Early DAR Vol. 4 Chapter 12 Part 1

Full title: Starting a New Life for the Discarded All-Rounder

Note: It's been over five years since the last chapter of DAR was released—thank you so much for your patience and support all this time. To mark the return, we're dropping five full parts all at once, exclusively for Patreon members (both free and paid tiers)! 🎉

The chapters will go live on the main website next week, but you get early access right here.

We hope you enjoy the comeback!

Translator: Airis

Note 2: We're also looking for an editor/proofreader for this novel!

Changes: Servant Beast -> Familiar, Grandpa Gry -> Unclew Gry

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Chapter 12 - Various Secrets 

Morning arrived.

Yet within the forest, shrouded beneath the dense canopy, the sunlight was obstructed, and the passage into a new day was hardly perceptible.

The previous night had been one of pure chaos and terror.

The Citadel Dungeon Investigation Team had been ambushed within the woods—by rabbits, of all things. Not some fearsome magical beast, but ordinary rabbits one might expect a child to hunt during their first foray into the wilderness. And yet, trained knights and seasoned soldiers had been utterly thrown into disarray.

Though no lives were lost, the team had suffered what could only be described as a near-total rout. The entire operation had collapsed, at least temporarily. Were it not for the presence of Roa and his familiars, who alone had been able to mount an effective resistance, the group would have succumbed to mass panic, scattered into the woods, and likely disappeared without a trace.

That visceral fear still clung to the soldiers and knights, even now—despite the restored calm and a period of rest. The oppressive atmosphere lingered.

Their intended destination, the Citadel Dungeon, was a sanctuary of monsters ruled primarily by gryphons. These territorial, aggressive beasts, capable of flight, made any approach a dangerous endeavor for humans. Furthermore, the surrounding area was once a battlefield and remained saturated with undead that continued to wander the ruins. To any rational observer, it was a realm of death—where setting foot meant forfeiting one's life.

Under normal circumstances, there would be no reason to enter such a place. However, about a month prior, a gryphon had appeared in the skies above the city of Amadan, sparking widespread unrest.

Though the incident was officially resolved when it was announced that the gryphon in question had been a familiar of the adventurer party Crack of Dawn—Roa’s former party—and had fled during the group’s collapse, the reality was far more complicated. Roa and his companions, who knew the truth, had chosen silence. As a result, the matter had remained deliberately vague.

To secure the official version of events, it became necessary to establish corroborating evidence. Thus, the Citadel Dungeon—suspected habitat of the gryphon in question—was to be investigated. The goal was to confirm the presence of gryphons and present that as supporting proof.

The investigation team, hastily assembled for this purpose, had little hope of success. The idea of surviving an expedition into such a place—let alone identifying its sovereign monster—was preposterous.

This was a sacrificial force, sent only to fabricate a pretense: that an official investigation had taken place. Accordingly, the Amadan county had conscripted knights and soldiers deemed incompetent, expendable, or otherwise troublesome. No one would miss them. In fact, some parties were likely hoping they wouldn’t return at all.

Even among the handful of competent individuals, most were unsuited to coordinated battle—lone wolves with no sense of unity. Chief among them was the Nemophila Knights, nominal leaders of the team, infamous for their arrogance and lack of teamwork. Their presence was, frankly, a liability.

In that light, Roa’s inclusion in the investigation party could only be considered a stroke of luck. He too had been consigned to this doomed mission by those in the merchant circles and the Adventurers' Guild who saw him as a nuisance.

He could have refused. But Roa chose to accept, under one condition: should the investigation succeed, he would be officially recognized as a full-fledged adventurer, no longer relegated to the role of an apprentice All-Rounder.

Roa did not see himself as performing a duty for the team. He had accepted the mission for his own sake, and it was that sense of self-responsibility that drove him.

Nonetheless, there was no denying the profound impact his presence had on the rest of the group. Even now, many knights and soldiers watched him from a distance—not in suspicion, but in wary anticipation. They understood: the fate of this expedition—and perhaps their lives—rested with him.

Roa alone had been able to repel the rabbit attack the night before. To the others, he had become an emotional anchor, a symbol of survival.

Unaware of the significance being placed on his actions, Roa was, at that moment, silently dismantling a ruined wagon that had toppled during the previous night’s chaos.

The flickering firewood flames provided little illumination, so a magical light floated overhead—Roa’s own conjuration. Not long ago, such an effort would have depleted his mana in an instant, but now that he shared magical energy with Uncle Gry, he could maintain it for years if necessary.

The broken wagon lay squarely across the woodland path, blocking passage. It had already been partially dismantled for firewood by the soldiers during the night, but its core structure—constructed with magically reinforced timber—remained intact. Only someone capable of imbuing a blade with wind magic could hope to cut through it.

Thus, Roa handled the dismantling, while the on-duty guards carried away the salvaged wood.

He would have preferred to keep his ability to enchant blades secret. But after the rabbit ambush, everyone had seen him do it. There was no point in hiding it now.

“Still, that’s amazing stuff you’ve got there.”

One of the soldiers, watching Roa slice through the frame with ease, voiced his admiration. Roa offered only a polite, reserved smile in response.

To him, the power he wielded was borrowed—an advantage granted by his familiar contract with Uncle Gry. It didn’t feel like it was his own. Praise left him somewhat uncomfortable.

Since the previous night, his rapport with many of the knights and soldiers had improved dramatically. The animosity that once surrounded him had all but vanished. After all, Roa had defended them, healed their wounds, and faced death for their sake. Many now looked at him with a mixture of awe and gratitude.

However, there was one faction that remained hostile—the Nemophila Knights.

They glared at Roa with eyes full of resentment, likely believing he had stolen the accolades that should have been theirs. They said nothing, nor did they act against him, but the hostility was palpable. Roa, with a weary acceptance, simply chose to ignore it.

“You’re full of energy this morning, adventurer!”

Another voice called out. Roa paused and looked up.

It was a knight—the same man who, during last night’s attack, had been the first to detect the rabbits and had worked tirelessly to coordinate the soldiers. With the Nemophila Knights having proven useless, this man had assumed command of the camp by necessity, despite it not being his responsibility.

He was not part of the Nemophila Knights, but had been temporarily assigned to this expedition. Though clearly capable, he must have failed in some prior mission to have been sent to such a dangerous post. His build was solid, his hair neatly trimmed—he had the look of a disciplined knight. And yet, a faint stubble on his chin hinted at a lack of grooming, likely due to his inexperience with long expeditions.

“Good morning!”

“Truly, I’m grateful for your presence, sir. Allow me to thank you again.”

He bent his tall frame into a deep bow before Roa.

“Please don’t. I’m just a member of this team too—and this is part of my duty. There’s no need to thank me for that.”

Roa hadn’t expected a bow out of nowhere and was visibly flustered, even a little embarrassed.

He had never been thanked by a knight before, so this kind of situation was completely unfamiliar.

And besides, even if he had been forced into this mission, the investigation team members were still his comrades. He didn’t need a reason to help them.

You help your comrades.

That’s the kind of life a real adventurer should lead—the kind Roa aspired to live.

“But the fact we’re still alive at all is thanks to you. Bowing my head is the least I can do!”

“N-No, really, it’s not—”

Hearing that much only made Roa more uncomfortable.

He’d heard a lot from Uncle Gry and had a general idea of what was going on behind the rabbit attack.

He also knew those rabbits had no intent to kill, so unlike the knights and soldiers, he hadn’t feared for his life.

That’s why even when he faced the Rabbit King—an opponent leagues above him—he was able to remain calm and fight properly.

Knowing all that, this kind of praise felt undeserved. It felt like he was deceiving them, and it made him feel guilty.

“You even used expensive healing potions to save the wounded. How could we not be grateful!”

“Oh, I made those myself, so they’re not expensive at all.”

“What! Sir, you’re a—”

The knight’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Ah—Roa! Just call me Roa! I don’t have a title or anything, so ‘sir’ is way too formal. And please, you don’t need to use honorifics either!”

“Hmm?”

Caught off guard by the sudden request, the knight’s expression briefly darkened. But the next moment, he chuckled.

“I see. My apologies, then. I’ll call you Roa then. I’m Joel. So you’re an alchemist too?”

“Yes.”

Joel’s gaze drifted to Roa’s waist.

Because he’d been working, the guild emblem fastened to his belt loop was clearly visible. It was the square-column badge of the Creators' Guild.

Roa’s comment about making his own potion had piqued Joel’s interest, and he’d instinctively checked for the badge.

Each guild had its own way of wearing their emblems.

There weren’t strict rules, but the shape of the badge and the nature of the profession usually decided its placement.

For adventurers, the badge was a hole-punched plate worn on a cord around the neck.

Merchants used card-style badges they kept in their chest pockets.

Creators' Guild members used a column-shaped badge threaded through their belt loops, hanging at the waist.

That made sense—most creators worked with their hands while leaning forward. A neck strap would get in the way, and pockets were usually full of tools.

Joel clearly knew all this.

And when he saw the Creators' Guild emblem, he looked relieved.

Carrying a badge like that meant Roa could consistently produce high-quality goods—proof that the potions the soldiers drank were safe and legitimate.

Joel’s brief moment of suspicion earlier had likely come from this.

Alchemists didn’t have a formal rank system, but their position wasn’t exactly low either. It was only natural to treat them with a certain level of respect.

But Roa had acted as if his status was insignificant.

That made Joel wonder, if only for a second, whether Roa was some shady, unlicensed back-alley alchemist.

“Dual guild membership at your age, huh? That’s rare. You must be exceptionally talented.”

“Not really…”

Roa hesitated, unable to meet his eyes.

Given the circumstances, he couldn’t very well explain that if this Citadel Dungeon mission failed, he’d be expelled from the Adventurers’ Guild for missing the deadline.

He searched for a way to reply, but before he could say anything, Joel’s expression suddenly stiffened.

<what are="" doing="" you=""></what>

“Ah—Uncle Gry!”

A voice called from behind, and when Roa turned, Uncle Gry was there.

He had disappeared the night before, sneaking off like he always did.

Roa figured he had gone to meet the rabbit king—the one who had attacked them and seemed to know him—or possibly the king’s master.

Uncle Gry said as he rubbed his head affectionately against Roa’s cheek.

“Hey—wait, what…? You smell like booze.”

It wasn’t just his breath. The stench of alcohol clung to his entire body.

Panicking, Roa lowered his voice. If the others realized Uncle Gry had come back drunk, it would be a problem.

<it an="" by="" choice.="" couldn="" down.="" friend.="" had="" i="" it="" no="" offered="" old="" really.="" turn="" was=""></it>

“...Just so you know, I told everyone you went out to scout for enemies. If you come back reeking of alcohol, how am I supposed to explain that?”

Roa had covered for him, saying Uncle Gry had gone out to investigate the area.

Before entering the forest, they’d camped separately from the investigation team, so no one noticed if he vanished. But now they were all staying together at night for safety, and people would definitely notice.

If he reeked of alcohol, the whole “scouting” excuse would fall apart.

More importantly, people would start asking questions if his supposed familiar came back drunk in the first place.

As he spoke, Uncle Gry pressed in tighter, rubbing up against Roa.

He was acting just like any drunk—clingy and persistent. Roa pushed him away with both hands.

He wasn’t seriously annoyed or anything. But they were in public.

If he ignored the person he’d been talking to and started playing with his familiar, it could come off as rude.

Glancing back at Joel, Roa saw the knight frozen in place, his face stiff with awkward tension.

“Sorry. We were in the middle of a conversation and Uncle Gry wouldn’t let up. He can be a real pain.”

Apologizing, Roa grabbed a broken plank from the ruined carriage nearby and gave Uncle Gry a solid thump on the head.

“Eek—!”

Uncle Gry didn’t react at all to being smacked, but for some reason, Joel gasped in shock and let out a strange, strangled sound like a muffled scream.

“Joel?”

“...No, it’s nothing. You’re... remarkably bold…”

“...?”

Roa tilted his head at Joel’s pale face.

To him, smacking Uncle Gry with something was just everyday behavior. And Uncle Gry didn’t even seem to register it—if anything, he probably felt it like a mosquito bite.

“Um... Sir Joel?”

A voice called from behind Joel. It was a young soldier—likely still a boy. He was far too slender for a proper soldier.

He, too, was trembling and visibly pale. Even though he’d called out to Joel, his eyes were fixed on Uncle Gry.

Seeing that, Roa finally realized that both of them were scared of Uncle Gry.

“What is it?”

“Lady Eileen is asking for you.”

“I see... Roa, I’m sorry, but I’ll excuse myself.”

He let out a long breath of relief, then quickly took his leave.

Watching Joel walk off briskly, Roa felt a little guilty for scaring them.

“So, who was this old acquaintance of yours?”

After seeing Joel off, Roa resumed dismantling the broken carriage.

Since Uncle Gry refused to leave his side, the soldiers who were supposed to carry away the lumber stayed back. Roa figured they could just collect everything later and turned to talk to Uncle Gry instead.

<an friend.="" old=""> </an>

“...Well yeah, obviously they’re an old friend. I meant, what kind of person are they? Are they the one controlling those rabbits?”

Roa’s question also carried a hint of curiosity about whether there was someone even higher than the rabbit king who had led the attack.

<more belong.="" doesn="" don="" go="" i="" introduce="" is="" it="" less.="" nose="" or="" poking="" right="" so="" the="" time="" when="" where="" you="" your=""></more>

But Uncle Gry deflected the question and didn’t give a straight answer.

Roa had hoped that with him being drunk, he might be more talkative—but no such luck.

Then again, most of Uncle Gry’s “secrets” tended to boil down to things like “It’s embarrassing,” “It’s cooler to be mysterious,” or “Just a harmless prank.”

So this might not be a big deal either.

“Then what was up with that rabbit attack yesterday? I got dragged into it too, so you’d better tell me. It was a pain, you know.”

 <it a="" country="" die="" do="" don="" from="" it="" needlessly.="" of="" people="" so="" strength.="" test="" this="" was="" we=""></it>

As he spoke, Uncle Gry rested his head on Roa’s shoulder and rubbed under his chin. He didn’t lean in too hard, so it wasn’t heavy—but it was definitely in the way.

“Seriously, you still reek of alcohol…”

Roa pushed him off with a hand.

<anyone a="" be="" can="" even="" filter.="" for="" going.="" handle="" if="" it="" kept="" killed="" rabbits="" sure="" they="" those="" who="" would=""></anyone>

“A filter?”

“Huh... well, I guess that’s fine then.”

Roa accepted the explanation without much fuss.

If Uncle Gry was telling the truth, then this whole test was meant to reduce the number of deaths around the Citadel Dungeon.

As long as they weren’t doing anything wrong, Roa had no complaints.

He did briefly wonder whether, back when Uncle Gry had made the Citadel Dungeon his nest, he could have just ordered the other monsters not to kill people. But he quickly realized that would never work.

No magic beast would tolerate a human invading its territory.

And even if Uncle Gry had been the dominant power in the area, that didn’t mean he had the authority to command the others. It wasn’t a political hierarchy—it was survival of the fittest.

And most magic beasts didn’t even have the intelligence to follow orders.

They acted on instinct.

The fact that Uncle Gry and the twin wolves could think and reason at all made them an exception.

And really, if humans killed any monster or pest that wandered into their towns, expecting monsters to do the opposite was just plain selfish.

Just the fact that they were going out of their way to reduce casualties was already incredibly generous.

<what about="" earlier="" people="" talking="" those="" were="" with="" you=""></what>

At Uncle Gry’s question, Roa’s expression darkened.

“Um... they thanked me.”

But even as he said it, his voice was uncertain.

Uncle Gry, sensing that something didn’t sit right, lifted his head and stared Roa straight in the eyes.

Roa turned away, avoiding his gaze.

<is being="" deserve="" did="" it.="" last="" night="" plenty="" something="" thanked="" there="" to="" with="" wrong="" you=""></is>

Uncle Gry didn’t see an issue.

Roa had managed to suppress the rabbit attack when even the knights couldn’t do anything. 

That was more than enough to earn gratitude.

Even Roa, with all his self-doubt, had to understand that what he did had value.

And yet, Roa still looked uneasy.

“It’s not that... I just wonder if I’m really up to it.”

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“Protecting everyone. Being thanked like that made me want to do it properly.”

<...>

Uncle Gry stared at him, slack-jawed.

He knew Roa had wanted to protect the others from the start.

That was the kind of adventurer he aspired to be.

But Roa’s low self-worth had always made him think of that goal as more of a fantasy than something he could actually achieve.

Now, though, he wasn’t just hoping. He truly wanted to protect them—enough to rely on his familiars if needed.

The fear he felt now came from the weight of that resolve.

<hahahahaha... a="" getting="" good="" greedy.="" sign="" that="" you=""></hahahahaha...>

Uncle Gry’s eyes lit up, and he burst into laughter.

This was a good development.

Whether he realized it or not, Roa now saw the knights and soldiers as people he needed to protect.

That mindset wasn’t possible for someone who still thought of themselves as useless.

And the fact that he was worrying about whether he could do it meant he had at least a little faith in his own ability.

Of course, that confidence likely included leaning on Uncle Gry and the twins—but being able to borrow that power was also part of Roa’s strength.

They were willing to help because it was Roa asking.

Uncle Gry grinned quietly to himself.

If that’s the case, then his own role going forward was clear.

𑁋

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