62 — 62 - A Certain Adventurer’s Withdrawal (2)

“Who could believe such a story!?”

As soon as I finished speaking, the bald man snapped back, just as expected.

But I agreed with his words.

Even I could not fully believe it yet, so it was only natural.

“Believe it or not, that’s up to you. Oh, right. If you want a reference, I can show you the power of my magic. One of my strongest spells was crushed with a single fist. I have no pride left after that.”

When I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender, the guild master stroked his beard repeatedly as he reviewed the content.

Who in the world would believe such nonsense?

The only reason they had listened to me until the end was because I was a mage with some reputation.

Had I been just any ordinary adventurer, I would have been thrown out in the middle of my story.

And I would have done the same.

“So, you are saying that this new species is ‘completely impervious to ordinary weapons, has overwhelming resistance to magic, possesses enough strength to pry off the coils of a Giant Viper, and even intelligence on par with humans, enough to negotiate’?”

“To add to that, it could locate that snake lurking in the pitch-black forest by smell… or hearing. And it could distinguish humans. It remembered the mercenary commander and me. Oh, I forgot to mention—this thing used adventurer tools to light a fire, grilled meat with salt and pepper, and even used an iron plate it had procured to cook on before skewering the meat and eating it. I’ll also say it had the intelligence to use human tools. It even boiled water in a pot and wiped itself clean with cloth.”

When I rattled off these details, the noble who had offered to pay went, “Ehh…”—the exact same reaction the mercenaries had when they first witnessed it. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Who could believe such a thing? It sounds like the rambling of a madwoman.”

“I think so too. But I’d like you to consider how it feels to be forced to watch it firsthand.”

The guild master’s words were only natural, and I completely agreed.

But I wanted them to at least understand the torment of having been shown such a sight.

That said, I truly had no words that could convince them. I leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.

“You would put faith in such a story!?”

“Of course not…”

“Unfortunate as it is, everything I’ve told you is what I really saw.”

The bald man continued grumbling, but the one paying was the noble.

He seemed to be the type who looked down on adventurers, spitting out insults like “mere rabble,” but before that, I was a mage and a hunter.

From his appearance, he looked only like a merchant, so he was likely from some prominent trading house.

Even the guild master seemed dissatisfied, but I wished he would stop looking at me like that. There was nothing I could do about it.

“Hmm… then let me ask you, as a young mage. How do you see this new species?”

The noble who had decided to pay at least wanted my opinion, regardless of whether it was true.

“The mercenaries who fought it judged the new species to be ‘calamity-class. It should be treated the same as a dragon.’ But I would add this: a dragon that cannot breathe fire, cannot fly, and is small. But I believe—even in a contest of pure strength—it would not fall short of a dragon. What makes it terrifying is not its sturdy body or its magic resistance. It’s that abnormal strength.”

When I spoke, the bald man fell silent, though he continued glaring at me.

I had done nothing to earn his hatred, but perhaps he had already suffered losses because of that monster?

“Just imagine. Its size is no greater than an ogre, yet it grabbed a Giant Viper and tore it apart. With strength like that, what do you think it could do?”

No one answered my question.

Not because they couldn’t imagine it, but because they were waiting for my answer.

“Size can be both a strength and a weakness. The bigger you are, the more conspicuous you become. The heavier, the slower you move. But that monster—ogre-sized, with strength to rival a dragon—was nimble. If something like that entered a human city, what do you think would happen?”

Their answers were no doubt the same as mine.

A walking disaster, large enough to be hard to spot, yet devastating if it was. Truly a calamity.

“Bigger isn’t always better. That monster may be the optimal form for a predator.”

“And you stood before such a threat three times and still lived, even managing to deduce ways to survive it.”

The noble’s words made me pause to think.

It felt a bit off to call it “ways to protect myself,” but looked at differently, that wasn’t wrong either.

“‘Protect myself’ isn’t quite right… but at least, the chances of not being killed are much higher.”

“And the method is?”

“To do nothing.”

I raised my hands again in jest.

“That monster doesn’t bother with humans who don’t fight back. That explains why I was spared, and why the first time I saw it, it stood still before an ogre. As a hunter, I’ve known that some monsters fight for sport. I believe it’s one of those. Otherwise, why were the mercenary band spared? Why were there so few dead in its battles?”

So far, this explanation was enough even for me.

(Though one worry remained—it seemed to view humans as toys. Which meant it would seek out humans deliberately. But I couldn’t say that aloud.)

A walking calamity that actively approached humans—what would people call such a thing?

Could any nation tolerate that running free?

I left that unsaid, since it was just speculation.

And not because I simply didn’t want to face that lecherous monster again.

“It’s simple. It has intelligence—enough to negotiate with humans. So if you’re attacked, it probably means it wants something. Don’t resist, just hand it over. That way, you’ll live.”

“Ridiculous! A caravan was attacked on the highways of Canaan! Do you expect us to stand by and watch!? Do you know how much was lost? Stop wasting time and talk about how to kill it!”

I sighed, muttering, “Is this bald fool even listening?”

“I already told you. It’s a ‘dragon without fire or wings.’ A dragon is a dragon, whether it breathes fire or not, whether it flies or not. If you want to kill it, bring a dragon slayer.”

“There’s no such thing!”

As he said, “dragon slayers” only existed in fairy tales. There were old stories about elven warriors who defeated dragons, but those tales were uncertain—and the elves themselves denied them.

“Then tell me—if you truly intended to slay this new species, how would you do it?”

At the noble’s question, I folded my arms, then crossed my legs to think.

What would it take?

Not soldiers.

Only those of true strength could fight it.

“…Fifty hero-class warriors. Equipment and tools without limit to cost. At the very least, every frontliner needs a weapon on par with a top-tier magic sword. Elven cooperation is also needed—at least twenty, preferably with some warriors among them. And mages stronger than me. Sadly, I don’t include myself in that list.”

Ideally, I’d want double that, but against that monster, numbers weren’t always an advantage.

So this was the most reasonable plan.

“Impossible!”

The bald man snapped again.

And just when I thought I’d given a fairly solid answer.

Unrealistic, yes—but what else could they do?

“Well, that’s how I would do it. If you want to try slaying it, go ahead.”

“In that case, we’ll be calling on you—”

“Guild master. As of today, I’m retiring from adventuring. I have a girl waiting for me. Leave the new species’ subjugation to others.”

I cut him off sharply.

“And if I refuse to accept that?”

“Oh? Adventurers were free to join and free to leave, weren’t they?”

“Heh. Exceptions can be made.”

I clicked my tongue at the old man, glancing up at the ceiling, wondering what to do.

“For the record, my magic won’t work on it. The Kinoshita Style specializes in fire and earth, which are poor matches. If you need mages, try Yameida or Hornda.”

“You recommend other schools instead of your own?”

The noble looked shocked.

In a country where mages were revered, disputes over “whose school is superior” were constant.

To admit one’s own style was inadequate could mean losing all prestige at home.

Yet I had said it without hesitation, so they looked at me in disbelief.

“I simply know my own limits. And honestly, I’d rather give serious advice than have things end badly. It looks like you plan to try subjugation, after all.”

When I looked at the bald man, he snorted and glared again.

Whoever he was, if armies could beat that monster, the fight in Canaan would not have gone so poorly.

But merchants thought only of profits and losses.

If he recklessly pushed for a campaign, and the army was destroyed, I would feel guilty for saying nothing—but I refused to get dragged down with them.

(Haa… I was planning to retire and become a teacher, but… maybe that won’t be so easy.)

Rena would be fine—she had the church. But I needed to start something new, using the money I earned this time.

With a sigh, I decided to endure their discussion a little longer.

Of course, I had no intention of giving up on retiring. I would make sure of that.

In the end, the decision reached by sundown was: my retirement was not recognized, but I would not participate in subjugation.

However, because of my experience negotiating with the new species, I was forced into the role of attempting persuasion as a last resort.

They clearly wanted to drag me into this no matter what.

“And if your speculation is right, then you won’t be killed. So to prove your information was worth two hundred gold, you can handle at least that much, can’t you?”

Those words from the noble sealed it.

I reflected that perhaps I had asked for too high a price.

For now, I could only pray the capital’s fashions had not changed, since I’d be stuck wearing the same clothes for a while.