Trace. (5)
......Two hours earlier.
Sylvia left the house at 7 p.m., riding in a car. In her hands were a notebook, flowers, and a pen. Her mood was foul.
She sat quietly in the back seat, grumbling inwardly.
How could he assign so much homework without batting an eye? Even with the note that "you only need to do two out of three, and they don't require an excessively high standard." No matter that it was a 5-credit course—this was unreasonably excessive......
"We've arrived."
Lost in thoughts of the assignments, she reached her destination.
Sylvia got out of the car without a word.
The evening air was cool. The sun sinking at the western horizon scattered its sunset glow, reflecting off the sky in shades of pink.
It was a landscape fitting the place.
Sylvia walked with flowers in one hand. Her elegant shoes clicked neatly on the impeccably clean path.
She arrived at a gravestone adorned entirely with flowers.
Cielia von Elemin Illayde
Proud wife of the mage Gilteon,
and loving mother of cherished daughter Sylvia.
The resting place where her mother slept eternally.
Her mother had wished to be buried in her hometown, and Sylvia had come to the capital following her.
"I'm here."
Sylvia knelt and placed the flowers down.
"I heard my little brother had his aptitude test at the estate today."
The remarriage had been five years ago already. The half-brother who appeared out of nowhere was now four years old.
"He has no talent for magic. Looks like a potato too. A whole potato. Seems underdeveloped still. Or maybe he was born missing something."
Today's complaints flowed softly.
"Professor Deculein is a bad person. He thinks I only attend his classes."
She couldn't remember her mother's voice. The grief had faded too.
Yet once a month, on these irregular days, the silent girl came to talk.
Today's excuse was Deculein's homework bomb, but whatever it was, unburdening here always lightened her heart.
"......Well, I'll be going. Rest well."
Sylvia stood when her knees began to ache, turning away without hesitation.
She was about to leave the cemetery when—something caught her eye.
Under the sparse moonlight of the now-dark sky.
A person she never expected to encounter here, the very one who soured her mood today, stood not far away.
Deculein.
He stared silently at a gravestone.
And not just him—another figure caught her eye.
Snow-white hair absorbing the darkness, and a beautiful knight in light armor.
She thought they came together, but no. The woman watched Deculein's back from a slight distance, and Deculein couldn't see her from his position.
"......"
Deculein simply gazed at the gravestone.
For quite a while, as if weighing the name carefully.
As if caressing the memories within.
Then he knelt on one knee. He gently stroked the stone with his bare hand.
His eyes, fixed on the gravestone, soon emptied. Moonlight filled the hollow pupils.
Tears.
"......!"
Sylvia, more startled than at any point this year, let out an involuntary breath. Rustle—the leaves crunched underfoot, and she was caught.
Deculein flinched and shot to his feet.
"......You."
His reddened eyes glared at her.
"I wasn't trying to spy."
Sylvia spoke plainly, as always. Unconsciously, she glanced where the white-haired knight had stood, but the knight was gone.
Deculein followed her gaze.
"Someone else was here."
Sylvia shook her head. She was tight-lipped.
"No."
Deculein closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.
"Haa......"
Sylvia braced for a scolding, but Deculein was grateful instead.
Thanks to her, he escaped the torrent of emotions.
It had been a storm.
Suddenly, in an instant, it had seized him.
Had it gripped him deeper, he surely would have drifted away.
"Enough. Let's go back."
Deculein walked toward somewhere. Not the entrance.
Sylvia hesitated, wondering where he was going, but followed for now.
"Don't scold me."
She blurted in anxiety, but no reply came.
Deculein kept walking.
Deeper, deeper, deeper into the cemetery, and Sylvia grew uneasy.
"I won't tell anyone what I saw today."
Still silence.
Should she run now? But what if he disciplines her? Could he for something so private? Or use the previous incident as an excuse for delayed punishment.
"Sylvia."
Deculein finally stopped and spoke.
"Yes."
He looked around at the ground and sky.
"......Where is this?"
Sylvia blinked for a moment.
Deculein seemed a bit out of it.
His tears had been discovered, after all.
"The exit is the other way."
"......I see. Lead the way."
They turned, but couldn't take a single step.
Deep in the cemetery path.
On the narrow forest trail leading to the exit stood a hooded assailant. He hadn't been there moments ago, but he clearly harbored killing intent, blatantly blocking the way.
Deculein eyed him wearily.
"Who are you?"
The man didn't answer. Deculein used telekinesis to pull back his hood.
As his bare face emerged, Sylvia tensed.
Long hair and a scar around the eye. Raptor's pupils and sharp jawline.
That face—familiar despite first sight.
The Wizard Killer—Rockhark.
"Sylvia."
"Yes."
Deculein viewed him through Villain's Fate. A thick crimson fog of murderous intent enveloped him.
Target: Rockhark
Thick crimson fog of murderous intent.
"You run. You can get out going backward, surely."
Deculein stepped forward, placing Sylvia behind him. She asked softly.
"Really?"
"Yes. You can't handle him."
Deculein knew. No ordinary mage could face Rockhark.
His trait was the cheat-like Magic Nullification, infamous in any game.
It didn't even require touch. Within his radius, no one could use magic. Spells fired from outside vanished upon entry.
The cost of this overwhelming power: forsaking his own mana.
"Sylvia. Go now."
She didn't respond. Deculein's brow twitched.
"Don't be stubborn. Go."
Still no answer. He gritted his teeth.
"Sylvia. You're just a hindrance. Don't do something foolish......?"
Turning to shout, Deculein paused blankly.
Sylvia was gone.
No—she was far off.
Tatata-tatata-tatata—tatata-tatata-tatata—
A wildly dynamic sprint in heels.
"......"
Yes, better she run than loiter and interfere.
Deculein chuckled dryly and faced Rockhark. The man showed no intent to let Sylvia escape, so quick dispatch was needed.
He held a dagger in one hand. A weapon of Rare grade or higher, rippling with eerie sharpness and aura.
Deculein simply donned his gloves while standing. He straightened his collar and smoothed his suit's wrinkles.
"......You can't use magic before me."
Deculein regarded the declaring Rockhark calmly.
"Very well. I'll face you without it."
Rockhark's temple throbbed. He sneered, dropping the dagger back and charging.
Deculein stood motionless.
As if inviting him into his embrace.
Without defense or preparation.
Staring at the arrogant noble...... Rockhark thought.
Mages were always such haughty, arrogant beasts.
Relying on their toy called magic, forgetting their frailty, deluding themselves superior, distinguishing human worth by birth.
Thus, in his domain where 'magic cannot exist,' they despaired. Losing their vaunted confidence and pride, they begged for life in tears.
This damned professor would be no different.
Nay, this one was the epitome of a mage. His pathetic life's end was as inevitable as sunset and moonrise...... deserving death.
Closing in on Deculein, Rockhark swung the dagger without hesitation.
"......Krgh!"
He was repelled. An inexplicable impact struck his gut.
Rockhark tumbled across the ground but rose, glaring. Deculein stood in the exact same spot, unmoved.
Cough—!
Blood mixed with his cough. He wiped his mouth.
As expected, hiding a blunt weapon in his pocket.
"Hup!"
Rockhark lunged steeply, feinting a stab then stepping back.
A fake to gauge the weapon—but
A long leg flew, smashing his nose.
"—!"
Rockhark clutched his nose and retreated.
"......Rockhark."
Deculein's gaze upon him was profoundly serene. That tranquil look chilled more than any glare.
"How much do my fists and feet hurt?"
Deculein asked. He genuinely wanted to know.
Mana Quality wasn't limited to spells. Hyperbolically, it was near 'human quality' itself.
Mana Quality applied to all it influenced, including Traits.
Thus, Iron Man, aiding efficient and destructive physical use, had surely risen a level.
Hence his curiosity.
"Don't make me ask twice."
Rockhark glared, stemming the blood.
"How much do my fists and feet hurt?"
Deculein looked down from afar. Haughtily, like viewing an inferior—infuriating Rockhark.
"Answer."
Rockhark turned and ran. But suddenly, his leg lifted—crashing headfirst into the ground.
Thud—!
Immense impact flipped his vision; he met descending eyes like falling sky.
Blue eyes.
Gleaming demon-like sapphire in the dark.
......Yukline eyes.
"Answer."
From there, Rockhark thrust his leg up. A dagger sprang from his sole toward Deculein's throat. Deculein evaded with one step back.
An elegant waltz-like motion.
Rockhark staggered to his feet.
"......I admit it."
You're strong. Unlike any mage faced before. But a sure way to kill you exists.
In Rockhark's domain, no magic manifests. Unsignable magically—call it the principle of hatred.
Yet within, only he could.
Take one step further than you.
Rockhark eyed Deculein.
Full of openings, but no falling for it. He knew it was a trap from experience.
......Traps repaid with traps.
Rockhark charged again. Safe distance shattered; as he ducked, Deculein punched.
This time, he gauged it.
Fist, not blunt weapon.
Then, Rockhark's leg moved once more.
A mere one step.
Yet enough to divide life from death.
Crunch—
The dagger tearing flesh.
Got him!
Rockhark sneered up at him.
But that smile...... soon blurred away.
"You use truly curious moves."
Dagger embedded in his side, Deculein stared calmly.
"At this level......"
His face calculated something. Rockhark twisted the dagger sideways. Deculein's brow flickered faintly, then settled serenely.
"It's bearable enough."
Then he smashed his elbow into Rockhark's brow. Crunch—! Followed by a fist to the jaw.
—!
Like bursting a watermelon with bare knuckles.
Rockhark flew, crashing down.
"......Rockhark."
Step by step. Deculein approached the sprawled man slowly.
"I'll ask one last time. How much—"
"......You mad bastard. Feels like a hammer hit me. Satisfied?!"
Deculein nodded, looming.
"One more. Why do you kill mages?"
He was curious. Even if unrelated to main story.
"Mages are a cursed breed! Traitors who betrayed God!"
The man spat the words.
"Floating Island, Verhert, the Tower—all rotten. Dogs who can't do shit without magic. Lunatics reveling in slaughter."
"......"
"But you...... you......!"
Rockhark strained to move. But sensation ended below his neck.
"Fuck, what the hell are you......"
Deculein pondered killing him.
But no killing intent toward one admitting defeat. Villain's Fate easily overcome.
Above all, his words revealed one thing.
"I see. You're Altiegue."
Rockhark's eyes widened. Bloodshot pupils fixed on Deculein.
"How did you know? Does Yukline still remember Altiegue?"
"At least I do."
Born shrouded in red crates—hence Altiegue tribe. Known since ancient times for demonic blood.
Yet magic paths were invented to slay demons, so mages and Altiegue were natural foes.
That explosive conflict a major game storyline thread.
"I understand your hearts. I pity your years of oppression."
"......"
Altiegue hid somewhere on the continent, but their fate teetered. They feared magic judgments anytime.
When the emperor changed soon, massacres might begin. For being near-demons.
No—even now, that 'cleansing' proceeded covertly.
"But killing innocent mages makes you no different from monsters."
"......Then kill me."
Rockhark seemed oddly resigned.
"I won't. Killing trash like you only tarnishes my dignity."
Then—noise afar. Reinforcements approached. Sylvia must have called for help successfully.
"Too talkative! Kill me! Hurry!"
Deculein shook his head.
"I know. Altiegue bear no sin."
"......What? A mage like you knows nothing—!"
Rockhark raged, shrieking fitfully. Footsteps neared.
"I am Deculein von Grahan Yukline."
Deculein straightened his rumpled sleeve, tightened his loose tie, adjusted his collar, smoothed shirt and jacket.
"Heir to ancient magic lineage, blood of demon-hunting hunters."
Rockhark lay staring up.
"Rockhark."
A cold wind brushed his hair.
"Did I lose dignity facing you?"
Seeing that reciting poise.
"Or shake at provocation from trash like you?"
Unwavering majesty.
"Believe my words."
One word filled Rockhark's mind.
"You are not demons. You are human."
Noble.
True grace unlike any false in the world.
"......"
Anger in Rockhark's eyes subsided. Unexplained sorrow filled the void.
That poetic emotion irked Deculein; he stomped his brow.
"Guh!"
Struck, Rockhark fainted instantly. Police forces swarmed in.