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Early DAR Vol. 4 Chapter 15 Part 5
🕑 Added 2025-06-07 13:52:05 +0000 UTCFull title: Starting a New Life for the Discarded All-Rounder
Note: If you found any typos/mistakes, pls write them in the comment. Thanks.
Note: The last chapter for this volume.
Translator: Airis
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<So, what brings you here? I doubt it’s to broaden the knowledge of the child observing from afar.>
The “child” referred to was Roa.
To the Greater Lich, Roa was nothing more than a child; one barely out of infancy.
Roa was, in fact, an adult. But he was well aware that his underdeveloped appearance made him look far younger than his age, so he accepted the label without resistance.
<Obviously, I came to defeat you. What else could it possibly be, given our relationship?>
<Then… does that mean you’ve finally found a way to end our tiresome entanglement? I see—it must be the contents of that bottle. A high-grade healing potion, is it? Even with that clingy nature of yours, you’ve learned to give up and rely on others, hm…?>
To Roa, the Greater Lich’s voice sounded strangely expectant.
And at the same time… faintly melancholic.
<Fufufufu… brat! Did you hear that? Even a being of such power mistook the potion in that bottle for “high-grade”! Seems that recluse of a mage, who spent near-eternity as a magic beast, has more common sense than you! By all standards, it’s only reasonable to assume something carried in that kind of bottle and in such volume could only be high-grade at best!>
Uncle Gry chuckled with genuine delight.
<What—!? That was…>
<Yes. It’s a supreme-grade healing potion.>
<Impossible… Has human civilization advanced to the point where an individual can casually acquire such quantities?>
<No. That’s simply a result of the brat’s unique talents. The gap between your common sense and that of the current era isn’t that large. The brat is the abnormal one.>
<Incredible… Is that child royalty or something?>
<No! He’s an unreasonably gifted commoner of an alchemist—and my contracted master!>
<Only you would form such absurd connections. How fitting…>
…They’re totally mocking me.
That was all Roa could think. He felt thoroughly roasted by both the Gryphon and the Greater Lich; two beings considered incarnations of fear itself.
And in truth, he probably was.
The Greater Lich’s gaze, laced with something like exasperation, pierced right through him.
<Also, you’re mistaken about one more thing. That potion is not the means by which I will defeat you. The brat carries it out of concern for me. I shall bring you down with my own strength.>
<…I see.>
The shadowy figure of the Greater Lich rippled faintly.
Had he possessed a face, it would surely have been twisted in ecstasy.
<Spending time with this unreasonable brat has changed me—if only a little. But that little is more than enough to defeat you!>
As he declared it, Uncle Gry’s feathers bristled.
His body swelled, growing noticeably larger.
The atmosphere shifted.
The calm, casual air from moments ago was gone.
The battle was about to begin.
Roa clenched his fists tightly.
A Gryphon and a Greater Lich; both were infamous as deadly magic beasts. It was said that if they fought, a city could be reduced to rubble in moments.
And now, their clash was about to unfold right before his eyes.
The Greater Lich raised a shadow-formed hand, and in that moment, a staff materialized.
A mage’s staff.
Its head was adorned with a grand, wing-like ornament, extending to one side like the blade of a massive scythe. It was made of pristine white bone, exuding an eerie, ominous aura.
Every inch of it was etched with characters or runes, though Roa couldn’t decipher any of them.
<Shall we begin?>
<I’m ready anytime.>
The wind that had been sweeping across the plain suddenly ceased.
Under the pale glow of starlight, only Uncle Gry and the Greater Lich stood facing each other.
It was quiet.
It looked like nothing more than a staring match; neither moved.
A small spark danced between them.
Though neither shifted a muscle, the battle had already begun.
Brilliantly colored sparks flickered silently.
Roa and the blue magic wolf watched with bated breath.
The air brimmed with dense magic; a clash only those attuned to mana could comprehend.
Each time one cast a spell, the other perfectly countered it.
Roa couldn’t understand the nature of the attacks or the methods used to nullify them, but he could tell that fearsome magics were colliding.
The tiny sparks were the visible remnants of spells canceling each other out.
From time to time, the Greater Lich’s staff pulsed with light.
<That accursed staff…>
Uncle Gry muttered bitterly.
Each time the staff glowed, it drew in the ambient mana around them.
It wasn’t just a staff; it was a magic tool that replenished its wielder’s energy. Likely an ancient artifact far beyond the capabilities of modern replication.
<Watch your tongue when speaking of the Staff of Eternity. You’re merely a forger who mimicked its function with makeshift spells.>
Uncle Gry had, in fact, crafted an imitation; through magic, he had created a pseudo-artifact that siphoned ambient mana to restore his own.
It mirrored the function of the Greater Lich’s staff almost perfectly.
And if the Lich’s words were to be believed, it was Gryphon’s spell-based replica.
Because both were drawing from the same pool of ambient mana, neither would suffer from a simple lack of magic energy.
Still, as long as they continued to trade spells, the end would come eventually. Once all the mana within range was depleted, neither would be able to replenish their strength.
<…Gryphon. At this rate, won’t things end just like always? We’ll exhaust the mana in the area and reach no conclusion.>
The silent battle continued for a while longer, until the Greater Lich spoke with a tinge of loneliness.
Uncle Gry seemed to have noticed, as he just stared at Greater Lich without changing his expression.
<…Would you consider becoming that brat’s familiar?>
After a pause, Uncle Gry gave an answer that wasn’t quite an answer.
<What are you saying…?>
The Greater Lich sounded genuinely shaken.
Even Roa, listening from afar, was stunned.
He had never even heard of a Greater Lich, or even a Lich, becoming someone’s familiar.
If anything, Liches were known to command Undead, not serve them.
There was a dark magic called necromancy, yes—but that was merely the manipulation of corpses and spirits through spells. It wasn’t the same as a familiar bond.
<I’m asking if you would accept a name from the brat and serve him. You rose from humanity to become a magic beast, so I can’t say what effect it might have… but if you swear yourself to him, the hatred consuming your heart may lessen. You might even find peace. I’ll even throw in the Citadel as a bonus.>
Uncle Gry’s eyes were earnest.
It didn’t seem like he was joking, though what he said was complete madness.
<…So that’s your play. Trying to throw me off balance.>
<It’s not!>
<Then what would you have me do, should I swear myself to that child?>
<…Well, perhaps… you could use your Undead to farm? There’s plenty of land around here…>
An awkward silence fell.
Uncle Gry quickly averted his gaze from the Greater Lich, clearly flustered after blurting out such nonsense. He had obviously spoken without thinking.
<Shouldn’t you be saying something like “use the Undead to conquer a great nation”?>
<Alright—let’s go with that!>
<And what purpose would that serve?>
The Greater Lich curtly dismissed Uncle Gry’s attempt to follow up.
<That is not my desire.>
With those firm words, the atmosphere shifted once more.
Uncle Gry pressed his beak tightly shut and fixed his gaze on the Greater Lich, as if trying to read the truth behind those words.
<Then disappear.>
There was a faint sadness in Uncle Gry’s voice as he said it.
Watching them, Roa felt his chest tighten.
Uncle Gry always tried to fulfill the wishes of those he favored.
Roa had seen it himself; back when the gryphon had acted as a familiar for Crack of Dawn, the party Roa originally belonged to. Even when Roa refused to use magic, even when the party members grew arrogant after being labeled heroes, Uncle Gry had still followed them.
He had joked that he was only playing “familiar-for-hire,” pretending to be involved for fun—but Roa knew he had been suppressing himself all along.
Perhaps that was why Uncle Gry was so attuned to the desires of others.
From those few words, Uncle Gry had understood the true wish of the Greater Lich.
Most Undead lose their humanity at the moment of death, becoming monsters that move only to vent their grudges. But the being before them, this Greater Lich, clearly retained a human mind.
To remain conscious as a person, while trapped as an Undead, bound by unending hatred…
That agony was unfathomable.
<I won’t let you go.>
<What—?>
A violent wind surged forth.
It came from Uncle Gry’s direction, slamming into Roa’s face.
The wind formed a spherical vortex around the Greater Lich.
<What is this…?>
<I learned it from the brat. If there is no solution, then change your perspective. If something cannot be shattered head-on, then remove the foundation supporting it.>
Uncle Gry smiled—but it was a strained expression.
Roa realized then that Uncle Gry truly meant to grant the Greater Lich’s wish. That’s why he hadn’t relied on Roa’s strength, or used the healing potion. He wanted to end it with his own power.
<In the end, it was simple. All I had to do was strip away everything that feeds your strength.>
The Greater Lich could not be physically touched. But his power still came from mana.
Without a physical body, Undead like him depended entirely on mana not only to cast spells, but even to sustain their existence.
Therefore, remove the mana, and he would fade.
But mana existed in the land, in the air, in all matter as latent energy.
<With wind magic, I will render the space around you a true void. Experience a realm unknown to you.>
To humans of this world, the presence of air was something so fundamental that they rarely noticed it existed at all.
But Uncle Gry, a master of wind magic, understood what true vacuum meant; an absolute absence.
It was a fleeting phenomenon born from the flow of wind, yet he had grasped it, committed it to memory, and transformed it into magic.
And now, he had successfully created a vacuum around the Greater Lich.
<Grrrgh…>
A groan escaped the Greater Lich.
If it had been an offensive spell, he might have countered it.
He had the skill and power to do so.
But this was the opposite; an act of erasure, not creation.
Drawing all matter away rather than attacking directly.
A magic like this, so outside conventional logic, was impossible to react to instantly.
<This is the end.>
Uncle Gry curled his beak in a grim smile.
To Roa, that smile looked deeply sorrowful.
<I won’t go down alone!>
The Greater Lich mustered the last of his strength and cast one final spell.
It was a desperate blow, a strike infused with the essence of his being.
Darkness expanded outward, radiating from him.
Though it was shadow, it flashed like light.
Darkness expanded outward like a blinding light, engulfing the entire area. Though its strength diminished over distance, it reached far; rippling endlessly like waves from a pebble dropped into a still pond.
It was a spell the Greater Lich could cast even at the brink of annihilation; a death spell driven by the Undead’s instinctive craving for human souls.
The spell was called Invitation of Death; an instant-death incantation.
Ordinarily, it would have claimed the lives of any humans nearby in an instant, and even a Gryphon would have been struck unconscious, his active spells forcibly dispelled...
<It has no effect!>
Unfazed in the thick of the darkness, Uncle Gry declared it aloud.
<There exists, you see, a truly absurd potion created by a worrywart alchemist. It nullifies instant-death magic entirely. Your spell wouldn’t even trouble me as much as a mosquito bite.>
Had it been a spell cast with the Greater Lich’s very existence behind it, not even Uncle Gry would have emerged completely unscathed.
But the death-warding potion Roa had given him had nullified the spell’s effects entirely. Roa and the blue magic wolf were, of course, unharmed.
<Ah…>
Perhaps because the final spell had drained the last of his power, the Greater Lich began to dissolve into his own spreading darkness.
The dark mist scattered like fog.
And in the haze, Roa thought he saw the smiling face of a man in a robe: peaceful and content.
<Thank you…>
Whether those words were truly spoken or merely an illusion in Roa’s mind, he couldn’t say.
When the darkness faded, only the remnants of the robe, now reduced to ashes, and the scorched, brittle staff remained.
—
Under the starlight, Uncle Gry stood still.
Roa and the blue magic wolf could only watch in silence.
Time had passed unnoticed; the horizon was beginning to brighten. Dawn was near.
Before Roa realized it, the red magic wolf had returned and nestled beside him; drawn back by the sense that all had ended.
Together, the twin wolves flanked Roa, and he embraced them both, confirming their warmth with his arms.
Then Uncle Gry turned to face them.
<It’s done!>
His face was bright again.
He was the same Uncle Gry as always.
“Thanks for your hard work.”
“Baw!”
“Baw!”
Unsure of what else to say, Roa and the twins offered their words of appreciation.
“You okay?”
<Hmph. I knew that potion would keep you from harm, but it seems even those sleepyheads are fine. I honestly thought the ones sleeping that close might not survive. Brat, your concoction works better than I expected.>
He said it far too casually.
Roa wished he’d mentioned the danger to Nostalgia’s members beforehand, but now that it was over, he kept the complaint to himself.
He had given them all the potion before the journey began, after all. Thankfully, they had taken it.
“That’s not quite what I meant… but oh well.”
Roa stepped up beside Uncle Gry and gently stroked his neck.
Before them lay the remains of the robe and staff.
The robe disintegrated further with every gust of wind. The staff, too, was cracked, its wing-like ornament shattered into fragments, leaving little more than the bare shaft.
“It’s really falling apart.”
<It bathed in corrupted mana for years. With no power left to sustain it, deterioration is inevitable. It’s useless now.>
“Huh…”
Roa gave a distracted response. His eyes were glued to the staff.
If his assessment was correct, the staff had been carved from the bone of some kind of magic beast—likely an enormous one, shaped and refined into its current form.
It had withstood immense magic pressure from the Greater Lich, a high-ranking Undead. Its material had to be extraordinarily rare. Perhaps the bone of a large dragon…
<Don’t tell me you’re thinking about salvaging it?>
“Eh?”
Bullseye.
Roa had, in fact, been contemplating ways to reuse it. Even if the staff itself couldn’t be restored, maybe he could grind it into powder, mix it with clay for ceramics, or try extracting its components through boiling or steaming…
<A staff once wielded by an Undead? You’ll curse yourself. Just stab it into the ground somewhere and be done with it.>
“Yeah… You’re right.”
When Roa turned to Uncle Gry, he saw that a mound of earth had risen in front of him.
It hadn’t been there earlier.
The field had been barren; scorched clean under the Greater Lich’s influence.
“Uncle Gry…”
<What is it?>
Uncle Gry looked away, awkwardly avoiding eye contact.
The robe that had lain with the staff had disappeared; most likely buried beneath that mound of soil.
“Should I stick it in there?”
<I said any place would do. Do as you please.>
“Okay.”
Roa picked up the staff and thrust it into the center of the earthen mound.
At the same moment, Uncle Gry used earth magic to compress the mound, turning it to solid stone.
Now it was a knee-high conical rock, with a white staff standing upright at its peak.
It could only be seen as a grave marker.
“…Thank you.”
Roa whispered it with a quiet smile.
<Why are you thanking me? It’s not like I did anything deserving of gratitude…>
Uncle Gry flustered, clearly embarrassed.
“I just felt like saying it. That’s all.”
<I-is that so…?>
As the sun crested the horizon, its light gleamed across the white staff, turning it into a monument of radiant stone.
—
The scent of soup roused Dietrich from slumber.
The first thing he saw was Roa busily preparing breakfast.
<You sure slept well, sleepyhead!>
Of all the voices to hear on such a crisp morning, it had to be that one. Dietrich decided to ignore it completely.
The sun was already up. The air was still damp, but everything was bathed in light.
They’d fallen asleep after sunset; it was clear he’d overslept.
Whether it was the aftereffects of the spells or another enchantment layered on top, Dietrich didn’t know—but it had to be Uncle Gry’s fault.
As he sat up, he immediately glared at the gryphon.
Looking around, he saw the rest of Nostalgia stirring groggily.
They had apparently just woken up too.
“…Doesn’t look like anything happened.”
“Nothing at all!”
Roa responded with an unusually bright smile; so cheerful, in fact, that Dietrich furrowed his brow in suspicion.
“…You’re in a weirdly good mood, aren’t you?”
“Am I? I feel normal.”
Suspicious.
Still, Dietrich decided not to push the matter.
Everything seemed fine, and Roa didn’t look like he was forcing a smile; he looked genuinely happy.
Something must have happened while Nostalgia slept. Something good.
As Roa prepared breakfast, he fed the horses.
They’d been set loose before the fight with the Gigant Skeleton to keep them safe, but once morning came, the twin Magic Wolves had easily gathered them up again.
The horses looked well, unbothered by monsters or lingering effects from the Greater Lich’s death spell.
Probably thanks to Roa mixing the anti-death potion into their water ahead of time.
While tending to the horses, Roa reflected.
Uncle Gry never did anything halfway when it came to fulfilling someone’s wish.
His methods were often eccentric, sometimes mixing in mischief or chaos, but he always gave it his all.
Even if the result would be painful for himself, he would see it through.
“I’ve got to do my best too.”
That was the kind of person Uncle Gry was.
So Roa decided to move forward without holding back, wholeheartedly.
“Baw!”
“Baw!”
The twin wolves darted around him and the horses.
The horses looked a little put off but didn’t panic, sensing no ill intent from their playful companions.
Uncle Gry had used earth magic to raise a small platform and now lay upon it, watching the camp from a higher perch like a lazy monarch.
The still-groggy members of Nostalgia were up and moving, stretching lightly as they prepared for the battles ahead.
Technically, the coming fight didn’t involve them.
And yet, they prepared with unwavering seriousness.
Knowing he had such comrades at his side filled Roa with joy.
“All right, time for breakfast!”
<After that, we’re heading for my old home—the Citadel Dungeon! Stay sharp! It’s going to be fun!>
Words that would normally inspire dread.
“Got it!”
But Roa answered with a clear, unshaken smile.
(DAR Vol. 4 End)
