When he first came to the Valley of Farth, Iss thought that the thin old mage was a monster that should have died a long time ago—he had lived far past the normal life span of a human being, but he still had a pair of young eyes, clear and bright, and from time to time he revealed a little cunning, and the long time seemed to have left no trace in them.

Later, he felt that Inglis-Neff would not die...... After all, he was already a monster, and he was so powerful, so powerful that it seemed like he was enough to violate all the laws of this world.

Although he was not completely unaware of the fact that the old mage was getting worse and worse, and the skin of the ravines was spotted with spots, and the color was getting more and more gray...... But the calmness that has not changed from beginning to end makes him unconsciously ignore these. He subconsciously thought of the valley as the safest place in the world, because Inglis and Mudder would undoubtedly be able to solve any kind of trouble.

He almost forgot that the great Inglis was only a human being, and that the thick blanket that lay on the bed could almost completely bury him in it, and that his thin body did not rise or fall at all, as small as a child who had not yet grown up......

And Mudder is nothing more than a golem, deprived of the man who gave it power...... It's just a piece of wood.

The proud and mighty dragon felt a deep powerlessness. For a moment, he even thought of the mirror that had once belonged to the Silver Fang...... He knew who it was, but even if he could find it as quickly as he could, it would be useless to Inglis, who was already extremely weak, and the consequences of risking its use might be worse than death.

There are many powerful and mysterious forces in this world...... But there is no one that can defeat aging and death completely, and there is no deal. Able to pay no cost.

The crow sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the sleepy old man. He was still breathing, steady and weak. But no one knows if he will ever wake up.

Most of the mage's face disappeared into her black hair, revealing a terrifying whiteness. She still looked young and plump, but Iss could almost smell the same scent as Inglis under her fair, silky skin...... The smell of aging.

Her beauty was nothing more than an illusion forcibly supported by magic, and when she no longer had the strength to maintain it, the over-consumed skin might turn to ashes in an instant.

Iss couldn't see the expression on her face, but he could feel the faint fear and anger...... Even he couldn't help but feel a chill of anger in his heart.

He kept Kormit on the grass outside the house, lest the crow's wrath turn him into fertilizer under the Ambition flower. The blacksmith certainly didn't mean it. But an all-night conversation was enough to drain the old man's little energy left...... After all, it was his fault, and he shouldn't have thrown Kormit here for his own convenience.

He should apologize—Iss thought in frustration.

But certainly not to apologize to the crows.

Familiar footsteps sounded outside the door. In his astonished gaze, the Wood Golem stooped through the door that was too low for it, with an unchanging, pensive, mournful expression on its face.

It moves.

Isis immediately looked at the old mage on the bed. But he was staring thoughtfully at the white crow.

“...... Come here. She looked away. Waving to Mud, his nonchalant tone seemed to summon a slave, or a dog, to Is's unconsciously displeased.

Mulder slowly straightened up, but only tilted his head, not obeying her orders.

The white crow stared at it for a long time with a strange look, the corners of his mouth slightly curled, and he provoked a little sneering smile. Then he stood up lazily and walked away without looking back.

The little concern that I had just shown for Inglis. It was like all of a sudden vanishing and completely gone. She was back to the female mage who didn't care about anyone but herself...... She was so similar to Lydia Bell, except that her pride and willfulness were more brutal and direct, while Lydia was much more cunning.

The Wood Golem stepped out of its long stiff legs and walked to the edge of the bed in two steps, shaking its body as if in some kind of ritual, the leaves and newborn green acorns above its head trembled.

Isis unconsciously expects some kind of miracle...... But the old mage still didn't open his eyes.

Mulder slowly turned his wooden face towards Is, and the right wall writhed stiffly a few times, causing Is's eyes to widen suddenly.

“...... Old man?" he cried out in disbelief at Mulder.

Iss had a hard time explaining how he communicated with Mulder.

The golem could not speak, and the face carved out of oak would of course always have only one expression, and Inglis did not even carve out a pair of eyes for it. Only the thumb can move both hands, and the other part that should have been four fingers is just a single piece of slightly curved wood, and although it is dexterous enough to manipulate kitchen knives and pots and spoons, it cannot make any complex gestures...... They didn't have many chances to meet each other, and the time they spent together was short, and Iss couldn't remember when it started, and he seemed to be able to see every word it wanted to "say" from the unchanging lines on Mulder's face, and he couldn't remember when he had stopped thinking of him as a mere golem.

Unconsciously, he tacitly assumed that it was a "creature" with a soul.

It's ridiculous when you think about it...... But it inexplicably made him take it for granted.

Mudd is very similar to its creator in many ways, for example, he always moves unhurriedly, he can be calm when the sky falls, and he always acts at his own pace no matter what others say or do...... But the old mage had an action that Mudd wouldn't do.

Because he was always pruning flowers and plants for long periods of time, and doing all sorts of strange experiments, the old mage would occasionally move his sore arm and make it wriggle like a snake...... It looked like some kind of strange dance, made by Mud, whose joints weren't as flexible as humans, and it felt even more strange.

At this moment, looking at the blank wooden face, Iss couldn't be sure if Mudd himself was expressing his concern for the old man in this way, or if the old mage's soul had actually entered his body—he couldn't see it, as if the magic hidden in the wood grain had disappeared.

But he knew that Mulder was "watching" him.

After a few moments, as if finally realizing that they weren't communicating as smoothly as before, the golem slowly moved to the table on the other side of the room, dragged a piece of parchment, and began to write.

Isis silently followed, looking at the crooked handwriting, but it seemed that he could hear the calm tone of the soul controlling the golem at this moment when he said the words:

"I'm dying. ”

Iss stared gloomily at the lines as if they were his enemies, and then suddenly snatched the pen that Mudd had awkwardly clipped in his right hand and scribbled a huge "no" underneath.

He glared at Mulder with an angry expression, as if if the other party dared to refuse, he would slap the word directly on its face.

He knows how childish and headstrong such behavior can be...... But, no.

He doesn't allow it!

It's hard to tell what Inglis-Neff is to him...... His friends and relatives knew that he was a dragon, but they had not given up on him because of it, and he was grateful for it, but he knew very well that they would not have shown such kindness to a dragon if it were not for the memories of his time as a human.

But Inglis is different.

The old man didn't seem to care if he was a dragon or a man, or if he would become evil and ferocious, or if he would be accepted by the people, or how powerful or special he was...... And he likes it, and he feels very ...... Relaxed.

So, Inglis can't die.

Of course he knew he couldn't stop death from coming...... However, he can not accept it!

Mudd looked down at the word, then turned his head towards him, and after a long silence, the golem slowly spread his hands and made a helpless gesture.

Iss felt inexplicably and a little annoyed...... It's laughing.

In the evening, Inglis woke up. He was very weak, but for a moment he seemed to be unable to die.

The white crow shook over and sneered at him for a while, but the old mage only smiled back calmly. Kormit was relieved, but looking at the look on his face, Iss knew he knew as well as he did...... It was clear to everyone that the old mage's time was running out - the point he had now might have been stolen from the gods in some forbidden way.

The White Crow probably knew, but Iss wasn't going to ask her. Even if it was self-deception, he couldn't take so many blows in a short period of time.

Kormit had been circling around him, consciously or unconsciously...... He knew what he wanted to ask, but he didn't want to answer at all, not even think about anything to do with Scott Christus.

After snuggling up on the bed and drinking a little hot soup, the old mage glanced thoughtfully at Is, who was standing aside in a daze.

“...... There was a blue-covered notebook on the shelf over there. He suddenly said, "Go get it." ”

As he pulled out his note, Iss glanced at the cover and raised an eyebrow in some surprise - Mulder's name was written on it.

"When I was a kid I had a knight carved out of wood, and I named it 'Mud'. As he flipped through the notes, the old mage spoke slowly, "I had planned to carve this Mudd into the form of a knight...... But then I felt that the piece of wood didn't want to be a knight. ”

Iss tugged at the corners of his mouth, not asking him how he could tell what a piece of wood was thinking.

"And then it became what it is now. The old man's withered fingers rested on the page, where an eyeless, almost rectangular face was drawn—Mulder's.

(To be continued......)

PS: After finishing this chapter, I remembered that Mulder's original setting seemed to be carved from basswood...... Ahhhh