Balamagos
The campsite descended into chaos in an instant, a bedlam of screams and shouts.
Those who couldn't fight crawled trembling across the ground and burrowed under the wagons, shivering uncontrollably. Though they'd been caught by surprise, the mercenaries were veterans of countless battles, and they took up their weapons and handled the bandits with practiced ease. The trouble was simply that the enemy's numbers were overwhelming.
Two masked bandits came charging at Yurik, who had raised his right index finger. He hurriedly cast a mana barrier with his left hand, but before the bandits' blows could even land, the finger moved first, quick as lightning.
The moment the index finger shot upright, the mana coursing through Yurik's entire body rushed out through its tip, becoming an arrow that pierced the hearts of both bandits one after another. It was magic in its rawest form—not even a magic circle had been invoked.
—!
Yurik had no time to feel the shock of taking lives; a wave of dizziness briefly clouded his vision. But the index finger did not stop there.
His finger danced through the empty air like a conductor's baton. Mana arrows fired rapidly from its tip, punching through the temples of the bandits one after another—thud, thud—whittling their numbers down at a terrifying pace.
Then the finger's magic slammed hard into one bandit's shield and exploded. The man staggered backward several steps but somehow kept his feet.
"Kill that damn mage first!"
When the shield-bearing bandit, his wits recovered, pointed his blade at Yurik and roared, three more bandits lunged at him simultaneously.
This time the index finger curved like a sickle, slashing through the air from right to left. Mana honed razor-sharp as a blade cut through the throats of all three bandits at once.
"Kgh—!"
The three men collapsed, blood gushing from their necks, twitching on the ground. In an instant, a pool of red spread across the dirt.
The casting speed of the index finger's magic defied imagination. Each single movement of the finger gave birth to a spell—that was the only way to describe it. Of course, it devoured an equally staggering amount of the mana stored throughout Yurik's body. Had he not spent all that time steadily condensing his mana to a high density, such techniques would have been utterly beyond him.
The bandits' own mage finally finished forming a mana bolt and fired it at Yurik. In a flash, Yurik drew a magic circle with his left hand and completed a defensive spell. The mana bolt struck his barrier, and a violent explosion erupted.
In that instant, Yurik felt control of his index finger return to him, and he smoothly drew another circle with his right hand. At his absurdly fast casting speed, the bandit mage visibly wavered.
Yurik aimed his specialty—Mass Magic—at the man's arm. The bandit hastily cut off his incantation and threw up a shield. Because he'd swapped spells in such a panic, his mana channels had tangled, and blood suddenly burst from his nose and mouth.
And then—the hammer swung with tremendous force, colliding head-on with the barrier!
With a thunderous blast, the shield shattered without a trace, and the hammer, having lost almost none of its momentum, slammed into the mage's left side.
—!
Unable even to scream, the mage flew like a doll with its strings cut and was smashed into the ground, out cold, never so much as stirring again. His left arm, crushed by the hammer, was completely ruined—the bone jutted out of the grotesquely bent limb.
"F-fucking hell…!"
Terrified by Yurik's magic, the bandits began backing away in fits and starts. When he fixed them with a sharp glare, they finally turned tail and fled without a backward glance. They had judged the ambush a failure.
Hoo. Hoo.
Panting for breath, Yurik lowered both arms. He looked around as he clenched his right index finger, which burned as if scorched by fire.
The bandits had fled, and the battle was over.
It was a night reeking of blood.
It was not easy for Yurik to shake off the shock of his first kill.
His mind understood—he had long since steeled himself for this, and it had been a matter of necessity. But his heart still felt as heavy as if a thousand pounds of lead had been placed upon it.
Even so, he could hardly lay his neck out meekly for a bandit horde that pounced on them every time they glimpsed an opening.
To survive, he had no choice but to fight. And more than that, there were people he had to protect—the innocent travelers, and his companions.
As he gradually grew accustomed to battle against other humans, a week passed since leaving Gode Citadel.
The merchant caravan and the mercenary company, worn ragged from their battles with bandits along the way, finally arrived at the city of Balamagos.
The moment they entered the city, the mercenary captain handed Yurik his pay for the escort work and asked whether he might care to stay on with them. Yurik's performance throughout the journey had been nothing short of dazzling.
The captain had worked in this trade for a good many years, yet never once had he seen a wandering mage as versatile as Yurik.
"I'm sorry. I have business of my own to attend to."
"Is that so? Hmm. A shame."
Having left the mercenary company, Yurik also bid farewell to Haral. Unlike Yurik, who planned to spend many days in the city, Haral was to set off south again first thing tomorrow.
"It's been a pleasure traveling with you, old man."
"Same here. I hope we meet again down south."
"I'll be hoping for it too."
The two shared a warm embrace and went their separate ways.
Yurik stood for a long while, quietly watching Haral's figure vanish into the crowd.
Drained in body and mind from the week's ordeals, Yurik had no energy left to sightsee. He went straight to an inn, ate his dinner, and collapsed face-down onto the bed in his room. When he opened his eyes again, it was already the next morning.
As he ate breakfast in the inn's ground-floor hall, all manner of rumors drifted into Yurik's ears.
The further south one went, the more disasters and incidents seemed to pile up.
"They say a demon has appeared in the Demonic Realm. Seems it skirted the southern front and crossed straight over."
"Dragons have started moving again, they say. The caravans will be sucking their thumbs for a good while."
"Another one turned up dead in the back alleys two days ago. Somebody famous this time, too. Whoever did it knew exactly who they were killing."
The moment Yurik heard the word demon, he felt his right index finger flare with heat. A fitting reaction, perhaps, from the slayer of demons.
After breakfast, Yurik walked the bustling streets. More than half the passersby seemed to be mercenaries.
With so many swords-for-hire about, the blacksmith street was enjoying a prosperity beyond compare. Even without the apprentices spilling out onto the road to hawk their wares, everything forged was sold the moment it was finished.
He was searching for a suitable iron rod to serve as a staff and mana orb mount, asked an apprentice the price—and nearly fell over. Expensive didn't begin to cover it.
"Surely that's too expensive, even so."
"Iron hasn't been coming in at all lately. The mine's been cut off."
"The mine's been cut off?"
The mine where the iron ore was dug sat inside the Demonic Realm—and with a demon's appearance, the miners and soldiers there had been slaughtered to a man. Iron ore shipments had ground to a halt. For now they were scraping by on stockpiles, but even those would run dry before long.
"All we can do is pray His Lordship sorts it out quickly."
Of course, the Count who ruled the city would hardly sit idle while his mine lay in such a state; before long, he was sure to move against the demon.
Having finished his conversation with the apprentice, Yurik left the blacksmith street and made his way to the mage's quarter. Studying the distinctive magic of each region was, for a wizard, a pleasure like no other.
As he browsed the shop windows, he noticed a notice board where a crowd had gathered. Drawing closer, he read the proclamation issued from the Count's castle.
To summarize: the subjugation force being assembled to hunt the demon was seeking capable, qualified mages. Applicants would be assessed for eligibility all on the same day, at the same hour…
"They say Archmage Violetta herself will be leading it."
"…An Archmage?! Then why would the rest of us mages even bother?"
"Support roles, I imagine. Still, what an honor it'd be. You'd get to stand before an Archmage with your own eyes, and if you help catch a demon, your name would spread far and wide. Rising to glory overnight, that's what."
A mage who took down a demon saw his standing transformed entirely. Even if it ended as nothing more than supporting an Archmage, a post as a Court Mage in a baron's castle would be his for the easy taking.
For wandering mages, it might truly be the chance of a lifetime.
"…Should I apply too?"
"Go ahead, if you like. They say every mage whose name carries any weight is applying. You think you'd be picked over them?"
"You never know. Might get lucky."
Countless wandering mages had been seized by that sliver of a possibility.
And of course, Archmage Violetta had surely counted on that very perhaps herself. Why else go to the trouble of posting notices and gathering applicants?
Yurik stared hard at the notice, rubbing his chin with one hand.
It would be a lie to say he had no interest. More than anything else, he was desperately curious about the beings called demons.
…Would they all be as powerful as Lord Wigrad?
If demons were monsters on that level, then what kind of monster did that make Tithon, who had hunted such beings across the land?
Yurik checked the date of the examination. Five days hence, in the morning. The venue: the Cowelac Ruins.
Committing the date and place to memory, he stepped into a bookstore.
I need to hone my skills further.
He intended to study the magic of the south, and to devote himself anew to his condensation training.
Tithon's Index Finger.
How to wield it—that would be the crux of everything to come.