The Successor from the Mountain Pass
"Didn't they say it was around here?"
Fritz asked.
Beside the boy, Roberta let out a soft "Hmm." The two sat on their saddles and looked at the statue to their right. It was a statue of Nenus, the god of the sea.
Just behind the statue, a river flowed. It was a tributary of a river that originated somewhere in a southern land, now greatly swollen from the heavy rain. It had been pouring steadily for four days with no sign of stopping.
"They definitely said it was near Lord Nenus's statue…?"
Muttering to himself, Fritz looked around.
The two of them, along with Ulrich, were trying to cross the river. Their destination lay beyond it. Iselburg, where the Osnover royal wedding would be held, was only a few days' journey past the river.
But there was no bridge in sight. At the village they had passed earlier, they were told, "Follow the river upstream, and you'll see the statue of Nenus. There should be a bridge nearby." They had even added that it was a stone bridge sturdy enough to withstand the swollen summer rains.
"We should go a bit farther. We can't see anything because of the rain!"
All they could see was the river, swollen as if it were about to overflow. The rain lashed against their faces, making it hard to even open their eyes. Unless they raised their voices, they would be drowned out by the sound of rain and rushing water.
"Fritz! Be careful!"
In an instant, Roberta shouted. At the same time, the river surged like a wave and struck Fritz, who was riding too close to the bank.
"Don't ride so close to the river!"
The startled horse nearly panicked, but the boy skillfully calmed it and pulled away from the river.
"Wow… even if there is a bridge, can we actually cross it?"
"We'll have to see. They said it should be fine, though."
Roberta turned to look at Ulrich on her left.
"Sir Ulrich, do you see anything?"
He brushed back his rain-soaked bangs and scanned the river.
"Over there."
"Pardon?"
"There's someone."
The two followed his gaze. Ahead, they could see the faint shape of a person. It looked small—not just because of the distance, but even considering that, it was a small figure.
"A dwarf, isn't it? One of the bearded kind."
As they urged their horses closer and its features became clearer, Fritz spoke with fascination.
"Are they trying to cross the river?"
Interest flickered in Roberta's eyes as well.
It was her first time seeing a dwarf in Osnover—though not the first in her life. Before she had been appointed as chief priest in Dithmarschen, she had seen many different races, including dwarves. Among them had been imperial nobles and even ascetics of the Pantheon.
Non-human races were generally rarer the closer one got to the northern regions, and more common toward the south. The reason was simple: those areas had been less affected by the old Empire.
The second human empire, the Isturia Dynasty, had hunted non-human races. They enforced a strong assimilation policy, and those who resisted were hunted, forcing all non-human races to abandon their homelands.
Nearly two millennia had passed and dynasties had changed, yet the effects of that era still ran deep.
"I didn't expect to see a dwarf again."
"Again? You've seen one before?"
"Yes. Back when I was in Dithmarschen."
"A dwarf… in Dithmarschen?"
"One came to see Sir Ulrich."
At that, Roberta glanced briefly at Ulrich before asking Fritz,
"For what reason?"
"I'm not really sure. I only saw him a few times when he visited the lord's residence. He stayed for a few days, and when he left, the lord also went away for several days."
The boy added that this had happened six years ago.
'Six years ago… that would have been around the end of the Osnover civil war.'
The civil war had nothing to do with dwarves. She guessed the dwarf must have come for some other reason. And that thought reminded her of something Count Wilhelm of Meyer had once said.
He had mentioned that a fairy named Yudebora, nearing the end of her life, had come to see Ulrich to reunite with an old acquaintance.
'Was it for a similar reason back then?'
Or perhaps, like Duke Vailen's party from the Kingdom of Carbonihar, it had been a request or commission. Along with that, she found herself wondering under what name Ulrich had received his guest at the time.
"..."
There was no chance to ask.
While lost in thought, her horse had continued forward, bringing her close to the dwarf. The dwarf paid no attention to the approaching humans, instead glaring at the river with a scowl.
"Damn it… how poorly did they maintain this for the bridge to collapse?"
True to his race, the dwarf was short—barely reaching even the chest of the boy, Fritz. Yet his build was solid. He wore a short-sleeved top, and his arms were as thick as Roberta's thighs.
Not all dwarves grew beards, but his was thick and full. Only his forehead, eyes, and nose showed sun-reddened skin; from his cheekbones down to his collarbone stretched a dense, dark brown beard.
It was hard to guess his age. That was common among non-human races. Even though dwarves had features similar to humans, his beard made him look well past forty by human standards.
"Excuse me, descendant of Keme."
At Roberta's greeting, the dwarf snapped his head toward her and looked up. He didn't respond verbally, but his expression clearly asked, What is it? He seemed irritated, standing there in the rain unable to cross.
"May I ask what happened?"
"Isn't it obvious?!"
He barked angrily.
"The bridge collapsed!"
The dwarf pointed with a thick finger.
He was right. Now that they were closer, they could see what had been invisible from afar. The remains of the bridge surfaced briefly amid the rushing water before being swallowed again.
A stone bridge… washed away and destroyed by the river? Roberta furrowed her brows. The dwarf read the "How?" in her gaze and raised his voice again.
"I wouldn't know! You're the ones who built it, aren't you? If we had built it, it wouldn't have collapsed so pathetically. Anyone who constructs something that can't even last a thousand years deserves to lose their head!"
Even though the rain soaking his body should have lowered his temperature, the dwarf's face was flushed red.
"He seems pretty hot-tempered. We should be careful."
Fritz whispered to Roberta.
She silently agreed. There were many kinds of dwarves, but among them, those with thick beards were especially known for their rough temperaments. Each one possessed skill great enough to be called a master craftsman, yet they were equally strong-willed and stubborn, never short of opinions.
If you left a bad first impression, it could last a lifetime. They were a race that never forgot what they gave or received—so much so that one might think words like mercy and forgiveness didn't exist for them.
'There's a reason people say to avoid them if they seem displeased at first meeting.'
She exchanged a silent glance with the boy.
"To think I came all the way here just to get drenched and have to turn back."
The dwarf's grumbling voice carried clearly even through the surrounding noise.
Roberta looked at the river. It wasn't very wide, so even through the heavy rain she could see the opposite bank. It was close enough to reach if one fell forward—but with the bridge gone, there was no way to cross.
Even from the surface, the current looked terrifying, and beneath it, unseen whirlpools were surely raging. It would be better to fight monsters in the sand than attempt crossing this.
'We'll have to go around.'
She clicked her tongue inwardly.
There was another route to Iselburg. Just in case, they had learned of an alternative path. However, it required a significant detour and would take more time. On top of that, they would have to endure camping in this torrential rain.
When she shared her thoughts with Ulrich, he nodded in agreement.
"Hey. You lot with the short ears."
As the three were about to leave, the dwarf called out to them.
"Yes?"
Fritz replied.
"Where are you headed?"
"We're going to Iselburg."
"Iselburg?"
The irritation on the dwarf's face vanished in an instant.
"Well, that works out! Then guide me, will you? I'm heading there too, but I don't know the roads around here and have been wandering for quite a while."
At the sudden request, Fritz hesitated and looked at Ulrich. Ulrich quietly gazed down at the small figure before speaking.
"What is your name, traveler from the mountain pass?"
The dwarf flinched slightly.
"…You know me?"
"Aren't you wearing your crest? It's hard not to recognize."
"Oh!"
Letting out an exclamation, the dwarf lowered his head and looked at the right side of his chest. There was a silver ornament there—a mountain goat standing tall on its hind legs, about the size of a fist.
"I see. But still, no human has recognized it until now. How did you know? Did someone tell you, or have you seen our kind before?"
"I have."
"Long ago," Ulrich added.
"That's unusual. I thought I was the only one who had come this far recently. The Ice Peninsula—that dreadful place—is too close, after all."
At those words, Roberta and Fritz both reacted. When exactly was "long ago" for someone like Ulrich? Roberta assumed it was a past even Fritz didn't know.
Fritz had said he had seen a dwarf before as well. If that dwarf had come from the mountain pass, his reaction should have been different.
"What's your name?"
"Armin. I use the surname Dithmarschen."
The dwarf's eyebrows twitched.
"Dithmarschen? The one from the Ice Peninsula I just mentioned?"
"Yes. A place that was once part of it."
Ulrich explained that the Duke of Dithmarschen was his adoptive father. Roberta felt a strange sense of dissonance hearing him introduce her as his adopted child, but the dwarf didn't seem to notice anything odd.
After Roberta and Fritz introduced themselves as well, the dwarf stroked his wet beard and introduced himself.
"I am Toruhel Aladelione of the Feira Mountain Pass."
"Aladelione…" Ulrich repeated the surname as if committing it to memory.
"For this to be coincidence, the timing is remarkably perfect. To meet travelers before a collapsed bridge—and for one of them to be the son of the Duke of Dithmarschen. You must be heading to attend the wedding, I assume?"
Ulrich gave a gentle smile befitting his youthful appearance.
"Yes. I'm going in the Duke's stead."
"So am I. I'm on my way to attend that wedding as well."
"Sir Toruhel, you're attending the royal wedding?"
Ulrich asked, sounding surprised.
"Is that so strange? That a dwarf would come all this way just for a mere wedding?"
"It would be a lie to say it isn't. Feira and Osnover are far too distant from each other. Even if it were something greater than a wedding, there would be little reason for interest."
"Well, that's true," Toruhel said, nodding.
"To tell you the truth, it's because of the crown."
"The crown?"
Listening from the side, Roberta murmured unconsciously.
"I'm the one who made it—along with my brothers."
Amid the noise of the pounding rain and rushing river, the word crown rang clearly in Roberta's ears. She knew. The crown the dwarf spoke of was the one Ulrich had received.
That night, after receiving a banquet from Count Meyer, Roberta had spoken with Ulrich atop the castle walls under the night view. What had he said then?
He had said that the Pantheon had given him a crown after he ended the Osnover civil war. That the crown had been made by dwarves. That it was modeled after the emperor's crown.
The Pantheon, in order to topple the Third Empire and establish the Fourth, had presented him with the emperor's crown. Toruhel was one of the ones who made that crown.
"But I heard there's been a problem with it. So I came to check."
Roberta glanced at Ulrich.
'If it's about the crown…'
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