Rehinburg, City of Heroes
Yurik woke.
He was grateful, at least, to find a cobweb-strewn ceiling above him instead of a sky full of stars.
Having left Eldesrosa in the company of a mercenary band escorting a merchant caravan, he had spent a full ten days braving wind and rain across open plains dotted sparsely with trees. It was fortunate, admittedly, that they had encountered barely a handful of monsters in all that time — but camping three of those ten nights in the pouring rain had been a truly miserable experience. At least there had been a paved highway, sparing him the added misfortune of being stranded in the mud.
All that hardship had brought him here: the southern city of Rehinburg.
With the Rehin River cutting straight through its heart, this was one of the great cradles of civilization, appearing constantly in the pages of ancient history. Ancient ruins crowded the lands around the city, and the dungeons discovered within its reach numbered among the most on the entire continent — three fingers' worth of fame. Even now, four or five new dungeons were said to be found every single year.
And so explorers gathered here in extraordinary numbers, backed by the patronage of nobles, venturing into the unknown. Find a single dungeon, after all, and you'd be sitting on enough money to live out the rest of your days in comfort.
Yurik rinsed his mouth with briny water, wincing, and opened the small window. Through the tiny frame — too narrow even for his face to fit through — a pale hint of morning sun filtered in.
He dabbed a few drops of water at the corners of his eyes to wipe away the sleep, slung his sack over his shoulder, and stepped outside. Though it was the early hours of the morning, the inn's common room was still bustling with mercenaries.
The truth was that Yurik had earned a considerable reward at the Southern Branch of the Magic Tower, but between a high-grade sleeping roll, blankets, sketch paper, three grimoires, and one fine mana orb, his purse had been nearly emptied. The mana orb, in particular, had cost him dearly.
Not that he was too broke to afford a proper inn — but he couldn't bring himself to pour out silver for a place he'd only sleep in for a single night and leave.
Better to save that money for the road ahead.
Yurik ordered a special set meal, wrapped his muffler snugly around his neck, and stepped out of the inn. Every step over ground not yet dry left clumps of mud clinging stubbornly to his shoes.
The city was lively from the first light of dawn. Farmers hauling carts of goods, explorers dreaming of a sudden fortune, mercenaries bound for the southern front… Yurik joined the procession and made his way down the main road.
Rehinburg held plenty of sights worth seeing within its walls, too. Armed with his history books, Yurik wandered into the very heart of history — sketching as he went, taking rubbings of inscriptions as he went.
The era that fascinated him most of all was the Age of Heroes two hundred years past: the great epics of countless heroes who rose to face the demonkin and drove them from this land entirely.
And this very city, Rehinburg, had been home to many of them. Yurik sought out the statues raised in their honor, drawing each one in meticulous detail.
By the time he had packed his sack with a thick stack of records, rubbings, and drawings and looked up at the sky, the sun had climbed to its zenith.
Walking along the great Rehin River, he came upon a procession of knights. Slipping in among the onlookers who clapped and cheered, he watched it pass.
"What's all this, then?"
Yurik asked a stout, kindly-faced middle-aged man beside him, choosing him for his answerable look.
"The lord's inspection procession. See the man in the middle? That's him."
Among the heavily armored knights rode a middle-aged man in splendid dress. And beside him — a young man who stood a full head taller than even the knights.
…!
The moment Yurik laid eyes on him, cold sweat ran down his spine and his throat went dry with a swallow.
His mana was as dense as the Great Mother's. He was, quite literally, a living mass of mana given human form.
"And the one beside him? Who might that be?"
"Ah, that's the Court Archmage."
Yet the man's hearing was evidently sharp enough to catch the question.
Yurik narrowed his eyes, and the portly middle-aged man chuckled softly.
"And a demonkin, that one. Surprised?"
"A demonkin? If he's a demonkin, then…"
"One of the rare few who stands on humanity's side. As far as I know, he's guarded this land for a hundred and fifty years and more. Thanks to him, the city knows peace."
Yurik had known nothing of this. No history book had ever mentioned it.
At that very moment, the Court Archmage — who had been walking with his eyes fixed straight ahead — let his gaze drift slightly sideways.
Their eyes met, precisely and unmistakably. Then he passed on.
And so the procession moved on. The gathered crowd scattered in an instant.
Yurik stood gazing after the retreating column for quite a long while before slowly making his way along.
Following the riverbank for some time longer, he arrived at his destination: the Mercenary Guild.
A long journey, after all, required money — always more money. Since Yurik bore every cost of his own upkeep, he had learned firsthand just how staggering those expenses could be. The old saying truly did ring true now: turn your back, and your money vanishes.
A mob of rough-looking mercenaries had gathered in front of the three-story building that looked straight out over the Rehin River. Some were already flushed red with drink, laughing and bellowing; others were pawing at the few women among them in shadowed corners. The ground was so littered with vomit that one had to watch one's step just to walk.
Inside, the hall was packed with mercenaries hunting for work — men who would gladly march into their own graves if the pay was right.
Yurik squeezed in among the sour-smelling mercenaries and waited a long while. He was pretty-faced, admittedly, but he was also tall and solid with muscle, so no one troubled him.
At last his turn came. The clerk, who had been harangued by savage, rough-edged mercenaries all day long, already looked half-dead.
"I'm looking for work."
With that, he touched his thumb and middle finger together and drew them apart, showing a thread of mana — proof that he was a mage.
The clerk, who had been wearing the weary expression of a man wondering where to stick yet another common thug, brightened slightly at the sight. A dubious mage, maybe — but a mage was a mage, and mages had somewhere to go.
"Find me the place that pays the most, please."
"That narrows your options, you know."
Yurik nodded that it was fine. At that, the clerk in the neighboring seat slid a sheaf of papers across with practiced speed.
"Two gold coins. How's that?"
The mercenaries listening nearby erupted in an uproar.
"Some of us, damn it all, are gambling our lives for three or four silver, and the kid waltzes in, says he's a mage, and gets a fistful of gold?"
Yurik, of course, paid them no mind.
"I'll take it."
He paid two silver as the guild's fee. The clerk scrawled something onto a scrap of coarse yellow paper and handed it over. An illiterate mercenary would have needed directions on where to go and whom to find — a mage had no such need. Not that illiterate mages didn't exist; in that case, they'd simply have to ask the way.
Deciphering the clerk's crabbed hand and rough map, Yurik walked through the streets. It seemed the employer who had posted the job could be found there.
Arriving somewhere in a secluded back alley, he checked the map once more and knocked on a battered wooden door. He waited a long while, and just as he raised his hand to knock again, the door rattled a few times and creaked open.
Through the gap appeared a bald, brown-skinned head. The man frowned, raking his eyes up and down Yurik, and asked bluntly what he wanted here.
"The guild sent me."
When Yurik held up the scrap of paper and gave it a little wave, the bald man swept a thick hand down his face. Aigoo, damn it all—
"How many times did I tell them not to send just anyone!"
"I'm a mage."
"So you claim."
The bald man regarded Yurik with open displeasure, but in the end, he swung the door wide open.
Well, the boy had come all this way — nothing to be done about it. Show him to the captain, at least. Let the guild see that this is what they send us.
"…Get in."
Yurik crumpled the paper in his palm, stuffed it into his pocket, and went inside.
The interior had the feel of a family home, but apart from the furniture it was nearly bare. At the round table in the sitting room sat one man besides the brown-skinned bald one — a figure whose hair, sideburns, and beard were all shaggy and thick, in stark contrast to his companion. Scars covered every inch of exposed skin.
"A young one this time. Is this really the guy?"
"How should I know. Either way, he's here, so I'm taking him up to the captain."
"What number is that now? We'll get an earful again."
Then Yurik glanced at the ceiling.
There's another mage up there… Is that man the captain?
He was clearly not to be compared with a wandering hedge mage. At the very least, a man who had devoted more than ten years to a single discipline. Judging from the rather violent flow of his mana, he seemed to have committed himself wholly to combat magic — though what else would a mage belonging to a mercenary company ever study?
"The guild doesn't have a single decent hand left these days, to begin with."
When Yurik stared openly at them, the bald man snapped,
"Yeah, that's meant for you to hear, brat. Honestly, no sense at all."
The two of them went up to the second floor. Yurik checked the barrier spell stretched across the stairwell.
A kind of test, is it?
It posed no difficulty. No — compared to the barrier magic of the southern front, it was not even a speck of dust.
Yurik let a thread of mana seep into the flaw of the unremarkable circuit, and the barrier unraveled in a single breath.
Frankly, anyone who had studied even a little circuitry or barrier theory could have managed it. …Though for most wandering mages, admittedly, it would have been a struggle.
The bald man, unable to sense mana at all, seemed to have no idea anything had just happened. Just as he raised his knuckles to knock on the door at the end of the second-floor corridor, a voice came from within first.
— Enter.
The bald man's eyes widened slightly. The captain had turned away every visitor at the door, time after time — and now, of all things, he was granting an audience?
Opening the door, they found a single man seated at a desk. Sharp-featured, he looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties.
"Captain, the guild sent a mage."
The bald man braced himself, waiting for yet another earful.
But the captain, staring at Yurik, said nothing at all for a long, long time. He simply sat there, hands folded on the desk before him, for an extraordinarily long time.
"……The guild sent you?"
The captain looked at Yurik as one looks at a monster.
For he had seen it.
That thing — engraved, layer upon layer, with the most delicate circuits, refining mana without pause, without rest, even now.
Any mage — any mage capable of reading it — could know at a glance the depth of another's talent.
No, this went beyond talent. It bordered on madness. A madness born of genius.
"I asked for the place that pays the most."
There was no need to verify anything.
No — this was more than the position deserved.
Without measuring this or testing that, the captain slid open a drawer, drew out a contract at once, and slid it smoothly across the desk.
"In truth, it is I who would ask something of you."
…Huh?
The bald man made a faint, foolish sound, glancing back and forth between the two of them, wondering what in the world was happening.
Truly, not a word of questioning. Had the captain ever rushed a contract this fast in all his days? Especially with a mage!
And with the contract offered up so readily, Yurik had no reason to hesitate either.
His purse had grown hollow, after all — two gold coins were two gold coins. He'd take them.
The handsome young mage signed his name to the contract.
Once he had confirmed the signature, the captain revealed at once what the contract concerned.
"We discovered a dungeon recently. That is where we are going."
An ancient mage's dungeon.
Yurik's blood caught fire.