Chapter 446
Chapter 446
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Into the Storm (5)
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The path to Storm Hill wound through a narrow valley.
Climbing the steep incline between rocks that sloped up like walls on either side, the obstructed view suddenly opened up at some point, revealing a vast rocky valley stretching out below and the sheer cliff above it leading toward—
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“Uh.... Hide?”
“The Felix Home should be on that cliff.”
“That’s solid info?”
“Uh.... probably.”
The thought had struck like lightning the moment they set foot on the uphill path toward the hill. Chatter filled with anticipation, excitement, and anxiety about the unknown. A party much like this one now, and even Ottoman’s face, left behind at sea.
In that memory, Storm Hill had been majestic enough to draw sighs.
“Grrr. Quite tidy for a place with such a name.”
“Tidy? More like nothing’s left at all.”
The moment they reached the end of the hill, what unfolded before them was a bizarrely smooth basin shrouded in eerie silence.
It looked as if obsidian had been melted and poured out. They’d imagined some destruction, given it was a fierce battleground in the Imperial War.
“This.... can’t be.”
....This surpassed the limits of what they’d imagined as ‘destruction’ by a wide margin.
It had definitely been a place of jagged rocks forming countless valleys, with wind constantly singing as it wove between them.
But where had all those rocky valleys gone? From above, Storm Hill was now a smooth basin without a single rough edge.
Charred beyond black, melted down, carbonized into a sharp, brittle expanse gleaming darkly.
“This.... looks like the entire valley melted away.”
“The knight commanders said this was the worst battleground during the Imperial War. A clash of the Golden Age—must’ve been a firepower exchange beyond what our generation can imagine.”
“....The empire’s central hub for intelligence exchange. A border facing the Blue Line Mountains. A facility housing the roots of one of their main forces, the wind mages. Even if I were an enemy of the West Empire, I’d strike here first. The gains from a single victory are too immense.”
He knew well what kind of attack left such traces. Even now, where fortress walls had been blasted, rocks melted black and glossy. It was hard to fathom how much artillery fire, how many airships had poured mana here to cause this.
Sniff sniff sniff—
“Hmm, faint, but I smell people over there. Sweat, fire, damp old cloth.”
“Green robe. A mage?”
The green robe stood out easily against the uniformly black ground.
As they approached, Hide realized it was at the entrance to what his memory recalled as Felix Home on Storm Hill.
“....A strange wind blew, and here I am, meeting new bonds in this parched land.”
“A wind mage.... right?”
“If there’s no other group wandering around in green robes with hole-riddled wooden staves, then probably.”
The mage, who seemed to have camped here for quite a while and looked rather disheveled, wiped his hands on his robe and extended one.
“The wind that crosses ramparts, Stout. Somehow, I followed the wind and ended up here.”
“Ah, yeah. Likewise, somehow ended up here.... Hide. This is my party: Tarimus, Egwil, and Isena.”
Awkward greetings and handshake. Even a leather seat and a cup of boiled water.
“What brings you to this place?”
“Yes. Felt like there was something I needed to find here.... but nothing’s left.”
Slurp—
With the weather turning quite chilly, the boiled water settled his stomach nicely.
Thump— thump— thump— thump—
His heart still pounded, insisting this was the right place. But scanning around, all there was: their party and this unfamiliar mage. Just his campsite.
=========
‘....Thanks for the offer to come along, but I must stay here.’
‘Someone has to guard Felix Home’s winds.’
‘----? ----....!’
‘Haha. You’re reminding me of the old days. Back then too, that person left, and I stayed, suppressing my desire to follow.’
‘The war.... too late to stop it. Even distant winds carry the roar of airship engines.’
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‘Don’t worry. At least until you return, I’ll guard this place. Hide.’
‘I must repay what I received.’
=========
“....Astrad.”
Flinch!
“I’ve come.... to find Astrad.”
The melted basin overlapped with the hill from the past, bringing hazy memories to the surface. Astrad. A mage who, despite countless wrinkles and snow-white hair, somehow still looked boyish.
The mage who’d introduced himself as Stout startled for a moment, then refilled Hide’s empty cup and spoke.
“Astrad. If you’ve come seeking the great founder Astrad, you’ve come to the right place.”
“You know him?”
“Among those who walk the path of wind, finding someone who doesn’t know his name would be harder. He left us this place to return to, even if just traces. But where did you hear the name Astrad?”
“Yes?”
“Though to wind mages his name is revered as much as the great Felix Drixiel, it’s not well-known outside. He didn’t engage much with the world.”
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‘--- - ----? ----?’
“Outside? Ah, of course I want to go out too. I’d love to retrace the journeys I took with my master.”
‘Sadly, not now. The Home’s imbalance has passed dangerous levels, and my winds are tied tightly here. If I leave, it might all blow up, right? Hahaha!’
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.
.
=========
This time, a slightly younger Astrad, facing an old troll shaman and Hide, waved it off helplessly.
His chest ached.
“....We were supposed to meet here.”
“You mean Astrad?”
“Yes, well.... in a dream. Something like that.”
Unable to explain properly, he brushed it off vaguely, but the mage nodded in understanding.
“His will rides the winds, scattered far, so that could be.”
“Rides the winds.... scattered?”
“Yes. That’s why even those who suddenly gain winds without teachings or knowledge come here. He vanished with the Home, but he surely exists somewhere. In faint breezes, fierce storms, dry gusts—you can feel his will anywhere.”
Wind mage Stout unraveled tales as old as the winds stirring this place.
The person he was meant to meet here.
A tale of the great founder, the high-wind mage Astrad.
****
Crackle. Crackle....
The sun had set.
“....That’s how it happened.”
The mage’s story faded with the sun.
A tale of a young mage entangled in the last spells of two wind mages: grand mage Felix Drixiel and mage Gauman Dylan Delhast.
Astrad’s story, part of legend, continued even after the book closed. Sadly, not a happy ending.
“So in the end, Astrad and Storm Hill vanished at the heart of the fierce battle.”
“In the skies above the Home, dozens of airships crashed and new ones appeared daily. Airship No. 1, center of saint worship, withstood even Azure Dragon Aldarsha x’s breath, and the scattered breath melted rocks and scorched earth.”
Airship No. 1 and Aldarsha x. Recent names he’d encountered, tying into this entire tale.
Storm Hill couldn’t withstand the aftermath of the two empires’ war.
“Truth is, even before the war, the Home was crumbling bit by bit. It was a grand mage’s last spell, but it embodied one mage’s true self, so flaws remained. Mages are human, after all.”
A tiny, minuscule flaw. No exceptions in letter magic, yet letters without recipients didn’t leave Felix Home—a magical error.
Those unclaimed letters piled up steadily in Felix Home’s spatial magic, remnants of eternally ‘pending’ spells slowly, surely burdening the Home.
Then, upon the precariously enduring Storm Hill and Felix Home, countless airship mana barrages rained down.
“So.... what happened?”
“No one knows.”
....Huh?
What do you mean, no one knows?
All that buildup with no conclusion!
“Everyone agrees the unstable grand magic hit critical point, but what became of Felix Home enduring the final barrage and its master Astrad—no one knows. They vanished without a trace.”
“Vanished?”
“Yes. As you see.”
Mage Stout gestured to the empty basin.
“The crumbling Felix Home, mage Astrad, all winds that blew over Storm Hill—gone in an instant. Thanks to that, this place became a windless zone. Not a single breeze left, vanished without trace—even we who belong to the wind can’t find them.”
“Then why do so many come here? If truly nothing remains, no need to flock like moths to flame. Many die getting here.”
“We come because nothing remains. We must be here, or the winds here die out.”
With that, Stout shook his staff. A small wind stirred in the silent basin.
“Nothing left, but we feel it clearly. Somewhere, in some other form, our sole homeland endures. We overhear old whispers and memories through winds, know our only resting place remains—because the ancient magic lives.”
“Somewhere, in another form....”
“That’s what we believe, at least. So we stay, becoming the wind of this windless zone until other winds arrive. To link Felix Home and mage Astrad’s will to the world’s winds, so this doesn’t remain windless.”
Stout said no powerful magic like in the past remains, so they can’t stay years like before; leave, and no return.
“So we leave names when departing. Our only home to return to—once gone, only wandering and death await. Like carving an epitaph in our homeland ahead. The winds here carry many names of wind mages who passed before.”
“That’s why it’s called catacombs, pilgrimage site.”
“A infamous misunderstanding, though not entirely wrong—rest here might be the last.”
Listening quietly, his foggy mind from resurfaced memories cleared.
“Uh.... thanks for explaining so kindly on short notice.”
“Hahaha. No big deal. Just a wind mage rule for guarding this ‘home site.’ Write your names here before you go.”
“Names?”
“Guestbook. This spot guarded Felix Home’s entrance. Visitors always got gatekeeper’s permission, logged names, then entered.”
“Ah, sure.”
Scribble scribble scribble—
“....Thanks. But.... sorry, I can’t read this language.”
“HIDE. Read it as Hide. Don’t know what language either.”
“Aha.”
He wrote his and the party’s names in the blank of the thick, aged paper stack. Didn’t know the meaning, but mages were like that. And he’d been kind first.
Clack, clack, clack, clack!
As he wrote, orderly footsteps echoed from the hill’s entrance.
‘So that’s why he suddenly shoved the guestbook.’
He’d questioned the [before you go....] Already sensed their approach via wind or such.
“Ugh. Hide, those....”
“Yeah. Later than expected—looks like they prepared quite the welcome.”
Judging by distant armor clanks, Wind Hall’s lord took his proposal more seriously than thought.
“Then, we have prior engagements, so we’ll be off.”
“May your winds reach where they desire. Safe travels, Hide.”
“Yup. Uh.... rest easy, Stout.”
Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack!
With footsteps nearing, they hastily bid farewell and left the mage’s camp. He seemed half-resigned; better not drag him into trouble.
“Uwoh. Lots of humans.”
“Wow. Real knight order. This why they say West Empire.”
Wind Hall’s forces up close were elite incarnate.
Every one an aura knight, armor gleaming with odd light—not ordinary metal.
Hide sharpened his softened mind from memories. Underestimate, and botch it—at least two of their four would die escaping.
Boom!
“Hide. From Tel Drat region. Shipwrecked on coast this morning, salvaged with lifter parts, entered city—correct?”
A knight stepped forward from the vanguard, menacingly drawing the warhammer on his back.
“If so?”
“Accusation you and your party are Warlord Army spies. If innocent, released unharmed—come quietly.”
....Step.
“Of course, no right to refuse.”
The knight growled, imposing with a frame as huge as his weapon.
‘Kill chance 40%. Subdue 10%. Escape.... 80%?’
Tension taut as a drawn bowstring.
After gauging them appropriately, Hide raised his hand, and as the knight moved to lift his warhammer—
Shunk!
“Take us.”
“....Hm.”
“What? Not the reaction you hoped? Want me to grovel and draw steel?”
“....No. Cooperative attitude is good.”
He extended both hands politely, as if asking to be bound.
“The rest share this Hide’s view?”
“Uuuuu.... Y-yeah.”
“We gladly.... accept Wind Hall lord’s invitation.”
“Grrr, grrr!”
Unlike Hide’s nonchalant expression, the three extended hands like heading to slaughter.
Moments later, with purple-tinged handcuffs on, they retraced steps with the lord’s knights.
“What’s the charge?”
“Espionage.”
“If true?”
“Execution.”
“Wow. So where we headed now?”
“....Lord’s castle front yard. You’ll meet the lord.”
“Food? Haven’t eaten yet?”
“....”
The trip was far brighter than the knights expected.
****
Flutter. Flutter. Flutter.
After the noisy suspects and knights left. Alone in the black-melted basin, the mage flipped through the paper stack on his hand.
“Here, here. Ah, this too.”
Felix Home gone, but wind mage tradition guarding its front endured as firmly as longing for the lost.
From his tent, he fetched dozens of guestbooks, finding the recurring odd name, smiling faintly.
[HIDE, Notum]
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[HIDE]
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[HIDE]
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[HIDE, Egwil, Tarimus, Isena.]
“....Watching, Astrad?”
Gathering the crumbling papers gently, mage Stout whispered toward their windless homeland.
“Your winds still blow.”
Any wind mage could feel it. Faint but clear emotion. For those fated to wander eternally, the will of one who gritted teeth to leave a handful of rest.
Many mages said: Astrad was like a father to all wind mages.
The abiding wind. Forever their hill’s pillar, the mage of the crumbling homeland.
The mage infused wind into his staff, praying. May he be freed. For posterity, may the winds bound with homeland regain freedom.
Please, may they not be too late.
****