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Early DAR Vol. 4 Chapter 13 Part 3
🕑 Added 2025-04-15 16:05:53 +0000 UTCFull title: Starting a New Life for the Discarded All-Rounder
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Translator: Airis
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Joel, meanwhile, was locked in a losing battle.
The captain of the investigation team, Eileen, had recklessly charged into the Skeleton horde alongside the Nemophila Knights.
With no other choice, the male knights had followed her lead.
And this was the result.
From the moment he saw the massive horde, Joel had known it would be a struggle, maybe even a massacre—but they should have lasted longer than this.
Instead, the formation was collapsing in minutes.
The knights who had charged ahead were completely surrounded.
The soldiers who had followed had no coordination, receiving no orders, and were falling apart.
There were a few magic users, but in the chaos they couldn’t aim properly, and the Skeletons gave them no time to chant.
They were being overwhelmed.
“Damn it!”
Even if they were going to fall, he wanted it to be a hard-fought battle.
Skeletons weren’t that strong individually; they should’ve been manageable.
But Eileen and the others had ruined any chance of that.
Was this how he would die? Or worse—
Would he become one of them? Another Skeleton, killing the innocent?
He’d spent his life protecting people as a knight, and now he might end up as one of the monsters.
Joel gritted his teeth, gripping his sword tightly in frustration.
“Kyah!”
“Help!”
Cries from female voices—Nemophila Knights—could be heard in the chaos.
Part of him wanted to shout, this is your fault! but there was no time for that.
At the edge of his vision, he saw Eileen being pulled from her horse, vanishing into the swarm of Skeletons.
Serves you right, he thought—but he couldn't even enjoy the moment. His own fate looked no better.
“Damn it!!”
Rage surged within him, and he took it out on the nearest Skeleton.
He’d dropped his lance earlier; now he swung his sword.
Fighting from horseback was difficult.
His horse, trained for war, didn’t throw him off even when surrounded, but he could feel its trembling—its fear and pain.
...Is this it?
Just as he steeled himself for the end, he noticed something strange: a white haze drifting in the air.
It wasn’t just mist—it was warm, and seemed to be flowing from a particular direction.
In the next moment, the Skeletons began to freeze in place.
“...What? What’s happening!?”
Voices of confusion echoed from the other knights.
And then, the Skeletons collapsed.
Like blocks toppling over, they fell to the ground with dry, brittle clatters.
When Joel looked around again, only the knights remained standing—and then—
“A pot?”
A massive stockpot stood there, the kind used in a large kitchen.
Its contents boiled violently, sending up thick white steam.
“Don’t tell me... that steam is what's doing this?”
“Baw!”
Joel flinched at the bark, thinking the pot had made the sound—
but then he spotted the red magic wolf beneath it.
The wolf met his eyes, then gave a little wave with its paw.
Could that steam be what stopped the Skeletons and made them collapse?
Joel didn’t understand what had happened—but one thing was clear.
Once again, their lives had been saved by Roa.
Joel turned to look in Roa’s direction, deeply thankful.
𑁋
“How many are left, I wonder…”
As he poured more liquid into the pot on the blue wolf’s back, Roa activated the Sonar detection spell.
It was a spell Kristoff specialized in; Roa had practiced and learned to use it too.
By sending out pulses of magic at intervals, it allowed him to scan the area.
In theory, it would’ve been better to keep it active all the time in dangerous territory, but Uncle Gry and the twins had better range and usually warned him first.
So he rarely needed to use it.
“Still more coming... Alright, your turn.”
“Baw!”
At Roa’s call, the blue wolf ran off toward the red one.
The pot it carried was a replacement.
Officially, it was filled with a “special healing potion” that retained its effects even when heated.
In truth, it was holy water.
Roa didn’t want anyone knowing that, so he pretended it was his own custom healing formula.
Holy water retained its properties no matter how it was heated or frozen.
And it had an even stronger effect on the undead than healing potions—total disintegration.
Spraying it worked, but spreading it over a wide area took effort.
So Roa had devised a new method: load it into a pot, heat it with the red wolf’s fire magic, and let the rising steam do the work.
The magic used by the red wolf was powerful enough to boil the holy water almost instantly.
The resulting steam spread rapidly, purifying any undead it touched.
Of course, one pot didn’t last long. That was why the blue wolf was tasked with bringing replacements.
No one had asked yet, but if they did, Roa planned to say the pot itself was a magic tool that did the heating.
He also wanted to keep the twins' ability to use magic a secret for as long as possible.
And so, the thousands of Skeletons were disposed—like pests fumigated with insecticide.
𑁋
“From here on, I’ll have to be more careful.”
Roa had no intention of letting anyone in the investigation team die.
Even if they didn’t like him, as long as they traveled together, he would do everything he could to ensure everyone survived.
It was the same stance he had always taken, even back in Crack of Dawn.
They still had to make it to the Citadel Dungeon and back.
There was no time to let his guard down.
Roa refocused his determination.
𑁋
And from his lofty perch, Uncle Gry watched him.
Still lounging comfortably, enjoying the view.
<You're thinking about something pointless again, aren't you?>
Uncle Gry muttered under his breath, just quietly enough that Roa wouldn’t hear.
At this rate, history would repeat itself.
Just like the fools from Crack of Dawn, someone might grow overconfident and start getting ideas.
That reckless noble girl, Eileen—she was amusing, yes, but also the most likely to become a problem for Roa.
He narrowed his eyes.
Right now, Roa’s goal was to successfully complete the Citadel Dungeon investigation and be recognized as a true adventurer.
Unlike before, the survival of his companions wasn’t a requirement for that to happen.
It seemed Roa had started to build bonds with the team and now genuinely wanted to help them—
but ultimately, it wasn’t necessary. Even if the entire investigation team perished, Roa could still achieve his goal.
It wasn’t like the old days, when he’d needed Crack of Dawn’s approval to graduate from All-Rounder to real adventurer.
Back then, if the others had died, Roa’s path forward would have been cut off completely.
Uncle Gry remembered all this—and regretted it.
He’d tried too hard to honor Roa’s wishes and ended up hurting him instead.
Repeating that mistake would be foolish.
So this time, if he saw signs that something or someone might hurt Roa, he’d remove it—quietly and carefully, in a way that wouldn’t wound him.
Roa was the kind of person who needed to come to his own conclusions.
If the problem disappeared before his eyes, he would rationalize it and make peace with it.
It had worked with Crack of Dawn, after all.
And… well, if Uncle Gry could fulfill a few of his own desires along the way, all the better.
There were still things he wanted to do here—unfinished business.
And this place had plenty of... tools that could be used.
He knew them well.
If he played it right, Roa might never even notice until it was over.
There were experiments worth trying, if the opportunity presented itself.
As he looked over the stunned soldiers and knights, now standing amid the remains of the exterminated undead, Uncle Gry allowed himself a quiet, secret smile.
𑁋
The twin magic wolves were dashing around the battlefield.
<This is so fun!!>
They howled in unison, completely caught up in the excitement.
Despite their speed, the massive stockpots on their backs barely shifted; the surface of the liquid rippled slightly, but not a drop spilled.
It was a feat of incredible physical control and balance.
The pot on the red wolf’s back was boiling furiously, thick steam billowing up like a fog.
<There was a floaty one over there.>
<A floaty one?>
Even while they played, they didn't forget to share information.
Whenever they split up, they immediately exchanged what they’d seen to stay on the same page.
The “floaty one” was a Ghost—drawn in by the Skeletons.
But before anyone had a chance to even see it, the holy water steam had purified it.
It hadn't even had time to appear.
<Switch!>
<Switch!>
The moment they shouted, they both leapt into the air and tossed the stockpots high above their heads, swapping places mid-motion and catching each other’s pots seamlessly.
The pot now on the red wolf’s back started boiling instantly, while the one on the blue wolf’s back cooled rapidly, mist forming on its surface.
<Let’s go.>
They said it together, then bolted off.
The red wolf charged toward a surviving pocket of Skeletons.
The blue wolf, carrying the emptied pot, ran back toward Roa.
The day before, Roa had returned from the forest carrying the scent of a strange rabbit.
The twins had been in a foul mood since—but dashing through the battlefield like this had lifted their spirits.
That rabbit had been no good.
It fought with Roa like they were old friends.
But they didn’t want any monsters getting close to Roa—except themselves and Uncle Gry.
Besides, that rabbit had seemed mean.
He was clearly the leader of those mocking, bullying rabbits they’d fought.
There was no way he had a good personality.
A pack’s nature reflected its leader’s.
And if the leader was rotten, then the whole pack was too.
But the twins had no such problem—they were a two-wolf pack.
They were both leaders, and both members.
So they always respected each other’s feelings.
If one disliked something, they both did.
The twin magic wolves weren’t just a pair—they were one.
One pack, one being, with one shared name.
And for now, that was enough.
𑁋
While Roa and his team were busy clearing out the undead horde…
Far away in the Amadan region of the Perdu Kingdom, Steed, guildmaster of the Adventurers' Guild, had his face buried in his desk.
This was inside a large tent that had been set up in the guild’s training grounds.
After the guild building mysteriously collapsed, they’d been forced to bring out the emergency field headquarters tent normally used during large-scale monster hunts.
Partitions had been set up to divide the space, but both staff and guildmaster were working in the same tent.
There weren’t enough rooms—adventurer reception had been moved outside entirely.
No one still knew what had caused the building to collapse.
All its magical protections had failed simultaneously. Strengthening and defense spells—gone.
Worse, the building materials had deteriorated.
In some areas, the interior had crumbled into sand.
They suspected it had been an attack, but no evidence had been found.
Thankfully, the building had made strange noises beforehand, which allowed them to evacuate and recover valuables just in time.
It could have been much worse.
Cleanup of the rubble had only just finished.
But the reason the guildmaster now had his face on the desk… was entirely different.
𑁋
“Guildmaster, do you need something?”
Since there was no door, Viviana, the reception supervisor, knocked lightly on the partition and stepped inside.
This section was reserved for important conversations with the guildmaster and had extra soundproofing.
Viviana looked just as composed as ever—but she was exhausted.
Her usual poise was still there, but she wore heavier makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the roughness of her skin.
Her hair, usually kept neat, was starting to fray.
This whole disaster had started because she had, on her own authority, attempted to wrest control of Uncle Gry from Roa.
Uncle Gry had taken it as an attack—and retaliated.
If his intent had been to give Viviana trouble, he’d succeeded brilliantly.
Plenty of others had been caught in the crossfire and there had been serious property damage—but Uncle Gry likely didn’t care one bit.
“You’re here.”
“Eek!”
“It’s fine. Lower your voice.”
Viviana had gasped the moment she stepped behind the partition—but she wasn’t reacting to the guildmaster.
Her eyes were fixed on something behind him.
There, perched on the back of his chair like a bird, was a creature about the size of a cat.
It was deep orange and looked like a lizard… except for the leathery bat-like wings on its back.
“...It's a dragon, right?”
“A Tiny Dragon. It's harmless, so keep calm.”
Realizing it was being talked about, the Tiny Dragon chirped, “Kyui?” and tilted its head.
It wore a small pouch around its body, and on its head was a stiff-brimmed cap like a postal worker’s. The look was so cute it bordered on calculated.
Its round eyes stared straight at Viviana.
“Why is that thing here?”
“It's a messenger. Brought a letter. It’s a familiar used by the Adventurers' Guild, so relax.”
Looking more closely, Viviana saw that the Tiny Dragon was wearing a collar.
It was thin, but had a similar design to the collars worn by familiars. Whether it was a special variation or just a custom model, it was definitely a familiar.
There were people who used familiars to deliver letters.
Usually birds. Never dragons.
Tiny Dragons were small and adorable, yes, but they were still dragons.
They had power far beyond most monsters—anyone fooled by their appearance could easily end up dead.
No sane person would use something like that as a courier.
And very few people could even form a familiar contract with one.
In some ways, they were even rarer than gryphons.
“Well, you're going to be working with it for a long time now, so get used to it. Be nice to the Tiny Dragon.”
“Excuse me?”
The guildmaster threw the words out as if they meant nothing, but the strained smile on his face betrayed him.
He looked sickly—his complexion had turned a dull, unhealthy gray.
“Read this.”
He held out three letters.
Each was sealed in an official Adventurers' Guild envelope, complete with the guild’s wax seal.
Two had already been opened.
“Excuse me.”
Viviana gave a slight bow and accepted them.
Two were addressed to the guildmaster.
One, unopened, was addressed to her. None had a sender listed.
Tilting her head slightly, she began reading the opened ones first.
With the first letter, a deep crease formed between her brows as she read.
“...Is this for real?”
“There's no point lying, is there? I’ve been promoted to the Perdu Kingdom Headquarters! And that makes you the next guildmaster!”
The guildmaster shouted with a lifeless smile.
He was clearly in despair.
From his tone, it was obvious that this “promotion” was no such thing.
He was being called to the royal capital—not for advancement, but to be kept out of the way.
It was a demotion in all but name.
Because of his high-ranking position, they couldn’t just fire him outright. So they dressed it up as a “promotion.”
But the truth was clear: he'd tried to manipulate Roa, Roa’s former hero party, and even the Nostalgia team to suit his own agenda.
That plan had failed. This reassignment was the price he now had to pay.
He’d been cast aside—reassigned to an irrelevant post.
Viviana, now appointed as the next guildmaster, wasn’t exactly thrilled either.
Even as the head receptionist, it was a massive leap—and a burdensome one.
“This is impossible!”
“You can't overturn it. If you can't handle it, you’ll have to resign.”
“But that shouldn't be how promotions work! We’re supposed to be able to choose whether we accept or not!”
“Sometimes, you don’t get to choose.”
“Kyui!”
The Tiny Dragon let out a cheerful chirp, as if amused by the argument.
Viviana was technically right.
Promotions within the guild were supposed to be optional.
But in practice, declining once made further promotion nearly impossible. Anyone with ambition usually accepted.
Viviana preferred the current setup—shoving all responsibility onto the guildmaster and doing as she pleased behind the scenes.
She had no interest in bearing the burden of actual leadership.
But this wasn’t a normal promotion—it was a directive she wasn’t allowed to refuse.
“...The fact that this one brought it means it wasn’t optional. This Tiny Dragon is a messenger from the Fixer. You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you?”
“They’re real?!”
Viviana’s voice cracked in disbelief. The guildmaster answered with a solemn nod.
The Fixer.
A shadowy figure rumored to exist, even within the Adventurers' Guild.
The guild had headquarters in every nation's capital, working alongside local authorities.
When a unified international decision was needed, they coordinated among themselves.
This decentralized system was designed to prevent any one nation from controlling the whole guild.
But, realistically, people believed someone had to be at the top. An unseen authority that held ultimate power.
Someone whose word no guild branch could disobey.
That person—if they existed—was the Fixer.
If the rumors were true, Viviana had no right to refuse.
And if she leaked anything about the Fixer's existence… her life would be forfeit.
“That’s the deal. You’re the next guildmaster. If you don’t like it, quit. I don’t care.”
The guildmaster’s apathetic declaration earned a scowl from Viviana.
She was frustrated, but pressing him further was pointless. He had no control here.
With no other choice, she opened the next letter.
“...So this is the reason for our reassignment?”
“...Most likely. I don’t know what angle they’re playing at, but it came with the same courier. No way that’s a coincidence. I was just doing what the local lord told me to do…”
The letter was about Roa—the All-Rounder.
It said, in effect: We’ll overlook this incident. From now on, stay out of it. The Adventurers' Guild is to conduct only standard business-related interactions with him.
That was the message—plain and firm.
Judging from this letter, the guildmaster's demotion was likely caused by sending the boy with the All-Rounder job to the Citadel Dungeon.
It had clearly been an attempt to dispose of him. But what Viviana couldn’t understand was why the Fixer would care about a boy like that. Even if he had a gryphon as a familiar, he was still just an All-Rounder.
And if the guildmaster had been demoted for that, why was she being promoted?
If the guildmaster was punished, it would make more sense for her, who had been helping him, to be demoted along with him. Could it be that the Fixer simply hadn’t uncovered everything yet?
Had they just demoted the guildmaster and promoted the next highest-ranking staff member to fill the empty seat?
That was when Viviana breathed a sigh of relief. At least it didn’t seem like they knew about the actions she had taken on her own. She hated the idea of becoming guildmaster, but it was better than being caught and punished for her behind-the-scenes behavior.
Life was cheap in this world. Viviana herself had quietly sacrificed more than a few adventurers for her own ends. Her life wouldn’t be treated as any more valuable than theirs.
“So, this means the Fixer expects that All-Rounder boy to return alive?”
“Who knows? Don’t care anymore…”
The guildmaster seemed to have given up entirely, no longer even trying to think. Viviana still had doubts, but she set them aside for now and opened the final, unopened letter addressed to her.
“...”
“What does it say? You did something behind my back, didn’t you!? Don’t drag me into this any more than you already have!”
The guildmaster cried out in despair, slumping over the desk and cradling his head. Viviana remained frozen in silence. Her face had gone pale.
Her mouth was open as if ready to scream, but no sound came. It was as if she had forgotten how to breathe, too shocked to move.
The letter stated, in no uncertain terms: “Give up on trying to take the gryphon away from that All-Rounder boy. He’s beyond your control. The destruction of the Adventurers’ Guild was your fault for poking at his gryphon. Take responsibility by becoming guildmaster and working yourself to the bone for the guild. If you try to run, you’ll be dealt with as a criminal.”
The letter had been written in an overly polite tone, but the message was unmistakable.
Her promotion to guildmaster was a punishment. In reality, it was forced labor disguised as a promotion, with no possibility of escape. Everything she had done had been found out.
Apparently, she had been assigned the job she hated most—one that would force her to contribute to society—because of that.
“Kyuui!”
The Tiny Dragon chirped cheerfully, completely oblivious to the heavy atmosphere in the room. How long was that creature planning to stay here?
Viviana glared at the Fixer’s familiar with resentment.
𑁋
