1070. If I dialed the wrong number
“Shura, I told you not to do that during a fight, didn’t I?”
“Ah, I just got an inspiration.”
“This crazy dwarf?”
That was what the human on one side said as he caught his breath, having pulled back his shield while pushing and kicking his opponent. The fallen opponent rolled on the ground before being kicked in the head by another mercenary and knocked unconscious. Bolts and stones continued to fly in succession from the front.
In such a situation, the dwarf planted the square shield in his left hand into the ground, propped it up against his shoulder to stand it upright, and hid his small body under its protection; he picked up a quill and scribbled something on a piece of paper.
There was too much to forget if he didn’t write it down right now.
“Schreiber!”
Finally, filled with anger, the dwarf gripped his shield tightly and stood up at the sound of someone calling him.
Ah, I’m going, I’m going.
He took the short halberd slung over his back and swung it. Brutal power was infused into the blade as he swung it effortlessly, causing the shafts blocking his path to shatter like rotten branches.
Several soldiers holding the spears screamed in agony, and blood flowed from his torn hands.
The dwarf smashed the heads of several men blocking his path and snapped the neck of the vile fellow who had been ambushing him from behind, using his subordinate’s life as leverage. He accomplished this by bending and straightening his short legs, soaring through the air as if by magic, and swinging his elbows backward.
Dwarf Schreiber landed on the ground, turned around, and spoke.
Yeah, you. Your meanness and ugliness really stood out.
The guy with the broken neck, instead of answering, let out only gasping sounds like cracking, squealing, and groaning.
Then, he slammed his head against the floor. Schreiber firmly remembered the name and title of the man lying before him.
He was the Knight of Bastard. What was his name again? Fortunately, he had written it down well earlier.
Schreiber had a severe memory loss. Yet, his dream was to record and write about everything in the world and live a life of wandering.
“The Knight of Writing, Schreiber.”
That was the name and title used to call dwarves.
“You crazy quill pen guy!”
This was just another nickname. I suppose you could say he
wasn’t exactly highly regarded among his colleagues.
Nevertheless, he was a member of a famous mercenary group and was frequently hired as a bodyguard for high-ranking merchant guilds.
If you were to ask why, I would say it was because his skills were exceptional.
It’s a Manticore army. Those bastards tamed monsters.
The mercenary captain spoke while watching the crowd rushing in from the front during a brief moment of retreat.
To be precise, I created a variant of a bear, wolf, and hyena by mixing the blood of monsters.
Schreiber corrected his statement.
“Shut your mouth if you’re not going to fight with that arrogant mouth of yours. If you’re a dwarf, you should be wielding a hammer or an axe.”
“Your problem is that you’re a racist, Verum.”
“You bastard, h-h-never talk about it. Each race lives according to its given duties, responsibilities, and instincts. I’m a human, so I’m a slave to my desires. So let’s go earn some gold, you crazy dwarf.”
“Well, let’s do that.”
After all, gold coins were important to Schreiber, too.
Should one call it a variant of the Manticore? Its irregularly protruding teeth resembling hacksaws and eyeballs rolling wildly from side to side were repulsive just to look at.
It was the inherent revulsion one feels from artificially created life forms.
Schreiber swung his halberd, recalling over and over again the revulsion rising within him, the emotions he was currently feeling, and the extraordinary events unfolding around him.
Bang, bang—the monster’s head exploded with every swing of his spear.
His opponent was a nation of humans who worshipped monsters, demon beasts, and demons.
Back when Schreiber lived, such creatures were commonplace. It was a time like that.
“Monster’s Scream, that would be a good song title.”
As he fought, Schreiber muttered.
I liked watching things, recording them, and turning them into writings or songs.
While watching over the memories, Encreed stayed by Shriver’s side, watching over him as if he were a ghost.
Shriver occasionally spoke to him, telling him that this place was part of a dream and part of his own memories.
Well, even without being told, Encreed wouldn’t lose his sense of self over something like this.
“I don’t want you to stop. I mean it.”
Schreiber read his mind and spoke. Encreed answered inwardly, too.
He had no intention of stopping.
These were the words of someone who had overcome the various schemes of the Sailor until now. The weight of his words was different. Schreiber, the Knight of Writing, laughed only with his voice.
It is difficult to express precisely in words, but he conveys the sound of laughter based on his will.
This Sailor deliberately conveys this with his will. He was a character quite different from the previous Sailors. It
was not an action performed with a specific expectation, but rather his priority was to express the emotions he was feeling at the moment.
Until now, there were many Sailors who conveyed the will of laughter or the will of anger to induce a change in Encreed’s emotions, but this Sailor was definitely different.
Schreiber was a very peculiar dwarf. He proved his specialness and uniqueness through the time he had lived, his attitude, and his actions.
It was the day that Verum, the mercenary captain who had once fought alongside him, turned to the enemy’s side and betrayed him.
Schreiber beat him to death, navigated through countless traps, and escaped. I hid in a cave for three days and survived by drinking the flowing water inside.
It’s a shame to die like this.
It’s such a waste.
I still want to make more songs and write more. There were so many things I wanted to see and so many things I wanted to do.
How can more than half of the mercenary group be over?
Inside the cave, he reflected on the incident, and as lyrics came to mind, he wrote on the ground with his finger even in the darkness.
He would fall asleep and wake up again.
He worried about the deep cuts on his side and back, reflected on the preciousness of time and the relationships he had shared, and repeated this cycle of falling asleep and coming back to sleep.
Schreiber was lucky. His side healed slowly thanks to his robust physique, and the bleeding from the even deeper cut on his back stopped because the mud from the cave floor had hardened on it.
It was when he had barely survived and made it out of the cave that he finally made it out.
“……The sunlight.”
The streaming sunlight was wonderful. It was as refreshing as the morning after the rain.
What is an ordinary moment to one person becomes a special one to another.
Schreiber shed tears as he savored this deeply moving moment. Upon coming back to life after believing he was dead, a surge of boundless joy and ecstasy sent a shock through his entire body. His body trembled, and his heart stirred.
In that moment, he died once. He had not actually died, but his soul had died along with a strange resolve.
If only I could repeat moments like this.
Given that he was such a mad dwarf, it was only natural that Schreiber rejoiced when the curse of the day befell him.
He was ultimately trapped by the curse of the day and was satisfied.
Whenever inspiration struck his head with deep emotion and ecstasy, the mad dwarf took his own life without hesitation.
He died again and again, repeating the cycle. When he became numb, he left in search of the next challenge to stimulate him. He
had no interest in what the continent was like at that time. He wandered the world. Whenever he encountered a moment of emotional explosion, he died countless times again, repeating the cycle.
As he repeated this, his emotions dried up. His parched heart was like a desert where not a single drop of rain fell.
Having not encountered water for a long time, Schreiber did not even desire it. He had forgotten how to desire it. Thus, he became a desert, trapped in a numb present, and became a boatman.
Because he could no longer feel stimulation, even though he had become a member of the boatmen, he remained quiet and merely watched.
Then, one day, swept up in the will shown by Enkrid, he regained his intellect.
His life knew no surrender, nor did it know despair. Yet, despite knowing it, he lives like that. The moment Schreiber realized that, he felt stimulated again and awakened his intellect.
Knowing how to move forward even while knowing despair.
Even knowing that giving up would be easier, they know how to live uncomfortably.
Schreiber wandered in search of a perfect today but failed, while the mortal now under a curse moves forward hoping for an imperfect tomorrow, leading to many changes.
If I dialed the wrong number.
The mortals of today.
You are really walking the right way.
Schreiber said.
“I became a boatman because I saw no reason to live a life devoid of inspiration, but I thought I would wake up whenever someone seeking a perfect today came along.”
The “todays” and challenges that Encred has repeated all this time were a process of realizing that my thoughts and attitudes up until now were wrong.
“Now I understand. Enki.”
He has now decided.
Touching moments should not be repeated; they must be savored in their entirety. They must be preserved as memories. That is the only way they won’t fade. You should look forward to the unknown tomorrow ahead rather than dwelling on the past. I forgot that.
It is something an ordinary person would easily realize, but it is a fact that the dwarf under today’s curse had forgotten.
Grant my wish.
His memories shattered and scattered, everything around him vanished, and streaking rain poured down, gathering into a river, some of which became a ferryboat. And so, he returned once again to the ferryboat. From one side of the sky where the rain had stopped, a light symbolizing the dawn spread around. A long shadow fell in front of the dwarf. The short boatman, with the rising sunlight behind him instead of a purple lamp, spoke.
“My wish is to escape from here. I am truly sick and tired of this repeating day. Will you grant my wish? My savior.”
“Savior” seemed like a bit too much of a title for the boatman to hear. However, Encreed truly supported even the dream of the boatman inside him. He
sincerely wanted their wish to come true.
Encreed reached out his hand to him.
As much as you want.
Even if the world were to split apart, he had no intention of stopping. Therefore, he would not dwell in the present. That was Schreiber’s fervent wish. It
was also the path Encred had walked until now.
You are my savior because you nod your head straight at my words.
In an instant, wrinkles formed on Schreiber’s face, and his firm, reddish skin turned dark.
He is one of the longest-surviving boatmen.
“Two remain. The Saviors.”
Schreiber, speaking in a more formal tone, burst into hearty laughter. He conveyed his determination, saying he was laughing because he was so happy at that moment.
Encred laughed along with him. How should I put it? This dwarf was someone who was fun to laugh along with.
“I will stand on the side of the mortals. I will stake my entire remaining will on him.”
Schreiber shouted toward the light shining behind him. The dream ended there. For the first time in the dream featuring the boatman, Encred walked bathed in comfortable sunlight instead of the feeling of floating or being flung away.
See me off on your way out today.
The Savior’s steps were light. There was no particular reason for them to be heavy. It didn’t matter that the boatman’s dream had been placed on his shoulders as well.
When Encreid first began repeating today, he had actually nodded in approval.
From then until now, he had never intended to remain in ‘today.’ Therefore, the dream of the Dwarf Schreiber, the Knight of Writing, was merely one of the tasks that had to be done anyway.
He had no intention of staying in today. It was a resolve that had never wavered.
With that, he walked on, turning his back on the light. At some point, he opened his eyes to find it was morning. It wasn’t dawn; the sun had already risen, and the sunlight reached his ankles.
A cool breeze mingled with a gentle wind, creating a mild humidity and temperature perfect for sleeping in. Though, that certainly wasn’t the reason he woke up late.
“What’s up with you sleeping in late?”
This is what Sinar is saying. There were many places here where people slept with nothing but a roof, without any separate walls.
There were also houses with leather roofs and wooden doors.
The place where a few beastmen led Enkrid to rest last night was different from before—it was just a roof—and when he opened his eyes, Sinar was sitting beside him.
They said it was the perfect spot to rest, even though it lacked walls and doors, because it was located on slightly elevated ground where vitality flowed well.
On the other hand, it was vulnerable to intrusion by fairies or others.
Well, if it had been a hostile fellow rather than Sinar, he would have woken up from this dream with the boatman or not. After all,
the gate of his sixth sense, which he had opened by honing his sensory skills, would have detected that much.
“You have to rest when you need to. That is what I learned.”
Enkrid answered while lying down. His eyes fell upon the symbol of the Beastmen City painted on the ceiling canopy.
It was shaped like a round, golden fruit. Judging by its form, it didn’t look like an apple, but rather a peach.
They used something like a golden peach as their symbol, though he hadn’t paid much attention to it until now. Today, he had simply looked at it because it was there when he opened his eyes.
In one way, it looked like a peach, but in another, it resembled sunlight holding a soft glow.
If he were to put their symbol into words, wouldn’t it be something like hope, warmth, and vitality?
What the dwarf Schreiber wanted in his dream last night was hope, warmth, and vitality.
Enkrid sat up, lost in thought.
“Is that so? If you’re awake, come out quickly and watch the beastmen’s sparring.”
Sinar saw that and spoke. She had been there since dawn, and Dunbakel woke up stretching after Enkrid woke up.
“Ah, King Seonjo appeared in my dream again and nagged me for a long time.”
The stinky beastman grumbled. He had been sleepy-eyed the whole time he was here. Everyone knew exactly why he looked sleepy, so they didn’t scold him for waking up late, though.
Encred thought he would beat that beastman up and wash him today.
Well, since Sinar had stepped forward first and he had been pushed to second place, he probably should just sit quietly and be a spectator for now.
And so, Sinar and Dunbakel stood facing each other. There were quite a few onlookers.
“But you’re not going easy on me?”
Dunbakel grumbled and spoke. At those words, the right corner of Sinar’s mouth turned up.
“Yes, that must be done.”
She cheered on Dunbakel’s words.
“Yeah, I will.”
A sense of omnipotence dulls one’s sense of reality. Encreed felt as though he could hear Premahild’s words from somewhere.
“Now, it’s up to you to turn that guy into a decent human being and raise him properly. You disagree? Look at this bastard, this is ridiculous. Hey, do you think what I gave you is just a precious thing? If you did, you wouldn’t be talking like that right now. Otherwise, just kill him and get rid of him. If you don’t fix this guy’s head, it’ll be no different from another devil appearing.”
He didn’t actually say it, but if she had been by his side, he probably would have poured out a torrent of chatter like this.
Well, in reality, Dunbakel’s mental state was quite sound. After all, he was a beastman with a heart capable of looking back at the city that had abandoned him.
“evil!”
Not long after, the prisoner’s scream rings out. Green vital energy gathered in Sinar’s veins.
“You said you were sparring? You’re trying to kill me because I’m a threat as a woman, aren’t you?”
Dunbakel shouted, “
The arrogance born of omnipotence has vanished.”
Encred nodded and watched as the left corner of Sinar’s mouth curled up.
Did you intend to act threateningly?
Even Encred shuddered at the question. It must have been because the energy of winter had spread around them.
“Ow.”
“Goosebumps.”
“It’s cold.”
Torsoe and the entire warrior squad of Suin, including Topi who was watching, stroked their arms.
