Chapter 23

Journey

Monsters originally referred to the creations of the evil gods. In the age of gods, when Kunkan, Takna, and Galpa wielded their divine powers in the heavens, the beings they planted in the world were called monsters.

However, as time passed, the meaning of the word changed. Since the creations of the evil gods either no longer served their creators or had perished, the number of beings that could be called such greatly diminished.

Thus, “monster” became a derogatory term used to refer to any animal that committed evil acts, even if it was not a creation of the evil gods. The creatures that attacked Luman’s village were an example of this.

About eighty years ago, a horde of monsters reached the County of Goeten.

No one knew where they had originally been born or how they had arrived. What was certain was that they had not come from the Ice Peninsula. Dithmarschen stood in their way—while a single creature might slip through, a group could not.

They had heads like pigs, walked on two legs like humans, and were slightly taller than dwarves. Their intelligence was lower than that of giants, so they could not use language. However, their reproduction rate surpassed that of any other monster. When they were first discovered, their numbers had already reached into the hundreds.

Even so, it should not have been a serious problem. This was a county, after all. And it was long before the Kingdom of Osnover fell into civil war. Surely the Count of Goeten could have handled a mere horde of monsters.

The problem was their broken vigilance.

A man who had married into Dithmarschen in the north had ruled for over two hundred years. As he culled the monsters of the Ice Peninsula, the people of the south gradually let their guard down.

‘As if monsters would come here.’

Even if one did happen to cross over, it would surely be a weak creature.

The soldiers who should have guarded against monsters were instead wasted fighting over scraps of land, and the monsters grew into a legion unopposed. When the Count of Goeten faced them in his nightclothes, he must have realized his own folly.

That was when Ulrich of Dithmarschen moved. Upon hearing the news, he led monster hunters and hunted down the horde that had become a legion.

The monsters, which had been capturing humans and increasing their numbers, fled—and their final destination was Luman’s village. The boy Luman was one of the children who survived that day.

Summer sunlight poured in through the wide-open window of the room.

Village chief Luman stood before Ulrich, supporting his frail body on his thin legs. With equally thin hands, he held Ulrich’s.

Unmoved by the old man’s actions, Ulrich closed his eyes as if lost in thought. Reflected in Luman’s cloudy gaze, he appeared young—so young that he looked younger than Luman’s grandson. But in truth, he was far older than Luman.

Some claimed that he had come to the frozen north more than three hundred years ago. Luman had no way of knowing whether that claim was true or false. Nor did he care to know.

There was only one thing that mattered.

The man before him was the same person Luman had met when he was nine years old—the one he had met only once in his life.

“I remember now.”

Ulrich said as he opened his eyes.

“There was a child who fled while carrying his sister on his back.”

“That’s right. You remember.”

Luman smiled deeply across his wrinkled face. He too remembered that day. Even now, after eighty years, whenever he tried to recall it, the memory surfaced with unnatural clarity.

Time usually blurred even the memories one swore never to forget, painting them over as mere nostalgia. But that day was an exception.

It had been an afternoon when the world was dyed red—whether by the sunset or by flames, he could not tell. Monsters appeared and killed the adults. The children were taken, and the boy’s sister was wounded.

Luman had struck down one monster with his father’s sword, then fled across an open plain with his sister on his back, with nowhere to hide. His sister weakly told him to leave her behind, but the boy, his voice choked with tears, refused.

The siblings had nowhere to run. Even children without burdens could not escape—their steps were too slow. How could a boy carrying his sister outrun them?

He felt his sister’s blood soaking his back. He heard the footsteps of the pursuing monsters growing louder. Eventually, when the boy stumbled, the monsters seized the two of them.

That was when Ulrich arrived—with his companions.

“When I collapsed, it was you, Lord Ulrich, who helped me up.”

“And your sister? Her wounds were severe.”

“Fortunately, a priest healed her. She suffered no lasting injury and lived a healthy life. She passed away twenty years ago. Among the children you saved, I was the youngest… that is why I am still alive today.”

Thirteen villagers survived that day.

All of them were children who had not yet come of age, so they could not sustain the village. Only after Ulrich brought adults from other settlements that had suffered similar damage and helped them settle was the village barely restored.

After that, he installed a new lord in the vacant position of Count of Goeten. She was someone from the Hilderson clan. The Countess of Goeben exempted the affected regions—including Luman’s village—from taxes for several years, helping them recover.

There is a saying: the ground hardens after rain. Luman believed his life was like that. Though swept away by the storm, once it passed, his life had only risen upward. Of course, the scars left by the storm remained and troubled him for the rest of his life—but he had endured.

“I once sent tribute… did you know?”

“I don’t recall that. You sent tribute?”

“Yes. We thought it was the only way we could repay you…”

Ulrich shook his head.

“That was a mistake. Did you think such things held any meaning to me?”

It was as he said. After finding stability, Luman and the other survivors had sent him several tributes. But no matter how many times they sent them, they were returned. Sometimes, they even came back in greater quantity. After witnessing that, they could no longer bring themselves to send anything again.

“…Adnan must have done that.”

Ulrich referred to the retainer who had served him at the time.

“He had blue hair, correct?”

“You know him. Did you meet him?”

“When we came to see you, he received us.”

At the time, Luman had thought that if tribute would not be accepted, he would at least express his gratitude in person. So he came to Dithmarschen with his sister, but the lord was in a deep sleep. Instead, an old knight named Adnan received the siblings.

Adnan had said this:

“The lord does not wish for such things. How many lives do you think he has saved? The more each of you does this, the more of a burden it becomes for him.”

And he sternly told them never to come again.

“That sounds like him—Adnan.”

Ulrich nodded lightly with a faint smile.

“He always said he served me, but in truth, it would be more accurate to say he protected me. He would act ahead of me, doing what I should have done, and kept things from reaching me. He was like a nanny.”

“To us, he was simply frightening.”

“That would make sense.”

Luman gave a bitter smile.

“At the time, I thought we were terribly unlucky.”

“It must have been when I was asleep. The timing was unfortunate.”

“Yes, that’s right. But… in the end, we meet like this.”

Fate was truly strange, Luman said as he examined Ulrich’s appearance. It was not merely that he looked young—he appeared exactly as he had on that day, when he had stood before nine-year-old Luman.

The boy had grown into an old man, having lived long enough that his end could come at any moment, yet Ulrich had not changed at all. It was as if the past itself had been placed directly into the present.

There was no doubt in Luman’s mind. Who would fabricate such a lie just to deceive an old man in such a remote place? And who could recreate his past appearance so perfectly?

At times, Luman had thought his life was too long. It had not been painful, but it had felt endlessly monotonous. Yet now, in this moment, he felt as though he finally understood why it had been so long.

Ulrich stayed in Luman’s village for only one day.

Even though passing through the Snow Forest had given them extra time, he showed no intention of lingering before reaching Iselburg. Luman gently suggested that they stay for a few more days, but Ulrich shook his head.

However, their departure the next day was delayed until the afternoon. There were several infants in the village who had not received the sacrament, as well as people suffering from minor illnesses. For some reason, the priests of Goeten had not been visiting Luman’s village.

No matter how incompetent or corrupt a priest might be, they could not delay such rites lightly. Roberta herself had completed the year’s sacraments before setting out on her journey. Yet such an absurd situation was unfolding before her eyes.

Finding it strange, she asked Ulrich for permission to perform the rites and healing in place of Goeten’s priests. That was why they did not leave the village until after noon.

“Lord Ulrich.”

As the group led their horses out of the village, Luman and the villagers came to see them off. The villagers’ gazes were fixed on Ulrich—it seemed they had heard something from Luman.

“Do you see them? These are the children you saved.”

Luman approached Ulrich and spoke. Günter tried to support him from the side, but Luman refused, standing on his frail legs on his own. Then he extended his arm and pointed toward the villagers.

The nine-year-old boy Luman had grown up and fathered six children. Those six had also grown and had children of their own. The twelve who had survived alongside him had followed similar paths.

To them were added a few refugees of similar circumstances. Time had passed, and now eight tens had become nearly two hundred—the number of people forming the village approached that.

Some might scoff. It was still just a small village, after all. But as Roberta looked at it, she was reminded of a certain story about humanity.

Hestio—when he descended from the heavens and gave fire to humanity, the number of humans had not even reached this many.

“I have taught the children about you. And I will continue to do so. Even when I die, my descendants will remember your name and pass on what you have done…”

“No. Do not do that.”

Ulrich shook his head.

“I merely kept you from falling off a cliff. It was you who climbed back up. I did not raise you. Even if everything is given, it is meaningless without the will to act.”

“Lord Ulrich—”

“With time, gratitude turns into faith. There is no need for you to bind yourself to me. You have proven your life on your own.”

“…Do you think my life has been a good one?”

“Yes. More than I had hoped.”

The boy who had become an old man smiled silently.

Seeing that smile, Ulrich mounted his horse. With only a slight bow of his head in farewell, he turned and moved on. Roberta and Fritz followed behind him.

The village lay in the middle of a wide, open plain. Even after they had traveled some distance, if they looked back, they could still see Luman and the villagers watching them.

As Fritz kept glancing back, wondering when they would finally return inside, Ulrich spoke.

“Roberta, do you remember the ruins we saw on the Ice Peninsula?”

The ruins of the Ice Peninsula—impossible to forget.

“You mean… the civilization from before human history?”

They had taken shelter from a snowstorm in a tower, just one day before the fifteenth day since entering the Ice Peninsula to meet the dragon called Narbakayani.

On the wall of that tower were inscriptions left by ancient people. Written in an ancient script, Ulrich had said they meant: “We die here.” She had found it ominous, like the final cry of a lost civilization.

“There was more written after that.”

“Was there?”

“It said that even in death, they would not be defeated.”

She stared quietly at his back as he rode ahead.

“I like those words.”

Though his back had no expression, she felt as though she had glimpsed a faint smile.

“Though their civilization may be destroyed, it carries the meaning that humanity will achieve its purpose. Humans were not created to be defeated—so even if they meet death, they will rise again.”

Was that why he had come to Luman’s village?

He had said it was to shorten the journey, but perhaps in truth, he had chosen this path to revisit old memories. To him, Luman’s village might have been a place to confirm that a human who once fell had risen again.

And perhaps the road ahead would be the same. For a man who had lived through long ages under many names—Ulrich, Laurent, Oscar—this journey itself was a path through memories.

“…That’s a truly wonderful sentiment.”

Roberta smiled softly and guided her horse to Ulrich’s left. Fritz followed along on his right.

The three of them rode beyond the horizon.

The sun still hung high in the sky, yet they descended beneath the line where earth and sky met.

Luman watched their departing figures—

until the very moment they disappeared from sight.