Chapter 223
Chapter 223
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: Letters to Windmage (16)
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****
‘I have to change the situation.’
Strike, parry, thrust.
Creeeeang!
From curve to straight line. From line to point. Whirling into area.
Fast, ferocious, precise.
That was my impression of the spear arts that shredded my body after the first all-out charge. Exquisite spearwork unfolding on overwhelming speed, with unbelievable penetration that crushed my Blood Armor.
‘I have to change the situation.’
Kwa-duk!
The only way to counter was to trade flesh for bone.
While my body was being torn apart, my arm—repaired with concentrated blood—flew upward at Edeorna like a siege ram.
Thwish!
It was a blow so powerful it tore the air, but it was deflected by the tip of her spear swung lightly. It wasn’t a lack of power. I’d gained the upper hand in our first head-on clash and even visibly damaged the outer shell of that white monster with a single strike. My power was far superior.
However.
Pabababak!
“Guhhh!”
After that impressive initial clash, Edeorna refused to give me any distance, repeatedly jabbing lightly with her spear tip and pulling back, denying me the range to bring my full force to bear.
She stabbed smoothly, as if strolling leisurely, sometimes grazing me with a slice as she passed by.
Her body wouldn’t even notice attacks like that, but the problem was that those wounds didn’t end as mere scratches.
“Keuhhh!”
I ripped away the fresh flesh from wounds that had already healed, but there was no way I could remember every spot hit dozens of times in an instant.
Puhbubuk! Phwaaak!
“Grraaah. Graaaaah!”
Thorns sprouted from untreated wounds, piercing through my body and jutting outward.
How many times had it happened now? Chunks of flesh torn off before the thorns could grow littered the valley floor, and blood flowing from wounds dyed the valley red.
“How curious. My branches, which should sprout in an instant and bind the body, why do they lack such strength?”
Her figure, wrapped protectively by the white thorn trees she herself had created, perfectly befitted the term “queen’s eldest daughter,” but to someone stabbed dozens of times by those thorns, it was nothing short of horrifying.
‘I have to change the situation. This won’t do! Something, anything—if she gives me just one opening....!’
Originally, I’d planned to drag Edeorna into a drawn-out war of attrition using my regeneration, but at this rate of depletion, even that was uncertain.
Moreover, the ominous magic rising from below, prickling the back of my neck, came from that “Bazur,” who only appeared in the latter half of the main scenario. I couldn’t expect ally support.
‘The Castle Knights, heroes of the three eastern kingdoms, elite knights of the Knight Kingdom, and even Charlotte make the Lordric front like a wall of mourning. That brute’s attack power is meant to break through the heroes and reach Charlotte before being worn down in a wheel tactic, while the thorn trees, strong in area control and suppression, are designed for multi-foe battles to disable enemies easily and secure retreat paths.’
All evolution focused on offense, barring minor shell and appearance changes. A solid hit would definitely land. Even a graze—if I could just land one proper move....
‘Please! Just one chance to turn the tables. Just once....!’
Whoosh—!
.
.
.
.
.
At that moment, the fierce winds raging across the battlefield suddenly calmed.
『Swan Song』
The soul-stirring voice filled the valley.
Kaaaaak!
“That human dares!”
Edeorna’s face, perpetually brimming with composure, twisted hideously, rage flickering in her eyes.
I didn’t know what it was, but this was undoubtedly the “opportunity” I’d desperately wished for.
****
A gentle breeze brushed the valley.
Passing the two monsters illuminating the night valley with sparks from their clashing blades and spear tip.
Passing the soul sorcerer clutching a gray-glowing soul in his grasp, vomiting blood, and his protecting companions.
Passing the mages sheltering their fallen comrades amid green mana, gasping for breath.
The wind skimmed every cluster of lights surveying the night valley, then rose into the sky, emitting a faint glow.
The young mage, holding his cooling master in his arms, gazed endlessly at that light.
A wind that infiltrated the entire valley like a storm in a bottle. His master’s final breath, released to the world as the Last Spell. Green stars filled tear-brimmed eyes. Memories like falling tears soaked Astrad’s heart.
‘Master. I told you to tell me if you need to use the bathroom. No need to cry in shame. I’m your disciple, and you’re my master.’
‘Master. I can handle things on my own now, even without your help. Sleep. We’ll go for a walk later when the wind is nice.’
‘Home felt good from the first glance.... But are we really doing all this ourselves? This is outrageous! No, even if it’s hazing from the early arrivals.... What? Just do it? Are you mad?’
‘I told you. I wasn’t born with wind mana affinity. A street orphan like me isn’t fated for even the ‘m’ in mage.... What? Camp here and keep trying until it works? Are you insane? Agh, why hit me! My speech doesn’t change that easily! Yes!’
‘Master.’
‘Master?’
‘Master!’
‘Master!!!’
Swaaaa—
A few days ago, alone with his master in that tiny room.
When he realized his master’s odd behavior meant dementia.
The day he first joined Home and learned what needed doing there.
The day they first arrived at Storm Hill, when his master insisted on dragging him along despite failing the first tone.
Every day spent with his master piled up on his heart.
The final one was eight years ago, the day they first met.
April 7, 121. Back alley of the small city Pelen.
He remembered it vividly, as if yesterday. A man appeared before the boy clutching a begged piece of bread, beaten for protecting it fiercely. Without explanation, the man saved him and declared, “From now on, you’re my disciple.” An eccentric mage.
‘...Old man. Why take someone like me? What for?’
‘Not old man—Master. And not “someone like you”—disciple of a mage.’
‘No, really, why?’
Drip... drip...
“Why.... Why go this far for me....”
Astrad finally felt that he had lost his master. And that his master hadn’t fully departed.
We come on the wind, and return on the wind.
A habit among wind mages. The body merely lodges the soul temporarily; at life’s end, it returns to the wind. Thus, death isn’t tragedy, but finally ending long wandering to reclaim rest at home.
His master often said it, especially after sensing his fading memory and their dwindling time together.
“But why are you still here.... Why! Why!!!’
Astrad wailed at the master’s presence emanating from his staff. Not just the staff. This small valley, the gorge beyond, the peaks stretching behind.
No place untouched by his master’s trace in the passing winds.
6th-circle mage Gauwan Delhurst. His final spell decomposed his completed heart’s image as a mage, imbuing his own image into every reachable wind.
Fleeting, destined to scatter with time, yet granting his disciple’s staff all his insights to guide his hand, if only briefly.
Grasping the staff, he felt every wind in the vast rocky valley regard him. Not gripped like a leash, but light cooperation. A breezy permission, as if granting a request. Within it, a cherished warmth gently guiding his hand.
“...I understand.”
Gently laying his master on the ground, Astrad covered his face with his robe. He surrendered to the power flowing through his fingertips. Impossible, incomprehensible, yet.
“If that’s your wish, so be it.”
Astrad chose impulse over thought.
Black robe mage? He didn’t care.
Magic properties suddenly changing? He didn’t care.
What he knew: that black inferno targeted him and the wind mages behind. His master hadn’t wanted it. Nor did he.
Srrrrk— srrrrk—
The monster approached, holding a black fireball in one hand, as if victory complete.
The black-clad monster now bore a woman’s face and voice.
“No need to struggle, young mage. I understand every~thing about you all, and wish you no harm. Truly?”
“...Before you is my master’s corpse. If you can’t even recognize what I killed with my own hands....”
“Oh my, oh dear! Killed? Perish the thought. Just necessary procedure. You mages cast by understanding your subject, right? Wind mages the wind, fire mages the fire.”
Creeeak—
The monster, inches from Astrad’s face, lifted the robe with a slender woman’s arm. The massive torso split vertically like a mouth, opening left and right,
“Uh.... Aaaaa—”
“Uuuuu—”
“Aaaa....”
revealing a horrific, indescribable human mass.
“Same for me. I use magic by understanding mages. Get it?”
Crunch!
“From head to toe, chewing every bit thoroughly. Absorbing that mage’s life, memories—everything.”
Crunch!
“The sad.... days too. The joyful.... days too. Sharing all, becoming one.... completely.”
Crack!
“Understand~?”
Young woman to middle-aged man. Middle-aged to elder. Back to woman.
With each face change, the opponent’s attributes shifted visibly.
The human mass under the robe writhed wildly each time.
“So.... you want to shove me into that maw.”
“Ohoho! Don’t get mad~ Stock’s better in abundance, but I’m a bit plump to add a young mage like you.... Hm? Oh, you smell delicious. Kid, want to become one with your dead master? Obey, and you’ll reunite fully; run and half-burn to ash, you’ll meet only half your master~?”
With a chilling smile, the monster extended arms to embrace.
Astrad recoiled, self-loathing for the fleeting thought—could he really meet his master inside?
“Oh, don’t wanna~?”
“Not just don’t want—you’re filthy, nauseating, makes me want to puke. Can’t go in.”
“Scared makes you mouthy, huh~? Speech changing too.”
Ptooey!
“I’ve always been like this. Master said it’s ‘bratty kid’ talk and fixed it. Master’s gone, so now I live my way, you pathetic freak.”
Rawr!
“Hohoho! Let’s see if you wag your tongue after I eat half your brain~?”
Enraged, voice pitching higher, the monster seized Astrad’s collar. Crushing grip choking breath.
‘...Me too. Guess I’m crazy.’
Insane. Mana low or not, picking a fight with a cannibal monster that one-shot other masters and disciples, wielded all attributes, and prepped completed spells.
And thinking he couldn’t lose.
Pbeeeeng!
Astrad smiled wryly at the black mass slammed into the valley end by a tiny wind fragment from his fingertips, bursting like a leather sack.
Miraculous power. Heights a talentless mage, barely scraping three tones in eight years, could never reach.
Kwaruruk!
“Gaaaaah! Ignore my kindness!! Won’t eat you nicely now. Savor you slowly, peeling skin layer by layer, fingers joint by joint!”
Kuuuuuu!
Rising from rock rubble, woman’s and elder’s heads appeared together on the hood. Black flames intertwined with ominous curses, swelling stronger.
The young mage facing it raised his staff. Like the day he first learned magic. Like his master’s posture teaching outdated casting to the talentless boy, now obsolete.
‘Dance....?’
‘Yes! Draw wind soundlessly, then dance to its rhythm!’
‘Eek! No way! Dancing mage? You lunatic!’
‘You brat! Then camp eternally with me! Dance, Astrad! Ride your tones with your body!’
The master-infused staff danced in the disciple’s hands. Staff slicing wind sang three tones.
New winds joined the mournful melody riding the tones. One, two through the staff flowing on blue winds. Four, five, six, and seven.
The staff bearing seven-note melody turned toward the flames.
Kwaaaaaauuu!
Cursed flames shot skyward roaring like nether beasts, beneath danced the small mage.
But once only. Seven-note spell permitted to a three-tone mage. Winds brushing all gorges, pushing clouds, frolicking among stars extending hands.
Master’s wish—consuming all from human birth to wind life, vanishing—felt at these fingertips, a miracle never again granted.
“...Thank you. Master.”
The disciple’s magic descended the valley as farewell.
“Gauwan Delhurst’s, [Swan Song]”
A 6th-circle mage’s Last Spell. Through it, inheriting all, temporarily dominating winds across a small nation-scale—the magic unleashed.
Seven-tone magic released, immense mana waves engulfing the valley.
Fwoosh—
First, the black flame pillar, blazing endlessly skyward, vanished.
“....? .... ....! ....!”
Bazur panicked at the canceled spell, trying to prepare another.
But no matter how he opened his mouth and breathed, no sound emerged.
“Guess you’re no mage after all.”
Astrad, riding the wind, stood before the monster mouthing silently, forming hand seals repeatedly.
“Not a fake mage otherwise—mages beyond 5th circle cast imagelessly, by heart alone. Unlike hacks like you who just mimic. With that mana, bottom 6th at least. Can’t speak? Just meat then.”
“.....Krrk, ..... ....guk, ke.....”
“Swan Song. No incantation, just insight passed—so I named it roughly. Fleeting power, no repeated casts. Simple for talentless me, yet requires seven tones’ precision. Masterpiece. Usable only by wind mages grasping every wind intimately. Seven-tone great spell.”
“Guk..... kuh.....!”
Tap.
Worn three holes. Four newly carved by wind. Seven holes glowing star-like on the staff touched the mute’s forehead gripping his neck.
“I’ll explain simply, even for magic-illiterate fools. Here. Storm Hill vicinity, all areas within thirty days’ travel radius. Stripped every wind allotted you.”
“.....? Kuh.... ....!”
“Imagine? Winds extending hands equally to great beasts, tiny bugs, even dew on leaves—now wholly rejecting you, not one bit spared. Your inhaled breath. Exhaled air. Robbed of a world-constituting element, you.”
“.....Ah, uh....kuk!”
Kwaaaaa!
“Not mere deprivation—they hate you. Wind mage is wind. Local winds were once or will be mages. But because of you. Gauwan Delhurst’s wind fully vanished here. Even breeze from your tiny gestures prays you fail.”
Kwaaaak!
Body like caught in invisible cords. No scream, no breath right—reverse wind spiderweb binding it.
Thud! Thud thud!
As Bazur’s life ebbed, clinging mages peeled off one by one.
Edeorna’s eyes blazed shock and fury spotting her dying kin.
****