Chapter 29: Blood Moon
Thinking back on the past, a tinge of bitterness welled up in Alan’s heart.
It had actually been quite a long time since he left the party, and Alan had sometimes wondered whether Lart didn’t actually dislike him. Perhaps the reason he had said those things back then had some other hidden motive.
But after Alan had settled in the remote little village of Green River, living a carefree life for several years with garden magic and clumsy alchemy, he had long given up trying to figure out what had really happened back then.
Just as he had said, everything was already in the past.
“Captain Lart.” Alan smiled. “No matter what, I’m glad to see you.”
He stopped all his pretenses of bravado and gently opened his arms to hug Lart.
Lart’s body felt somewhat stiff under Alan’s embrace.
Alan could tell that Lart had many things he wanted to say—perhaps explanations, perhaps apologies—but Alan had no intention of listening.
“Don’t talk about the past anymore, Captain. Dwelling on it is the behavior of old men. I’m more interested in your current situation.”
Alan poured steaming hot tea for Lart and, as usual, didn’t forget to add a generous amount of honey. Then, he carefully examined Lart’s armor and cloak before speaking, “Jones said you left the adventurer’s party later. You became a knight? I have to say, you look really impressive now—wait, this emblem on you… the Royal Knights? Captain, you became part of the Royal Knights? That’s incredible!”
Alan’s eyes widened. It wasn’t until now that he finally realized the emblem on Lart’s chest belonged exclusively to the Royal Knights.
Back when he was still an adventurer, Lart had always worn a patchwork leather armor, and all his equipment had been extremely simple.
Of course, Lart had been handsome even back then, but he was nowhere near as imposing as he was now. The armor of the Royal Knights’ captain gleamed with silver light, adorned with gilded roses and dragons. In the humble little cottage of a rural mage, it shone all the more brilliantly.
“Mm, yes, I am a member of the Royal Knights,” Lart said in a low voice. He paused, then fixed his gaze on Alan’s eyes and added each word deliberately, “Since I learned that you were here, and that vile things were at work in this place, I came without delay. Alan, from now on, you’ll never have to worry about anything again. I will protect you. I can protect you now.”
Hearing Lart’s explanation, Alan suddenly understood why even a small place like Green River could be under the protection of a noble knightly order.
And because Lart had longed to see Alan, he had left his order early and come to Green River ahead of schedule.
Such behavior was somewhat un-“knightly,” for strictly speaking, Lart’s actions could almost be called an abuse of authority for personal reasons.
A faint twinge of awkwardness flickered in Alan’s mind, but at that moment he felt flustered and didn’t dwell on that fleeting sense of caution.
“…Th-thank you,” Alan said, averting his gaze slightly in embarrassment. He instinctively reached to pour more tea for Lart, but the Royal Knights’ captain caught his hand before he could.
“Alan, actually… I—”
Lart took a deep breath, and he even seemed a little nervous.
Alan could feel the heat radiating from his palm, the rapid pulse almost transmitting through the points where their skin touched.
And those beautiful blue eyes of the captain, which once brought to mind the open sky, now looked deep and dark like the sea before a storm.
Alan looked at Lart with a puzzled expression. He had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right. Yes, he didn’t know exactly what would happen, but the look in Lart’s eyes made him instinctively sense that he was not going to like what came next.
“Do you… want something else? Like a jam cake or something…”
Alan mumbled, trying to pull his hand free from Lart’s grip. But the latter held his wrist firmly, showing no sign of letting go. This wasn’t at all like the gentle yet powerful Captain Lart he knew.
‘Oh, almighty goddess of magic, or any kind-hearted elf, fairy, or sprite—please, let me get out of this situation,’ Alan couldn’t help but silently pray.
Perhaps his prayer actually worked—or perhaps it was just sheer luck—because in the next moment, a loud “tap tap” sounded from the window.
Alan turned his head and saw a hawk, wearing bird-specific leather armor, pecking at the window.
It looked a bit tired, its fluffy face both fierce and impatient.
It was a messenger hawk, commonly used by both adventurers and formal knight orders. Back when Alan had been in a team, they were too poor to afford one and had to make do with a bald, nagging crow. But the hawk Lart now used looked far more impressive.
Seizing the chance, Alan freed himself from Lart’s grasp and opened the window. The hawk flew in swiftly.
There were fresh traces of blood on its feathers, and when it met Lart’s icy gaze, its eyes glowed with the blue light of activated magic.
It opened its beak, but out came a woman’s voice: “Captain Lart! We’ve run into trouble!”
The woman’s voice was unusually heavy, and she was breathing hard. It was clear that she was fighting enemies while simultaneously communicating with Lart through magic.
“Explain in detail.”
Lart’s gaze sharpened, and he placed his hand on the hilt of the longsword at his waist.
“Blood Moon… the Blood Moon has begun, three nights earlier than scheduled!” The voice from the hawk changed to that of a young, panicked man, stammering as he explained to Lart: “We encountered a migrating swarm of Devourers along the road. Damn it—they’ve all gone mad! I’m sorry, Captain, but we need help!”
Upon hearing the first words, both Lart and Alan instinctively rushed to the window.
Alan leaned out, and his eyes fell upon the moon low in the night sky—yet this was not the familiar moon he knew.
At some point, a large, silvery moon had developed a small, murky patch of red.
The sight was somewhat like a lunar eclipse.
But the lunar eclipses Alan knew never caused such unease.
Though most of the moon still retained its usual clear, pearly white, the consumed patch looked like the corrupted blood of some monstrous creature, as if at any moment it could drip down from the sky as a viscous, poisonous liquid.
The air grew heavy and still.
Pale pink moonlight seeped over the once-calm night. Alan furrowed his brow, casting a detection spell. He found no immediate danger, yet he couldn’t shake a sense of tension, his back prickling with unease.
No wonder the hawk had appeared at his window without being driven off by the fairies—those irritable little creatures were notoriously hostile toward anything with feathers. Alan thought, if even a dull human like him felt so uncomfortable from the Blood Moon, how much worse must it be for magical beings like the fairies?
And what about Veles, who bore a curse and whose veins ran with dragon blood—was he alright?
The thought weighed heavily on Alan’s heart.
“Alan… I’m sorry, I—”
A hesitant whisper from Lart reached Alan from behind.
The hawk continued its magical communication. Even without understanding the technical terms, Alan could sense the dire situation of the Royal Knights.
“You should go!” Alan interrupted Lart. “Your knights need you.”
He rose onto his toes and, with some effort, patted Lart on the shoulder. Then, just like in the distant past, he skillfully cast a blessing and a magical shield on him.
“…May the Goddess of Magic grant you victory in every battle, fearless of sword and spear,” Alan whispered in prayer.
Lart gazed at the mage before him with a lingering fondness.
“Thank you. I’ll return with my knights. They’re all good men—you’ll like them,” he said softly.
Then he turned and, with unwavering, steady steps, swiftly left Alan’s cottage.
He vanished into the night, which was gradually growing darker and more ominous.
Alan watched the captain leave with a twinge of worry, hands clasped over his chest in a posture of prayer.
Even though he had long known of the Blood Moon’s arrival, seeing the crimson moon actually spread its light over the land made Alan uneasy. Especially since tonight was only the beginning of the Blood Moon, which would last for several days—and even the formidable Royal Knights were already under attack by the Devourers nearby.
Would Lart be safe?
Had monsters appeared near Green River Village as well?
And Veles… would he survive the long Blood Moon?
…
A torrent of anxious thoughts made Alan furrow his brow.
He didn’t even realize how grim his expression had become.
A short, plump green vine poked its head out of the jewelry box. It wriggled skillfully out of the sugary water, and its tender tendrils quickly wrapped around Alan’s ankles.
“Ah, Little Green, what’s wrong?”
Alan had been lost in his thoughts, but the strange sensation at his ankles pulled him sharply back to reality.
The mage bent down and scooped up Little Green from the floor.
The dragon vine wiggled its leaves, then snuggled close to Alan’s neck, gently patting his shoulder with its foliage.
Alan watched Little Green’s actions. The dragon vine made not a sound, yet somehow, Alan clearly felt a deep sense of comfort radiating from the small plant.
A smile involuntarily spread across his face.
“Hmm, it’s alright… everything will be fine,” he said, stroking Little Green with his fingers. After a moment, he couldn’t help but whisper softly to the silly little plant before him, “…I hope Mr. Veles will get better soon too.”
For a brief instant, Alan found his thoughts wandering—he felt that perhaps he should have left with Veles back then.
Even though Veles was strong, formidable, and held a position of extreme nobility, before leaving he had promised that the capital had a whole team dedicated to ensuring his safety through the Blood Moon.
Yet Alan couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
The young, clumsy village mage didn’t even realize that he harbored a peculiar—and deeply irrational—fondness and concern for Veles.
Lart’s sudden appearance only made Alan’s emotions feel stranger.
Even he didn’t understand why Lart stirred such vivid memories of that silent, seemingly frightening yet tender silver-haired man.
…
Perhaps it was because Alan had been worrying about Veles all along.
Or perhaps it was because Little Green had been a gift from Veles, and all evening the little dragon vine had been clinging to Alan.
That night, when he finally fell asleep, Alan had a strange dream.
He dreamed that he was once again by the river in Green River Village.
The night was quiet and still, yet everything around him felt dark and foreboding.
By the muddy riverbank, he smelled a strong scent of blood. He couldn’t help but move toward it, and there he saw a massive, terrifyingly grotesque creature.
It was a black dragon.
Its scales were pitch-black, and its spines dripped with venom.
It was covered in wounds; deep gashes ran across its enormous body, some deep enough to see the bone beneath.
Alan froze in the dream, staring at the scene before him. A strange sense of familiarity washed over him…
He thought for a moment and vaguely felt that this scene had happened before.
But back then, it had not been this fearsome black dragon in front of him—it had been… a man…
Who was that man? Alan couldn’t quite remember.
But he was certain: it was someone he deeply cared about.
Alan felt dazed; recalling the past within a dream was never easy.
Moreover, dreams were inherently absurd and unpredictable.
Before he could remember the man’s name, the red moon suddenly appeared in the night sky. Its blood-red light instantly fell upon the black dragon.
The dragon convulsed violently, stretching its neck and letting out a painful, guttural roar.
For some reason, Alan felt as if that hoarse, terrifying cry was somehow calling out to him.
Then the black dragon writhed in agony on the ground.
From its deep, bone-searing wounds, ominous dark-red flesh began to appear. Its twisted bones and shattered scales rolled out of the bloody mass, reshaping themselves.
The dragon looked so pained, as if it might die in the next moment.
Panicked, Alan dashed forward.
“Oh no… no… no…”
Alan couldn’t explain the sudden surge of panic that erupted within him.
He clutched the dying black dragon tightly, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face.
He tried desperately to stop the creature’s bleeding and mutations, repeatedly casting healing magic on its battered body.
Everything in the dream was chaotic. Alan had no sense of how long he had persisted—he only knew that, at some point, the crimson moon had faded, and the once-dying black dragon slowly opened its eyes.
Silver eyes.
Slender, reptilian pupils, cold-blooded and sharp.
The black dragon’s gaze was locked onto the fragile human mage, as tangible as a solid weight pressing on him.
Alan instinctively lifted his head and met the dragon’s stare.
Then he froze in sheer terror.
Within those silver eyes shimmered a chaos-born ferocity, and a greed as blazing as fire—pure, absolute greed. The greed to seize everything, to annihilate all reason, all humanity, all beauty in the world.
Greed.
The desire to consume completely, to tear delicate flesh with teeth, to suck out every drop of juice before being satisfied.
Even the hungriest of beasts could not match this.
Only dragons.
The strongest, most sacred, and yet most profane creatures in existence—dragons—possess such burning desire, a greed that devours everything and even sacrifices their own souls.
The next moment, the black dragon suddenly opened its mouth.
It lunged at Alan with terrifying speed.
Alan only had time to shut his eyes, bracing for the searing pain that was sure to come.
He had no doubt that, driven by such overwhelming hunger and greed, the black dragon would devour him entirely, leaving not a shred of flesh behind.
Yet in the end, what actually fell upon Alan was not jagged, blood-soaked fangs, but the scorching, moist tongue of a massive, powerful, and wild creature.
