Chương 19: Mentors

"Hey, Misha."

"Yeah?"

"You ever wonder why they call them 'dwarfs'?"

"Dunno. I never went to school."

"It's because when you stand next to one, they'll 'dwarf' you in size. Hah!"

"... I don't get it."

"They're massive, Misha. They're fucking half-giants." —Conversation between two engineers in the Ledrograd Battery Orland rolled off the bedding with a yelp just as Miriyela's hammer came down where his head had been. Half of the stage cracked with a heavy wooden shriek, splintering the floorboards— and the lovely bedding—before launching the wood all over the hall. Orland rolled off to the side, then scrambled back on hands and heels until he managed to put some distance between the two of them.

Only then did he get up, raising both his fists.

"Hell's wrong with you?" he snapped.

"You wanna—""In Kamengrad, all serious debates can be settled by a fight," Miriyela declared proudly, pulling her hammer from the center of the stage with one clean wrench.

"I can accept my criticisms. I accept that my crown is broken. I accept that my enemies are numerous and my vaults have been sealed. But I will not accept being called 'weak', especially when the comparison is to an old wolf who cannot even walk without his artificial brace." She charged. For someone so large, she moved too fast.

Her armor should've slowed her down, and her hammer should've pulled her off-balance, but instead she crossed the stage in a pounding rush, and Orland's body remembered the demon skulls she'd smashed in a single blow. He shoved mana into his gauntlet and ripped up a five-mana slab of stone and packed earth from beneath the floor, pulling it up between him and the oncoming hammer. Didn't help.

Her hammer swung at his waist, and while the earth wall intercepted it, the shockwave from the impact went through the wall and sent him flying off the stage. He hit the floor on his shoulder a good dozen paces away, wincing and rolling to a slow halt. Fuck… that. If I hadn't pulled up that earth wall, she would've killed me! Kazimir clicked his tongue all the way from the far table.

"This is their town hall, you little shits. You break it, you fix it."

"Silence, old wolf! I face the Great Hero! Collateral damage is all but expected!" Miriyela boasted from the stage, laughing as she ripped down the rest of his puny wall with her free hand and turned to face Orland.

"You are the most talented warrior in the entire world, blessed by divine instincts! No need to be humble! Come at me with everything you—" Orland snarled and dashed to the side the moment Miriyela hopped off the stage with her hammer, activating his sylph shoes. The truth was, he was just pissed she attacked him without warning. And what better way to figure out just exactly how strong he was than a fight against one of the Hero's prophesied lackeys?

Mirieyala paused as he began dashing in circles around her, using bursts of his sylph shoes to rapidly reposition around the hall. Behind a table, behind a pillar, on the stage, off the stage, on a table, clinging to a pillar briefly before dashing to a different area—each burst of wind under his feet carried him around, making him dizzy, but also making it difficult for the dwarf to track him. She gave up quickly, keeping her face forward as though she refused to let his speed rattle him.

Let's see how you deal with this! As he leapt up to a chandelier and grabbed onto the chain, he jabbed two gauntleted fingers down at her, pulling four two-mana rocks from the hearth directly beneath him and sending them flying at her neck. The rocks bounced off her impossibly thick armor, and the one that did slip through the gaps of her armor bounced off some sort of chain she was wearing underneath. Four pulses of blue light rippled across her scale armor upon impact.

She didn't even grunt as she turned her head slowly to look up at him. … Alright. So your neck's covered, but what about other gaps? Teeth clenching, he kept moving and dashing in circles around her, sending two-mana rock after rock at her from every angle conceivable. He aimed for the gaps in her shoulder, hand, elbow, foot, knee, waist, and chest armor—and despite his accuracy in getting the rocks through the gaps almost every time, it was also every time that they'd be repelled by her impenetrable defense.

There was no gap, only illusions that made it seem like there were many. So he dashed in straight from the front for his final test, gripping a sharpened three-mana rock in his hand. She was still looking back at where he'd been just a moment ago, so there was an opportunity. He neared her, only half a dozen paces away, before shooting his rock straight at her veiled face. But that, too, was bait.

Even without looking at him, she knew he would target the only unarmored part of her body, so her bracer jerked up with inhuman speed and slapped the rock away with a pulse of blue across the scales. Then her scale hammer began pulsing red. Oh. Miriyela pivoted, gripping her hammer with both hands, and swung hard at his head.

For a moment he saw certain death flying his way—but then he bit his tongue, slammed both heels into the floorboards before him to halt his momentum, and activated both his sylph shoes at the same time to throw himself back with no care for balance at all.

He crashed into a table and through it—and several chairs as well—but that was better than the alternative: getting pulverized by the explosive red discharge of the hammer hitting nothing but empty air, the shockwave annihilating a section of the hall's left wall. Boards, plaster, and dust burst outwards, while cold air immediately rushed inside with a swirl of astral lead flakes.

Kazimir clicked his tongue with clear annoyance, but Orland, for his part, could only gasp for breath and stare at her hammer as he scrambled onto his feet. Chisel me blind. How's that hammer work? She stores all the impact she takes with her scale armor—the blue flashes—and then… she transfers the impact into her hammer when she swings? This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

A dozen more specialized possibilities raced into his head, competing for space, but all of his theories had two things in common: blue flash meant she'd absorbed force, and red flash meant she was about to release it. Basically, that meant a prolonged fight with her would only turn in her favor. All of those pebbles he'd shot at her did nothing but supercharge her next attack. So… don't let her block. End this fight in one move! One move. One attack. If he had to wager everything on one try, what would he do? …

He glared at her as he reared his gauntlet back, clenching his fist slowly. Every last drop of his mana went into ripping out half a dozen clumps of earth from beneath the damaged floorboards around him, forming a giant twenty-mana earth fist around his gauntlet. A fist bigger than her head should do it. He lunged at her, throwing a punch and using the same momentum to send his giant earth fist at her face—"Sharsana!" Miriyela barked.

"Hold!" The floor before Orland exploded, and the mole-drake burst up from underground again, slamming into his shoulder before he could throw his punch. His giant earth fist fell alongside his concentration, and he hit the ground hard, his breath knocked out of his lungs. Both mole-drake claws pinned his arms, stopping him from getting up.

He probably had the gods to thank that the mole-drake wasn't actually trying to crush his limbs, but he didn't feel like thanking anyone while the beast was growling in his face.

"Get… off… you ugly floor rat!" Orland strained, trying to clench his gauntlet. He may not have any mana left, but the gauntlet was still a gauntlet. A punch straight to the mole-drake's snout would probably knock it off him. But while he strained and struggled and tried unsuccessfully to get the mole-drake off him, Miriyela walked up to him and hovered her hammer over his head. That got him to stop resisting.

Name: Miriyela Doch Kamenrody Kamengradskaya Grade: Uncommon-4 Title: Warrior Title Ability: Steelheart Acquired Skills: None Might: 23 (+10) Dexterity: 21 Resilience: 19 (+10) Clarity: 15 Mana: 245/257 (+2/hr) Relics: Molescale Armor (Uncommon-3), Molescale Hammer (Uncommon-3), Iron Lord's Veil (Rare-5)

"... As an Uncommon-Grade vanguard, I carry three main relics with me," Miriyela said proudly.

"I don the molescale armor and wield the molescale hammer. They are a passive-type set of relics that allows me to absorb impact with my armor and charge my hammer in the process. All warriors of Kamegrad carry them into battle, and I am no different."

"I… noticed," Orland wheezed.

"And then I have Kamengrad's signature relic, passed down from one ruler of Kamengrad to the next for the past three hundred years," she said, lifting her chin and making her black veil shift a little.

"This is the Iron Lord's Veil. It allows me to grant my attribute levels to whoever or whatever wears the other half of the veil—and for your information, that would be my beloved mole-drake, Sharsana." Orland blinked up at the mole-drake. He'd vaguely noticed it when he first saw it ripping the demons apart, but the beast—Sharsana—really did have the same black veil tied around its neck like a collar. Or more like a bib.

He'd seen rich babies in Rusalka wear them while they were carted around town by their servants before.

"You mean… this beast is stronger than you?"

"Yes!" Miriyela said cheerily.

"Sharsana is mine, as are all mole-drakes the sacred beast of Kamengrad's royal line! Each royal is given a mole-drake to raise from birth and tame into kinship, so that we may one day ride on them, fight alongside them, and be buried with them! My dear Sharsana is twenty-five years old! Isn't she the cutest baby you've ever seen? Look! Look at this!" At the sound of its name, Sharsana lifted its head.

Miriyela reached down and scratched the underside of the beast's snout with surprising gentleness, and the mole-drake immediately melted into her touch, tail thumping against the floorboards.

"Who's a good girl?" she cooed.

"You are! Yes, you are! You're the cutest, strongest mole-drake in all the realms!" Orland paused. He had to admit, he did kinda want to scratch the pet, monstrous thing.

Name: 'Sharsana', Mole-Drake Grade: Uncommon-4 Might: 23 (+33) Dexterity: 24 Resilience: 19 (29) Clarity: 15 (+15) Mana: 213/213 (+21/hr) General Description: A young mole-drake. Her body is covered in dark scales that shed dirt and debris easily, while her snout, sensitive whiskers, and strong digging claws allow her to burrow and navigate underground with great precision. However, her wings are vestigial and unsuitable for flight.

He couldn't read all the words at the bottom of Sharsana's tag, but a quick glimpse at her attribute levels did show she had all of Miriyela's attribute levels and more. There was just no way I could've beaten her, then. Her strength is five times that of a normal human.

"But… um, enough about me!" Miriyela coughed—as if realizing she'd shown him something undignified—before looking down at him with her hammer raised again.

"How about that, Great Hero? I have won, yes? Now you must take back your insult. I am not weak, and I will journey with you as your vanguard." Orland strained again, but Sharsana's claws pressed harder into his sleeves, keeping him pinned.

"... Fine," he grumbled.

"You're not weak."

"Yes! I am not—""But what kinda companion attacks the Hero of the party, huh?" he said.

"You're not following us. No way. I don't care if prophecy says you'll help me or marry me or whatever, but—""As the 'Hero', you are, indeed, naturally gifted in all things," Kazimir cut in abruptly.

"But even the first four Heroes required training, guidance, and specialized instruction from those with more years than them. That is why the prophesied companions exist." Orland glanced over at the old wolf, scowling.

"What?" Kazimir took a slow drink of alcohol from his flask, looking deeply tired of everyone in the hall.

"Each of the six prophesied companions are meant to teach the Hero something they specialize in. If the Fifth Hero is to reach the full potential of his Star-Element Gauntlet, then he will require masters from all across the world to mentor him in the disciplines of the elements.

I don't like Her Royal Hammerhead either, but of the six prophesied companions whose names were finally divined three months ago in Relikov City, one of them was, indeed, Miriyela Doch Kamenrody Kamengradskaya," With that, he looked at Miriyela before sighing quietly.

"At the very least, having a dwarf travel with us wouldn't hurt, and there's no saying a party can't have more than one vanguard anyways. We can share the frontline." Miriyela seemed to blink under her veil as she stared at Kazimir. Then she cracked her neck, and it was obvious what she thought about his words.

"... I do not require your endorsement, wolf," she declared proudly.

"My glory speaks sufficiently for itself." Kazimir snorted and took another sip.

"No more compliments for you, then."

"That was a compliment? Perhaps your face should work harder to compensate." The two started bickering and arguing again, but now Orland ignored the both of them, because—annoyingly enough—he was actually thinking about what Kazimir had said. Miriyela was strong. She was strong enough that he wasn't even sure if he could beat her with full mana… but that meant she could probably teach him stuff.

She'd probably let him spar with her whenever he asked, which was something he couldn't see himself asking Kazimir for, given how much the old wolf seemed like he was only here to guide him on the semi-correct path to the north. But if I let her join, it'll be another person I'll have to lie to. Won't she figure out sooner or later that I'm not the 'Hero'? … Maybe. Maybe not. Only one way to find out.

"Fine," he finally said, stopping the bickering with a single click of his tongue.

"You can join." Miriyela snapped her head down at him instantly.

"Really?"

"Yeah. But for the information," he said, holding up a finger, "I was just holding back. I could've beat you no problem."

"Of course you could have! You are the Hero, after all!" Then Miriyela reached down and patted her mole-drake's head. The beast huffed only once before pulling its claws off his shoulders. He immediately pushed himself up with a grunt, brushing dirt and splintered wood off his clothes while trying to recover what remained of his dignity—but then Miriyela suddenly bent down and scooped him up, lifting him clean off the floor. His thoughts completely paused.

"... What are you doing?" Miriyela carried him across the hall effortlessly, marching back towards the bedding on the half-destroyed stage.

"I still won the duel, did I not?"

"Uh-huh?"

"So as promised, we shall sleep together tonight!" she declared.

"Our marriage vows shall be exchanged tomorrow morning!"