Chapter 214: Mages Look Down on Swordsmen
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 214: Mages Look Down on Swordsmen
Mages usually look down on swordsmen.
When a mage first steps into the spell world, they awaken to a sense unlike any other. It is a new limb, a new faculty, something far beyond the sixth sense. Through this, they construct their own mindscape—a place they call their inner world, or the spell world.
Journeying to that place requires no key, no door, and no footsteps. For the spell world exists within oneself.
Thus, they hone their world while gazing at the sky, refine it while watching flames, and temper it while observing glaciers. That is a mage’s training; that is their discipline.
The reason mages are often called madmen is partly due to the obsessive way they cultivate this inner world.
In the 48th year of the Imperial Calendar, a mage who had decorated his entire inner world with fire burned down an entire territory for the sake of a "new world." He sought to use the flames of total destruction as a stepping stone to reach a higher state of existence.
It was the most horrific case of arson in the history of the Empire. The death toll in what was dubbed the "Flood of Flames Incident" easily exceeded the thousands.
The mage’s purpose was not mass slaughter. Having already burned people to death countless times, the sight of humans charring no longer gave him inspiration. So, he burned a province instead.
Thus was born the Demon of Flames, the most reviled fire mage in history. Many knights and mages lost their lives trying to hunt him down, though he was eventually killed.
Doing whatever it takes for the sake of research and inspiration is what makes a mad mage, yet those with a talent for spells never hesitate to explore that world. For that is the nature of magic: a desire for inquiry, a thirst for knowledge, and the relentless pursuit of truth. And, when the chance arises, the ruthlessness to seize that truth.
Those driven mad by the sheer ecstasy of awakening to knowledge—the world calls them mages.
In any case, for various reasons, it was only natural for them to look down on swordsmen. Mages could roam a world that swordsmen could not even perceive. To a mage who knew how to handle spells—especially one specialized in assassination—killing even the most outstanding swordsman was child’s play.
Therefore, this was supposed to be an easy task.
"We do the job, get paid in full, and head back."
There were several places on the continent that trained mages, but not many accepted dirty commissions. Among them, the one most widely known to the public was the "Shadow Nest."
These men belonged to the Shadow Nest.
Cloaked in black soot, they overlaid their spells onto the enemy's tent. Using the wind to spread a thick sleeping incense, they cast a perception disruption spell over the entire area. The spell was called "Deeply Painted Cover," though such techniques were commonly referred to as perception disruption spells.
The version they used this time was a technique that painted the entire tent black, effectively erasing it from the awareness of others. Ordinary soldiers wouldn't notice a thing; only those with exceptionally sharp instincts might occasionally sense something amiss.
Those born with a highly developed sixth sense, that is.
"Doesn't that place look a bit strange?"
Just then, one such fellow appeared.
"Why?"
They were patrolling soldiers. There were three of them, and the one on the far right mumbled as he spoke.
"Over there... doesn't it look, well, dark?"
The mages held their breath and vanished. It was the effect of the Deeply Painted Cover. To those with good intuition, the area merely looked slightly dull.
"It's dark because it's night, idiot."
Just enough to be mistaken for the shadows of the night—exactly what they had aimed for.
"No, I mean, besides it being night, isn't it like... dark? It looks way more gloomy."
If suspicion got the better of them and they approached, the mages would simply kill the three of them and hide their corpses inside. Murderous intent filled the mages' eyes.
Thwack!
No sooner had they made up their minds than the soldier at the end smacked the back of the intuitive one's head.
"You bastard, you're giving me the creeps. Cut it out or I won't be able to sleep."
"You crazy bastard, you actually hit me?"
"Hey, hey, stop it. We're on patrol."
The soldier in the middle broke them up. The other two continued to bicker as the three patrolmen drifted away.
No problem.
There were five mages in total. One was in charge of the perception disruption spell. Another spread the sleeping incense. Yet another used a spell called "Dream of the Abyss" to further rob those inside of their consciousness.
It might have seemed like overkill, but they had already witnessed those five crazy soldiers fight.
Just in case there's an Associate Knight among them.
Looking down on swordsmen was one thing, but those who had awakened "Will" were a headache to deal with. Will—also known as willpower—was the requirement for becoming an Associate Knight.
Was there someone among the targets who could wield it? It was difficult to tell just by watching. However, there was one who showed signs of it.
The blonde guy.
There was a man who had thrown off his helmet during the fight as if it were a nuisance. Sharp eyes, red pupils, blonde hair, and a monstrous skill with the sword. The leader had seen Associate Knight-level combatants several times. His mage's intuition told him: That guy is the most dangerous.
"It's done."
A subordinate whispered. The leader pulled back the tent flap and stepped inside.
Even if the target was an Associate Knight, he wouldn't be able to keep his wits about him. That was how thorough their preparations were. Even if someone remained unaffected, it would be one person at most. This didn't even qualify as a risk.
He opened the tent and looked inside.
In the space that should have been empty thanks to the perception disruption spell, two bright blue lights glowed. They looked like "Evil Spirit Flame," a wraith made entirely of fire.
Naturally, it wasn't a monster.
"……A panther?"
A black panther's eyes were blazing with fire. The leader instinctively knew—those eyes holding flames were a mixture of spells, mystery, or something equivalent.
The soot clinging to the bodies of the leader and the mage who accompanied him peeled away. The two mages revealed their true forms.
Blocking their path was the panther. No words. No sound. A heavy air filled the tent.
And then.
"Kitchu!"
The panther sneezed.
...A sneeze? Doesn't that ruin the mood? It completely kills the tension, the leader thought.
*
Esther reflected on her past. She could sum up the most pivotal event of her life in a single phrase:
Fuck, the curse.
Her life had been twisted because of that curse. Completely and utterly tangled. It was incredibly shitty, but it was fine. She had mostly come to terms with it now.
Breaking a curse was like untangling a ball of yarn. It took time to loosen the knots piece by piece, but once it started moving, the rest was only a matter of time.
It was thanks to that loosened yarn that Esther could now draw upon and utilize a portion of her world once again.
"Grrr."
The panther bared its fangs.
"……Is it a familiar?" the mage muttered, referring to a being summoned through spells. Sometimes they used animals, sometimes spiritual entities. It was a misunderstanding, but a reasonable one.
Ignoring them, Esther looked at the two who had entered. The mana circulating within her body gathered in her eyes, allowing her to see beyond their tricks—meaning she saw right through every layer of their magic.
Five.
Perception disruption, a wind spell, and a sleep spell. They blocked vision, robbed senses, and induced unconsciousness with three spells before entering? They certainly hadn't come to play.
Encrid seemed to be fast asleep under the duet of the sleeping incense and magic. Or perhaps he had just been exhausted to begin with. Esther figured the others had fallen asleep as well.
In that case, was she the only one left to stop them?
"Kill it," the leader commanded.
Soon, Esther felt the spell world shifting. It had been a long time since she had seen a spell that was even a decent imitation of the craft.
Right above her head, a blade of wind materialized and plunged vertically. It was a guillotine made entirely of mystery—an executioner's blade, a death forged of wind.
Fwip.
Esther kicked off the ground. A light leap to the side was enough. The wind blade sliced through the air, slammed into the ground with a thud, and vanished.
Curses were truly cruel; she couldn't cast proper spells in this body. If she did, a backlash would inevitably occur.
Then, the other mage began waving his hands and muttering. Chanting and hand gestures. It was a babble so slurred that his words were barely comprehensible. He had likely reconstructed his own runic language for spells so his opponents couldn't understand his intent. The hand gestures, along with the chanting, served to guide the mana.
Esther saw through everything at a glance. The level of the spell her opponent was casting was, to put it bluntly... pathetic.
A shadow stretched out rapidly from beneath the mage's feet, attempting to seize the panther at terrifying speed.
Esther struck the ground with her forepaw. Simultaneously, the transformation began.
This was not an internal change. It was a physical, external transformation. The yarn was untangling, and much of it was thanks to the strange power dwelling within Encrid. In other words, she no longer had to bear the backlash in her panther form.
This meant that, albeit briefly, she could return to her original form.
The spell approaching her was meant for binding.
"Be intoxicated by my scent."
The transformed Esther reached out and spoke. It was a hand, not a paw. Her claws retracted, revealing porcelain-white skin that seemed to radiate light. The approaching shadow of restraint transformed into a black robe, wrapping around Esther's entire body.
The panther's fur vanished, turning white as her frame expanded. She rapidly took on a human form. And thanks to her opponent's magic, she managed to avoid being naked. The black robe draped perfectly over her pale skin.
A brief, heavy, and chilling silence weighed down on the tent. The eyes of the two enemy mages widened into perfect circles, their shoulders tensing.
The mouth of the woman who had transformed from a beast to a human opened once more.
"……It's been a really long time."
Esther, back in human form, was deeply moved. The curse had lasted so long; though she still couldn't fully break it and this was merely a brief outing, it was still a massive step forward. She had been on the verge of being trapped forever, but now she could step outside, even if only for a moment.
The air outside her prison was fresh, crisp, and clean. Though the enemy's spells were mixed into it, even that didn't bother her.
Her long, black hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Her outstretched fingertips ended in sharp, elegant nails.
"Hello."
As the black-haired beauty greeted them, the leader and his subordinate were too stunned to speak. A panther turning into a human?
What is this? This is terrifying.
"It's not a familiar?" the mage beside the leader stammered.
"……Get a grip!" the leader shouted, though he was visibly flustered. She took my subordinate's spell, restructured it, turned it into clothes, and wore it? Does that even make sense? No, it's impossible. Is it an illusion?
A glimpse of her white cleavage was visible through the robe she had fashioned. There was no time to feel arousal. The leader swallowed hard. His opponent was a mage—and clearly a high-ranking one.
"Well then, let's begin."
Esther was utterly delighted. How long had it been since she could cast spells properly and draw upon her world? That joy manifested at her fingertips.
"Demuiller's Scythe."
As the spell was cast, a black scythe materialized in midair. It was similar to the wind blade, but it was a high-tier offensive spell of a much higher rank.
"O companion of life, cast darker than pitch black!" the leader hastily shouted. At his words, the defensive spell engraved on his body activated.
Esther's eyes sparkled. It seemed a new form of spellcasting had emerged while she was trapped. It was a type she had never seen before—a defensive spell that didn't borrow power from another world. Yet, in terms of casting speed, it was incredibly fast.
She traced the flow of mana. Where was the source? It was the skin beneath his robe.
A mana-inscribed tattoo?
A method of borrowing the form of a magic circle and manifesting it through chanting. To put it simply, he had engraved a mana tattoo on his body.
It's somewhat useful, but...
It was efficient, but high-tier magic couldn't be cast that way. It would ultimately be useless.
Screeech!
The black scythe clashed with the barrier in midair. As the barrier tore and shattered, a portion of the scythe broke as well. Black fragments scattered like glass, falling to the ground.
Esther snapped her fingers.
Snap!
With the sound, the scythe vanished.
"Pant, pant..."
The leader gasped for breath. From that single clash, he knew. She was out of his league.
"Everyone, get in here now!" the leader screamed. He had four subordinates. It was time for all five of them to combine their strength.
Esther, however, was a mage who knew how to fight. Before the curse, she had faced mages numerous times. Indeed, she had engaged in spell battles so often she had grown sick of them.
"Starting as an ember, it shall become a hellfire to embrace you."
She did not stop chanting. She was clearly enjoying being human again. Her portion of the spell world opened, and flames burst forth, erupting beneath her opponents' feet.
"Block it!"
The mages who had rushed inside frantically waved their hands. A defensive barrier was quickly erected, but...
"Bzzzt. Wrong answer," Esther said, her red lips curling into a smirk.
Simultaneously—perhaps thanks to the instincts she had honed as a panther—she kicked off the ground. Her body left afterimages as she closed the distance to one of the mages.
Spell: Burning Hand.
Her palm glowed a searing red. The moment she grabbed one of the mages by the throat—
"Aaaaargh!"
His skin melted away, exposing his neck bones. The scream was cut short. With his vocal cords and throat bones incinerated, he could no longer shriek.
Gurgle, hiss.
Only a sickening, unsettling sound leaked from his throat.
"Next."
Esther smiled, baring her fangs. Her red lips stood out vividly against her pale skin.
"Fuck!"
The leader realized the sheer difference in their levels. He didn't stand a chance. A pressure he had never felt even when facing his own master threatened to crush him. His morale was shattered before the fight even truly began. He didn't even dare to run.
Esther caught two more with her Burning Hand. The difference in their physical capabilities was as stark as their magic. Finally, she severed the necks of the leader and the last remaining mage with Demuiller's Scythe.
There was no need for grand spells. Besides, she couldn't cast truly deep-level magic right now anyway. But this was more than enough.
Severed heads flew into the air.
"I knew you'd be a beauty."
The voice of Rem, who had been pretending to sleep, echoed inside the tent. He was lying on his side, lazily propping his chin on his fist.