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Early DAR Vol. 5 Chapter 17 Part 1
🕑 Added 2025-09-02 06:30:21 +0000 UTCFull title: Starting a New Life for the Discarded All-Rounder
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Translator: Airis
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Chapter 17 – Uncle Gry and the Gryphons Battle
Uncle Gry slowly ascended.
Roa floated alongside him, borne aloft by wind magic. Even now—though it was wasteful mana consumption—Uncle Gry absolutely refused to let Roa ride on his back.
All the while, icy projectiles continued to rain from above. Vines sprouted thickly to seal the opening overhead, trying to hinder their ascent. Yet against Uncle Gry, they were meaningless—ripped apart and shattered with ease.
<Heh heh heh… sheer numbers will never shake me.>
Amid the storm of attacks filling their vision, Uncle Gry seemed almost delighted. When he reached the spot where one gryphon remained bound, he halted.
<Out of my sight‼>
A flash of light erupted.
Roa only understood what happened when he saw that the wall of attacks was gone, replaced by heaps of vine reduced to charcoal, white smoke rising from them. Uncle Gry had unleashed a thunderous blast, incinerating all in his path.
<Ice and wood conduct lightning well. Effective for grounding it, but nothing more.>
Ahead, two gryphons stood unscathed. The barrage of ice and vines had diverted the current. Behind them writhed the first gryphon, bloodied and bound by Uncle Gry’s magic. The pair in front flared their wings and shrieked, desperately baring their fangs in threat.
<Why do you condemn me? It was you who tried to lay hands on what is most precious to me.>
With a swipe of his foreleg, two tornadoes surged forth, each tall as a man, roaring toward the gryphons.
A sharp cry split the air as ice spires thrust up from the rim of the hole, countering the wind. Uncle Gry narrowed his eyes and flicked his claw again.
This time, a torrent of flame burst forth.
The stream of fire surged past his side, struck the ice spires, and reduced them to steam before vanishing. Through the vapor, countless ice spears screamed forward once more.
<I’ve grown weary of those spears.>
What split them was a blade of absolute blackness, crescent-shaped, which cleaved every last spear in two.
<Shadows, like wind, have no thickness. An application of the Wind Cutter… seems effective enough.>
His tone was almost clinical, like a scholar experimenting. He was toying with them; confident he could obliterate his foes even with improvised spells.
Flame and shadow: attributes he had gained full command of after his contract with Roa. Uncle Gry flaunted them, showing off his expanded repertoire, hammering fear into his enemies with unfamiliar magic, breaking their spirits.
From behind, a massive wooden stake shot forth. Uncle Gry didn’t even glance at it.
The enormous projectile was swatted down by a hail of tiny stones. Obvious laws dictated that mass should dominate, but speed overturned it. Uncle Gry launched the pebbles at such velocity, striking the stake’s balance point with precision, that it toppled uselessly.
He seemed intent only on flaunting the difference in their power.
<Still eager to continue?>
Uncle Gry hadn’t moved an inch from where he first stopped. More than intimidation, it was demonstration; a performance of absolute dominance. His true forte lay in immobility.
When he poured everything into magic, body locked in place, that was when he became most dangerous. He could transform his body into a living magic device, siphoning the very mana in the air. To stand still was to show he could assume that state at any moment. It was a threat more potent than any movement.
“…Even so…”
Watching the clash, Roa murmured faintly.
Despite the ferocity of the battle, standing in the safety of Uncle Gry’s shadow made him strangely calm. Facing a conflict he could never interfere in, he felt as though he were watching from another world.
“Uncle Gry really is hated by the other gryphons, huh?”
He said it loud enough to be heard, but Uncle Gry, lost in exhilaration, gave no reply.
Roa already knew the others bore grudges against Uncle Gry—he’d been told as much. But he had wondered if, having once shared a nest, there might still linger a shred of kinship.
Instead, what he saw was merciless violence. Not a trace of affection; only full force, kill-or-be-killed hostility.
“…What in the world did he do?”
It seemed too much to be explained by mere resentment for abandoning the nest. They must have despised him long before.
Magic beasts obey strength. With such a gap in power, the normal order should have been submission. That they resisted anyway meant Uncle Gry had done something so unforgivable, they would never bend.
No matter how ruthless the assault, Roa found himself curious about their feelings.
Uncle Gry had once been the master of this Citadel Dungeon—the Dungeon Master. Comparable to a human lord. And one clearly despised.
A tyrant.
At some point, he left.
For the gryphons, it must have been liberation. Like peasants freed from a cruel lord. They likely reveled in their freedom, lived in peace. And then, suddenly, he returned.
If an oppressive lord returned, would not his subjects fight desperately to cast him out again? To kill him if they could? No one would wish to lose peace once gained. Their hatred, their defiance, would only grow stronger.
Roa’s thoughts turned bitter. Their desperate resistance was only natural. In truth, he and Uncle Gry were the villains here.
“…If only nothing had happened, they could have all lived in peace…”
Had the gryphons not taken a hostage, not launched attacks, it would have ended quietly. The investigation corps had already planned to withdraw once the gryphons’ presence was confirmed. Without the captive, they’d never have pressed this far.
But who would ever trust the return of a tyrant claiming he came merely to “take a look”? His very approach meant the intent to reclaim. To those once oppressed, preemptive, overwhelming strike was the only rational response. Roa himself would have done the same.
The moment Uncle Gry neared the Citadel Dungeon, this outcome was inevitable.
And yet… somehow, it all felt like his plan. Uncle Gry had clearly schemed something from the very beginning. Roa could tell, from years at his side, no matter how he tried to hide it.
Perhaps he hadn’t foreseen the hostage crisis or every turn of the assault. But seeing the old gryphon delight in the chaos, Roa couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was playing into his talons.
“Ah! The hostage‼”
<Hm?>
Lost in thought, Roa blurted it out.
“Uncle Gry, do you know where they are?”
<I found them long ago. The top floor. Humans that make no effort to conceal themselves are easy to sense. I located them the moment the gargoyles’ illusions broke.>
He spoke carelessly, still batting down the gryphons’ attacks.
<And you, brat—had you not forgotten about the hostage?>
“T-That’s not…”
<When I burned away the insects with fire, I expected you to scold me first for endangering them. But you said nothing.>
“Er…”
He was right. Roa should have worried about them when Uncle Gry unleashed those flames. Embarrassed, he averted his eyes.
Too many of Uncle Gry’s antics had distracted him, and the captive had slipped his mind.
<Shall we rescue them first? I fight poorly without my treasure close at hand. The backlash may kill them otherwise.>
The suggestion carried a hint of dissonance, but Roa had no choice but to nod.
Roa and Uncle Gry had gone up through the massive hole above, leaving Nostalgia and the twin magic wolves to catch their breath.
The moment Uncle Gry entered the hole, the assault of vines ceased.
That was because the griffon controlling the vines had abandoned its attack to pursue Uncle Gry. Nostalgia and the twins were beneath its notice.
That didn’t mean the area was safe, but for now, nothing else was coming at them. Everyone stayed ready for defense, their nerves taut, though a small measure of relief slipped into the air.
“Want some water?”
“Baw!”
“Baw!”
Kristoff pulled a flask and cups from his magic bag and offered them to the twins. They wagged their tails happily as they nodded.
“It’s likely to get tougher from here. Might be wise to take some candy.”
By candy, he meant the recovery lozenges Roa had prepared. For minor fatigue or small wounds, simply sucking on one gradually healed them without strain. In situations where rest was difficult, they were a blessing.
“True. I’d like to take off this armor, can I trust you to keep watch?”
“Baw!”
Before Kristoff could answer Cornelia’s request, the twins cut in with sharp barks. With Roa and Uncle Gry gone, they seemed to have decided it was their duty to look after Nostalgia. Their four eyes stared straight at her as if to say they were the guardians now. Cornelia gave a wry smile and began removing her armor.
Though Roa had tailored it perfectly, full plate was far too heavy without body strengthening. With no way to play the shield, wearing it only burdened her. Better to move freely and use speed than rely on raw defense.
“Oh! A strip show?”
“…Drop dead.”
She tilted her head for a moment before recalling the sort of shows put on for men in red-light districts. Her curt reply conveyed her distaste.
Of course, she still wore padding beneath the armor, with a thin shirt under that. Removing it hardly meant she would be naked.
“Bernhart, how much magic can you still use?”
“…With familiar spells, about thirty percent weaker. Anything high-output is unstable and unusable.”
His voice was low, answering Dietrich’s question with only the essentials. It was a far cry from the way he spoke when dealing with Uncle Gry, but this subdued tone was likely his true self.
“That’s a serious drop in strength.”
Dietrich folded his arms, muttering while glancing at the twins lapping water.
He didn’t want to rely on them. He’d even argued with them earlier when they said they’d protect the party. But now, they might be the only hope.
The Citadel Dungeon’s defensive wards suppressed magic and slowed movements as though they were underwater. Nostalgia’s combat power had been cut drastically.
They could handle lesser beasts.
But against gargoyles or gryphons, they had no chance. And there was always the risk of even stronger, unknown foes.
The twins were strong, but young and inexperienced. No matter how much Uncle Gry had trained them, that couldn’t be erased. Unknown powers might overwhelm them. Battles weren’t simple tests of strength.
Could they work together with the twins? Would the twins listen to his commands?
Dietrich studied them.
If an enemy appeared that the twins couldn’t manage, coordination would be the key to survival. They have grown easier to understand lately, likely from bonding.
But that didn’t mean they respected him. Unlike Uncle Gry’s open disdain, the twins’ sense of superiority was subtler, but still clear.
Suddenly, the twins lifted their heads, ears twitching.
“Looks like we have a company.”
“Baw.”
Dietrich noticed immediately and warned the others. He had come to recognize their alert behavior over the past month.
“I’m ready—I’ve finished changing.”
“Good.”
“…Right.”
Cornelia had switched to light armor. It left her less protected, but given their current suppression, it was the wiser choice.
The twins’ eyes stayed fixed down the corridor.
From that direction, two gargoyles emerged.
These were far smaller than the snake-entwined female statue from earlier—only about a meter tall, with squat, frog-like heads on cross-legged male figures. The grotesque statues floated forward through the air, advancing on them.
“Such grotesque taste!”
Dietrich spat out the words at the sight of the grotesque-faced Gargoyles, humanoid in shape yet eerie to behold. Whoever had crafted this construct clearly possessed a warped sense of aesthetics. Alchemists who created magic tools and potions had long been notorious for their eccentricity.
“Won’t it use illusion magic like the one before? Or perhaps it can’t? Its functions are unknown; that makes it unsettling. We’ll crush it quickly!”
Because Gargoyles were essentially magic tools, their functions varied from one to the next. Some were specialized in offense, others in sheer defense. Unlike the previous Gargoyle, this one might lack the ability to cast illusions, or perhaps it was simply conserving that ability as a hidden trump card. Even knowing illusion magic might be employed, one could not respond in time if it were sprung unexpectedly during battle. The only sure way was to strike them down before they acted.
“Cornelia! Sorry, but lend me your hammer. I’ll use it.”
“I don’t mind.”
Without body strengthening, Cornelia could not properly wield a warhammer. Its sheer weight would cause her to be swung around instead. Yet without a blunt weapon, they stood at a disadvantage against such foes. In a situation where magic could barely be used, the strongest fighter, Dietrich, was the most suitable wielder.
“Here.”
“Good!”
The warhammer Cornelia handed him felt oddly off in Dietrich’s grip. The handle was too thin, uncomfortable to grasp, and the balance of the weapon felt ever so slightly distorted. He was even impressed by how peculiar it felt for a weapon customized for one person to be used by another. Still, it was not unusable.
“Baw!”
“Baw!”
“Hey! Don’t go yet!”
The Twin Magic Wolves ignored his warning and leapt for the approaching Gargoyles. As he had feared, they would not obey his orders. The premonition had come true. The wolves shot straight toward the constructs, only to split left and right at the last second. Kicking off the walls to mask their attack vectors, they launched simultaneous strikes at separate targets.
The Gargoyles made no move to defend. It seemed the attacks had landed, until a sharp cracking sound rang out. Flames and frost burst forth in midair, hurling the twins backward.
“What—!?”
Dietrich gasped in shock. The twins twisted midair and landed on their feet, but their expressions were no less astonished. They seemed unhurt, yet their movements froze.
“Idiots! Don’t stop now!”
His roar came too late. The two Gargoyles had already closed in on the blue wolf, closest to where it landed. Their heads glowed with swirling blue light, the omen of a spell about to be unleashed. The target was unmistakably the blue wolf.
Whether from confusion or fear, not only the marked blue wolf but also the red wolf stiffened in place at the sight.
“Take this!”
Only Dietrich reacted.
“Ah!”
Without hesitation, he hurled the warhammer at the Gargoyle. Cornelia let out a reflexive cry of dismay, but he had no time to worry about her protests.
The hammer seemed to strike one of the Gargoyles head-on, only to rebound and clatter to the floor. The construct remained unscathed. Yet perhaps the interference had been enough, the blue light swirling in both constructs vanished.
“Run!”
“Baw!”
There was a brief pause, but with the Gargoyles’ spell interrupted, the twins both managed to retreat to a safer distance.
“Phew… Bernhart! That earlier deflection, what was it?”
The Gargoyles hovered motionless, seemingly wary after such an unexpected assault. Neither side moved, and Nostalgia’s party found themselves in a tense stalemate.
“Reflect… a reflection spell. It rebounds nearly all physical and magical attacks. The theory behind it is known even today, but it is so difficult to control that no human can wield it. It is a hallmark of ancient magic tools. Gargoyles using it is hardly surprising.”
Bernhart answered evenly, his gaze fixed upon the constructs, absorbed in unraveling the spell’s mechanics. This was his true strength as a scholar.
Reflect did more than block, it returned attacks to the enemy. The flames and frost that had exploded earlier were in fact the wolves’ own magic, turned back against them. A flawless shield.
Yet the spell demanded instant recognition of attacks and immediate recalibration of the formula. Such control was impossible for any human. Though its theory had been analyzed, modern magic could not reproduce it. Only relics in ruins occasionally bore this function.
For Bernhart, this was the first time witnessing it firsthand, though he understood its workings thanks to books, and to Uncle Gry’s instruction.
“What’s the countermeasure?”
“Uncle Gry once taught me two methods, but neither is possible for us.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Either strike with a spell so powerful it cannot be reflected, or exploit a gap in the control of the magic.”
“And that blue light?”
“Likely lightning or light magic, though I can’t be certain. Judging by the long cast time, it’s meant to be highly lethal.”
Breaking Reflect was impossible for Nostalgia. Uncle Gry might have managed it with ease, but for mere mortals it was unthinkable.
Dietrich glanced at the Twin Wolves. Their playful demeanor from earlier had vanished, replaced by serious determination after their own attack had been repelled. Perhaps now they might heed him.
“Hey, there’s something I’d like to try…”
When Dietrich called out, the twins pricked their ears and listened intently.
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