“Bolton, do you hear me? This is Stella Banteker from the Sahelrn Duchy.”
Before even confirming the face of the person on the other side, Stella boldly shouted and swaggered out into the corridor.
It was as natural as if she were walking into her own bedroom.
Maybe that’s why, despite my cautiousness, I followed her, but even as I stepped into the open space, I felt no sign of hostility nearby.
As I squinted to adjust to the sudden light, I looked around.
The first thing that caught my eye was the artificial light source hanging from the ceiling. The lights, which were the cause of Eleonora shielding her eyes from the glare, were positioned surprisingly high for being underground.
Once I realized that, I noticed just how vast this space was.
The height from the floor to the ceiling must have been several dozen meters, and there were quite a few impressive structures visible, making the term “Underground City” seem less exaggerated.
But what was more important right now wasn’t the scenery of the underground city but the reactions of its residents.
The nearest life forms were standing about twenty steps away, staring this way—about half a dozen stout humans.
They were roughly a head shorter than me, had bushy beards like a forest, and their builds were as solid as rock.
It was my first time seeing dwarves in person, but there was no doubt that these were indeed dwarves.
‘What’s going on here?’
I could identify their race for certain, but their reactions were very different from what I expected.
Partly curiosity and the other half indifference.
There was a tiny hint of wariness mixed in, but that was all. Their reaction to an unannounced intruder entering their underground hideout seemed overly casual.
Given that I just barged in, saying this feels a bit wrong, but isn’t it too reckless? Or had they already made a judgment somehow?
Regardless, Stella, as usual, walked three steps forward with an expressionless face and greeted the dwarf standing in the middle.
“It’s been a while, Bolton. How have you been?”
“Wait, who is this? It really is Lady Banteker!!”
The dwarf called Bolton shouted loudly.
This wasn’t just a metaphor—his booming voice almost ruptured my eardrums. It seemed that, surprisingly, this wasn’t a sound-based attack but just a display of joy.
Speaking of joy…
I’ve heard that dwarves settled here after helping to maintain the duchy’s underground ranch, but seeing it with my own eyes felt quite peculiar.
So there are human beings that are friendly toward vampires after all.
Of course, it might be a bit odd saying this when Plona, who knows I’m the Progenitor of Vampires, and Eleonora, who is eyeing the living blood lunch right next to me, are around, but still, it felt strangely new.
It might feel extra so because the target of goodwill is Stella. This stiff and businesslike maid gives off vibes that scream social ineptitude.
“It seems you’ve developed quite a lot since the last time. Even when I visited ten years later, you had made significant progress, but now it’s on another level.”
“Lady Banteker last visited over a hundred years ago, right? They say a decade can change mountains, so it’s only natural that a century would bring change, haha!”
Please, save my eardrums.
I feel like blood is going to start oozing from my ears. I’d rather have actual blood flow; healing would be quick, but this?
I casually glanced back to see Eleonora and Plona covering their ears as well. If Eleonora is one thing, for Plona—who is a former Knight—to react this way, it’s really more of a weapon than anything.
Just as I was reconsidering the risk of the dwarf race, Stella quietly pointed out.
“By the way, Bolton, what peculiar device are you using that makes your voice like that? Sorry, but my ears are starting to hurt.”
“Oops! My bad! …How is that? Is it better now?”
Bolton, who appeared to be tearing something off his collar, asked.
His voice was still above average volume, but this time it was within human limits.
So it really was equipment that boosted his voice? For a moment, I wondered if he had been planning to repel intruders with a sonic weapon, but quickly shook my head.
Based on the fact that he recognized me as the Lady Banteker the moment we opened the door at the top of the stairs, he likely wasn’t planning to attack us.
It’s funny to think about this seriously.
While I pondered how dwarves might have been able to recognize the identity of visitors in advance, Bolton reassured the dwarves standing nearby that since I was his guest, they could return to their work without worry, and exchanged brief pleasantries with Stella.
The fact that it had been over a century since Stella last visited made me dizzy at the time units of long-lived species.
Having heard about the events during the race war from Stella, a century seems trivial. There’s no need to mention Martini.
“Hmm, so you want to stay at Iron Grave for a while?”
“Yes. My party originally had to hide from pursuers. Of course, we weren’t tracked on the way here. We disguised our deaths to come this far; if we stay put, humans probably won’t notice.”
“I see. So what you need is a place to ‘stay put.’”
Bolton’s gaze flicked my way. After noticing the crimson eyes of both Plona and me, his attention shifted to Eleonora, where he flinched slightly.
“Goodness, you brought a Dragonkin too? Furthermore, that vampire’s sword—wasn’t it wielded by a Knight? Did you fight a Knight on the way?”
“Not fought a Knight; she was originally a Knight. Just not anymore.”
The phrase “not anymore” made Plona jump slightly.
Though she knew, being reminded she was not human seemed to complicate her feelings, so I subtly stepped aside and rubbed her back.
Bolton, who watched us, glanced around and pointed to a nearby building.
“Hm, it seems like this will be a long story. Let’s step inside to talk.”
*
“So, what Lady Banteker is saying is that the white-haired lady is the current Progenitor of Vampires causing a ruckus, and the blue-haired lady was an Order Knight who became a vampire while coming to rescue the white-haired lady?”
“Exactly.”
Bolton summarized our party’s complicated circumstances in just one sentence as he leaned back in a wooden chair, creaking ominously.
According to Bolton, the noise wasn’t because the chair was defective, but it was an intended mood—it didn’t really make sense to me. Is this what a craftsman’s touch is?
According to Stella’s introduction, this dwarf could be considered the representative of Iron Grave.
Now that the population has increased to over five hundred residents, there’s no significant status difference among them. Still, Bolton was one of the first dwarves to start building the underground city inside a cave that was empty 120 years ago.
Given that Bolton, as an architect, played a crucial role in creating the city of Iron Grave, it was undeniable he must have powerful influence.
“Hm.”
Holding my breath, I waited for his decision as I gazed at Bolton, who had closed his eyes, lost in thought.
There was no mention of Eleonora in his summary.
That meant he felt there was no need to speak of her. Now that other races besides dwarves lived here, and given Eleonora is a rare Dragonkin, she likely wouldn’t pose any problems.
Conversely, that meant whether our party could stay or not depended on Plona and me.
This was only natural. Having come with Stella, there was a chance they’d hear us out, but what rabbit would want to live in a den with a lion?
“I’ll make this clear: no touching the residents here!”
“Of course.”
“Then how do you plan on settling meals?”
“I suppose we’ll have to sort that outside. After all, dwarves go outside to gather food and ingredients as well, right? If it’s simple, you can order while you’re out.”
At that point, Stella’s chosen strategy seemed to be to provoke the dwarves’ creative desires.
There must not be much to find underground except stone and some minerals. Just looking at that wooden chair, they’d need to head to the surface to gather wood and other materials.
The proposal of a powerful vampire to procure materials would surely sound quite tempting to the dwarves.
It goes without saying that the nightly stealth capabilities of vampires reduce the chances of them being detected compared to dwarves, plus if someone could go, the workload time would decrease.
Unquestionably, it was highly effective—just like a race that had thrown aside their imperial citizenry in search of creative freedom.
“Hmm. Given our debts to the duchy, it should be fine! All right, stay as long as you want!”
“Thank you!”
“By the way, the Progenitor of Vampires! I never expected to see someone I’d only read about in history books!”
“Actually, if we’re being technical, you’ve met the Grand Duke as well.”
“Ha ha! That’s true! A vampire over two thousand years old is history incarnate, isn’t it!”
After their conversation, which momentarily made me dizzy with old men’s chatter, I managed to thank Bolton briefly.
In any case, having received permission to stay, it was akin to paying respect to a village chief as a new resident.
“Unexpected! To think a Progenitor barely a year old would ever thank me! Is this why the duchy is so protective?”
Depending on how you hear it, that might sound like an insult, but knowing the intended meaning…
It makes me curious how previous Progenitors must have been for someone to hold this view when they claimed to know their history only through books.
There’s certainly a vast difference between having over twenty years of memories from a past life and not, but even in a good way, being compared feels quite strange.
At that moment, I heard footsteps approaching rapidly from afar.
The interval of the footsteps didn’t seem like it could belong to dwarves. The smell and heartbeat were different too.
This was reminiscent of the scent I had sensed in the forest—
“Bolton!! I heard vampires are here?! Are they here?!”
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