Chapter 161 - Fire in the Cave (1)

1

The air in the cave was cold. Chilly. The goblins merely sniffed, saying nothing even as cold moisture clung to their skin.

Every one of the roughly thousand goblins was silent.

"A great warrior died in today's sword fight."

Someone among them spoke softly.

"The warrior's name was Gyari. Kerk. Daughter of Orogan, war chief of the White Mane Tribe, and Gorhe, and descendant of the great warrior Gorgir, who inherited tattoos from the White Lion."

The one letting the words fall remained unseen, buried in the crowd. Sheltered by the shadows of their kin and the darkness of the cave, a goblin spoke. These were not words delivered from a podium, so this was no speech.

"She was a prickly one. Kerk."

"Went around beating people up from childhood, only to end up getting the shit beaten out of her and dying."

Since this was not one person's speech, the goblins spoke freely. In the dark cave, goblins here and there tossed out a few words at a time. The fragments of their words came together, assembling pieces of someone's life.

"Gyari never remembered hitting anyone."

"But she'd never, ever forget getting hit. Kerrr."

"A child who lived with venom in her nose. I remember. When Gyari was little, Gorhe tried to apply her tattoos. But Gyari shook her head, said she'd draw them herself, and copied other people's tattoos."

"Kerk. Gyari was always one to shake her head."

Through their shared contributions, a life came together. A thousand people's fragments. A thousand tiny stories were forming the tale of a goblin called Gyari.

I realized.

'... It's a funeral.'

A goblin had died in today's colosseum match. That Earth Spiritfolk's name was Gyari. Those who had known Gyari, those who had spoken to her even once, had gathered here underground.

"To Gyari, shaking her head at people was the same as swinging a sword at the world."

"She was a child who saw them as the same thing. Kerk."

"That must be why she became a gladiator."

The bonfire flickered.

Shadows were etched onto the cave walls. Within those shadows, the goblins were indistinguishable. They were a collective organism. The lumpy shadows opened their maws and whispered.

"Thirty-six of our kin died by Gyari's blade."

"A cruel child."

"When the Mountain Snailfolk branded her a sword slave, Gyari laughed, kerk-kerk. She thought it was a splendid tattoo."

"A frightening child."

"Swinging a sword was happiness to her, but the arena was the only battlefield allowed to Gyari. Her own kin were the only opponents she was permitted. Gork. Gyari's misfortune was that her happy swordplay could only kill her kin."

"Kerrrk."

"Difficult words."

"An unhappy child."

The bonfire flickered.

"Is Gyari our kin?"

The shadows answered.

"Gor."

"Gyari draws tattoos. She draws pictures. She loves mud and longs for rainwater."

"Gyari is us."

An aged voice spoke.

"Gyari will return to Guru."

Guru.

It was a word familiar to me, too.

As I held my breath and watched the goblins' funeral, the Tower's voice reached me.

[You have witnessed the Earth Spiritfolk's Doctrine of Guru.]

More text appeared before my eyes.

+

[Doctrine of Guru]

Classification: Religion. White Lion Faith.

Origin: [Kinship (C)]

Description: Guru is the homeland of all Earth Spiritfolk. Guru is the first village the Earth Spiritfolk founded after the fall of the golden age. Guru is the Earth Spiritfolk's country. Guru is a place where warm streams flow and soft mud wells up.

Guru.

It is the land where the White Lion last stayed.

The Earth Spiritfolk do not distinguish between this world and the next. They distinguish only between Guru and places that are not Guru. What the Earth Spiritfolk hope for in life is rainwater, mud, plentiful meat, and a comfortable place to sleep, all of which can be found in this world. The Earth Spiritfolk have no need for faith in an afterlife.

The homeland of all their kin.

They wish to return to Guru.

※However, memories of Guru grow hazier with time.

※If left as they are, Guru will become an infinitely abstract place! In that case, Guru will become the concept of a space that exists somewhere other than this world.

※It has been quite a long time since the Earth Spiritfolk lost Guru! The Doctrine of Guru may become a doctrine of the afterlife!

+

"..."

I stared blankly at the description window.

It contained words that were difficult for me to understand.

But there was something only I could understand, too.

"I didn't give the name much thought when I came up with it. Guru."

My heart stung.

"... But it's come to mean something enormous to these children."

Something.

I felt an emotion I had never felt before.

It was truly strange. I was proud that the goblins had grown on their own without me. But I was frightened that a single word I had tossed out without thought had become something meaningful to these children, had hardened into that meaning, and become something they clung to as they lived.

An anxious heart.

I was worried about these children.

"Children..."

So that was it.

"This is what it feels like to look at your children."

Until now, I had never imagined having children. I had never considered becoming someone's parent myself. Yet, intentionally or not, I had ended up playing the part of a parent to the Earth Spiritfolk.

"Who knows? I've never spawned any brats myself, so I couldn't tell you."

"..."

My heart stirred.

"Kerk."

An old goblin stepped forward. A bonfire burned in the middle of the cave. When the old goblin stood before it, the Earth Spiritfolk who had been tossing out bits and pieces of Gyari's life fell silent.

Stillness.

The old goblin waited until that stillness grew a little more clear, and then...

"... Huh?"

He thrust both hands into the blazing bonfire.

"Wait. Is he trying to burn himself to death...?"

"No. Look closely, Zombie. His hands aren't burning."

The attendant spirit cut off my worry.

"He knows how to use aura."

"What?"

"That guy. He's an aura user. He's wrapping both hands in aura."

The attendant spirit was right.

It was hard to see through the flames, but aura was unmistakably, if faintly, swirling around the goblin's wrinkled hands. Red aura. The old goblin buried both hands in the bonfire.

WHOOSH!

The flames surged.

The bonfire, which had simply been burning, bent in a peculiar way. Expressionless, the old man used aura to shape the fire. At the ends of his aged fingers, flames rose like a dragon ascending to heaven, spun round and round like a whirlpool, and spread like a flower bursting into bloom.

"..."

"..."

The goblins watched the ever-changing flames without a word. Their eyes were calm, like an audience watching a stage.

WHOOSH. WHOOF!

The cave was vast, but all of that vast empty space was pitch-black. Shining as the only source of color, the flames captured everyone's gaze.

'Ah.'

And I understood.

'That's a picture.'

Yes.

The old man was drawing pictures with fire.

The flames blazed.

Each time they blazed, they blazed differently.

Two forks of fire split wide as though opening a maw, surging high, upward, all the way to the cave ceiling.

▲.

That was anger.

The crown of the fire struck the ceiling and shattered. Sparks rained down like flower petals. Slowly. Lazily. In the dark cave, the sparks glittered, then vanished. Darkness remained where they had disappeared.

▼.

That was sorrow.

Flames rose ceaselessly from the bonfire.

In small strands. In five branches. In five fingers.

But the fingers of flame could not reach the ceiling. They could not catch the falling sparks. Between the sparks spilling from the sky and the flames surging from the ground lay a handspan of empty space that could never be bridged.

▼

▲.

That was Gyari's death, and their funeral.

The goblins wept soundlessly.

Every Earth Spiritfolk watching the flames knew what the fire meant. It was their writing. Their letters. Their pictures. Even the most minutely trembling flame, even a single spark fading feebly away, was a clear gesture to the Earth Spiritfolk.

The old man set the fire ablaze.

[You have witnessed the Earth Spiritfolk's Cavefire.]

Letters shone through the flickering flames.

+

[Cavefire]

Classification: Art.

Origin: [Primitive Fashionistas (E)]

Description: Cavefire is an art unique to the Earth Spiritfolk. After being conquered by the Mountain Snailfolk and brought to the cavern city of Slimepolis, the Earth Spiritfolk found it difficult to obtain mud. Expressing their pictographic writing became difficult.

'We must draw.'

But the Earth Spiritfolk's sense of beauty did not fade.

'We want to draw.'

Instead, it blazed.

The Earth Spiritfolk chose fire as a substitute for mud.

Pictures are hard to discern in a dark cave. But with flames, the cave's darkness suddenly becomes a vast canvas. The Earth Spiritfolk accepted life in the caves and made use of it.

'Beautiful.'

The race of earth became captivated by the art of fire.

'Gor.'

Fire in the cave.

The Earth Spiritfolk named this Cavefire. Sometimes they call it Cavepainting, as it is a picture in a cave; sometimes, likening the flames to blood, they call it Bloodfire or Bloodpainting.

Fire blazes, then disappears. It leaves no trace. This makes it useful for evading the Mountain Snailfolk's surveillance.

It is proper etiquette to make no sound when watching Cavefire. This, too, is to keep the Mountain Snailfolk from discovering the gathering.

May good fortune accompany the silent fire.

※However, only aura users can perform Cavefire.

※Very few Earth Spiritfolk know how to use aura! Among them, there is only one priest who uses red aura. If the priest dies without leaving a successor, the art of Cavefire will decline.

+

The old man swept his hands through the flames.

WHOOOOSH... SH... SH...

The fire that had once blazed fiercely dwindled, little by little, gradually. No more sparks struck the ceiling and shattered. No more flames rose howling from the wood. Leaving no trace, the fire quietly subsided.

Then went out.

●.

Night had come.

"..."

With the bonfire extinguished, the cave was enveloped in complete darkness.

There was no light anywhere.

By putting out the fire, the old man had drawn the final picture Cavefire could express. The cave's darkness was no longer empty space. It was a picture the old man had drawn.

"..."

The goblins saw 'night,' and wept softly in the depths of that night.

"Gor..."

No one lit a torch. Now it was ●. The goblins accepted ●. No one told them to return or ordered them to leave, but the goblins turned back of their own accord.

To sleep.

The goblins walked, feeling their way along the paths they had descended. Within ●, they could see nothing.

But their own scents remained.

Sniffing out the scent of their kin, the goblins went home in groups. The Earth Spiritfolk with the keenest nose led the way. The other goblins followed, holding his hands or shoulders.

And so the goblins left the cave, their own temple.

"..."

Only the attendant spirit, the old goblin priest, and I remained in the temple built beneath the underground world.

"Kerk... Kerrr..."

Perhaps drained of strength, the old man sat down on the cave floor. This seemed to be his home. The goblins had left a few fish behind as they departed the temple, and the old man sat slumped, tearing into them.

"..."

Silently, I looked upon the race that had established a temple within a cave.

Here, the children of earth held funerals. They buried the deaths of their kin.

I had never taught them how to hold a funeral. I had never told them how to swallow death. All I had taught them were tattoos to cover their stench, and pictures to express six aspects of the world.

That was all.

With that alone, the Earth Spiritfolk had established a temple. They had found fire on their own.

"I may be something like a parent to these children..."

I spoke.

"But these children aren't mine."

They had not grown as I had imagined, nor developed as I had expected. These children had found their own way.

They had learned how to accept death.

I was proud of that.

"Kerrr..."

Leaving the old priest behind, I went up to the underground city.

'Now I know what I need to do for these children.'

Support, not salvation.

Encouragement, not concern.

'Support these children and encourage them. That's my job.'

At the spot where the Mountain Snailfolk's enormous pillar stood, the companions I had parted with yesterday were gathered. Had they all gone to look over their respective races, as I had? The Black Dragon leader silently looked down at the ground, while Viper stood with his arms crossed, scowling.

"Ah, you're here, Death King!"

The Inquisitor waved.

"You're the last to arrive, Death King! Oh, have you made up your mind?"

"Yes."

I nodded.

"I can't surrender to you after all. I won't let the children I've cared for lose their writing and forget their homeland like this."

"Aha. Then?"

"I'll help the Earth Spiritfolk escape your underground domain, Inquisitor."

I said,

"And I'll eliminate you from the thirty-second floor."

"Ahaha."

The Inquisitor smiled gently.

"I thought you might do that, Death King. Just as I expected! Very well. I'll stake the Mountain Snailfolk, and you stake the Earth Spiritfolk. Let's wage war with our races at stake!"

That was our declaration of war.