Early DAR Vol. 5 Chapter 17 Part 3

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

Edit: Added new texts

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Nostalgia and the twins were effectively pinned down.

They wanted to chase after Roa and Uncle Gry, but movement was impossible.

The Gargoyle with the crushed frog-like head seemed to be a defensive device meant to obstruct intruders. If Nostalgia stayed put, the Gargoyles did not move. But the moment someone tried to take even a single step forward, they instantly shifted to block the way. They were fully committed to defense, never initiating an attack.

It was good they weren’t being assaulted, but being unable to move was equally dangerous. Since that earlier instance, the Gargoyles had shown no sign of the preparatory action in which blue light spiraled in their heads. There must have been a condition for activating it.

“All right, let’s do this!”

“Are you really sure about this?”

“Of course.”

To Cornelia’s worried tone, Dietrich responded with a grin.

One option was to wait here for Roa and Uncle Gry to return, since the Gargoyles weren’t attacking. But if other magic beasts struck, any attempt to fend them off could be interpreted as hostile action, causing the Gargoyles to join the assault. If that happened, annihilation would be unavoidable.

Before such a crisis arrived, they had agreed to destroy the Gargoyles while they still had a chance. The problem was how.

“You twins ready?”

“Baw!”

“Baw!”

“…You two look ridiculous.”

Kristoff’s dry remark overlapped with Dietrich and the wolves psyching themselves up. To put it bluntly, their appearance matched Kristoff’s word: ridiculous. They hardly looked like warriors preparing to fight a formidable foe.

Dietrich was holding the twins under each arm, one on each side like baggage.

“Don’t mock our ultimate form of friendship!”

“‘Ultimate friendship form’? What are you, children?”

“Shut it!”

The twins, delighted to be carried, wagged their tails in high spirits.

In Dietrich’s free hand gleamed a sword. Awkwardly, he couldn’t properly ready or swing it while carrying the wolves, but he clutched it tightly nonetheless. It was inlaid with mithril lines for channeling magic; this was the linchpin of their plan.

The Gargoyles ahead were using Reflect, a defense one could truly call impenetrable. Bernhart had explained the two countermeasures he had learned from Uncle Gry: overwhelm it with a spell of such force it couldn’t be reflected, or exploit a flaw in its control. Both options were impossible for Nostalgia’s members, and even for the Twin Magic Wolves the latter was hopeless.

But if the magic could be concentrated into a single pinpoint, as fine as a needle’s tip…

Dietrich’s and Bernhart’s own magic would never be strong enough. But if the twins focused their power into the sword’s tip, they might break through Reflect. By channeling their magic solely into the blade’s point, they might pierce it at once.

This was the reasoning behind Dietrich’s present stance, holding the twins while gripping the sword. The wolves’ forepaws were their most efficient channels for magic, so Dietrich’s role was to hold the sword steady for them to touch, and carry them close to the target.

There were two Gargoyles. The plan was for each wolf to imbue the sword with their magic in turn and strike one apiece. Because Reflect’s effect might cause unknown consequences, the rest of Nostalgia could do nothing but wait and trust.

“If this fails, we’re counting on you.”

“I know. I’ll splash it on you immediately, so don’t die.”

Cornelia shook several vials in her hand.

If the plan failed, the magic would rebound, striking Dietrich and the twins. For that contingency, Cornelia had been entrusted with Roa’s healing potion, to be poured over them at once.

Though it looked like play, this was a deadly gamble. If it failed, retreat was their only option.

“All right! Let’s go! Match my count—three, two, one!”

“Woof!”

“Woof!”

Dietrich drew in a deep breath and tightened his grip on the sword. The twins, limp in his hold so as not to hinder his movements, let their tails alone sway merrily.

He kicked hard off the ground and sprinted. Even burdened with the twins, his stride was smooth, closing the distance to the Gargoyles in an instant.

“Three!”

The constructs stirred, reacting to his charge.

“Two!”

Dietrich, ungainly but determined, thrust the sword straight before him. With the Gargoyle advancing to meet him, his aim was easier. He targeted the torso—predicting that, as a magic tool, its core components would be housed in the largest section.

The blue wolf thrust a paw forward, preparing to touch the sword.

“One!!”

“Woof!!”

At the same moment Dietrich drove the sword, the blue wolf brushed the hilt.

A bright azure glow lit the tip of the blade. With precise control, the wolf confined the magic to the very end of the point that was no larger than a needle’s head.

For an instant, the sword halted just centimeters from the Gargoyle.

“…The air is freezing?”

Dietrich muttered, closest to the sight. The empty space itself had begun to frost over, as if a thin eggshell of ice had formed. The surrounding air exhaled white mist. In that instant, the backlash seared his hand with burning cold, then the sword pierced forward without resistance.

“Baw!”

“Woof!!”

At the same instant the twins cried out in triumph, the blade pierced the Gargoyle’s torso.

They had broken through Reflect.

The Gargoyle froze solid, then shattered explosively into fragments.

“One down!”

Shards of the broken Gargoyle glittered as they rained down. Dietrich spun on his heel. The second Gargoyle remained; he couldn’t waste a breath on celebration. Suppressing the elation tugging at his lips, he charged the next target.

And in that tense moment, something wholly unexpected happened.

“Captain Eileen of the Nemophila Knight Order! I come to your aid!!”

A theatrical voice rang out absurdly.

The atmosphere froze.

From behind Nostalgia, a Fire Lance spell shot forth.

The blazing spear hurtled straight for the Gargoyle. By the time Nostalgia’s members noticed, it was far too late to stop it.

The worst possible development.

Though warped in shape—likely due to interference—the Fire Lance still carried more than enough destructive force.

“Tch!”

Dietrich clicked his tongue after a quick glance toward the source of the voice. An utterly unforeseen arrival. She was shouting about “aid,” but she was nothing but a hindrance; one could even call her an enemy ambusher.

Captain Eileen of the Nemophila Knight Order.

Neither Nostalgia nor the Twin Magic Wolves had noticed her presence. If they had, they would never have allowed such recklessness. If magic had been usable, Kristoff would have sensed her with Detection. If they had not been in the middle of an attack, one of the twins would have noticed. Call it inattentiveness in battle if you like, misfortune had simply piled up.

He could already feel the others behind him moving to deal with Eileen. Dietrich reset his focus. If he could handle this single shot, they could recover.

With a roar, the Fire Lance slammed into the Gargoyle, and at the same moment Reflect hurled it back. The spear of flame broke apart into a fireball and surged toward the nearest targets: Dietrich and the others. Apparently, reflected spells did not return to the original caster but instead flew at the closest enemy.

Startled, Dietrich began to shift his stance to evade the oncoming fireball.

The blue wolf moved first.

“Baw!”

With a short bark, it slipped free of Dietrich’s arm, kicked lightly off his abdomen, and sprang forward. The kick was so light Dietrich scarcely felt it, yet the blue wolf vaulted into his view, spun once in midair, and took the fireball full on with its own body.

A plume of white steam blasted out, stealing Dietrich’s vision. The blue wolf’s defensive ice magic had reacted with the fireball, turning into vapor.

Dietrich had seen a similar phenomenon during the twins’ sparring. If the magic had activated properly, the blue wolf would not be hurt.

“Can you do it!?”

“Baw!”

“On my mark—three!”

He checked with the red wolf still in his arm; a confident bark answered him. They had been interrupted, but the plan was not yet lost.

The smoke had not cleared; the Gargoyle’s exact position was hidden in the whiteout. Even so, as a defensive device it should not retreat. It ought to be right where he had last seen it.

Trusting only his instincts, Dietrich charged the target.

“Two!”

He leveled the sword, setting up for a thrust. Thanks to releasing the blue wolf, one hand was free to move as he wished.

“One!!”

“Baww!!”

When he lunged, the blade met the same unseen resistance as before, pausing just short of impact. Dietrich’s mouth curled; the Gargoyle was exactly where he had predicted.

Red light bloomed at the tip. The red wolf touched the sword and unleashed its magic. Heat gathered at the very point of the blade, and a hot gust burst forth, sweeping away the white haze shrouding Dietrich.

“Damn…”

As the steam cleared, he saw it: the Gargoyle’s head, with blue light swirling inside.

A windup for an attack.

So that blue light was a follow-up spell to capitalize on the opening, was it? Dietrich shifted his body a hair to one side, away from where the Gargoyle’s head was facing. He could not dodge broadly. The magic at the sword’s point was already active; if he moved too much, the thrust would miss and the attack would fail.

Just as he suspected, the light in the Gargoyle’s head was a retaliatory strike triggered immediately after it received a magic attack. Reflect would rebound the spell, and the follow-up would finish the staggered foe.

In other words, this too was because of Eileen’s Fire Lance.

The blue light in the Gargoyle’s head flared.

The glare made Dietrich squint.

“Kh!”

The flash lanced through his shoulder. Pain wrenched his eyes wide as he clenched his teeth and endured. The Gargoyle had fired Light Blade, a ribbon of light that cleaves what it touches. It struck the shoulder that held the red wolf.

Blood burst from the gash, and the strength in his arm began to fail. Fighting the urge to drop the wolf, Dietrich tightened his grip, and the wound spurted anew.

“Almost there!”

Before him, the empty air blackened and charred. The backlash from the red wolf’s magic reached Dietrich’s sword hand; combined with the remnants of the earlier assault on the first Gargoyle, his skin had begun to blister and burn. Even so, if this Gargoyle was the same model, the point should break through any moment now.

The instant that thought formed, the blade slid forward.

“Yes!”

He felt the give as Reflect was breached and the Gargoyle was destroyed. He cried out in triumph and looked to the red wolf to share the moment, a smile ready to praise their teamwork.

But what he saw was the red wolf limp and unconscious in his arms.

𑁋

Earlier that morning, just after parting from the main body of the survey team.

Eileen aimed straight for the center of the Citadel Dungeon. Only two people accompanied her. The rest of the Nemophila Knight Order had died in the unexplained killings; only those two remained. No other members of the Citadel Dungeon expedition came along. Having witnessed the reality of a land teeming with Undead and magic beasts, none chose the madness of pressing toward its heart.

Until now, Roa and Uncle Gry had been protecting them. Without that protection, marching on would surely mean death. In truth, it was a miracle that even two female knights from the Nemophila survivors agreed to follow her.

That was how reckless Eileen’s decision looked to anyone.

From the expedition camp to the Citadel Dungeon, the three of them pushed their horses to full speed. Not because they intended to arrive quickly; the situation simply left them no choice.

They were chased by Undead and magic beasts and had to flee for their lives.

Undead were drawn to the presence of the living. But the expedition camp lay near where Roa had been boiling “special healing potion”—holy water by another name—so the Undead avoided it and wandered in the in-between. When the three riders appeared there, pursuit was inevitable.

Driven from behind, Eileen’s group could not turn back. To survive, they ran their mounts ragged.

That they survived at all was a string of luck. Uncle Gry had traveled with the expedition, and his lingering scent deterred swift, cunning pack-hunters. Before parting, Roa had quietly treated every horse with potion, restoring them to peak condition. Above all, Uncle Gry had already defeated the Greater Lich.

A Greater Lich raises the incidence of Undead simply by existing—the king of the Undead indeed. With it gone, all Undead in the area had weakened.

Had it still reigned, the three would have been surrounded by Undead drawn to their living scent—and by now would likely have joined their ranks.

Fate can turn on the smallest triggers.

Eileen, however, credited survival to her own luck and prowess, and rejoiced. Under the influence of “combat drugs,” her skewed thinking could arrive at no other conclusion.

When they reached the fortress walls of the Citadel Dungeon, the Undead pursuing them strangely vanished. Eileen chalked it up to fortune again.

In truth, Roa and Nostalgia had set up purification-barrier magic tools for the sake of their horses. Rather than release the animals where Undead roamed, they had tethered them and planted barrier devices, judging it would raise their chances of survival.

Eileen’s party soon found those very horses. Nearby yawned the underground passage Uncle Gry had dug with earth magic, a tunnel leading inside.

They scarcely paused to think. There was a hole, so of course they used it, and entered the Citadel Dungeon.

Inside, everything had been scorched by fire magic; not a magic beast, not even an insect remained.

Thanking her good fortune, Eileen climbed upward. At first she showed a little caution, but after several floors her guard slackened and her pace quickened. Progress was so smooth she relaxed completely. Deciding the Citadel Dungeon was mere bluster and nothing to fear, she finally stumbled upon a battlefield, and adventurers were fighting there.

Adventurers… the members of Nostalgia were doing something suspicious. One of them fought alone, while the others hung back, keeping their distance and simply watching.

One of them, clutching a Magic Wolf under each arm, was charging straight at two unfamiliar, stone-like beasts.

It was a bizarre, faintly comical scene; he almost looked like a clown performing acrobatics.

And yet, before their eyes, the adventurer felled one of the stone beasts.

If a monster could be slain even amid such foolery, then surely they could bring it down as well.

Even if it was mere bravado, this was the notorious Citadel Dungeon. Boasting a victory over its monsters would add prestige.

They would be fêted, hailed as heroes.

Upon their triumphant return from the Citadel Dungeon, this deed would adorn the tale of valor. An episode in the saga starring Eileen.

With that thought, Eileen decided to intervene and finish off the remaining beast.

She ordered Heather, the most adept in magic among the female knights, to cast a spell; at the same time she raised her sword and cried out:

“Captain Eileen of the Nemophila Knight Order! I come to your aid!!”

Conscious of the dramatic set piece, she proclaimed it gallantly and with full poise.

Nostalgia’s members, who had not even noticed their approach, turned toward them in surprise. Eileen almost felt her lips curl as she imagined those eyes shifting to envy and then praise after the monster fell, but she forced herself to hold the moment.

Heather’s Fire Lance, for some reason, manifested in a malformed state, shedding dazzling light as it crumbled on its way toward the stone beast.

Perhaps as backlash from the unstable spell, a lukewarm breeze swept past and stirred Heather’s short hair.

“Do not move. If you do, I will tear your throat open.”

A sudden sting at her neck like a needle, then a man’s voice sounded from behind.

“You lot as well—don’t move. You know what happens to this woman if you do.”

Before she realized it, her sword had been taken; her arm was wrenched up behind her back, and Eileen could not move.

“Lady Eileen! You cur—!”

Evelyn’s harsh shout rang out. Eileen herself could not speak, the cold edge at her throat silencing her. The man who had seized her was one of Nostalgia: one who, moments earlier, had been fighting at the front.

“You meddled where you shouldn’t! If anything happens to our leader, I’ll butcher every last one of you!”

His voice crashed over them, heavy with fury. The killing intent, keen as a honed blade, froze them in place.

He meant it. The weapon pressed to Eileen’s throat was an Assassin Knife, its razor-edged blade gleaming as though it were the embodiment of his murderous will.

“…Meddled? We were trying to help you—”

Evelyn spoke to placate him, but the man would not spare her even a glance. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, on where his comrades fought.

“Look—because of you, our leader is wounded.”

“What?”

Prodded by his words, they looked. Their leader was still fighting even as blood spurted from his shoulder.

He was unleashing magic at point-blank range; the narrow space between him and the stone beast discolored, scorched as if a pane of glass between them were being seared by fire.

White mist drifted through the air, proof that much had changed in the moment their eyes had been forced away.

“!?”

Eileen saw it—a black, whip-like appendage snapped out from behind the stone beast. It traced a wide arc to slip out of the fighter’s field of view and curled around behind him.

It happened in an instant.

Only because she watched from a distance did she notice at all. There was not even time to shout a warning.

No one locked in combat could have sensed a strike so deftly aimed at a blind spot.

The black whip’s tip speared into the Magic Wolf the man was holding.

At that same moment, the Gargoyle was run through by a sword, scattering sprays of sparks all around.

𑁋

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