Secret Meaning

 

Dragons never speak falsehoods. For deception is the weapon of the weak.

But that does not mean they always speak the truth.

 

"Yuuka, what's the situation!?"

"Enemies from three directions — Innis and Mel are holding the east, Lufelle and Tia have the west! And the south, right here, is where they're hitting us the hardest!"

Yuuka shouted back as she cleaved through several enemies at once.

If you were going to attack Scarlet, there were only three points where a massed force could push in: east, west, and south. With the sheer cliff face of the mountain at our back to the north, there was no need to worry about an assault from that direction, not unless the enemy could fly.

"Everyone, fall back!"

I shouted, set Chryse down, and shifted into my dragon form.

Every last Swordsaint takes up the sword. Part of it is the swordsmanship passed down through their generations, but it's likely more fundamental than that, as their bloodline simply has little aptitude for spirit magic. Body and weapon reinforcement falls under enchantment magic, and for reasons I've never fully understood, talent for spirits and talent for enchantment are mutually exclusive.

And swords are not well suited for fighting large numbers of enemies. When that talking white rat — Algernon — had attacked us once before, he'd exploited precisely that weakness.

"Wind!"

I spread my wings and roared. With wordless coordination, the Swordsaints leapt clear of my spell's range or drove their blades into the ground to weather the howling gale. Impressive, I had to admit.

But some of the enemy spirits withstood it too, likely because I'd held back to avoid blowing away our allies. That, however, was accounted for.

"Goblins, be blown away!"

If they were spirits, then naming would work on them. The instant I bellowed those words, the heaped corpses peeled off the ground, and the living goblins were sent flying along with them. So naming even worked on spirits that had died and become corpses. Whether that would ever prove useful again, I couldn't say.

Before the wind-tossed goblins could get back on their feet, I drew in a deep breath. If physical attacks and sorcery could deal with them, it didn't matter how many there were. I'd burn them all to ash in one go.

"Ggh, ahh…!"

The instant I thought that, a searing, razor-sharp pain tore through my body. I groaned and reeled backward.

"Big bro, change back to human!"

At Yuuka's voice, I reflexively returned to human form. What just happened…?

"Daddy, are you alright!?"

"Yeah… somehow…"

Chryse rushed over to where I'd crumpled.

"Blood, stop. Wound, close. Pain, begone."

As she chanted and ran her hands over me, the pain melted away. Once my vision finally steadied, I saw Yuuka standing protectively in front of us, stone sword swinging, countless wooden splinters raining down around her.

You… can't be serious…!?

Beyond where Yuuka's gaze was fixed, past the goblins still regaining their footing, I could see a line of spirits standing in formation, each one roughly two sizes larger than a goblin. What they held at the ready were bows. The wooden splinters Yuuka had been cutting down were arrows, severed mid-flight. Fired in a volley, they had punched clean through my dragon scales and wounded me.

Bows. That weapon, first brought to us by Nokia, had never taken root in Scarlet. At most, Ara would conjure a shadow crossbow with his magic.

And yet these spirits had equipped themselves with bows and were using them in concert…

I'd been naive. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd been looking at this too optimistically.

I'd assumed that as long as I fought in my dragon form, I could beat anything.

But… the enemy. Algernon had come prepared to kill me.

"Ara, shadows!"

"Yes! Will-o'-wisps!"

At Yuuka's command, countless lights sprang forth and illuminated Ara, and the shadows they cast swelled and rose, forming into cavalry. They charged straight toward the formation of large, bow-wielding spirits, but…

"Darkness."

A shrill voice rang out, and the world before me was suddenly draped in shadow. Not enough to blind me entirely, but in that gloom, as if the sun had been smothered by thick clouds, Ara's shadow-figures dissolved and vanished.

… Of course! They're shadows, so they can't exist where there's no light…!

And the voice that had conjured that darkness had come from far closer than I'd expected.

"Algernon!"

"Hello. I am, of course, not the individual you dubbed Algernon. But… it has been a while, I suppose I should say."

A tiny white rat with red eyes. It had already slipped inside the village.

If even goblins could get past our defenses, then a rat small enough to fit in the palm of your hand would have had no trouble at all.

"You… remember me, then."

Their lifespan was supposed to be a single year. Creatures as fleeting as insects, yet as a colony, they possessed something close to eternal life.

"Naturally. For us, the death of an individual holds no meaning. We remember everything as if it happened to ourselves."

The white rat made a strange sound, ki-ki. Perhaps it was laughter. The realization chilled me to the bone.

The rats I'd known had been far more emotionless, almost mechanical. But after five hundred years, they'd taken on distinctly human mannerisms.

And yet.

I felt even less capable of understanding them than before.

"Did you create those spirits?"

"Think logically, if you would. Given the situation, do you truly think there's another possibility? Though, to be precise, they aren't spirits."

"If they're not spirits, then what are they?"

"Who knows. Call them whatever you like."

The white rat answered, shifting its gaze away from me.

"You're the ones who made the original, after all."

Its eyes had settled on Chryse.

"Wh…?"

"Granting a spirit a physical body and turning it into a living creature. A remarkably efficient method. It makes it easy to increase one's forces. After all, we only have bodies like these. Even a million of us would be somewhat insufficient to take on a fire dragon."

The white rat rattled this off without a care.

"What did you… just say? Granting a spirit… a physical body…?"

"Ah, that's right, you still haven't figured out how it's done. But then, the ones who created That were all killed by their own failures, so it's hardly surprising. Thanks to that, we were able to monopolize the technique."

The white rat's tone was utterly flat. Not a shred of emotion in it.

"That said, it's not difficult. You simply place a spirit… into a body that's still alive."

But woven into those words was unmistakable, exquisite malice.

"Still… alive…?"

Chryse's voice trembled as she asked.

"Allow me to explain everything we observed. The human infant that served as the raw material for That — its breath had stopped, its heart had ceased. But it was still alive. The humans, believing the infant dead, attempted to resuscitate it with magic."

There, the white rat let out a short sound, ki.

"What actually occurred was that the summoned spirit crushed the infant's soul and took its place from the inside."

It said this as if stating a simple fact.

"No… that's a lie… that can't be…"

Chryse shook her head, but the white rat continued.

"The spirit that was summoned was not alone. 'Dwell in flesh and gain life.' Those were the instructions the spirits received. But they could not find a vessel as conveniently near death as that infant… so they wandered, inhabited the carcasses of beasts, and killed the summoners who had done this to them. Sparing only their own kind."

"I… I killed them…? I killed them…?"

Chryse crumpled to the ground, tears streaming down her face.

"— So what!"

I shouted on reflex and scooped Chryse up into my arms.

"This child is my daughter. So what if there was a terrible accident at her birth!"

At the same time, something flashed through my mind.

"Even without a blood connection! Even if—"

What had Mother said, back then, in answer to Chryse's question?

"I don't know the way to answer that."

That's right. She hadn't said she didn't know what Chryse was.

"Even if it was different from the ordinary way of life!"

Those words must have been a gift, meant for this very moment.

"This child is, without question… mine and Nina's daughter!"