DAR Vol. 7 Chapter 26 Part 3

“Die!”

The Sword Saint swung with all his strength.

<You succumbed to the bait this easily… You truly are every bit as simpleminded as Sleepyhead.>

Despite the precision of his aim, the Sword Saint’s blade veered away.

No, it had been deflected.

Uncle Gry had merely pressed the tip of his beak lightly against the Sword Saint’s body. Yet that alone disturbed his balance and diverted his aim.

The Sword Saint’s blade sliced through empty air by the narrowest possible margin, tracing Uncle Gry’s outline without touching him.

<Targeting the wing was correct. However, I was the one who taught Sleepyhead about a Gryphon’s weaknesses. Did you truly imagine I would neither guard against nor devise countermeasures for them? Since I am presently using no magic to strengthen or defend myself, I chose to deflect your strike. Under ordinary circumstances, however, that is the most heavily defended part of my body. It is not my weakness.>

As the words reached him, the Sword Saint felt something resembling a gust of wind pass through the base of his right arm, from his armpit to his shoulder.

A cold sensation swept through him. Before he knew it, something red was scattering through the air.

<No matter how elaborate the design of a suit of armor may be, apparently there are always several places that cannot be fully reinforced. Beneath the arm is one such place. Though I merely learned that from the brat.>

A heavy object struck the ground some distance away with a dull thud.

“Guh!”

At the same moment, excruciating pain erupted through the Sword Saint’s right shoulder. The agony was so intense that it transcended pain, leaving him with the sensation of heated iron being pressed against his flesh.

Instinctively, the Sword Saint tried to clutch his right shoulder with his left hand.

…But there was nothing there.

“My arm…”

The Sword Saint forced out the brief murmur before collapsing to one knee. He clenched his teeth and curled inward, enduring the waves of agony assailing him.

Through vision distorted by tears, he saw the blood pouring from his shoulder forming a pool at his feet.

<As promised, I have taken one of your arms. Weakling, comprehend your defeat in full.>

Just as he had declared, Uncle Gry had severed the Sword Saint’s right arm at the shoulder. He had targeted the unarmored gap beneath the arm and swept his blade upward, cutting through it with a single strike.

Curled up upon the ground, the Sword Saint could no longer move. Uncle Gry stood beside him, looking down with satisfaction.

Only the Sword Saint’s groans of agony echoed through the surroundings.

“That’s enough!”

Dietrich’s voice cut through the gruesome scene.

“You went too far, you damned pest!”

Radiating fury, Dietrich rushed toward the Sword Saint.

<This man appeared as unwilling to concede as you are. I concluded that he would never acknowledge defeat unless I broke his spirit thoroughly. Besides, this battle was his desire from the outset. I have done nothing wrong! You understood that yourself, Sleepyhead, which is precisely why you did not stop us midway through!>

“…That… may be true, but…”

Dietrich had possessed opportunities to stop them.

However, because he did not believe that was what the Sword Saint wanted, he had not even called out when Uncle Gry severed the man’s arm.

Naturally, Dietrich had acted that way only because he possessed one of Roa’s Magic Recovery Potions and was certain that any injury short of instantaneous death could be healed. Otherwise, he would likely have leaped before the blade himself to stop the fight.

“Regardless, the fight is over. I’m going to restore the old man’s arm.”

As he spoke, Dietrich reached toward the Sword Saint’s severed right arm to pick it up and reattach it.

However…

<Whoops, my hand slipped!>

Uncle Gry cried out in an unmistakably flat and exaggerated monotone.

At the same instant, his sword shot toward the Sword Saint’s severed right arm at astonishing speed. The blade struck the arm, but it did not cut through it. Uncle Gry had hit it with the flat of the sword.

With a satisfying smack, the Sword Saint’s right arm sailed through the air.

It traced a broad arc over the low hill and flew toward the sea sprawling below.

“Wha… What the hell are you doing?!”

Dietrich shouted, but Uncle Gry merely watched the Sword Saint’s right arm fall toward the sea with an utterly composed expression.

<Oh dear. It appears we can no longer reattach the severed arm. However, I seem to recall that the brat created a Supreme Grade Magic Recovery Potion specialized in regenerating missing limbs. How fortunate.>

Uncle Gry delivered those words in another blatantly monotonous voice, then narrowed his eyes happily at Dietrich.

“…”

Confronted by that infuriating expression, Dietrich opened his mouth several times in an attempt to hurl some choice words at him. However, the turn of events had been so unexpected that nothing emerged.

He was too furious to think clearly.

As always, it was impossible to fathom what Uncle Gry was thinking, but this had gone far beyond the limit. Unable to say anything, Dietrich could only direct a hateful glare at him.

“…Ugh.”

While Dietrich searched for the words he ought to hurl at Uncle Gry, the Sword Saint groaned.

Only then did Dietrich remember that the Sword Saint was in critical condition. He hurriedly retrieved a potion from the Magic Bag.

It was the limb-regeneration type Supreme Grade Magic Recovery Potion Roa had given him.

Had the severed body part still been present, a High Grade Magic Recovery Potion, one rank lower, could have reattached it. However, the arm was already somewhere far out at sea. With matters having come to that, they had no choice but to use the Supreme Grade Magic Recovery Potion.

Uncle Gry’s suspicious remarks from moments earlier still troubled him, but there was nothing else he could do.

Supreme Grade Magic Recovery Potions were exceedingly precious.

Even royalty and high-ranking nobles could not easily acquire one. They were not something that could simply be purchased by offering enough money, but were instead treated like rare treasures.

Dietrich nevertheless poured it into the Sword Saint’s mouth without hesitation.

“You’ll be healed soon.”

Dietrich offered words of encouragement as he made the Sword Saint drink the Supreme Grade Magic Recovery Potion.

Even Dietrich, who had a tendency to run rampant and suffered injuries frequently, had never had an arm severed. Nevertheless, he could easily imagine how excruciating the pain must have been.

The Sword Saint was resisting unconsciousness through sheer force of will. Allowing him to faint might have spared him some suffering, but then making him swallow the potion would have become difficult.

He needed the Sword Saint to remain conscious at least until he had finished the entire potion. Dietrich supported him by the shoulders, maintaining a posture that allowed him to drink more easily while continuing to offer encouragement.

Barely clinging to consciousness, the Sword Saint somehow managed to finish the potion and exhaled deeply.

“Gugh!”

Before he could finish exhaling, the Sword Saint’s body began convulsing and violently arched upward.

His entire body was instantly drenched in sweat, droplets scattering with every violent spasm. Dietrich held him down firmly to prevent his thrashing body from rolling away and sustaining further injuries.

The Sword Saint clenched his teeth so fiercely that the muscles in his face twitched as he endured the searing agony.

<Would it not be better to give him some cloth to bite down upon? He may break his teeth.>

Uncle Gry offered the advice as though the matter had nothing to do with him.

Dietrich obediently followed it. He pulled someone’s spare clothes from the Magic Bag, forcibly shoved them into the Sword Saint’s mouth, and made him bite down.

After a short while, the wound began to change as flesh swelled from it.

The bleeding ceased, and fresh tissue emerged from the wound as though welling up from within. The Sword Saint’s body convulsed in agony with every movement of the regenerating flesh.

“…That’s gruesome…”

Even Dietrich, who was accustomed to seeing blood, flesh, and internal organs while butchering magic beasts, could not help voicing that reaction.

The swelling flesh gradually began taking shape. Before his eyes, it formed into the outline of an arm.

The price of that grotesque process appeared considerable. Unable to withstand the pain any longer, the Sword Saint lost consciousness.

Yet his body evidently continued to feel the agony even while unconscious. It convulsed and thrashed without pause. His half-open eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible, tears streaming from them. Foam spilled around the clothing clenched between his teeth.

“I can barely stand to watch this…”

<Then avert your eyes. It is the brat’s potion. No matter how dreadful the process may be, it will heal him properly in the end.>

“I… believe that, but… he looks like he’s suffering worse than he would under torture. Somehow… I’m starting to feel as though I made him drink poison.”

<Were someone to come along right now, they would undoubtedly mistake this for us trying to kill the Sword Saint… Hehehe.>

Uncle Gry murmured with conspicuous amusement.

He was still holding Dietrich’s sword in his beak and idly swinging it around. He was presumably bored.

Seeing him do so reminded Dietrich of what had happened earlier.

“Speaking of which, what was that about? What are you plotting?”

<What are you referring to? I am plotting nothing.>

“You said your hand slipped and threw the old man’s arm into the sea! You don’t even have hands!”

Still holding down the Sword Saint’s convulsing body, Dietrich shouted at Uncle Gry. His complaint was somewhat beside the point, but Uncle Gry indeed possessed no hands that could have slipped.

<I misspoke. My beak slipped.>

“That’s not what I’m talking about!”

<You were the one who mentioned it…>

Uncle Gry regarded Dietrich with an exasperated expression.

“That’s not the point! You normally act as though nothing anyone besides Roa does has anything to do with you, yet this time you deliberately accepted his challenge and even threw the arm you severed into the sea. I’m saying that’s suspicious. What are you plotting…”

<Be quiet for a moment. Someone who has misunderstood the situation has arrived.>

Uncle Gry silenced Dietrich, who was still shouting, and lightly swung the sword.

Several high-pitched clangs of colliding metal rang out in time with the blade’s movements. Dietrich reacted to the sudden metallic sounds, but he could not move while restraining the Sword Saint.

A small knife embedded itself in the ground at Dietrich’s feet.

That had been the source of the metallic sounds.

Uncle Gry had deflected knives thrown by an unknown assailant. When Dietrich surveyed the surroundings, he found five more knives scattered across the ground, likewise knocked aside.

“You bastards! What have you done to Grandfather?!”

A furious roar echoed across the hill.

The voice belonged to Emilia.

She was Cornelia’s elder sister and the vice-captain of the Royal Guard Knights of this kingdom. She was also the Sword Saint’s granddaughter by marriage and the woman destined to inherit his title.

—

Emilia had merely come looking for Dietrich after noticing that he had disappeared from the ceremony celebrating the successful subjugation.

Dietrich loathed facing the Queen and had fled from her time and again. Consequently, Emilia and the Royal Guard Knights had been assigned to keep watch over him this time.

However, the Sea Serpent incursion and the Adad Empire’s movements had left the Royal Guard Knights occupied, causing their surveillance to slacken. Dietrich vanished during that lapse, sending Emilia into a panic. In reality, Uncle Gry had summoned him, but Emilia concluded that he had seized the opportunity to escape and began searching everywhere for him.

That was when she sensed an extraordinary degree of killing intent.

It was a presence intimately familiar to her. It belonged to the man she had revered as her master since childhood and who, despite being related to her only through marriage, had become family.

It was the Sword Saint’s killing intent.

Concluding that something was terribly wrong, Emilia hurried to this place.

There, she discovered the Sword Saint in a condition that could only have made it appear as though he were being attacked.

“I’ll never forgive you!”

Emilia drew her sword without allowing any discussion.

There could be no doubt that she had thrown the knives. Her gaze was fixed squarely upon Dietrich, and her eyes revealed a genuine intent to kill him.

“You’ve misunderstood!”

As Dietrich shouted, he realized that he had been set up.

Emilia lunged at him with the force of a violent gust. She paid no heed whatsoever to Dietrich’s protest.

The only ones present were Dietrich and the familiar Gryphon, Uncle Gry.

Asked which of them appeared more likely to have masterminded an attack upon the Sword Saint, anyone would unquestionably choose Dietrich. Ordinarily, familiars were controlled through Subjugation Collars and incapable of acting without orders.

Earlier, Uncle Gry had said, “Were someone to come along right now, they would undoubtedly mistake us for trying to kill the Sword Saint.” He had presumably noticed Emilia approaching even then.

He had deliberately encouraged the misunderstanding and waited for Emilia to attack.

Dietrich had been dragged into the affair completely against his will.

<It appears Sleepyhead is trusted by no one. This proves once again that poor conduct in one’s daily life carries consequences.>

Uncle Gry muttered without a care in the world.

Dietrich released the Sword Saint and started drawing his sword, but stopped when he saw Uncle Gry move.

Uncle Gry caught the blade Emilia had swung down at Dietrich with the sword held in his beak.

“A magic beast wielding a sword?!”

Emilia cried out in astonishment when her attack was stopped with such ease.

She was both a Royal Guard Knight and the Sword Saint’s disciple. She took considerable pride in her swordsmanship and had scarcely ever lost against a human opponent. Her shock at having her blade stopped by the sword of a magic beast like Uncle Gry was immeasurable.

“Well… this freak doesn’t obey normal rules.”

Dietrich breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing that Uncle Gry at least intended to protect him.

<I have grown bored of fighting with a sword. It is troublesome after all.>

A small bolt of lightning flashed.

Though it produced only a tiny spark, Emilia crumpled to the ground and lost consciousness. Uncle Gry had rendered her unconscious with magic. Despite her ferocious entrance, the confrontation ended with remarkable ease.

“…Why is Emilia here…?”

<She most likely came looking for you. Alternatively, she may have sensed the killing intent that the Sword Saint was carelessly exuding. Whatever the reason, this is exceedingly convenient.>

Uncle Gry twisted his beak into a grin.

<The Sword Saint was the one who challenged me, and I merely retaliated when this woman attacked. I have done nothing wrong! Hehehe… Everything is now prepared for the rewards, precisely as planned!>

Uncle Gry proclaimed this with palpable excitement.

“Rewards? As planned?”

The words were so incongruous with the present circumstances that Dietrich could only tilt his head.

<Indeed! I was merely an observer during this Sea Serpent subjugation. Therefore, I decided that those who labored so diligently deserved rewards!>

Uncle Gry puffed out his chest before Dietrich.

Still unable to follow the conversation, Dietrich tilted his head even farther. Uncle Gry had claimed only moments ago that he was not plotting anything, but apparently he had already forgotten his own words. He began proudly explaining his scheme.

<However, choosing a reward for the brat proved difficult. The brat is wealthy now, is he not? He can purchase anything he desires and already does so. An object would hardly please him.>

By now, Roa was indeed quite wealthy. The numerous Magic Recovery Potions he had made at Coralde’s request, while also indulging his personal interests, had earned him a staggering amount of money.

However, Roa’s ingrained frugality prevented him from spending much on his daily life. Given the opportunity, he would procure not only his necessities but even the materials for producing Magic Recovery Potions through gathering and hunting. As a result, he had accumulated far more money than he knew what to do with.

<Since material possessions were unsuitable, the only things I could bestow upon the brat that might please him were my affection and knowledge. I agonized over the matter.>

Including his own affection among the things Roa would appreciate was exceedingly characteristic of Uncle Gry.

<Then it occurred to me! I remembered some information the brat has long wished to obtain! The brat wanted to know the rate of functional deterioration in a regenerated limb when a limb-regeneration type Magic Recovery Potion is administered immediately after a person loses an arm or leg. Naturally, such a matter cannot be tested unless someone happens to lose a limb directly before us!>

“…”

Dietrich finally began to understand and regarded Uncle Gry through half-lidded eyes.

When a Magic Recovery Potion created missing tissue, including flesh, skin, bones, and nerves, it did not restore the body perfectly to its previous condition. A small missing area could be healed so thoroughly that no difference was discernible, but the larger the regenerated area, the more it deteriorated compared with the original.

Apparently, parts developed through training reverted to a condition closer to what they had been before that training. In essence, some of that physical development was erased.

However, the regenerated limb did not return entirely to the state in which the person had been born.

When replacing a missing body part, the potion apparently examined the surrounding tissue and created the new part to match it. Consequently, the regenerated part returned with at least some degree of prior conditioning.

The extent of the difference was not constant and depended upon the Magic Recovery Potion’s quality and efficacy.

Roa wanted to determine precisely how great that difference was.

Unfortunately, no one close to him had suffered an injury severe enough to lose a limb, so he had reluctantly postponed the experiment.

<At first, I considered accidentally severing Sleepyhead’s arm. However, I abandoned the idea because the brat might become angry with me.>

Dietrich’s face went pale upon learning that Uncle Gry had contemplated severing his arm as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

<Then the Sword Saint happened to be yearning for a battle with me, making him perfectly suitable. I decided to fight him and sever his arm instead! This fulfilled the Sword Saint’s desire while allowing me to prepare the brat’s reward. Two birds with one stone, would you not agree? No one loses anything, and the brat will not become angry with me!>

Uncle Gry’s eyes gleamed as he fervently expounded upon his supposed benevolence.

With every word Uncle Gry spoke, Dietrich’s mind grew colder. He could understand the logic on an abstract level, but emotionally, he could not accept it at all.

The Sword Saint was not someone whose spirit could easily be broken. Nevertheless, losing a contest of swordsmanship to a magic beast would inevitably leave him somewhat dejected.

Dietrich also recalled the gruesome sight immediately after the Sword Saint’s arm had been severed and the torment he endured after drinking the Magic Recovery Potion. No one subjected to such suffering could possibly celebrate this as killing two birds with one stone.

<Furthermore! By good fortune, I have managed to prepare a reward for the ‘Noisy Woman’ as well!>

“What?”

The Noisy Woman was Cornelia.

Cornelia was unquestionably the greatest contributor among Nostalgia’s members during the Sea Serpent subjugation. She had fought tirelessly aboard the ship, slaughtering the Sea Serpents that assaulted them. Even in Dietrich’s estimation, she thoroughly deserved a reward.

However, he could not understand how the present situation had prepared any reward for Cornelia.

Assuming Uncle Gry had devised yet another absurd line of reasoning, Dietrich sighed.

<Sleepyhead, the Sword Saint appears to have settled down. Surely you no longer need to restrain him.>

“What? Oh…”

Before Dietrich realized it, the Sword Saint had fallen asleep.

He now lay peacefully, as though the anguished expression and violent convulsions from moments earlier had never occurred.

The arm newly regenerated by the Supreme Grade Magic Recovery Potion appeared pristine. Even the sun-darkened complexion of his skin had been reproduced, though it was slightly paler. Visually, there seemed to be little difference between it and his original arm.

<Its appearance seems satisfactory. Have him swing a sword later and report any differences in its movement to the brat.>

“Fine.”

Uncle Gry issued the order as though it were self-evident. Arguing would accomplish nothing, and Dietrich himself was curious about the condition of the Sword Saint’s arm, so he accepted without protest.

<More importantly! Sleepyhead, you still possess that love potion, do you not? Put one of the Sword Saint’s hairs into it and make that Handsome Woman drink it.>

“What?”

Once again, Dietrich lost the thread of the conversation and tilted his head.

He had been unable to provide a single coherent response for some time. That was entirely because Uncle Gry’s egocentric, arrogant reasoning treated human beings as though their feelings were irrelevant and remained utterly impossible to anticipate.

Dietrich had learned from Uncle Gry that Roa possessed a hidden love potion. After negotiating with Roa, he had acquired it through means bordering upon coercion.

It was nothing like the dubious products ordinarily sold with no guarantee of effectiveness. Roa had made it himself, and it was a genuinely effective forbidden Magic Recovery Potion.

Its use was simple. The user mixed part of their body into the potion and made the person they wished to enthrall drink it.

Hair produced the weakest effect, while blood or flesh made it considerably stronger. Infusing one’s mana into the love potion created the strongest effect of all, but only alchemists or mages could perform that process properly. Anyone else would fail.

Although it was purported to force the drinker to fall in love, its actual effect was to make the drinker perceive the mana emitted by the owner of the added body part as comforting, inspiring a powerful reluctance to leave that person’s side.

When Roa gave Dietrich the love potion, he imposed several conditions.

One was that Dietrich must never add anything other than hair.

When only hair was mixed into it, the effect remained weak. At most, it could shift the drinker’s feelings from active dislike to complete neutrality. Roa had judged that such an effect would cause no tangible harm.

<You carry it with you because you never know when an opportunity to use it might arise, do you not? Produce it at once and make the Handsome Woman drink it. That will serve as the Noisy Woman’s reward.>

“I can’t follow your reasoning at all. Has your mind finally broken?”

Dietrich could not stop himself from retorting.

<What? You dare defy me? The love potion you presently possess is merely one of several bottles, is it not? Shall I tell the brat what you did with the others? You mixed one into the wine the Bald Merchant had stored with the intention of presenting it to that woman, did you not? You even added your own blood. Attempting to use a potion to enslave that woman and exact your revenge is precisely the sort of petty scheme one would expect from Sleepyhead!>

“How do you know about that…?”

<How could I possibly have failed to notice? While we stayed at that estate, I watched everything. I also know what you and the Sword Saint did after bringing prostitutes into the mansion. Shall I reveal that to the brat and the Noisy Woman as well?>

“Oh, no…”

Dietrich’s complexion changed. He crouched on the spot and clutched his head.

He had just realized that the individual who must never discover his weakness had acquired ample material with which to blackmail him.

<Now that you understand, make her drink the love potion at once.>

Uncle Gry declared his victory.

“At least tell me why…”

With his secrets held hostage, Dietrich ground his back teeth and spoke in frustration.

<The Handsome Woman possesses a considerable degree of affection for the Sword Saint. According to my assessment, it is not merely the affection between master and disciple. There is even the faintest trace of romantic sentiment. If we use the love potion, her fondness should intensify until she constantly desires to accompany him.>

“What difference does that make?”

<If she endeavors to accompany the Sword Saint, will that not reduce the time she spends with the Noisy Woman? The Noisy Woman shouted that although she does not dislike the Handsome Woman, she cannot tolerate having her clinging to her constantly! I intend to fulfill that wish.>

During the Sea Serpent subjugation, Cornelia had shouted in frustration over Emilia remaining at her side far too persistently. Naturally, Dietrich, who had fought beside her, and Uncle Gry, who had watched from above, had both heard her.

If matters proceeded as Uncle Gry envisioned, Cornelia’s situation would certainly improve.

The Sword Saint could hardly object to being adored by his granddaughter, even if they were related only through marriage.

“…I suppose it isn’t a terrible idea.”

Dietrich recalled how terrifying Cornelia had been at the time and reluctantly agreed.

Her anger had seemed ready to spread to Dietrich himself if the situation were left unresolved. If this prevented that outcome, he had every reason to consent.

<Then make her drink it immediately! This makes two birds with one stone… No, I fulfilled the Sword Saint’s wish, the brat’s wish, and the Noisy Woman’s wish, while also demonstrating to you that I can wield a sword perfectly well. Four birds with one stone! As expected of me!>

Uncle Gry began laughing triumphantly.

As Dietrich listened, he felt a faint unease over whether agreeing had truly been wise. It was a vague suspicion that the situation was becoming even more troublesome.

<Oh, yes. I nearly forgot.>

Uncle Gry approached the Sword Saint, who was sleeping peacefully, and pressed a forepaw against his newly regenerated right shoulder.

A faint sizzling sound arose, and the smell of seared flesh spread through the air.

“Hey! What are you doing…?”

<I may as well conduct an experiment. I wanted to determine whether I could perform the same feat as Roo and Phi’s Servant Sigil. Do not worry. If it proves useless, I shall erase it. That cannot be done immediately while the Supreme Grade Magic Recovery Potion remains active, however.>

Uncle Gry spoke over Dietrich’s complaint.

When he removed his forepaw, a burn shaped like Uncle Gry’s paw remained upon the Sword Saint’s shoulder.

<Hmm… As expected, I cannot transmit mana through it as Roo and Phi can. Their mark must be a form of magic intrinsic to their species. Including this experiment, I have achieved five benefits at once! An excellent result indeed!>

“What is wrong with this insufferable Gryphon…?”

Utterly exhausted, Dietrich could do nothing but stare at Uncle Gry in disbelief.

For the moment, he resolved to report everything to Roa and have him firmly rein Uncle Gry in before the situation grew any worse.

However, Dietrich did not yet know that another commotion had already arisen around Roa, leaving him with far more pressing concerns…