DAR Vol. 4 Chapter 15 Part 3

At the Coralde Trading Company in Amadan county, Coralde, the company president, was enjoying a quiet cup of tea in his private study.

The maid had already departed, leaving him alone. Though his desk still bore the weight of unfinished tasks, the pressing matters for the day had been resolved. He intended to relax for the remainder of the evening.

Today, the situation had shifted dramatically.

A long-standing concern had finally begun to unravel—namely, those meddling merchants who had been poking their noses into Roa’s affairs. Coralde had offered them a sliver of profit, laced it with a thinly veiled threat… and they had withdrawn without protest.

Even Coralde had not anticipated such a swift turnaround. He’d expected at least some resistance, which was why he had conducted exhaustive background checks and contingency planning. Yet all that preparation had proved utterly unnecessary.

He hadn’t even needed to meet with most of them. A single letter, delivered by a servant, had sufficed. Some had returned immediate replies with their acceptance; no negotiation, no delay. It was almost comical.

But this, of course, was not solely due to Coralde’s persuasion.

Pressure had been applied elsewhere. No doubt he had moved behind the scenes.

That man, who had promised to leave the merchants to Coralde, had intervened regardless. At first, Coralde had been indignant, affronted that he had been deemed incapable of handling the matter himself. Yet, simultaneously, he was grateful.

And, perhaps more than anything, he was frightened of just how effortlessly that man could influence others.

“…?”

Sipping his tea and reflecting on the day’s events, a subtle discomfort crept into his awareness.

There was no concrete reason; just a vague, inexplicable instinct.

But as a merchant, Coralde had learned to heed such intuition. It had saved his life more than once.

He rang the bell on the table.

No one came.

There should have been a maid in the adjacent room and guards stationed outside. Always.

“Someone?”

Still no answer.

He had spies as well; professionals meant to respond at a moment’s notice.

But now? Silence.

Growing wary, Coralde cautiously opened the door to the hallway. Not a soul in sight. No signs of struggle, no overturned furniture—nothing. As if the entire staff had simply vanished.

“Is anyone there!?”

His voice echoed unnaturally. The entire mansion had fallen into a dead, suffocating silence. Not even his elite agents responded.

“…What is going on? And yet…”

Strangely, Coralde did not feel fear. Nor unease. The sensation was familiar.

There were times when he stood at the precipice of a deal, one that, by all logic, should be too dangerous, and yet felt no dread.

Such deals, curiously, often led to extraordinary profits. He told others it was his “merchant’s instinct,” though he couldn’t explain it himself.

Without clear direction, he walked aimlessly down the empty corridor.

Eventually, with no memory of how he got there, he stood before Roa’s home.

“Well, well! You made it, Baldy!”

“…So it was you…”

Upon seeing the man waiting out front, Coralde reconsidered the reliability of his so-called intuition.

Meeting this man could never be considered good fortune.

Cold sweat beaded across his entire body.

“‘My doing,’ huh? You say that like I’m the villain here.”

“…You did break in, Bruno.”

Standing there was the blacksmith, Bruno.

Even under the faint moonlight, his massive frame stood out conspicuously in the dark. His lips curled into a grin beneath his beard, revealing canine-like fangs. Coralde, wiping the sweat that had begun to bead on his shiny scalp, shot him a look of exasperation.

“Come on, we’re close enough, right? Don’t sweat the details.”

“…So, what business brings you here?”

Despite the claim of familiarity, Coralde had no recollection of ever being particularly close with Bruno. If anything, they were rivals in the matter of Roa’s allegiance.

“Just checking in as a co-conspirator. And I’ve got a little errand at my disciple’s place.”

“Co-conspirator?”

“We exterminated the parasites clinging to my disciple together, didn’t we?”

“If that’s how you want to phrase it… No, never mind. I suppose we were accomplices.”

He was about to correct him, saying they were collaborators rather than conspirators, but wisely bit his tongue. Bruno’s mood visibly soured the moment he tried to offer a correction. The shift was ominous enough that Coralde genuinely feared for his life.

You never knew what might set Bruno off. Best to tread lightly.

The “parasite extermination” Bruno referred to was, of course, their coordinated effort to suppress those seeking to harm or abduct Roa. Coralde and Bruno had divided responsibilities, swiftly neutralizing the threat.

But the fact that Bruno showed up barely a day later implied he’d anticipated the purge would be completed quickly. Once again, his depths were impossible to fathom.

“Hmph. In any case, I’m done on my end. There were a few who ran their mouths, but I gave them a good thump.”

“A… thump…? I’ve finished on my end as well.”

Coralde paled at Bruno’s casual brutality.

He had handled matters concerning the Adventurers’ Guild and national institutions. One could only imagine which high-ranking officials had been “thumped.” Coralde firmly resolved not to pry further. The less he knew, the better.

If national authorities were involved, the speed of Bruno’s return from the capital defied reason. But given it was Bruno, perhaps he’d anticipated it all and prepared in advance. Somehow, with him, even the impossible felt disturbingly plausible.

“Alright, so that’s wrapped. Now onto the next bit. Baldy, you’re coming with me.”

“…Excuse me?”

Before Coralde could voice a proper objection, a strange noise escaped his throat.

“Great! Settled, then.”

“Wha—no, wait a moment!”

Bruno took Coralde’s startled grunt as a tacit agreement and grinned with rare cheer. Seeing that unexpectedly amiable expression, Coralde found himself unable to voice further protest.

He’d hoped the sweat pouring down his face would serve as a sufficient cue, but with Bruno, such hopes were in vain. In fact, it seemed more likely Bruno noticed and was simply enjoying himself.

Perhaps, Coralde reasoned, this was Bruno’s own bizarre way of showing affection. That thought alone helped him suppress the urge to complain.

“First, let me introduce you. This is Burtkarl.”

Bruno tapped his shoulder with a heavy palm.

“Eh?”

Once again, a strange noise slipped from Coralde’s throat.

There, resting on Bruno’s shoulder, where previously nothing had been, was a small creature.

It resembled a lizard, about the size of a housecat, with a vivid orange body. Perched on its head was a checkered casquette, giving it a charming appearance. Small bat-like wings extended from its back.

Around its neck was a familiar collar; clearly one worn by familiars. Draped across its back was a checkered capelet, and in its tiny hand, it held a magnifying lens. With its coordinated attire, the creature looked like it had stepped off a theatrical stage.

“Is that… a dragon?”

“What, never seen a Tiny Dragon before? Some merchant you are.”

Bruno grinned, flashing his fangs again, his tone thick with condescension. No doubt he was savoring the opportunity to one-up Coralde again; much like when he gloated about the twin demonic wolves’ species.

“I’m not well-versed in magic beasts, I admit. My apologies…”

Despite his irritation, Coralde opted for humility. There was no winning in a battle of wits or strength with Bruno, and he had no intention of getting pummeled over pride.

Still, the mention of a Tiny Dragon rang a bell.

“They’re handy, so I borrowed this one from an acquaintance. Be nice to him.”

There were whispers within the Adventurers’ Guild of a hidden power, the Fixer, rumored to pull strings behind every branch.

It was said the Fixer’s familiar was a Tiny Dragon.

Only the upper echelons of the guild knew the truth: the Fixer existed, and the Tiny Dragon served as the courier for their orders.

Coralde had only learned this from a Guildmaster he’d once had to “handle” in a certain city. The man had rambled everything in a panic; claiming the Fixer would have him killed. Of course, humans can’t be killed twice, so that prediction never came to pass.

Bruno had been pressuring the Adventurers’ Guild for Roa’s sake. And now, here was a Tiny Dragon.

There was no doubt. Bruno’s “acquaintance” was the Fixer. That would explain his uncanny influence, even at the national level.

“He’s far kinder than any human, so don’t go mistreating him, you conniving merchant.”

“…Understood.”

Offering only a half-hearted reply, Coralde quelled the sudden surge of curiosity. He longed to ask about the Fixer, but doing so might cost him his life.

He was a merchant, and he knew when to withdraw. Bruno hadn’t issued a warning, but the implication was clear: speak of the Tiny Dragon to anyone else, and you die.

“Kyui!”

The Tiny Dragon, Burtkarl, chirped and looked up at Coralde with bright, intelligent eyes.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Coralde bowed respectfully.

The creature’s gaze held undeniable sapience; the same keen intelligence he saw in Uncle Gry and the twin magic wolves.

This was no mere magic beast. It understood language, possessed will, and likely held power surpassing that of humans. To show anything less than deference would be folly.

With Burtkarl perched on his shoulder, Bruno gestured for Coralde to approach Roa’s house.

The place was supposed to be sealed; locked down tighter than most treasure vaults under Uncle Gry’s magic.

“Young Burtkarl, if you would.”

“Kyui‼”

With a gleeful chirp, the air shifted.

Coralde, who possessed no aptitude for magic, couldn’t discern what had changed—but something clearly had.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Bruno placed his hand on the door to Roa’s house, and it opened without resistance.

“Did it cancel the spell?”

“He didn’t dispel it— young Burtkarl excluded us from the spell’s effects. He’s a master of infiltration. He can bypass enchantments without nullifying their function. Incredible, right?”

Bruno affectionately stroked Burtkarl’s throat with a fingertip, prompting the tiny dragon to narrow his eyes in contentment. Watching the tender gesture, Coralde suddenly realized it was the first time he had ever heard Bruno address anyone with an honorific.

Bruno rarely used names to begin with. Coralde was always “Baldy,” and even Roa, whom he clearly favored, was simply “The Disciple.” The fact that he called the tiny dragon “Young Burtkarl” was ominous in itself.

“…That is—rather impressive,” Coralde replied, carefully masking his unease.

“He can manipulate the mind too, you know. Make people overlook him entirely, keep guards from doing their jobs, prevent anyone from entering a location.”

Bruno grinned like a predator savoring his prey. It was obvious he was explaining how he had entered Coralde’s estate; how he’d used Burtkarl to send the guards and attendants away. Mind manipulation magic was highly restricted; to flaunt it so openly could only mean he was enjoying Coralde’s discomfort.

Coralde scowled faintly, aware he was being toyed with.

“With defenses this weak, a single Tiny Dragon gets through undetected. Makes you wonder if my disciple might be safer under my care, doesn’t it? I mean, even the gryphon’s spells were nothing to young Burtkarl.”

“…”

Coralde could only glare. Bruno was certainly terrifying, but this—this he could not concede.

Their defenses were strong against humans. A comparison with a creature like Burtkarl was nonsensical from the start. The issue wasn’t security; it was scale.

“…Whatever. I’m going in.”

Apparently bored by Coralde’s lack of reaction, Bruno turned and walked into Roa’s home.

The interior was shrouded in pitch darkness, yet Bruno moved as if he could see perfectly. Coralde followed, hesitant, watching as Bruno crouched and pressed a hand to the earthen floor; the place where Uncle Gry had once used earth magic to reveal stairs leading down.

“Young Burtkarl, here. Light and stairs, if you would.”

“Kyuui!”

A burst of chirping, and the magic ignited. Illuminated by a soft light, the floor began to open, revealing a stairwell formed from compacted earth, just as Uncle Gry had often done.

If Burtkarl could replicate the exact same technique, that would mean… this Tiny Dragon possessed magic capacity equal to Uncle Gry. In that diminutive body?

Coralde studied the creature, perched jauntily on Bruno’s shoulder, looking utterly pleased with himself.

“Tiny Dragons dig burrows for nests. Makes ‘em naturals at this sort of thing.”

As if responding to Coralde’s unspoken question, Bruno spoke without turning. It was unnerving being read so easily.

Coralde, trained to conceal thoughts behind a merchant’s smile, felt the indignity of being so thoroughly unraveled. And somehow, knowing Bruno had already seen through him made the shame lose its sting.

When the staircase was complete, Bruno descended, and Coralde had no choice but to follow.

“This makes you an accomplice for real, doesn’t it?”

“…What?”

“Unlawful entry. This place isn’t legally yours, is it?”

“That was your doing!”

“I said I was going in. Whether you followed or not was your choice. Don’t act like a child.”

Flushed with embarrassment and frustration, Coralde bit back further protest and trailed behind.

He wanted nothing more than to return home, but curiosity kept him anchored. Bruno wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Roa, of that much he was sure. Still, someone had to supervise this erratic man.

The pair reached the first sublevel, what Uncle Gry called the first basement floor, but Bruno barely paused. He proceeded toward the next stairwell, part of the original structure Uncle Gry had carved out. Deeper they went, passing by the second, third, and fourth floors until they reached the fifth.

Coralde had never descended this far.

He knew of its existence, but Uncle Gry had forbidden entry. And now, he was crossing that boundary for the first time.

“So this is the warehouse and lab… what we’re looking for is below.”

Bruno’s offhand comment made Coralde’s heart stutter.

“What… exactly do you know?”

“There’s a giant mole scurrying around under my forge day and night. Had to come see what it was up to.”

Apparently, Bruno referred to Uncle Gry as a mole now; an upgrade from “a pest,” perhaps? Or maybe he’d been referring to a literal mole when he said that earlier. Either way, the disrespect was remarkable.

As Coralde continued sweating bullets, Bruno and Burtkarl looked like children on a treasure hunt.

The sixth through eighth floors were technically separated, but most of the structure was open; a cavernous space, likely used for combat training and magic experimentation.

Uncle Gry’s personal playground.

Then came the ninth floor. A narrow passage stretched into the distance, its end lost in shadow even under magical light.

“…This is it.”

Bruno peered into the corridor. Its length clearly extended well beyond Coralde Trading Company’s grounds.

“How far does it go?”

“Told you. The mole’s been tunneling under my forge. It leads there.”

Bruno meant it literally. This tunnel reached his own smithy, all the way on the outskirts of Amadan. That was… several blocks away.

“Oho! Cuneiform—paranoid little pest, aren’t you?”

Bruno ran a finger along the wall, covered in tightly inscribed markings.

They looked like scratches at first glance, but the repetition and structure revealed a pattern—no doubt magical glyphs.

“…Wait… is that why you’re laughing?”

Bruno suddenly doubled over in a fit of laughter, even dropping to one knee.

“Bwahaha! ‘My dearest treasure’—he means the disciple! And these ‘two radiant gems sweeter than ambrosia’—he’s talking about the twins! ‘A shining merchant beacon’—that’s you, baldy!”

“…”

Musclebound and bearded as he was, Bruno now resembled a child giggling through tears. Even Burtkarl chirped with glee, his cap bouncing with each shake.

Coralde could only stare, utterly lost.

“What… what’s so funny?”

“It’s written right here! All this absurd, embarrassing stuff!”

“Wait—this is writing? These are… words?”

Coralde squinted at the wall, realizing to his horror that these weren’t mere magical patterns. They were Uncle Gry’s personal notes.

“It’s cuneiform. You wouldn’t know it, lacking in scholarly aptitude as you are—but for a blacksmith like me, it’s practically old hat. Ancient weapons often have inscriptions like this carved into them, for charm or ornamentation, who knows. It’s supposedly older than even the earliest recorded civilizations.”

Artifacts from such antiquity aren’t something easily encountered. Not even most blacksmiths would have seen them firsthand. In fact, scholars would typically be more likely to come across such relics.

The reason Bruno was so familiar with them was simple: his unmatched skill as a blacksmith drew all manner of eccentrics bearing arcane or enigmatic weapons to his forge. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to say he possessed deeper insight than most academics in that particular niche.

“That pest probably wanted to hide his mischief behind a script no one could decipher.”

“Then… is this some kind of diary?”

Because Roa’s name, the Twin Magic Wolves, and his own had all been mentioned, Coralde offered a tentative guess.

“A diary? Nah. It’s a magic formula. It’s written in some cloying, poetic format, but it’s frighteningly intricate. What you’re looking at here is a spell meant to impose mind control over the entire city. This whole tunnel is part of a massive, functional spell device.”

“⁉”

Coralde was left speechless by the revelation.

For a moment, he wondered how Bruno could even comprehend a magic formula, but that idle question was quickly overtaken by dread.

Magic formulas weren’t so easily translated into words. Most of their structure existed within the caster’s consciousness. Encoding a spell into a physical construct capable of persistent activation, like a magical device, introduced additional complexities: inscribing media, mana flow, activation protocols, and more.

While magic tools broadly referred to any tool imbued with magic, ones based on written magic formulas were notoriously finicky; offering greater versatility at the cost of excessive inefficiency.

“That pest probably meant to use this thing to brainwash the entire population. Stuff like ‘Don’t harm the disciple and the twins,’ ‘Revere them,’ ‘Worship the pest like a god.’ It’s all in here. From the looks of it, he genuinely wanted to keep the disciple from being hurt. Kind of a deranged form of protection, huh? Entertaining fellow.”

“Mind control… of the entire city?”

Creating a magical device for mental manipulation was a serious offense. In fact, casting any kind of mind-affecting spell on another person was already illegal. Enchanting an entire city to obey you went beyond treason.

It was, unmistakably, a heinous crime.

That Uncle Gry had attempted it, and that Bruno could laugh it off, was appalling.

Coralde felt the blood drain from his face. This was far beyond what he could handle. He braced himself, barely keeping upright. Fainting here, deep underground, would surely lead to being left behind like a forgotten sack of grain. Bruno wasn’t known for being gentle.

“He tried tying it to a leyline, letting the ambient mana fuel it… but looks like he bungled the calibration. Guess he didn’t know enough. It won’t activate as-is, so it’s harmless… though that’s boring.”

“Boring? That’s your concern?”

Coralde attempted to object, but Bruno wasn’t listening.

“If it just suppresses intent to kill the disciple, I could probably rewrite part of it. Erasing malicious intent entirely would be overkill—being overprotective won’t help the kid grow. Let ’em get roughed up a little, so long as it doesn’t kill ’em.”

“What are you trying to—”

“And he even put a protective lock on it—‘protect’ it from being edited once activated. Even the original caster can’t tinker with it after that. But hey, that’s perfect. If I fire it up once I’ve done my edits, he won’t be able to reverse it. And it’s apparently easy to shut off if needed.”

“That’s absurd!”

“If a formula’s this convoluted, no one’s going to notice it’s been tweaked. And young Burtkarl here can spoof any tampering. The spell’ll work just weakly enough to satisfy that pest’s expectations. He’ll just assume the leyline mana was too thin. From what I’ve heard from the disciple, he ain’t the sharpest claw on the talon.”

“That’s not the point—!”

Bruno was wholly invested in altering the spell formula, intending to activate it in a reduced capacity. Coralde wanted to prevent the spell from being triggered at all—but it was clearly too late. There was no stopping him.

Trying to cling to Bruno’s leg wouldn’t help. He’d just be swatted aside. So Coralde could only flail helplessly, watching.

“Relax. Mental manipulation spells are young Burtkarl’s specialty! He can write a better formula than that half-baked pest any day!”

“Kyui‼”

“And being an earth-dwelling dragon, he’s a natural with leyline interfacing!”

“Kyui kyui!”

“All right then—I’ll leave it to you, young Burtkarl!”

“Kyui!”

“I said no—!”

Coralde’s desperate pleas went unanswered. It was utterly futile. Trying to halt this was like trying to stop a landslide with a teacup. Bruno and Burtkarl, drunk on their own momentum, marched down the corridor, happily defacing one of the most illegal enchantments known to man.

After that, Coralde was dragged across the entire underground network beneath Amadan county.

By the time they returned to the surface, the sky had already begun to lighten.

Having been walked ragged throughout the night, Coralde collapsed into bed the next day and didn’t rise once.

But in truth, he hadn’t come away empty-handed. While lying there, face pale, he grinned to himself.

So this is what it means to be an accomplice… not bad at all, he mused.

Being an accomplice meant being treated as an equal; recognized as such by someone who didn’t even consider most people human. That acknowledgment from Bruno carried weight.

The fact that he’d been shown Burtkarl, allowed to witness Bruno’s gleeful absurdity and manic laughter; that meant something.

Bruno likely shared such glimpses on purpose. Which meant Coralde had been trusted with a few secrets. And in Bruno’s world, trust was no small currency.

Bruno, like Uncle Gry, divided the world into “kin” and “everyone else.” Kin were cherished. Outsiders were dust.

Until now, Coralde hadn’t quite been a pebble but perhaps a mildly obstructive rock in the middle of the road.

But by helping to eliminate those who bore malice toward Roa, and by following Bruno into the underground chamber, he had finally been accepted as one of them.

And that recognition came with benefits.

Bruno remained a man shrouded in mystery, so Coralde couldn’t yet predict what those benefits might be, but his merchant’s intuition whispered of immense gain.

“Take a loss to reap a greater profit.”

Yes… this was worth a day of bedrest, Coralde thought with a satisfied nod.

It wasn’t just rationalization for being dragged along, nor a lie he told himself to avoid admitting he could never win against Bruno, probably.

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