The Long Vacation (13)

Once upon a time—not all that long ago, just a few months back—there was a wild boar named Caspar Hundert. This particular boar had never quite mastered the core social skill known as “mutual understanding through conversation.” Lost in his own delusions and prejudices, he picked a fight with an innocent boy and got beaten half to death for his trouble.

But here’s the problem. The world still had other wild boars in it. The innocent boy wanted to give this one a proper education too, but two major obstacles stood in his way. First, the boy’s job had changed from the versatile “Red Mage” to plain old “Mage,” which meant he could no longer swing a satisfying club like before. Second, unlike the arena managed by that blood-haired lunatic, outside its boundaries there were far too many people who would get very upset if you educated a wild boar in public.

After much contemplation, the kind, pure-hearted, and impeccably honest boy in matters of trade reached a clear conclusion. And that conclusion was—

“You insolent fool! How dare you spout such—ugh!?”

The knight who had been roaring in fury hastily swung his sword to deflect the Magic Missile that shot straight at his face. My mana control was low-grade. I could only use low-grade spells, and even then, firing three or four at once was my limit. Their power was nothing to write home about either. I’ll make an exception for the insane, overpowered princess who treats mid-grade spells like weak attacks and high-grade spells like strong attacks, but compared to Eagle Pendevig—who specialized solely in wind but boasted terrifying rapid-fire and destructive power—or Pino—who used mana arrows just like me yet overwhelmed me in both precision and potency—I was sorely lacking as a mage.

After all, the whole reason I had chosen Blue Light in the first place was to optimize mass production of consumable magic tools like Attribute Stones rather than for direct combat. So this result was only natural.

“You think these cheap tricks will work on me!?”

The knight had been startled by my rapid-fire low-grade mana arrows for a moment, but once he realized their power and accuracy were far worse than he expected, he began advancing with renewed confidence while casually batting them aside. His movements looked deceptively slow, but the instant I tried to create distance, he would explode forward and close the gap.

Which was exactly why I did the opposite—I charged straight at him and swung my club.

The knight froze for a split second in clear confusion, then formed a subtle smile and settled into a proper stance. I could practically read his thoughts. A mage-type like me wasn’t trying to keep distance but was instead closing in? It must have felt like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I was handing him victory on a silver platter.

Unlike before, when I could at least apply some form of reinforcement even if inefficiently, my current body could barely strengthen itself at all. There was no way I could win a contest of strength against a knight whose body was reinforced with mana. Not bare-handed, let alone with a weapon.

His sword, carrying far greater momentum and sharpness than anything I could produce, moved as if it would slice both my club and me in half. In response, my club—seemingly unconcerned—slammed into his right shoulder.

And then it exploded.

“Hey, isn’t that the thing you do all the time?”

Crow asked while crunching on dried squid legs. Akasha, who was munching on similarly fried corn snacks, answered.

“Yeah. Though my sword doesn’t explode.”

What Chrome had just done wasn’t some incredibly ingenious technique. It was simply a low-grade mana shield. He had merely “made the basic spell that even beginners learn appear right in the path of the opponent’s attack.”

Of course, that alone wouldn’t have blocked the strike. A low-grade shield didn’t have particularly high defensive power. If it had taken a mana-reinforced knight’s sword head-on, it would have shattered instantly.

The important part was where the shield had appeared.

“You create the shield right in front of the hand that’s swinging the sword. If you don’t see it coming, it’s a real pain,” Crow explained.

Whether it was a sword, a club, or any weapon gripped by the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hand—the hand holding the hilt was crucial. So what happened if an obstacle suddenly appeared right in front of that hand mid-swing?

At best, it would disrupt the motion. At worst, the sudden impact could make the wielder drop their weapon entirely. It was like unexpectedly slamming your hand into a wall.

“Of course, there are monsters who just power through regardless, or ones who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠instantly adjust their trajectory. But it looks like that knight wasn’t on that level.”

“Hah! He should’ve realized something was up the moment a mage willingly closed the distance.”

Akasha and Crow offered their harsh critiques, but in truth their standards were simply too high. Chrome’s tactic wasn’t particularly complicated in theory. However, the practical difficulty of using it in real combat was quite high.

A low-grade mana shield didn’t have much range to begin with. To create one inside the opponent’s personal space, you had to get that close yourself. Cast it too late and it was meaningless. Cast it too early and you gave the opponent time to notice and react.

In other words, it was a technique that required a mage to voluntarily approach an armed opponent, perfectly read the timing of their attack, and use it as a counter. Only someone like Chrome—whose base physical abilities without reinforcement rivaled most martial artists—or Akasha—who was well-versed in close combat as a temple knight—could pull it off. Blaming the knight for failing to deal with it was a bit much.

As they listened to the announcer declare the match over, both of them thought the same thing:

The guy always claimed combat was just a side job and tried to avoid it, but when push came to shove, he’d still be a real headache to fight.

Physical reinforcement using mana—stronger reinforcement!—was blocked. And in a situation where beating someone like a dog on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a hot summer day would invite endless complaints about commoners this and nobles that, the answer was obvious.

A spectacular one-hit kill. A one-turn kill. That was it.

I alternated my gaze between the knight who lay unconscious, his beard scorched and body still smoking, and my club that had roughly one-third of its length blown off into the air.

The secret behind the explosive attack wasn’t anything special. I had simply embedded several Attribute Stones inside a metal club, set it so that injecting mana and delivering an impact would trigger them, and adjusted it so the blast would be directed toward the enemy. It took some effort to make, but the materials were just scrap iron and a few “fragments,” so there was no waste in using them as consumables. Even now, my bag contained dozens of these magic clubs prepared in various types.

I had tried making swords too, but the difficulty was much higher so I gave up. There were too many other things I needed to do instead of raising my blacksmithing skill to a high level.

“Ooh! Well done! Can’t underestimate the kids after all!”

“No need to go easy on those arrogant nobles! Keep it up!”

“Where do you buy that club?! I want one too!”

Whether it was because the visual impact had been spectacular or because the match had been easy to follow and decisive, the audience’s mood wasn’t bad at all. It was a far cry from the time I had beaten that other wild boar and everyone treated me like a venomous lunatic.

I waved to the spectators, then headed down the corridor leading to the waiting room. From the opposite end of the passage, a man emerged. He was probably the next contestant.

He carried a long staff in one hand as if it were the legendary Ruyi Jingu Bang, his entire body wrapped in dark, drab clothing. His face carried a somehow gloomy impression.

So this was the guy.

Ligret had said the staff was just a disguise and that his real job was mage, but from what I could see it was hard to tell. He looked a bit gaunt compared to his frame, but his long limbs and large hands and feet gave him a nimble impression.

Perhaps sensing my gaze, the man frowned and spoke.

“Got something to say?”

I shrugged.

“Nah, nothing much. Just figured we might meet in the next round, so I was looking.”

“…Hmph.”

The man left without another word. I watched his retreating back for a moment, then turned away.

Well, he gave off a slightly unpleasant vibe, but I’d find out once we fought.