireball at his back changed.

The crimson blaze turned to white, then blazed blue-white.

Its temperature was rising.

The closer a flame drew to blue, the hotter it burned.

Thousands of degrees for red or yellow, and ten thousand for blue.

<Guaaahh!>

A roar that broke into a shrill, piercing cry tore from Uncle Gry’s throat.

“Uncle Gry!”

The stench of burning filled the air. The heat of the blue-white fireball pierced even Uncle Gry’s defenses, searing his back.

<Brat! I’ll drop it to you—catch it!>

His face twisted with pain, Uncle Gry manipulated the wind, guiding the blue Magic Wolf down to Roa.

Roa caught it in his arms, cradling it tight. Warmth still filled its body, its heart still beat—it was only unconscious.

He let out a breath of relief, then something heavy covered him from above.

<…Forgive me…>

It was the familiar feel of that great pelt. Uncle Gry.

As his body lowered over them, Roa bent his knees and crouched to bear the weight.

Uncle Gry placed the red Magic Wolf, still clutched in his beak, into Roa’s care. Then, pushing Roa and the twins beneath him, he spread his vast wings and wrapped them all inside.

“…Uncle Gry?”

The scent that was usually warm, like sunlight, was now replaced with the acrid stench of burning.

Tremors shook the floor beneath them.

The blows were landing on Uncle Gry, the one shielding them with his own body.

Roa could not see through the wall of feathers enclosing them, but he knew: merciless attacks were raining down.

“Uncle Gry?”

<…>

Roa hugged the twins tightly in both arms. They were limp and unconscious, but their warmth remained.

<…Brat. This may be my end…>

With a sudden collapse, Uncle Gry’s knees buckled and his weight pressed down.

Roa could not resist; still clutching the twins, he toppled onto his side. Now they lay together, Uncle Gry’s body enfolding them all.

“…Uncle Gry? You’re joking, right!? Tell me this is a joke!!”

His body was still warm. His heartbeat still echoed. Though he had dropped his full frame upon Roa, he did not crush him; he still held back, supporting his weight with what strength remained.

Something warm and viscous trickled onto Roa’s hands.

It dripped from Uncle Gry’s body, sliding not only over his fingers but down his neck and across his cheek.

Roa turned his eyes away.

He could not look, could not confirm what he already knew—that Uncle Gry was wounded and bleeding.

<…Brat. At least, before the end…>

“Don’t say something so stupid! It’s not the end—it can’t be!”

Uncle Gry couldn’t fall.

He had been so confident, so overwhelming in his strength, fighting almost playfully.

Tears welled in Roa’s eyes.

“I’ll use a potion, right now!”

He tried to reach into the magic bag slung over his shoulder, but Uncle Gry’s body pressed down, blocking his arm.

“Uncle Gry! Please! Just lift yourself a little!”

<…Forgive me. I cannot.>

“That’s not true! The potion is right there!!”

It was within reach. A healing potion, one that could cure any wound.

The floor kept trembling.

The heavy, crushing thuds of countless strikes still falling, all aimed at Uncle Gry.

Roa clenched his eyes shut, imagining the agony Uncle Gry endured holding them off.

<…Brat. At the very least—tell me the names you would have given the twins…>

Roa clutched the limp wolves against his chest and buried his face in Uncle Gry’s blood-soaked pelt.

His hands tightened, his body pressed close.

The fur was dyed deep red. Uncle Gry’s life was draining away.

Roa swallowed down the sob that rose in his throat.

“Ugh… nghh… I thought I’d name them after ruby and sapphire…”

He could hardly form the words, speaking threatened to break into wailing.

<Ah… fitting indeed. Perfect for them.>

Uncle Gry’s voice was weakening.

“In old tongue, ruby is ‘Rubeus’ and sapphire is ‘Saphirus.’ But… those sound too stiff, not cute enough, so…”

Roa took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice.

He had thought about the twins’ names long before. Uncle Gry had told him they wanted names, and he could feel it from them as well.

But he had never brought himself to say it.

He hadn’t been sure he had the right… to make them his familiars at all.

“Cute and easy to call, so I’d take just a part of each: ‘Roo’ and ‘Phi.’ How about that?”

Roa smiled.

He didn’t want to tell the twins’ names with sorrow in his voice.

Clinging to that thought, he forced a smile, though his tears would not stop.

A light dizziness washed over him—the same sensation he’d felt with Uncle Gry and with Puffy.

It was the vertigo that came when a familiar contract was formed.

Even without the twins’ consciousness, the pact could still be sealed, Roa realized with a stray, ill-timed sense of wonder.

<…Kuh-kuh…>

Slowly, Uncle Gry’s body began to tremble.

“Uncle Gry!?”

At the convulsive motion, Roa panicked and cried out, thinking the pain of the assault had finally overwhelmed him.

<…Kuh-kuh-kuh… Fwah-hahahahahaha!! At last! At last! Brat, how much trouble must you make me go through!>

Roa couldn’t believe his ears. Uncle Gry was laughing—shaking with it from head to foot.

<Twins! No—Roo and Phi!! You heard him, didn’t you!?>

Uncle Gry heaved himself up, though moments before he had said he could no longer move.

<<We heard you——!!>>

At the sound of two adorable “voices,” Roa’s tears stopped in shock.

The twin Magic Wolves, who should have been unconscious, stirred in his arms.

<Roo!>

The red Magic Wolf—Roo—tapped Roa’s chest with a forepaw.

<Phi!>

The blue Magic Wolf—Phi—did the same.

Both fixed him with sparkling eyes.

<<We love you, Roa!!>>

With a burst of enthusiasm, the pair pressed their cheeks to either side of Roa’s face, rubbing him gently. Under normal circumstances it would have been bliss; Roa simply froze, stunned.

<Honestly, staging a near-death scene was tiresome. I lost count of how many times I nearly finished off those chicks and ended it. Hmph, how bothersome.>

Uncle Gry beat the wings that had been covering them. As they swept, wind spiraled around him, rippling outward. The gusts swatted aside every spell the Gryphons had cast—and, in the end, blew the Gryphons themselves away.

They slammed into the walls and were pinned there by the wind, crucified in place.

“Eh? Uncle Gry, you’re standing?”

Roa still couldn’t grasp what was happening.

Still lying down, hugging the twins, he looked up to find that Uncle Gry was, at some point, on his feet.

“But your injuries…”

<Injuries? I have none.>

“You’re bleeding…”

The red liquid peeled away from Uncle Gry’s body, gathering into floating water globes in midair. Beneath, not a single wound marred his pelt.

“The burns…”

“All that time you were being pelted and defending desperately…”

He declared it without a hint of remorse.

Roa could do nothing but stare up at him, dumbfounded.

The twin Magic Wolves wagged their tails in delight, rubbing themselves against Roa.

<Phi!>

The instant Uncle Gry said “twins,” indignant protests shot up from the red Magic Wolf, Roo, and the blue Magic Wolf, Phi. Now that they had names, they no longer wished to be called “twins.”

<…If you had named Roo and Phi from the start, I wouldn’t have needed all this trouble. My original plan was to build your confidence and have you give them names. When that failed, well… this was the result.>

Roa had simply lacked the confidence to become the twins’ master.

Since they had already accepted him, giving them names would automatically form the familiar contract; that was why he had refused to name them for so long.

So Uncle Gry had schemed in various ways to build Roa’s confidence, but it proved harder than expected.

Roa was stubborn to a fault and valued himself far too little.

Uncle Gry tried to let him gain confidence by having him fight his old acquaintances, Puffy and the others, but Roa dismissed it, saying they held back for his sake.

No matter how much the soldiers thanked him, he insisted they were overrating him.

Even when Puffy told him he had the makings of a Sage, Roa waved it off with a “not someone like me.”

He treated the purification of hordes of Undead as routine extermination and the use of potions—nothing he’d credit to his own skill. Holding off the Gigant Skeleton, the moving giant skeleton, was likewise “just work.”

Uncle Gry had meant to let him hunt magic beasts inside the Citadel Dungeon to build his confidence, but an insect provoked him and he burned the targets to ash himself.

Trying to make Roa cast a large spell under interference to prove himself only led to Roa unleashing strange, original magic that defied evaluation.

And in the end, because Roa shared mana with Uncle Gry through their familiar bond, he never counted any grand magic as his own ability.

In short, every attempt to build Roa’s confidence met with failure.

So Uncle Gry moved to the backup plan he had prepared: “Uncle Gry’s desperate crisis! At least tell me the twins’ names!”

Even a stubborn brat would heed a dying wish, or so the plan assumed.

If Uncle Gry trespassed into the Citadel Dungeon’s domain, the Gryphons who hated him would attack to kill. There he would feign defeat and grave injury, and draw the twins’ names from Roa.

For the record, the twins had been involved in the plan from the proposal stage.

There was even an idea to “die once” and have Roa to name them in a will, but feigning death felt a step too far, so they settled for “on the brink.”

By nature, Uncle Gry disliked forcing equals to do anything; compulsion was only for those beneath him. He also held that lying to peers was improper.

Even so, he went through with it out of something like parental concern; a desire to do right for the twin Magic Wolves.