The Lord of the Rust Mountains (Complete) Page 7

  “Hmm, well...”

  Thori came up with a few examples: complaints about the noise from the smithy, trouble that was being caused by lifestyle differences between dwarves and men, and several bread-and-butter matters. I took out a copper writing implement that was a combination of a pen and an inkwell, and noted everything he said on the back of a miswritten document. Paper was too valuable to waste, so I kept a bundle of them on me for memo use.

  “Oh? That portable pen is well made.”

  “I had Agnarr make it for me some time ago.”

  “That explains it. Agnarr’s work is good.”

  A portable writing implement was quite a difficult thing to make, but he had made it straight away for me when I asked. There really were a lot of talented craftsmen among the dwarves.

  “And... there have been a lot of people moving into this city recently, both humans and dwarves. We can’t complain, I mean, that’s what we did too. But that doesn’t mean we can always find jobs for them...”

  “You do have a point.”

  “But it’s not healthy for fit young people to be idling around all day not working.”

  “Yes, it could even have an effect on crime.” I nodded.

  It was good that more people were coming to this area as word of its development got around, but it was obvious that it wasn’t going to be easy to find jobs for all of them. There were a variety that had been created: the loading and unloading of cargo at the river port, the civil engineering and construction needed to turn the ruins back into a city, commerce and industry jobs, the timber trade, and even service jobs at eateries and taverns. However, that still didn’t make it easy to continually create enough employment to support dozens of new people.

  Having a job is important. The feeling of contributing to society brings self-esteem to us humans, and if the job is lost, the self-esteem goes with it. At the same time, losing your job means losing your income. Everyone gets panicky and concerned when they’re financially insecure and have no idea what tomorrow will bring. People with low self-esteem who are full of anxiety and feeling pressured often only need one little push to turn to crime. They kind of get into a state where excuses for crime seem reasonable.

  For instance:

  “I’ve been backed into this terrible situation, so what do you expect?”

  “I have no choice; I’m doing it to survive.”

  “There’s no way I’m going to live much longer anyway, so I’ll just let loose and do whatever I want.”

  “There’s nothing else I can do. I have no future anymore anyway. I’m not the only one to blame for this; society and everyone else who pushed me this far are just as much at fault. And even if I steal a little from this guy, it’s not like it’s going to kill him. Come on, be brave! Do it now!”

  ...And so on.

  You might wonder how I could imagine something like that. The answer is that the terrible state I got myself into in my previous world hadn’t counted for nothing. I could roughly predict the thoughts of people on the precipice and those who weren’t far off.

  Anyway, an increase in people like that meant more crime. Of course, there would certainly be people who would admirably endure their situation and not resort to crime, but there would also be perfectly ordinary people who couldn’t endure and would resort to such things. Since both groups existed in a certain proportion, an increase in the crime rate was going to be unavoidable the moment you upped the number of jobless, anxious people. And if you couldn’t avoid an increase in crime, public order would deteriorate, more resources would have to be spent on cracking down, and that would start a vicious circle. The problem had to be severed at the root.

  People moving here was inevitable, so maybe the solution called for here was to somehow create jobs to keep the economy moving?

  If problems like this were allowed to fester, the situations that could grow out of them were really bad. As the number of people coming here increased, people would start fighting over the simple labor jobs that didn’t require any particular skills. Public order would deteriorate. A conflict would flare up between the original residents and the migrants. Trouble would start.

  It would develop in that manner from what was at first an economic battle into discriminatory feelings against a specific group. And once the economy and discriminatory views started to become entangled, it would cause serious problems that would easily last for several centuries.

  This situation was a ticking time bomb, and if we couldn’t dismantle it here and now, the explosion in later generations was going to be horrific.

  Even in my memories of my past life, the acceptance or restriction of immigration and refugees had been an incredibly large social issue. Now that I’d been put in the position of solving it myself, I understood well how difficult doing so actually was. The economy had to be grown by making sure money was changing hands and there were enough jobs to go around, and unless the issue was taken care of fully, it could snowball into something serious. It really was as Gus said: it was extremely important for money to circulate and keep on circulating. My head was starting to hurt thinking about it.

  “Paladin, sir?” Thori said in a concerned voice, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Oh... Sorry. I’ll think up some kind of plan when I get back.”

  I figured the first step would have to be talking with Tonio to get some kind of public infrastructure project started up, maybe port maintenance or irrigation projects or something, and take on a larger workforce. I also thought I’d better pick the brains of those who knew more about these things. Putting in honest legwork and gathering a consensus of opinions was fundamental to big projects like this. After all, I didn’t want to cause any riots, and that meant I needed to stimulate the economy before that had a chance to happen. It was also going to be important to reduce cultural friction.

  Just as I’d finished organizing my thoughts, the young dwarf Hodh who had run off earlier came back with perfect timing. “Ai. Says he’ll be waiting.”

  “All right. Thank you very much for taking the trouble.” I smiled and bowed slightly to him.

  He opened his eyes wide and waved both hands in front of him frantically. “No, no! Don’t bow to me!”

  “No, really, it was a big help. And you, Thori. Thank you very much for today. Let’s talk again.”

  “It’s an honor to hear that from you, Paladin. Anytime!”

  I bowed to both of them and left. The two responded by bending into deep bows until I left their sight, which I found kind of uncomfortable. I soon realized that the other dwarves in the street must have noticed me too, because they were also bowing.

  Of course, my place in society was high enough now that it was only natural for that to happen, and strongly refusing their show of respect would only leave them in an awkward position. I had no choice but to accept it, but even so, I couldn’t help feeling a little unsettled. Was the reason something to do with my previous life’s memories, or was it just that I still wasn’t accustomed to it?

  I felt that I needed to get used to things like this and learn to assume a dignified air. But on the other hand, the idea of becoming completely accustomed to having people revere me also scared me a little, and I worried that something precious inside me would go numb.

  Becoming important wasn’t easy.

  ◆

  “I apologize for the sudden visit.”

  “Not at all. Thank you for coming.”

  I was in the parlor of one of the larger mansions in Dwarftown. Those first solemn words had come from a dignified dwarf with a smooth bald head and a neatly braided steel-gray beard. He was Agnarr, the dwarf with the most influence in this town.

  Beside him was a bony old dwarf with sleek white hair. I didn’t recognize him. My first thought was that his eyes looked pretty tired.

  “This is Grendir. He represents the migrants who moved into this town just recently and is also my great-uncle.”

  “Pleasure.” Keeping it short, he
bowed his head to me.

  “My name is William. I was entrusted with the governance of these Beast Woods by His Excellency Ethelbald, Duke of Southmark.” I placed my right hand over my heart, brought my left foot back slightly, and bowed to him in return. If he represented an entire group, I couldn’t afford to treat him lightly.

  Grendir responded with the same gesture, performed with incredible fluidity. Did that mean he knew of the old etiquette? If he did—

  “Please sit down.” My thoughts were interrupted by Agnarr offering me the seat that was reserved for the most important guests.

  “Thank you very much.” Given my position, I couldn’t refuse this, so I suppressed the urge to be polite and sat down.

  After a short while, Agnarr’s wife brought in some tea.

  There are many stories about dwarven women. Some say they are beautiful and fairy-like, while others disagree and say they are incredibly chunky and muscular and have beards. But I had learned from meeting them personally that the correct answer was “all of the above.”

  In their youths, dwarven women were just a little plump and beautiful like spirits of the forest. But perhaps because they didn’t care much about their appearances, once they got married, they quickly turned into looking like rough, middle-aged ladies. And the dwarven men weren’t very concerned about the change.

  On top of that, it seemed to be part of dwarven culture to hide their women from outsiders and not let them out in public. I suspected that coincidental glimpses of female dwarves had been outsiders’ only source of information, and what had resulted were the extreme stories of them all being fairy-like or having beards.

  As for whether Agnarr’s wife fell into the fairy or bearded category, I decline to comment.

  I took a sip of my herbal tea and thought about how I should proceed. The Iron Country topic was one close to their hearts, so rather than asking about it immediately, I figured it would be better to have a little bit of friendly chat beforehand to break the ice.

  Taking in the unique aroma and bitter taste of the herbal tea, I went with a safe question. “So, Grendir, why did you and your group come here?”

  “To die.”

  A terrible answer came back, and I had a coughing fit, almost spitting out my tea. “Ahem. Sorry.”

  “Grendir, you will shock him being so blunt,” Agnarr said, lightly reproaching him.

  Grendir made a troubled face, and went quiet for a while. I sat up straight and waited for him.

  He spent some time collecting his thoughts, then started to speak in a composed voice. “We don’t have long ahead of us. It is our wish to die gazing at our homeland.”

  “Sir William, for your information, Grendir is a survivor from the mountains to the west.”

  Now things made a little more sense. I imagined that once I grew old and my final days approached, I would want to die gazing at the hill where that temple stood.

  “The mountains of our old homeland are no longer ours, and the land at the base of the mountain had been transformed into a forest teeming with beasts. But after we heard the rumors that a hero had reclaimed that land...”

  But that still didn’t mean I’d understood everything Grendir was feeling. I wondered how powerful those feelings must be.

  “Looking from afar at our beloved mountain range, dreaming that one day our old home will be taken back. If I can die like that, how happy I would be... We all shared those same feelings with each other, and came here as fellows of similar mind.”

  How sad must it be that they were unable to return to their homeland no matter how much they wished for it?

  How frustrated must they feel that their homeland was stolen from them and they were never able to take it back?

  How much must they have gone through to reach this point, where they could bring themselves to say they’d be happy to die looking from afar at the place that was once their home?

  “We will do any job you ask of us. Please, as much trouble as it is, please allow us to stay in some corner of the city.”

  I couldn’t truly understand the way he was feeling. But for that very reason, as the person in charge of Torch Port, I felt as if I had a duty to make a statement of intent and responsibility.

  “Please don’t worry. I will do everything I can.” I held one of Grendir’s hands with both of mine, looked into his eyes, put feeling into my words, and hoped strongly that he would understand. “I will protect you all from injustice.”

  “Ohh...” His hand trembled. My eyes shifted to it for a moment, and when I looked back, I saw that tears were streaming down his cheeks. He gripped back with his quivering hand, and said two words, over and over. “Thank you... Thank you...”

  ◆

  Two hundred long years ago, those famous halls of stone known as the Iron Country had a monarch. Short and thin in stature, he was a pensive lord of few words who preferred the art of language to that of fighting. He was the final ruler of the Iron Country, and his name was Aurvangr.

  He had inherited the country from the previous monarch and ran the kingdom smoothly, but it was said that the warriors there bemoaned the fact that their new king was beloved not by Blaze, god of fire, but by the god of knowledge, Enlight.

  As for the people, they did not dislike their monarch. He treated both those who could fight and those who could not equally and did not particularly differentiate between them. He understood the feelings of those who were not warriors well.

  The warriors, however, were not happy about the fact that they, who stood at the front lines in constant danger and were prepared to sacrifice their lives, were treated the same as those who were not. They furiously bewailed their monarch as they downed their drinks, shouting in outrage with raised fists that he took them too lightly and that his name was the only part of him that was the least bit manly or grand.

  The only response the monarch Aurvangr ever gave to these complaints and angry voices was a flustered laugh.

  Though there was a small amount of dissent, the kingdom was running well on the whole. It was a peaceful time. The kingdom enjoyed prosperity and was full of happiness, and though there were small misfortunes, there were always people who could afford to lend a helping hand. No one ended their lives by the roadside, angry, suffering, and resenting the world.

  But the storm came.

  It was a catastrophe, an invasion by hell’s demons. The most famous southern countries of the Union Age fell one after another, burned to the ground, and the demonic forces closed in upon the Iron Country.

  Though numerous titles existed to refer to that king of demons, there was no one who knew his true name. He was called the Undying Bladefiend, the King Among Kings. The Purest Evil, the Inexhaustible Darkness, the Rider of Warstorms, the Cackler...

  The High King of the Eternals.

  Their defeat was beyond questioning. The southern kingdoms of Southmark had all been known as powerful countries capable of standing as the first line of defense against the forces of evil, and the High King had toppled them with the ease of tearing thin paper. How many days could they last against such an enemy, even in the underground halls of the famous Iron Mountains?

  Furthermore, the latest word was that there were ancient dragons among the High King’s forces, and this news had turned every warrior among them pale and speechless. It was at that time that a messenger came from the demons.

  “Will you serve the High King?” the demon said.

  He explained that the High King liked swords, and that he could make his own forces but not weapons. Then, he made them an offer, saying that the mountains of iron would be left alone if they could serve him with the skill of their craftsmen. He suggested that if warriors existed to protect the people, accepting his offer would be the right choice.

  Saying he would hear their answer in three days, the demon departed, leaving the dwarves behind with bitter looks on their faces.

  An explosion of debate followed. A gag order was placed, but the rumor of the demon’s
message spread in no time at all, and soon everyone was talking about it. In fact, throwing them all into disarray might have been just another part of the demon’s plan.

  The monarch alone was silent.

  The dwarves were an insular people to begin with, and some among them said that if the only difference was going to be who they sold their weapons to, they didn’t see the problem. Mothers with infants made pleas as well, saying that their children would die if they were dragged into a war.

  The monarch alone was silent.

  Of course, there were also many people who insisted that demons could not be trusted and that they should fight to the death. But when it came to how to fight them, everyone had a different opinion and no conclusion could be reached. Everyone was in chaos, and everyone was emotional, screaming, and wailing. There was even bloodshed. No one knew what to do.

  The monarch alone was, as always, silent.

  And the day came, with the silent monarch’s lieges unable to decide on anything. It was then that Aurvangr spoke for the first time.

  “I will decide,” he said, and stepped in front of the demon who had returned to hear their response.

  “And what is your answer?” the demon said.

  “This.” Aurvangr drew his blade across the demon’s neck with lightning speed, lopping his head off. The demon collapsed with a heavy thud.

  The enchanted sword Calldawn, passed down in the Iron Country for generations, gleamed with a perfect shine, allowing none of the demon’s blood to taint its surface.

  “This is the steel you wanted. The weapon you wanted. And you shall have it!” The small, thin dwarf-lord raised his sword high into the air.

  The people cheered. The warriors were choked with tears. Realizing that they had terribly misjudged their monarch, they prostrated themselves in apology and shame for their ignorance.

  Then, the fallen demon’s head began to laugh. “The dragon is coming.” It was an ominous, thick voice, and bloody foam spilled from his mouth as he spoke. “The dragon is coming! The dragon is coming! Valacirca! Calamity’s sickle descends upon you!” The demon screamed madly, only the whites of its eyes visible. “Nothing will survive!”