Shin Translations
patreon
Early DAR Vol. 5 Chapter 19 Part 1
🕑 Added 2025-10-24 01:13:30 +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.
Translator: Airis
____________________________________________
Chapter 19 - Roa’s Decision
Roo and Phi, the twin magic wolves, were romping about in high spirits.
Energy coursed through them. Mana saturated their bodies. The twins found themselves newly impressed with Uncle Gry, who had once stored such an enormous reserve of magic within his own frame.
The mana now filling the twins’ bodies had originally belonged to Uncle Gry. When the twins and Roa formed a familiar contract, the twins became linked to Uncle Gry indirectly; through that bond, they forcibly drew his mana away.
Uncle Gry, having been drained, was currently receiving a long, lecture-shaped admonition from Roa. Because the twins had taken so much power, he could not move. He lay splayed on the floor, exhausted.
The twins had not expected Uncle Gry to be rendered like that by their theft of his mana, but from their perspective, it made him an ideal target for Roa’s scolding. If he could not move, he could not run away. It was easy for them to keep their distance and avoid being implicated.
Some of his mana must have trickled back by now, but Uncle Gry appeared to be dedicating what remained to sensing the area. He was using it for reconnaissance to protect Roa. The twins thought it would have been fine to let them handle that small task themselves.
They chafed that they were still treated like children even though they had taken on adult forms. Now, using the mana stolen from Uncle Gry, they had temporarily matured physically. Along with the improved athleticism of grown bodies, they could now cast spells they had never been able to use before.
<He went that way!>
<Pretty fast! This is fun!>
Roo and Phi were chasing four Gryphons around. It was just a bit of play, a pretend hunting. Working together, the two of them kept the Gryphons from fleeing the area. In their child forms, they might have struggled, but as adults, they would never be outmatched by mere Gryphons. They could comfortably pester them for sport.
They intended to take their time and break the Gryphons’ spirits thoroughly so they would never again dare harm Roa.
Gryphons have wings and instinctively use wind magic to fly, but the twins could pursue them even in the air. They could create fiery and icy platforms in midair to chase after them. Moreover, whereas their child forms required close contact to attack, as adults they could strike from range.
<Roo!>
<Phi! Great name!>
<It’s not like uncle, right?>
<I’m glad it’s not a weird name!>
When Roa bestowed names upon them, Roo and Phi’s world opened wide. A name was more than a benefit of the familiar contract; it was an affirmation of individuality.
Having names meant they were separate selves. Until now, they had existed only as “the twin magic wolves,” members of a pack, their actions guided by the pack’s will. Because the pack consisted solely of the two of them—sharing body and soul—they had acted as a near-unified consciousness. They had spoken as one mind.
But now they were different. Named, they were distinct beings. Each existed as a single magic wolf. Alongside the collective pack consciousness, individual awareness had arisen. Their world for living had effectively doubled.
The twins savored that joy, and they renewed their resolve to serve Roa, who had given them this blessing.
𑁋
The dark-magic Gryphon had been forced to retreat after Dietrich severed one wing and a foreleg. Because the blade had been wreathed in flame magic, there had been no bleeding. Now, accustomed to the pain and with rage and confusion subsiding, the Gryphon could use magic again. It conjured replacements for its lost wing and leg with shadow magic and began climbing the stairway toward the top floor.
If it reached the top floor, allies awaited. If it rejoined them, they could change the situation. Lost appendages could be regained by attacking some town, obtaining potions, and healing them there.
<That man…>
Even while ascending, the dark-magic Gryphon’s thoughts lingered on the Dietrich it had fought. It had always regarded humans as weak. It had thought them bugs that could be scattered by the dozens or hundreds. Yet Dietrich had been formidable even alone. Granted, the Gryphon’s injuries had impeded its magic, but their duel had been almost even. The Gryphon was a high-tier magic beast; it had always been confident it would not lose even in purely physical combat. Still, it had failed to press the advantage and had ultimately lost a wing and a leg.
<He was strong.>
The dark-magic Gryphon licked its beak. There was the taste of blood: perhaps its own, perhaps Dietrich’s. But it was the sweet savor of a satisfying battle.
<That man is nice…>
Its eyes narrowed.
<Familiar contract…>
The phrase stirred longing in the Gryphon. She was a female Gryphon. Someday she would pair and bear young. She might mate with one of her companions. But for now, she felt no interest in the males. Their faces inevitably reminded her of that infuriating Uncle Gry, and thinking of him killed any desire to pair; at times, she even felt murderous.
Instead, she now yearned for a familiar contract. Yet the kind of contract she fantasized about differed slightly from the usual.
<I’d be fine with commanding one like that>
She imagined a contract in which she, the Gryphon, would be the master and a human would submit to her; a reversal of the typical dynamic. In formal terms, the contract made human and familiar equals; contractually, neither became master. Yet oddly, humans often assumed the dominant role. A reversal would not be a problem. The dark-magic Gryphon wanted to bind Dietrich and have him obey her.
<Those eyes.>
Dietrich’s eyes in combat had been like black depths. Driven by anger and hatred and propelled by dark, stagnant feelings, his assaults had enthralled the Gryphon. She thought that if she shared her mana and let him ride upon her back, he might be worth commanding. Her beak curved into what resembled a smile.
Plotting how to tame the rough man quickened her pace, and before she realized it she had reached the top floor. The entrance to the top-floor hall was framed by a vast arched portal. The great doors that had once stood there were gone; only the stone frame remained, already damaged.
<…!!?>
The moment she passed beneath the arch, the dark-magic Gryphon’s eyes widened in astonishment. An utterly unexpected scene unfolded within the top-floor chamber.
<Please! Please! Stop!>
<I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry>
<Forgive me…>
<I won’t do it again! I won’t do it again! I won’t do it again!>
Four Gryphons ran about, bawling and sniveling, their faces utterly pathetic for a supposed apex beast; tears and snot smeared across them.
<This is fun!>
<Fight back! It’s boring if you just run!>
Chasing those desperately fleeing four were two gigantic, magnificent magic wolves. The wolves were roughly twice the size of the Gryphons, and the mana emanating from them was on an entirely different scale.
The flowing, cloaklike bands that shimmered around them were spells held in readiness. No matter how quickly an attacker moved, the magic brimming there would intercept faster than conscious thought. It was as if the wolves constantly displayed a fearsome weapon. Their determination to absolutely forbid any assault was clear.
They were utterly unbeatable. Although they seemed only to be playing now, if they chose to strike, even the Gryphon could be instantaneously slain. At the sight of those wolves, the Gryphons’ spirits broke.
The dark-magic Gryphon could only gape in slack-jawed disbelief at the hellish spectacle unfolding before her.
𑁋
Several dozen minutes behind the dark-magic Gryphon.
When Nostalgia’s members finally reached the top floor, they found an inexplicable scene.
They had advanced cautiously to the top, fearing ambush by magic beasts, but it had been needless worry. The aftereffects of the magic Uncle Gry had used apparently scattered every surviving magic beast; everything had fled. Not a single Gargoyle had appeared, the very thing they had most feared.
When they steeled themselves and stepped into the broad chamber, what met their eyes was Roa, surrounded by five Gryphons, the setting sun backlighting the tableau as the Gryphons lowered their heads to the floor in apparent veneration.
Each Gryphon was battered and bloodied.
The dark-magic Gryphon that had fought Dietrich was there among them, its one foreleg and one wing missing, as if it belonged in that company by right. At Roa’s side sat two enormous magic wolves, each roughly twice the size of a Gryphon. Cloaked in jewel-like crimson and azure fur, they sat on either side of Roa as if guarding him. Their great tails swished, scattering motes of light with each movement; the effect was almost dreamlike.
Nearby lay another Gryphon, sprawled and looking at Nostalgia with an expression of resentment: Uncle Gry himself. Normally, distinguishing one Gryphon from another by appearance is difficult, but the malign glint in his eyes and his strangely human expressions made Uncle Gry unmistakable to all of Nostalgia at a glance.
<You’re late! I told you to come up quickly!>
Uncle Gry’s disgruntled voice echoed.
“What on earth is going on here?”
Dietrich looked around and then relaxed, deciding that there was no immediate threat.
<Until just now I was being lectured by that brat the whole time! I couldn’t even move because my strength was gone, and he kept going on about thinking of others’ feelings and having common sense! I was lectured about common sense by a brat! By a brat, I say, about common sense!>
He kept stressing “common sense.” Apparently Roa’s lecture had irked him deeply. Hearing that, Nostalgia understood why Uncle Gry had been shouting for them to hurry up. It was not a crisis he wanted help with; it was simply so Roa’s scolding could be concluded. He must have thought that if Dietrich and the others arrived, the matter would be smoothed over.
“…So what is this situation? And what are those glittering magic wolves?”
Dietrich flatly ignored Uncle Gry’s grumbling. Whatever had happened during the lecture, Dietrich judged without hearing the explanation that Uncle Gry was to blame. It was useless to take his complaints seriously.
<Roo!>
<Phi!>
The light surrounding the great wolves behind Roa flared. A dazzling glare burst outward, and when the radiance subsided, the familiar forms of the twin magic wolves stood there.
“Twins!”
At the sight, Dietrich took off running. He ignored the Gryphons that still knelt with their heads bowed nearby and lunged to embrace the twins.
<Gross!>
<No!>
They sprang away at once, Dietrich’s embrace ending in air. His clothes were drenched in blood. They had wiped his skin with damp cloths and bandaged his wounds as best they could, but he had not bothered to change, expecting more fighting might follow. In that state, he was filthy; it was natural that the twins recoiled. By the way, although some of his skin was torn, he had not used a high-grade healing potion; perhaps only licking a healing candy and letting it heal slowly. He had already used a high-grade potion today and risked mana sickness if he took more. Minor tears in the skin were not worth risking further treatment; candy would suffice for such scrapes.
“…Oh.”
Dietrich stood there, dejected, arms outstretched and empty, when the twins dodged away. He looked crestfallen.
“So, Roa. What’s going on?”
Cornelia repeated Dietrich’s earlier question. With the conversation stalled, she deliberately avoided looking at the forlorn Dietrich.
“Um… I don’t really understand it either.”
Roa answered with a wavering smile as he surveyed the Gryphons prostrating before him.
<They’re showing submission to the brat. The little chicks… when I told them to return under my command, they absolutely refused, saying they’d rather die than become my lackeys…>
<They said I bullied them in training and that they nearly died so many times!>
<They said they want to be Roa’s lackeys who scold old Uncle Gry! We broke them properly so they won’t disobey!>
The cute voices appended terrifying details with casual breeziness. Cornelia was curious about the content, but what gripped her most was the speaker.
“Um, are those voices the twins’?”
Dietrich had said he’d heard the twins’ voices while coming up, so they roughly expected this. The sequence of events was unclear, but it seemed likely Roa had formed familiar contracts with the twins. And, as with Uncle Gry, the effects had spread to Nostalgia’s members in some way. Still, they wanted to confirm.
<That’s right! My name is Roo!>
<I’m Phi! Call me by my name!>
The twins flapped their forepaws as they spoke. Cornelia, moved by their smiles, could not help but stroke one of their heads.
“Nice to meet you!”
“Wait, why did you get to know their names before me? The twins are mine!”
Cornelia’s friendly exchange with the twins drew an indignant Dietrich’s jealous interruption. He barreled in, trying to hug them again, only to be evaded once more.
<No way! Dietrich is Roo and Phi’s!>
<Dietrich is the lackey!>
They cried gleefully as they ran off. Dietrich, determined to hug them, chased after them.
“Ah… so the leader really is their lackey…”
Cornelia sank into gloom at the twins’ proclamation. She still had not told anyone that the footprint-shaped marks on Dietrich’s thighs were a Lackey Mark. Bruno the smith had told her they were merely markings, but the fact that they glowed when Dietrich’s mithril sword took on flame magic made her suspect there was some magical property. She had meant to consult Uncle Gry—who seemed knowledgeable about such matters—and learn the truth before telling everyone. She had postponed it to sort out her feelings.
But the twins’ blunt declaration had unsettled her. Cornelia, who took pride in herself, found the notion that their leader—and a prince of the land—was a familiar’s lackey intolerable. Unaware of Cornelia’s inner turmoil, Dietrich cheerfully ran about with the twins.
“Um, why are those people over there here?”
Feeling awkward watching Dietrich play and Cornelia brood, Roa turned to Bernhart and asked. Beside him stood Eileen and two members of the Nemophila Knights. They had been brought as observers and to keep watch; they had been tied and gagged, after all, and could not be simply left behind. Although Kristoff was nearby, he did not seem approachable. He muttered under his breath, “There’s nothing I can report properly. How am I supposed to cover this up?” His face mixed anger and despair; he seemed lost in his own world, so leaving him alone was best.
“Uncle Gry opened a hole into the underground, and we came up through it. Since all the magic beasts had been wiped out, we had no obstacles. We intervened in the fight and restrained him because he attacked the leader.”
Bernhart explained matter-of-factly. As his gaze turned to Roa, several facts became clear. Uncle Gry was still unable to move properly from the backlash of having his mana suddenly drained. The twins and Dietrich had run off to play in another area. The Gryphons remained motionless with heads bowed. Cornelia remained sunk in despair over the Lackey Mark. Kristoff had retreated inward again.
Because Bernhart diverted his gaze, the effective surveillance had lapsed. Everyone relaxed, thinking it was all over.
Seizing that moment, one of the Nemophila Knights moved. With motion too swift to follow with the eye, she slipped into the blind spot behind Roa and Bernhart. Though she had been bound behind her back, she had somehow freed herself. A knife gleamed in her hand, the blade aimed at Roa. The murderous edge neared Roa’s back—
It was then that Eileen leapt forward.
𑁋
Eileen James Amadan, the fourth daughter of Count Amadan, was a dreamer of knightly romance.
She adored the heroine of the story Princess Knight Eileen. Sharing that name, she had long imagined herself becoming that very princess-knight.
But that dream was shattered in the Citadel Dungeon. Inside the Citadel Dungeon she witnessed—or rather was made to witness—the battle between adventurers and Gryphons.
Or perhaps “made to witness” was the better phrase. She and two female knights had been bound by those adventurers and forced to watch; Eileen had barged into the fight without permission, suffered injury, and been restrained. At the time, she could not understand why, as both a noble and a knight, a mere wound inflicted on an adventurer would require her to be detained.
Then she learned the adventurers’ leader was of foreign royalty, and shame flooded her. Wounding someone of higher status was a grave offense; the fact that he was a foreign royal made the situation perilous. No lenient sentence could likely spare her from capital punishment. Confronted with the gravity of her act, she realized for the first time how thoughtless her conduct had been.
Afterwards, they were forced to watch the adventurers fight, and she was taught the harsh difference in caliber. Lightning-fast assaults. Coordination was so seamless that it was like a single organism.
A female adventurer with a build similar to Eileen’s hefted a warhammer and shattered a Gryphon’s wing. Then, amid spells and strikes, the royal—who was also the party leader—fought the Gryphon one-on-one. That duel was fiercer than any combat Eileen had ever seen, yet it was compelling to the point she could not look away.
Before her eyes was true combat that she had never known. She marveled that nobles from other lands could fight with such ferocity. That man was the protagonist of a tale. Princess Knight Eileen, too, had been a royal who hid her status and fought across nations, famed for her exploits. Setting aside gender, the man before her embodied the ideal she had cherished.
So then, what was she? The answer arrived instantly: a supporting role, a foil who existed merely to make the hero shine.
When she realized that, Eileen nearly collapsed. In admitting that, she had denied her former self. The battle’s conclusion left the Gryphon fleeing; it was the hero’s victory. The sword that had severed the Gryphon’s wing and leg had been wreathed in flame; indeed, the protagonist’s blade was special, she thought.
After the fight, they moved on upward. The bound Eileen and her two knightly companions were forced to accompany them. Though coerced, Eileen did not resist; rather, she wanted to see what the protagonist would do next. That, she told herself, was the calling of a supporting actor who could only look on.
When they reached a vast hall, the tableau that unfolded was almost mythic. Bathed in a pale scarlet sunset stood a single youth. At his side were two massive magic wolves with fur of such beauty she had never seen. Around the youth and the wolves, jewel-like light drifted down. At the youth’s feet, six Gryphons knelt with heads bowed in deep obeisance.
Seeing that scene, Eileen understood: this boy, too, was a protagonist. The youth and the adventurers began to converse casually. The adventurers showed little surprise at the mythic spectacle; perhaps for the protagonists, that sight was familiar. The thought made Eileen feel abashed to be nothing more than a supporting extra in this sacred tableau. Were this a stage play, she thought, a minor actor should quietly withdraw behind the curtains.
She felt contrition for the two knights she had brought along and put in the same embarrassing position. She glanced at them. Evelyn, like Eileen, was captivated by the sight. Evelyn had served in the Nemophila Knights since its founding; stiff in some ways, she was nonetheless loyal and skilled. Heather, by contrast, was the youngest and most recently inducted knight; born to a baronial family on the frontier, the daughter of a concubine, she had aimed from youth to be a soldier. Quiet by nature, she was not ostentatious.
Heather lacked prowess with the blade but possessed such aptitude for magic that she might fairly be called a mage. Eileen had recruited her to the knight. The previous generation’s baroness had once been of royal blood, and it had been through Heather that Eileen had procured the candy known as the combat drug.
Eileen’s eye caught a flash on Heather’s back: a familiar shimmer. The bright glint resembled a keenly honed edge. Seeing it, Eileen thought about the Nemophila Knights’ strict hierarchy and devotion; above all, they prized loyalty. They would not tolerate anyone who harmed their captain. Might Heather, enraged by Eileen’s restraint and the way she had been treated like a prisoner, attempt to strike at the protagonist on Eileen’s behalf?
Before she could puzzle how the bindings had been undone, Heather was already poised with a knife. Eileen appreciated Heather’s loyalty. But Eileen had realized she was not the story’s hero; a supporting player must not harm the protagonist. The instant a knife was raised toward the boy, Eileen leapt forward without hesitation.
𑁋
A heavy, clanging sound echoed as something struck against something else.
“Eh?”
Roa turned and found Eileen pressed against one of the female knights. Eileen’s hands were bound behind her back, and a gag stuffed in her mouth, but the knight beside her was no longer restrained.
“Damn it! Move, you useless fool! Don’t butt in!”
The knight spat the insult and seized Eileen’s arm, flinging her toward Bernhart, who had been standing nearby. Caught off guard, Bernhart could not steady the impact; he stumbled and collapsed, entangled with Eileen. The knight held a mithril knife. Ornate and seemingly ceremonial, the blade was nevertheless stained with blood.
She brandished the knife. Her target was Roa.
“““Roa!”””
Multiple voices cried out, and a harsh metallic clash rang unpleasantly across the chamber.
“Ugh.”
Roa barely managed to block the blade with his own knife. He had drawn his weapon in an instant; his training with Cornelia must have paid off. The two blades crossed just inches from his face, any slight movement likely to turn one into a wound.
“Oh? I thought you were a child, but you can fight a little,” the knight murmured, amusement in her voice. Her expression had warped into something deranged; she no longer looked like a knight. The other female knight, Evelyn, gaped in disbelief and shouted at her companion in frantic pleading, but her gag reduced her words to muffled noises.
“Stop!”
Dietrich’s voice cut through the air, but the knight only smiled more broadly.
“It was stupid to tie them up and not disarm them, you incompetent prince! I almost thought about killing you, but right now this brat is priority! This brat is a threat to my country!”
The crossed blades ground, and because the knight was the stronger of the two, the knives in contact inched closer to Roa’s face. Nostalgia’s members had gathered around, but none could strike; any sudden move risked Roa’s life. They waited for a moment when they could safely neutralize the knight.
“Kristoff, bandage Eileen—now,” Roa said in a shockingly calm voice.
“Huh? No, you—”
“There’s blood on the knife. It must have pierced armor; she’s wounded.”
“Ah—right.”
Even in peril, Roa’s concern for others was quintessentially him, and Kristoff managed a rueful half-smile. The brief clarity allowed him to scan the scene and notice something odd: the two most likely to act—Uncle Gry and the twin magic wolves—were not moving. Uncle Gry lay slack, too weakened to stir, and the twins sat a short distance away, watching silently. Noticing this, the others subtly exchanged glances and nodded. That steadiness was part of why Roa remained composed.
Kristoff checked Eileen. She had lost consciousness from the shock of being stabbed. A hole marred the breastplate of her armor. Her armor had been made for show—thin, form-fitting for appearance—which meant the knife had pierced it too easily. If the blade had not been mithril, it might have stopped; it was simply unlucky.
Kristoff gripped her wrist and found a faint pulse. Her heart still beat. The knife’s trajectory had been near the heart, but had luckily missed the worst. Still, blood seeped through the armor; a major vessel had likely been cut. If untreated, she would die from blood loss. Internal organs were probably damaged. Kristoff began removing the armor to examine the wound.
“You’re a kind boy to worry about someone else’s injury in this situation,” the female knight taunted.
“…”
Roa made no reply, straining only to hold the knife steady.
“The wound looks deep. You can just sprinkle a potion on it, right?” Kristoff asked.
“Yes. Use the best one.”
Roa answered succinctly. While ingesting a healing magic potion is most effective, sprinkling one over a wound also works well. For adventurers, that was basic knowledge; the fact that Kristoff asked suggested this would require a particularly potent potion. While being vague, Roa ordered the use of the best—a Supreme Grade Magic Recovery Potion.
