Lord: Starting from a Goblin Nest

Generally speaking, no matter the species, dragons aren’t fond of having humanoid settlements near their lairs—Black Dragons especially so.

For a typical Black Dragon, ideal neighbors are creatures that are easy to control and unlikely to betray them, such as Undead Creatures, Vine Monsters, Carnivorous Plants, Mud Monsters, and Mechanical Creatures. As for creatures with some intelligence, they generally worship and submit to the might of a Giant Dragon, like Kobolds and Lizardmen.

Gold Dragons, on the other hand, prefer to separate themselves from the world they protect, living in seclusion and trusting only a few close allies and Guardians. Whether due to nature or nurture, Aiksuuri probably wouldn’t enjoy living next to a town.

Ron figured the Young Dragon would probably adjust for a while, then eventually move farther away for one reason or another.

With the next party in mind, Ron and the others decided against exploring the surrounding area further and quickly returned to the trading post. And when they got back, a group of acquaintances had also arrived.

”Oh, we’ve been waiting here for you for two days!”

As Ron stepped over the threshold, a whistle from the Bronze Dragon Descendant echoed through the main hall. Along with her were the two merchants, Shuke and Sharlowe, as well as a young girl, a Dwarf Blacksmith, and an elderly Dwarf with white hair and a beard, looking utterly dejected.

The young girl couldn’t have been more than twenty, and you could tell at a glance she was the Bronze Dragon Descendant Sulina’s assistant. The Dwarf Blacksmith, Big Beard, was holding a mug of ale and was likely in a partnership with the equipment merchant, Sharlowe. As for the Dwarf, Ron didn’t think he was a companion to the three merchants, but rather their leader or superior.

In his past life, Ron had occasionally seen this kind of aura from certain ”leaders,” but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what type it was.

In any case, it wasn’t the kind of aura he’d ever felt from his old research supervisor or the professor who was his college’s dean—not from true scholars like them.

”This Dwarf has the Fading,” Silvia said in a low voice. ”His curiosity and creativity have faded with time. He won’t live for much longer.”

The Fading. It was a peculiar condition found only among Dwarves. And since the origins of Dwarves differ from world to world, whether this illness even appears can vary.

One theory claims that the ancestors of the Dwarves emigrated from the First World—the world that was once the only one. As descendants of the Spirit Type, Dwarves inherited their ancestors’ excellent trait of hardly aging or dying, but the curse known as the Fading also constantly plagues them.

Once they lose their dreams and creativity, or fail to immerse themselves in new experiences, the Fading will, just as the name implies, slowly drain all the color from a Dwarf’s body, plunging them into a deep depression and eventually claiming their life. Few Dwarves can escape this fate to become what are known as the Faded—somber, yet wise, survivors.

For this reason, Dwarves have etched vitality, passion, impulse, and joy into their culture and their very being. Dwarves believe that being alive is a wondrous thing, and they squeeze every last drop of joy from their centuries-long lives. While humans might grow weary of such a long life and Elves spend vast amounts of time appreciating the world’s beauty, Dwarves seem to worry that even such a long life is not enough time to do everything they want to do or see everything they want to see.

But this joy, not entirely born from instinct, is not always easy to maintain—as exemplified by the stern and depressed old Dwarf standing before Ron and his companions now, his hands clasped behind his back.

”I told you, Shuke,” the Dwarf said, speaking before Ron could ask a question. ”No Alchemist could possibly emerge from a barbaric and remote place like this. And someone who mixes with goblins and country bumpkins could not possibly possess any exceptional talent.”

”You dragged me all the way out here just to waste my time.”

”Mr. Shuke, you didn’t—” Hearing the Dwarf’s words, Ron had a good idea of what happened. ”You appear to have broken our agreement, is that right?”

”Y-yes. I have betrayed your trust,” Shuke said, lowering his head in shame. ”I couldn’t resist the temptation. I sent the sample you so generously gave me to Elden Academy for analysis.”

”I am willing to accept any punishment you see fit, but I also hope that you might speak with Dean Elden. I believe you will both benefit greatly from the conversation.”

”My Lord, this is Dean Elden, the most learned Wise Man in the Western City-State Alliance and the founder of Elden Academy.”

”Dean, this is the brilliant young man I told you about—the Pioneer of Delusional Land, Mr. Ron.”

”Good day, honored Dean,” Ron said with a polite bow. ”I have long heard of your esteemed reputation. Your visit brings radiance to my humble settlement.”

”I can point out at least three errors in the etiquette you just displayed,” the old Dwarf said, his expression as unchanging as a statue. ”On that point alone, you are not even Shuke’s equal. My academy would absolutely never admit someone like you.”

’No wonder Shuke was willing to break our agreement to have my potion analyzed. This is his alma mater, and this dean might even be his teacher.’

”Mr. Ron, please don’t mind him,” Shuke said with a wry smile, trying to smooth things over. ”My teacher’s temper is a bit... peculiar.”

”It’s fine. My temper is decent enough,” Ron said, pulling up a chair and sitting across from the old man. ”But if you only brought him here to find fault with me, then please show yourselves out. We’ve just returned from a long journey and desperately need to rest.”

”Find fault with you?” The Dwarf lifted his chin, looking up at Ron with a condescending gaze. ”Your movements defy tradition! Your grammar is substandard! Even the racial makeup of this place goes against all ethics and morals—how can you allow goblins to live together with other races?!”

”Old man, if you’re just here to cause trouble, I wouldn’t mind knocking all your teeth out!”

The Dwarf’s words instantly infuriated Delaford. The Goblin Hunter snatched up his dagger and leaped forward, waving the gleaming blade in front of Elden. ”Wanna give it a try, old man? Come on! Let’s see who’s the better fighter!”

”Your threats do nothing but deepen my contempt for your pathetic race,” Elden said without even blinking. He looked toward Ron. ”You’re Ron, correct? Is this how you act as a Lord? By letting your subordinates threaten a guest?”

The old Dwarf then turned to look at Victoria. ”I see the Holy Emblem of Heim on your collar. You are one of His believers, are you not?”

”Excellent. Right now, a coarse and savage goblin is threatening a helpless old Dwarf. Are you simply going to stand by and do nothing?”