Position (2)
"I'm sorry, but my resolve remains unchanged."
"Is that so…"
At Rabaul's firm shake of the head, Fiore let out a sigh of regret. Though a twinge of guilt pricked at him, Rabaul knew he could never accept her offer. Fiore, Pino, Chrome, and everyone else—they weren't urging him toward the path of the mutu out of any malice. He understood that.
Months had passed since he entered the Academy. Through several incidents, Rabaul had come to painfully realize where his talents truly lay. Or perhaps he had known it long before.
Yet he had still chosen not to walk that road. He hadn't wanted to.
After parting with Fiore, he walked aimlessly, trying to sort through his turbulent thoughts. Suddenly, a familiar voice reached his ears.
"Wow, this is really amazing! Thank you, Your Highness."
"Oh, it's nothing special."
The green-haired girl who usually accompanied him was chattering excitedly. Her conversation partner was none other than the person Rabaul most admired and envied in the Academy—Lyla Everblaze Barhart.
Though puzzled by the unexpected pairing, his gaze naturally drifted to the spell Pino was using. A blue mana bow formed of magic power, and arrows imbued with the mighty force of wind. Both were spells he recognized: Forest Keeper's Mana Bow and Lesser Wind Arrow.
Rabaul himself couldn't use them. If anything, that was precisely why he had devoted himself to studying the theory of magic rather than chasing new spells. His knowledge was rich in that regard.
And because of that knowledge, he could tell.
…Her skill is remarkable.
Instead of the wooden shortbow she usually favored, Pino now wielded the Forest Keeper's Mana Bow, its string drawn with a Lesser Wind Arrow. Her stance, the flawless flow of mana, and the arrow that struck true without the slightest deviation—all of it was as natural as a work of art.
As far as Rabaul knew, Pino hadn't been able to use that spell even yesterday. She couldn't have learned it during today's class either. The only conclusion left was that she had mastered it in the brief time since meeting Fiore and being advised to switch to magic.
It was a world apart from him, who still couldn't cast even the most basic Lesser Mana Arrow after months of effort.
He didn't know why Pino was receiving instruction from the princess, but he could guess. Chrome had arranged it from behind the scenes. That one-eyed boy was greedy when it came to spending money, yet never stingy when investing it. If he judged something worthwhile, he poured out vast sums without hesitation—and that applied to the people around him as well. Hadn't Rabaul himself received help buying various books?
At least, seeing Pino now, it was clear Chrome's eye hadn't been wrong.
But what about himself? Had he properly repaid what he'd received? Or did he even have the prospect of doing so in the future?
Crushed by the suffocating question with no answer and the dazzling sight of Pino smiling brightly as she revealed her talent, he found himself slipping away before he realized it.
……The path of magic is deep and vast. Someday, even someone like me might find a way to be useful. It's only that my knowledge is still lacking, so I can't see it yet.
Repeating the excuse to himself, he walked on in silence. He didn't know where he was going. He simply walked, aimlessly.
The Barhart Empire in the north. The Morian Kingdom in the southwest. The Spero Kingdom in the south. The Nahat Grand Duchy in the southeast. And the Ivestan Empire beyond the eastern mountains.
These were the names of the five nations that existed on the continent.
But some intellectuals knew there were others who lived by their own rules, outside the framework of nations.
For example, the inhabitants of a phantom village somewhere in the Morian Kingdom that rejected outsiders from within deep mists.
For example, the hunters who made their home in the most dangerous of the Black Mountains along the eastern range.
For example, the wild tribes who lived even farther north than the Empire and refused to acknowledge the rule of settled peoples.
The place where Rabaul was born was one such land.
A nomadic people who raised sheep, horses, and livestock, endlessly wandering in search of pasture without a fixed homeland. Rough, ruthless, and reverent of strength in order to survive in a harsh environment.
Born as the son of a renowned warrior and possessing an exceptional physique from childhood, Rabaul had been a special existence even among them. No opponent could withstand his innate strength, and even ferocious beasts were no match for him. Many paid respect to the representative of the next generation who would bring glory to the tribe, and Rabaul accepted it as natural.
The reason he had come down to the Empire was a group of adventurers who arrived from the south.
They claimed to have traveled to the very edge of the continent where Rabaul's tribe lived in search of materials being collected by some merchant group. They requested a trade, and the tribe accepted. In exchange for handing over plant roots that were neither tasty nor nutritious—things they normally wouldn't even glance at—they received hard-to-obtain ironware.
What should have been a fleeting encounter stretched longer, all because of Rabaul's curiosity.
If Rabaul had grown up without meeting the southerners, or if he had met them after maturing further, the pride and sense of responsibility as a tribal warrior might have prevented his rash decision.
But he was still young, and his blood ran hot. It wouldn't hurt to take a quick look at what they called a "country." If it turned out to be weaker than expected, he could always seize that bountiful land once he became one of the tribe's leaders.
The elders warned him it was dangerous and tried to stop him, but the more they did, the stronger Rabaul's stubbornness grew. Unable to break his bull-like obstinacy even then, the elders permitted him to accompany the adventurers on the condition that he return within half a year no matter what.
And so he set foot in the southern lands—the place the continentals called the "Empire."
The experience there was utterly shocking to Rabaul.
Towers soaring into the sky. Sturdy castle walls. Streets crowded with buildings. So many people, more than he had ever seen in his life. The things they took for granted were not natural to him, and the things he had prided himself on were powerless before the civilization they had built.
And Rabaul learned what the Empire's people called him and his tribe.
Savages. Uncivilized, unrefined, lacking proper culture.
He was furious, of course. If not for the tribal teaching that one must never wield violence against those without the strength to fight, and the adventurers' restraint, he might have rampaged on the spot.
But as time passed, anxiety crept over him.
Perhaps he himself—perhaps his tribe—were indeed the uncivilized savages they spoke of.
If Rabaul had possessed a more mature mind, he would have seen the answer as "difference." They valued different things and pursued different goals. Therefore, there was no need to feel inferior, no need to be ashamed of himself, and conversely, no need to look down on or despise the other side.
But he was immature, and he saw the answer as "superiority and inferiority." One side was superior; the other was not. What meaning did civilization or culture hold before the axe in his hand? When Rabaul wielded the power he truly possessed, how many among them could stand against him?
His immature mind took refuge in strength, and thus reached the worst possible conclusion.
When the world's mana greatly activated, it triggered a massive emergence of magical beasts. Mutated by mana, these beasts displayed behavior akin to locusts, rampaging indiscriminately in search of food to sustain their excessively accelerated metabolism. Even the hardy northern tribes, including Rabaul's own, called it the "Hole-Pierced Mouth" and focused solely on evacuating from its path—a disaster in its own right.
When they filled the horizon and charged toward the city where Rabaul was staying, he thought great damage would be inflicted. With walls so high and sturdy, they might hold, but countless people would surely be injured in the process. In the end, the civilization and culture they spoke of would crumble before overwhelming violence.
……There was light.
Flames, cold, wind, lightning, massive earthen mounds, and a rainbow of powers covering the sky. It was an overwhelming sight, as if a multitude of stars had fallen from the heavens. The gap was so vast that the fist he had clenched tightly, vowing to show them the power of those they scorned as savages, loosened powerlessly.
What had he been proud of? What had been the strength he boasted of? Magic—civilization—was this intense and radiant.
It was the moment his pride was split in two.