**#189. Rael Row (2)**
—
When the door opened, what appeared was a wide space bathed in bright gray.
A single elongated table stood in the center—nothing else existed in the room.
Now that he thought about it, every space they had passed through so far had only the bare essentials.
A pursuit of extreme efficiency.
Small stature, outstanding technology.
It was the moment the boy’s speculation about the race of these people turned into certainty.
“Travelers, welcome to Rael Row.”
Beyond the table sat six figures, lined up like interviewers.
Thick beards.
White, graying hair.
But their eyes were sharp, and their bodies seemed robust despite their age—it didn’t feel like he was dealing with the elderly.
No, perhaps they weren’t elderly at all.
Their lifespan, too, could be different from that of humans—perhaps more like elves.
“Rael Row?”
Ray asked, and the man seated in the center responded.
“That is the name of the fortress we live in. In the ancient tongue, it means ‘roots lowered to a low place.’ Have a seat. It seems we have much to discuss.”
Following his words, the group sat opposite the six individuals.
“To introduce ourselves briefly, we are the elders who oversee the thousand or so residents living in the fortress. We’re also responsible for all external affairs.”
The man in the center introduced the names of those present, starting from the left:
Meno, Pone, Parun.
Lain, Defo, Cheche.
The names were all short and similar-sounding, rattled off in quick succession.
The group introduced themselves in turn as well.
“Ray.”
“I’m Veronica.”
“My name is Grine.”
“Very well, let’s hear your story. How did you come across the electrostone—”
At that moment, a loud clanking metallic noise erupted from Ray’s chest.
The elders perked up at the sound, interest flashing in their expressions.
“Would you mind taking it out?”
From within Ray’s arms emerged a mechanical bird, its wings fluttering constantly.
“It was originally broken, but it suddenly started working again and hasn’t stopped since.”
“One wing is broken. Looks like it’s damaged.”
“It’s been a while since I last saw one. Brings back memories. May I take a look?”
Ray handed the mechanical bird to the person sitting on the right—presumably either Defo or Cheche.
Their names were all two syllables and their appearances too similar to easily distinguish.
The person on the right touched something on the side of the table, and a drawer extended smoothly from the wall.
The mechanical bird was placed inside.
The drawer retracted into the wall, and a mechanical hum sounded from within before it extended outward again.
“Coo, coorook.”
With its wings repaired and oiled, the bird soared into the air, as good as new.
It circled above everyone’s heads before perching atop one elder’s outstretched finger, grooming itself with its beak.
A thought occurred to Ray.
The reason the mechanical bird had stirred to life at the appearance of Rael Row—
Perhaps it had sensed there were those here who could repair it.
“It’s very obedient.”
“As it should be. All creatures are designed to show loyalty to dwarves.”
Dwarves.
One of the ancient races hidden until now had revealed itself before them.
Ray’s heart pounded with thick curiosity and intrigue.
“An ancient race.”
“Oh…? You know some history, do you? That’s not a phrase used by someone unfamiliar with the past.”
“I know a little.”
At that moment, the mechanical bird flew up and landed atop Ray’s head.
It shuffled around a few steps before settling in a stable position.
“……”
“……”
“Coorook, cooroorook.”
His head… was heavy.
Ray raised his hand to remove it, but the bird, braced with tension, wouldn’t budge as if made of iron.
“Cooroorook.”
Instead, it cooed contentedly, as if enjoying the touch.
Veronica reached out carefully to help him.
But—
*Snap! Snap!*
“Eek!”
She had to quickly pull her hand back at the violent pecking.
Ray, strengthening his arms with magic, grabbed the bird with both hands and flung it into the air.
The bird soared effortlessly through the air, then moved to land back on Ray’s head.
*Snatch!*
Ray caught it mid-air and held it up to his face.
“……”
“Coorook.”
Maybe it was just his imagination, but…
The mechanical bird looked genuinely upset.
Ray glared at it.
‘So what? Staring at me like that, what are you gonna do?’
As the stare-down continued, the elders voiced their surprise.
“You—have you already registered as its owner?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Then why does the bird follow you?”
According to the elders, creatures—mechanical animals—only showed loyalty and affection to dwarves or registered owners.
“How curious. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“When I examined it earlier, all registration patterns had been erased with time. By all accounts, that bird currently has no master.”
“So how exactly did you manage this?”
How?
That was what Ray wanted to ask instead.
‘Now that I think about it, Kelley was the same.’
Even when Binjin was its registered owner, it had followed Ray closely.
As Ray was analyzing the situation, Veronica whispered in his ear.
“You’re good with both spirits and creatures, Ray. Maybe you have a charm that transcends the boundary between organic and inorganic. So popular.”
It wasn’t the kind of popularity Ray had asked for—carrying a hunk of metal on his head.
He turned to the elders.
“Is there a way to turn off the creature?”
“No such thing exists.”
“Creatures are powered by ambient mana in the air.”
“They will never stop unless destroyed or broken.”
“Or if the world’s mana supply is completely depleted.”
The last option was simply impossible.
Ray looked down coldly at the mechanical bird.
‘Should I just break one of its wings again?’
*Clank! Clank!*
The bird suddenly flinched.
‘Might be useful for scouting.’
“Coorook.”
It froze.
‘No, maybe it’s better to just destroy it completely.’
*Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank!*
Its movements grew frantic.
Ray ended his contemplation and stared at the bird.
‘Let’s work together. Got it?’
“Coorook.”
He couldn’t be sure if it truly understood, but he let it go.
It circled once beneath the ceiling, then landed—this time on his shoulder, not his head.
“……”
“Coorook?”
Still heavy.
Ray asked the elders,
“There’s a theory about bird intelligence. Does the intelligence of the original animal carry over to the creature?”
“Hm. That, we don’t know.”
“You mean… the dwarves didn’t create the creatures?”
“To be precise, they were crafted by our ancestors with advanced technology.”
“And you can’t make them anymore?”
“Correct. The technology has been lost. We can only repair them now.”
Lain—or Defo—added,
“Rael Row has existed since ancient times, and many of the devices and facilities inside it are ones we can use, but don’t fully understand.”
“The repair drawer you saw earlier is one such example.”
“Don’t you have any preserved records?”
“Of course. But the quantity is—”
“Were the records damaged?”
It was Grine who cut in.
Her wide-brimmed hat was now in her hand, revealing pointed ears. The elders inhaled sharply.
“An elf?”
“She’s really an elf.”
“I’ve only ever heard of them in stories.”
“What brings a resident of the forest to the outside world?”
Grine answered the elders’ varied reactions.
“The forest is dying. I came out in search of a new home.”
The oldest-looking elder, Parun, responded,
“I met a traveling elf fifty years ago. Seems the problem still isn’t resolved?”
“Fifty years ago… was the traveler’s name Priscilla by any chance?”
“Yes, that was it.”
Priscilla.
The elf who had left the last forest before Grine’s husband, Karon, and lost contact.
A shadow passed over Grine’s face.
“…The problem hasn’t been resolved. The World Tree’s power continues to fade.”
“Then the corrosion must be progressing.”
“Yes. Trees and flowers blacken and crumble at the touch. Fruits and vegetables rot, and the land we can stand on is shrinking.”
“In the end, the only solution is for the black rain to stop. It’s a hard time for all races.”
The two continued their conversation as if they had known each other before.
“Our historical records haven’t been damaged. But there’s just too little of it.”
Grine looked disappointed.
“May I ask why?”
“Our ancestors seemed to believe recording history had no practical use.”
“No practical use?”
“They thought the past wasn’t important—only the present and future mattered. We agree. That’s why, unlike history, a lot of technology has been passed down.”
Veronica whispered to Ray.
“Ray, do you think Lady Grine might’ve met dwarves before?”
“No. She lived her whole life in the last forest and only recently came out. She said all she knows about dwarves is a single line from a record.”
“What line?”
“Elves and dwarves differ so drastically in values that whenever they meet, they fight.”
“Really? Because they seem to be getting along quite—”
*Bang!*
“What did you just say?!”
A furious voice snapped everyone to attention.
Looking over, they saw Parun slamming the table and rising to his feet—opposite him was Grine, arms crossed.
“I said, it’s barbaric. How can you throw away historical texts just to save space?”
“It was a unanimous decision. We simply handled our own property. Does a third party have any right to argue? We remember the contents and can pass them down orally.”
“No. Oral tradition is one thing, historical texts have their own value.”
Parun scoffed.
“It’s that useless obsession that made you lose your home.”
“…What did you say?”
“You can’t let go of dead weight, so you’re sinking into the mud.”
“Don’t cross the line. Are you so great, then? Didn’t you lose your technology? You don’t even know how to make creatures. Isn’t your attitude toward records why you failed to preserve your tech, too?”
“History and technology are separate! I won’t allow such slander!”
Ray muttered under his breath.
“Sounds like the record was right.”
“I-it’s my first time seeing Lady Grine that angry. Sh-should we step in?”
Veronica fidgeted nervously, worried the situation might escalate.
But the mood flipped in the next moment.
“You ill-mannered child!”
“Child? How old are you?
No—how old *are* you?”
Parun froze, realizing his mistake too late.
“Why can’t you answer? I’m 224. No exaggeration.”
Parun’s eyes quivered. Cold sweat beading, he stammered for a long moment before finally muttering,
“…1,..184.”
A forty-year difference.
Grine shouted with delight,
“You ill-mannered child!”
