Half-Baked Magician: "13th Grade!?"
The moment the number floated up on the orb, everyone nearby recoiled in shock and frantically reached for it again. It was a Grade Orb. A magical tool that measured a person’s talent in numerical ranks the instant you touched it. The one I had placed my hand on measured magic talent. For a common-born orphan like me, it was an impossibly expensive artifact. That must have been why the people handling it did so with such reverent care.
A short while later they asked me to measure again. The number 13 appeared once more. Only then did their eyes fly wide and the cheering begin.
They were mages from the Imperial Magic Division. The same people who normally looked at street kids like us as if we were insects. Yet the way they stared at me now was the way a man might stare at a gold coin lying in the dirt. No, forget a gold coin. I was worth more than a top-grade magic stone to them.
“Come, come here, child. You… yes. What was your name again?”
“Teoren….”
“Good. Teoren. How old are you?”
“Fifteen….”
“Fifteen! Perfect. Over here, then. Hehe. By the way, doesn’t that side smell? You there! Fetch a clean set of clothes at once!”
The old mage speaking kindly to me suddenly bellowed at the side. A young man in a magician’s robe scurried off. In the meantime I was stripped naked in a corner and hastily scrubbed down with water conjured by one of the mages. After that rather sloppy excuse for a bath, they dressed me in clean but oversized clothes.
“Hehe. Yes, that’s a little more presentable. So, Teoren. You understand what the number you just saw means, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, yes. Sharp one, aren’t you? Of course you are. With 13th-grade talent, that’s only natural. Even the legendary archmage Castiel was only 15th grade. And here you are, still a boy, sitting at 13! Uahaha. I’m dying to see what you’ll become. Truly!”
The old mage couldn’t hide his grin as he slung an arm around my shoulders, clutching me like someone might try to steal me away. There was no one who would.
“Lord Iscar, then shall we proceed to the next measurement…?”
A nearby mage spoke up. The old mage called Iscar nodded.
“Ah! Yes, of course. We must continue. Now… what was your name again?”
“Teoren.”
“Yes, yes. Teoren. Come here. Let’s test everything else. This is exciting. I wonder what the rest will show… Hehe.”
He led me to another orb. It looked like an ordinary crystal ball. Staring into it gave the strange sensation of being sucked inside.
“Here, yes. Place your hand on it. You’ve done it once, so you know how. This orb measures the quantity of mana. Go on, quickly now. Quickly.”
His hurried tone made me press my palm to the orb. Beside me the old mage muttered under his breath, “Please let it be eight or higher… please…”
I kept my hand on the orb. The sphere that seemed to swallow people whole soon displayed a single digit.
“One?!?!”
The number was 1. The old mage’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull as he lunged forward and touched the orb himself. My hand was knocked away. The orb now read 9. He snatched his hand back, seized mine in a bruising grip, and slammed it onto the orb again. The number stubbornly remained 1.
The mage’s face crumpled in disbelief.
“No… no way. How is this possible… 13th-grade talent, yet… why! Why is your mana only 1?! Why!”
His stuttering quickly exploded into raw fury. The outburst was so violent I was kicked off my feet. The surrounding mages scrambled to calm him down. A few carefully steadied the orb in case it was damaged. The mage who had brought my clothes was holding it now; the number 6 glowed on its surface. Seeing that, I instantly understood just how catastrophic my 1 truly was.
“Why one?! Why! At the very least it should have been five… no, even four! Why!!!”
The old mage who had been screaming suddenly fixed me with a terrifying gaze full of twisted love and hatred. The look was so dreadful my whole body shook and I felt close to passing out.
“L-Lord Iscar! Please, calm yourself! Your mana is going wild!”
At the desperate plea from the mage beside him, Iscar reluctantly closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh.
Only then did the suffocating pressure lift. I barely managed to turn my head and look around. It seemed I hadn’t been the only one affected. The young mage who had been holding the orb stood with a face twisted in agony, barely remaining on his feet.
“Hah… So this is what 13th grade looks like. You can shrug off even this much, can you?!”
Having said that, the old mage whirled on the man beside him.
“Baran! Take this boy to the Magic Tower! Use any means necessary to raise his mana grade! Understood?!”
“Yes, Master.”
That was the last time I ever saw Iscar, leader of the Imperial Magic Division. Those obsessive eyes. The terrifying Mana Roar he unleashed that day. After that moment I never again felt fear as crushing as I had then. In a way, it might have even helped me survive. Because after that, nothing in the world could scare me anymore.
“Woaaaah!”
The soldiers’ roars shook the battlefield. Shouts meant to drive off the fear of death. Desperate screams to outrun terror. But they didn’t make anyone stronger. Those cries had nothing to do with actual combat.
With a sickening crunch, the body of the mercenary standing at the front exploded. See? Told you it was useless. If screaming could keep you alive, I would’ve done it ages ago.
“Don’t you dare run! Earn your pay, you idiots!”
The demonic beast’s momentum was ferocious. Worse, the mercenary whose head had just burst open had been fairly well-known. What was his name? Maron? Something like that. Since he was dead, there was no point remembering.
Mercenaries read the tide of battle better than anyone. They had to. The ones who couldn’t read it were already rotting in the ground.
A mercenary’s body was his only source of income. So the moment the scales tipped even slightly against us, we did whatever it took to preserve ourselves. To avoid dying. Because you had to stay alive if you wanted to keep living.
“Do not retreat! Fight! I said fight, damn you!”
One of the commanders bellowed at the front-line mercenaries, his own face drenched in terror. Then he ordered the soldiers to level their spears at any mercenary trying to pull back.
Ah. That was a bad move. At this rate the commander would be killed by his own mercenaries before the beast even reached him.
Puuu—
A horn sounded from the rear. Two short blasts, one long. That was the retreat signal. But these bastards hadn’t bothered to tell the mercenaries. How cheap. This was exactly why you could never trust the kingdom’s regulars. They saw us as nothing more than disposable tools.
That was why I held back as well. This battle was already lost. The smartest play was to fight just enough not to draw the soldiers’ ire, then slip away in the chaos.
“Uaaagh!”
But that careful plan was thrown out the window the next instant.
The demonic beast that had just appeared up ahead was bigger than a grown man. It looked like a wild boar on steroids. Commonly called a Roller. Grade 6. A savage magic beast that the mercenaries and soldiers here should have been able to handle as light exercise after a meal.
“It’s a 6th grade!”
“Roller! Watch the charge!”
“Run!”
Damn it all! No one said anything about a 6th grade showing up! That made the contract null and void!
But I didn’t have time to worry about contracts. Survival came first. Live, then complain.
“Uaaah!”
Rollers were brutal. They charged with their heads lowered; get hit by those horns or that iron-like hide and you were looking at puncture wounds and broken bones at minimum. A single one could shatter formations and crush morale just by existing. That was what 6th grade meant. A 6th-grade beast appearing among ordinary mercenaries and soldiers was nothing short of a disaster.
“Form ranks! Running is pointless, so fight! Damn it, where are the reinforcements?!”
Even now the commander was still babbling about formations. Ha. Must be his first time seeing a 6th grade. What good were ranks in front of something like that?
The situation was hopeless. I kept a careful eye on the Roller’s charge path and edged backward, but the mercenaries had already been decimated and the soldiers were starting to fall as well.
“P-please get back!”
And then the absolute worst thing happened. Because that idiot commander kept screaming, the Roller had locked onto him as its target.
KROOOOOO!
The beast charged like a runaway train. Soldiers who tried to block it were sent flying like ragdolls.
“U-ugh?!”
Worse, the commander himself wasn’t even trying to run. He stood his ground, insisting that as the captain he had to hold position. This was bad. If he died, there would be no one left to confirm I had been here.
No, that wasn’t even the real problem. If that beast kept going, every single human on this field was going to die, trampled into paste.
No choice. I had to use it.
Better to spend it now than die hoarding it.
I scanned the surroundings and spotted a mercenary I recognized. Couldn’t remember his name. With mercenaries you only bothered learning names after surviving three battles together.
“Hey! You!”
He turned to me with a face white with terror, shaking so hard he looked ready to collapse. His pants were already wet. Understandable with a 6th-grade beast in front of us, but still… he didn’t have the guts for this line of work.
“Run right now! Tell the commander to retreat! Tell him not to let anyone near me! Get every soldier and mercenary back!”
There was no time to explain further.
“Go!”
I shouted and broke into a sprint. Straight toward the Roller. Straight toward a 6th-grade magic beast.
KWAAAAAK!
It was terrifying. That was what 6th grades did to you. Just getting close made your knees buckle. I had taken down a 5th grade once, but a 6th… I had no idea if I would survive this.
Still, I prayed I would open my eyes with my body still in one piece and roared at the top of my lungs.
And with that, I lost my mind.