Ripples

My body moved. And at a staggering speed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— so fast it was hard to believe this was the same body that had lain helpless only moments before. I was moving it by my own will, unmistakably, and yet it felt like a body that wasn't mine. My muscles, every joint, every nerve in me — all of it moving simply for my sake.

I ignored the status window as it pinged and chimed, and pushed myself up off the ground. I brushed past the elf standing before me as well — she was wearing an expression of sheer bewilderment. I knew it instinctively: this was the limit of this body. Compressed and compressed again, down to the limit of the limit of the limit, until every last ounce of its strength had been wrung out. And that was why, somehow, it felt as though I could do it now. As though I could return to being the me of that time — the me who had been, if only a little, a nation's moon.

I gathered mana into both hands. Exquisitely quiet, pristine mana. Blue, blue mana pooled and pooled, until I could almost have sworn it felt cool against my skin. I kept gathering, and gathering, until it rose past both my hands — and the clumps of mana that took shape looked for all the world like blue, blue moons.

"...What are you doing?"

"Doesn't this... look like a moon to you?"

"What kind of nonsense—"

"And not just any moon. A moon reflected on a blue lake."

Ignoring her as she stared at me, plainly unable to make sense of it, I pressed one of my mana-laden hands to the ground directly beneath me. A blue circle of pure mana spread out under my feet, rippling as though it might burst at any second. It was composed of nothing but raw mana, and that was precisely why it was so unstable — a bomb that could detonate without warning the moment my control slipped. That was what now lay spread beneath my feet.

"What are you doing..!"

"Whatever do you mean."

"Can you not tell? Spew that much mana around recklessly and it will explode..!"

Sure enough, her protests came from right beside me. That it was dangerous. That it might blow. Did I not know what a mana explosion was? She threw everything she had into stopping me. But my body moved anyway — as though it feared none of it.

"W-wait a moment.. huh?"

"There is no problem."

"..N-no, how — this is impossible..!"

Truthfully, it may well have been obvious. This was mana control that even the Great Sage had acknowledged. If I couldn't handle a paltry amount like this, how exactly would I have earned that recognition?

The azure moon beneath my feet wavered, but it neither shattered nor scattered, and it held true even as I took my first step. Ignoring the gasp of admiration at my side, I took another. Then I stretched my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠remaining hand out before me — the hand still cradling that round mass of mana.

Compress. Gather. Into a single point.

The round mana in my palm crumpled in on itself, little by little, taking on a shape. As though it would erupt toward some destination, it faced one direction only — and at last, what rested in my hand was no longer that wavering sphere, but mana gathered and refined into something whole: a single, needle-thin, awl-sharp point.

I did not stop there. I drew mana up once more. I had already thrown nearly every last drop I had into gathering this much — but so what?

"Gather — Se Rellier."

"Again — what language is that even supposed to be.."

The words leaving my mouth carried the phenomenon itself. Unable to grasp them, her gaze slid elsewhere. Perhaps it was the spirits at her side who had noticed — that every trace of mana dwelling in the grass, the trees, the stones, the very air around me was flooding toward me.

"..The forest's mana... taking root in a human?"

"Circulate — Circuler."

"..Haha, what in the world.."

Leaving her awe-struck voice behind me, I poured the mana that had gathered into my body. I felt it sear into my skin, my skeleton, the very blood running through my veins — and that mana, in turn, became overflowing power.

One more step. Carrying the needle-sharp compressed mana. And with my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠remaining hand, I worked that mana into magic — one of the things I had practiced more than almost anything else.

I drew a straight line. I scrawled a curve. The two wove into one. Line met line to form a shape, and shape met shape to etch a distinct pattern.

The mana in my body raged like a maddened beast — beneath my feet, and in the palm of my hand alike. As though each thread of it had a will of its own. For a moment the swelling rebellion nearly overwhelmed me, but taming a storm of mana took hardly any time at all. The parts that resisted control settled the instant I murmured Dragon Speech — and most of the raging mana had always lain within my grasp anyway.

Of course, my body was far from fine. I had taken in mana far beyond my limit, and the backlash was already crawling through every inch of me. Blood trickled from my eyes; my skull throbbed; my vision split into three. And still the mana in my hand never wavered. No — if anything, the amplification seemed to have honed it sharper still, for there it sat upon my palm even now, rippling with blue light.

Slowly, I took aim. At the desperate battle unfolding ahead.

I could see three colors — silver and black, and the red smeared between them. The silver armor was soaked through with blood, yet not a single drop stained his blade; by contrast, the black tentacles were drenched crimson, droplets falling one by one, and still the boy's body bore not a single wound. An utterly absurd, selfish, one-sided fight. I leveled a single blade at it.

I ran — my body accelerating at a blistering pace. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠The reinforced flesh and the spell that hastened it made this speed possible. Resolved to punch straight through it all, I accelerated one more notch, and then again.

"Ah, Senior! Didn't I tell you to wait.."

"Too late, you moronic bastard."

He whipped his head around toward me, but it was already too late. The distance between us was a single fist — and my mana was already a hair's breadth from touching him.

It touched. Unmistakably, it had met something. The instant my mana made contact, something burst apart nearby with a crack; smoke billowed thick and the ground shuddered — but my attack did not stop there. Because the moment his body and my mana met, I had relinquished every shred of control over it: the spear-blade of mana forged in my hand, and the blue torrent streaming beneath my feet, all of it.

In that moment, a shockwave rolled through the air, and the whole of the Great Forest trembled. Like a vast ripple blooming on a still lake and spreading far beyond sight.

And that wave, spreading far and wide, would break even the moon floating upon that lake. Even if that moon was the blue moon hanging in the night sky.

He had no particular thoughts. Not even now — not even in this very moment of battle.

"Haah.. haahk.. hah.."

"Isn't that just a little too grubby, hm? You know full well you can't win, don't you?"

"...."

"How about you just lie down? There wouldn't be a soul left to scold you, I don't think."

Even now — lecturing the old man who bled before him and still came at him without end — he had no particular thoughts. He simply, genuinely believed it would be better that way. He only wanted to tidy things up here quickly, and finish what he'd been doing with "Senior."

"Ha.. heheheh."

"What're you laughing at, hm?"

And that was why he could not understand it. The mind of that old man, laughing in the face of death. The heart of that human, still stubbornly raising his sword even as he faced agony. His body must have weighed a thousand pounds by now, and yet the man absolutely refused to fall — and as a boy, he could not comprehend that will at all.

"..I laugh because it's pitiful."

"Hmm. If it's your own plight you find so pitiful—"

"No. That's not it."

The old man's finger, pointing at him as he said it, somehow seemed heavier than the armor he wore. It felt far more menacing than the silver sword in the man's grip — and far more irritating than the smiling face turned toward him.

"..What is the meaning of that finger."

"You didn't even know you were a monster, and now it seems you don't even know human emotion. And yet there you are, clinging to that human shape all the same — you, yearning to become something you can never be. You were so pitiful, so childish, that I couldn't help but laugh."

"..Seems the old man's gone senile. I'll kindly kill you and be rid of you."

It was the first time a single word had ever left him feeling this foul. And perhaps that was why the boy's gaze snapped to him in an instant. And perhaps that was why, too — why he was so late to sense someone closing in on him. By the time he knew that someone was Senior and turned his head, the distance between them had already collapsed to almost nothing.

How? He should have been incapable of combat — he was certain of it. How had he done it? What had he pulled off, and at what cost of effort? Far too little time to call it effort — and far too miraculous to call it sheer stubbornness.

Ah. Senior has gone and overcome yet another trial, just like that.

So easily. So lightly.

Ah, I envy you. You — I envy you so much I can't stand it.