Chapter 9: The Attacked Dwarven Village
"What's the plan? Are we intervening?" Rhodes asked, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. This was the first time he had faced such a large number of monsters. He was far more nervous than when he had faced the pack of wolves or the demonic bear.
Serie shot him a sidelong glance. "Why would we not? Did you think I came here merely to watch the spectacle?"
Her words brought Rhodes back to his senses. Of course. This was exactly the kind of situation the Grand Master reveled in. She was probably already itching to join the fray.
I hope the werewolves will be alright.
Rhodes's prayers were destined to be in vain. Our Miss Serie, not one for chivalrous formalities, circled around behind the battling werewolves and dwarves. While they were locked in the heat of combat, she raised her hand and unleashed an enhanced version of her light arrow rain.
And then she did it again.
Golden arrows poured down like a torrential storm, instantly pinning more than a dozen of the Wolvenfiends to the ground.
Stunned by this sudden support, the dwarves all turned to look in the direction the arrows had come from. Dwarves were famously inept at magic. The gods had blessed them with formidable physiques—an adult dwarf could tear a demonic bear apart with their bare hands—but in exchange, their aptitude for magic had been sealed away. As a result, there were no mages in this dwarven village.
Serie stood on a high vantage point, her golden hair fluttering in the wind, a fanatical smile on her face. This was truly the kind of stage that brought her joy. She also had to admit, the spell modification she had learned from the man was quite effective. Serie had all but abandoned her single-shot light arrow spell, now favoring the arrow rain as her opening move. It had a wider area of effect, and a greater number of projectiles; it was far more useful than her old spell.
Rhodes wasn't idle either. He quickly cast his improved Greater Detection Spell. The magic circle unfolded, and after confirming there were no hidden Wolvenfiends, he shouted to the dwarves, "Don't just stand there! There are four more on your left!"
Serie's arrow rain hadn't wiped out all the Wolvenfiends; a few had survived. Two more were still engaged in close combat with the dwarves, outside the area her spell had covered. Alerted by Rhodes's warning, the dwarves snapped back into action. Several of them moved to engage the werewolves in front, while the rest turned to deal with the ones on the left. With Rhodes providing covering fire with his own light arrows from time to time, the battle was over quickly.
An elderly dwarf, who appeared to be their leader, stepped forward. "Thank you for your help, you two... honored Elves." His voice faltered for a moment when he looked at Rhodes. He had never seen an elf with short, rounded ears, but since he was with another elf, he assumed he must be one as well. After all, elves were famously exclusive and reclusive.
"I'm not an elf. I'm human," Rhodes explained wearily. The lack of public awareness for humanity in this era was truly astounding.
"Human?" The dwarven chief looked perplexed. What in the world was a 'human'? Was that another race? Seeing the confused expression on the dwarf's face, Rhodes decided against asking if he had seen any others of his kind.
"Never mind. I am Rhodes, and this is Serie. We're currently traveling."
"Traveling, are you?" the dwarven chief nodded. "I am Amuro Ironfoot, the chief of this village. We plan to hold a feast tonight. I must insist that you both attend, so we may properly repay you for saving our lives."
"What do you think?" Rhodes deferred to Serie. She had been the primary damage dealer in the fight; most of the werewolves had fallen to her spells. He had merely played a supporting role.
"I accept."
As night fell, the dwarves lit a large bonfire. Rhodes took on the task of lighting the fire, earning awestruck looks from the dwarves with a snap of his fingers. If they could master such magic, they would never again have to go through the painstaking effort of drilling wood for fire and carefully tending to the embers. But alas, they could only look on with envy. Dwarves were notoriously magic-deficient; learning magic was an impossibility for them.
"Thank you again, Mr. Rhodes," Amuro said, walking over to Rhodes with a mug of ale in his hand. Rhodes had been a great help in dealing with the Wolvenfiend corpses, and Amuro was deeply grateful. The most troublesome thing about magical beasts was that their blood tainted the land. Even their corpses had to be incinerated, otherwise they risked reanimating as even more terrifying undead monsters.
"It was nothing, Chief Amuro," Rhodes replied, raising his own mug to clink it with the dwarf's. The chief's beard was long and white, a clear sign of his advanced age. Rhodes recalled that dwarves in this world lived much longer than humans, somewhere between two and three hundred years. Even decades into the future timeline of the stories, the dwarven hero Eisen was only just entering his elderly years. He might have claimed he could no longer swing an axe, but in reality, he could still cleave a demon in two with ease. And then there was the dwarven warrior guarding the village, Voll, who looked even older than Amuro but was still a formidable force. One certainly couldn't judge a dwarf's strength by their age.
"Is Miss Serie certain she doesn't require anything?" Amuro glanced over at Serie, who was sitting off to the side, holding only a cup of plain water.
"There is no need. I do not care for alcohol. Besides, the elemental composition of your cooking is too chaotic."
Rhodes was a little surprised to hear this. When he cooked for the elven miss, she was never a picky eater and had never refused his food on account of its "chaotic elements." He took a bite of a skewer made from some unknown animal meat. He could taste the coarse salt crystals sprinkled on top. The flavor was rustic and robust, certainly a far cry from his own cooking.
Amuro didn't seem fazed by Serie's refusal. In fact, he would have found it stranger if she had readily joined in their boisterous celebration. Compared to Serie, the man Rhodes hardly seemed like an elf at all.
"It seems Mr. Rhodes is not an elf after all," Amuro said. "Though I've no idea what a 'human' might be. I've never seen one." Amuro stroked his beard, a nostalgic look in his eyes. "In my youth, I also wandered this continent. I met many creatures of different races. Some I could communicate with, others not at all. Unfortunately, I then encountered the Demon race and nearly lost my life. I haven't left the village since."
Amuro rolled up his sleeve, revealing a deep, ugly scar that ran from his arm all the way to his chest.
"Are the demons very strong?" Rhodes asked.
"Very strong," Amuro's tone was grave. "Every demon evolves from one of the most powerful magical beasts. Their combat ability and their understanding of magic are not to be underestimated."
"Do not underestimate the demons," Serie interjected suddenly, having been silent until now. "You should know, the fall of the first Dwarven Kingdom was related to them."
"There were five original kingdoms on this continent. The Dwarven Kingdom was one of them. But that kingdom was destroyed in a single night. Its people scattered, forming eight clans that now wander the continent."
As Serie spoke, Rhodes noticed a flicker of deep pain in Amuro's eyes.