The Mage's Melancholy (1)
"Looking back now, I kinda regret it. They said one coin, but didn't specify if it was a copper or gold. Should've asked for gold instead of settling for copper."
'Which one's the real him?'
Orishin's confusion deepened amid this humble, honest projection of desire. From stories told by those around him like Morgina or Armed, Kriel was indeed a peerless knight. Yet listening to the man himself, he seemed nothing more than an ordinary human muddling through day by day.
Acting the noble knight just to look cool and impressive. Or originally planning to show off and run, only to unluckily run into the Wild Hunt. After mulling it over, Orishin concluded it didn't matter either way. Did a model knight have to be some extraordinary person? Not all exemplars for others needed to be special.
Sometimes, simply living true to one's own life could move the hearts of those around you.
Kriel dreamed.
Perhaps because of his conversation with Orishin before bed. He watched himself fighting the Wraith King from a third-person viewpoint.
In a one-on-one battle, the three factors with the greatest impact on the flow were power, speed, and durability. Standing before the Wraith King, Kriel had already known his power and speed fell short. What he trusted in was his durability.
The manifestation of his trait as a Dark Knight, legion commander of the Abyss. By nature, Dark Knights held the advantage over most corrupt entities, not just the Abyss. And the Wild Hunt led by the Wraith King was, of course, composed of wraiths.
Beings distant from the flesh, so even without replenishing blood qi, weren't wraiths mostly lumps of resentment? From a Dark Knight's perspective, who drew strength from resentment, they were practically walking potions.
Every wound the Wraith King inflicted, every pain, would temper Kriel's body and sharpen his blade. The aftermath of drawing maximum resentment? That was a problem for after.
Pay it back once you've borrowed—that's why such wisdom exists, right? So he charged in, and lost.
"Reckless as hell, damn it."
He'd drained every ounce of resentment, ending up like a gambler who couldn't pay his debts and went bust. Fleeing Ket County without lingering was part of that aftermath.
The hallucinations and phantom pains were so vivid, he might mistake an approaching person for a monster and attack. Right after waking, the opulent guest room in Ket Castle looked like a dank torture chamber.
Armed, who'd stayed by his side for half a day, appeared as a torturer wielding hot irons and a circular saw blade for slicing flesh. He had to hole up in some deserted wilderness until the side effects faded.
That's why he'd bolted without even sorting his gear properly.
Before long, the battle between the Wraith King and Kriel's past self came to an end. The past Kriel, barely standing with his greatsword as a crutch, gazed at his present self.
If you went back, would you fight again? It was an unspoken question.
Kriel let out a wry chuckle.
"Kid. Such a whiner."
A knight who runs ain't cool.
Kriel gave himself a quick wash.
"Master! Open the door! Master!"
"I ain't ever trusting your 'I'll help you wash up' line again!"
During camps, Tuon often insisted on preparing water to "assist with ablutions." Kriel had fallen for it twice so far.
'Gahhh! What the hell is this water?! Why's it so freezing?!'
'Oh, you don't know? To reach the realm of hansubulchim—immunity to cold and heat—you must douse yourself in water colder than frost at your most vulnerable moment.'
It was colder than ice water supercooled by Tuon's own power. Kriel sighed and asked her to bring warm water next time. And the next day, predictably, water hot as a volcano was dumped on him.
Along with the suggestion that a true knight must swing his sword heedless of heat or cold. Kriel agreed with the intent but not the method.
After that, he refused Tuon's bathing services entirely, yelling "Nooo, hell no!"
'Fool me twice, shame on me—won't get fooled thrice.'
After a perfunctory spruce-up and strapping on his sword, Kriel checked the time. About time to meet Armed.
"Hmm..."
[What're you pondering so hard?]
"Nah. Going to meet a noble lady from a great house—normally, showing up armed to the teeth wouldn't fly. You're unavoidable, but what about the other two blades?"
Tuon fixed him with a shocked stare. Leave her behind, and she'd harbor a grudge forever. He considered submerging her within himself using the phantom sword's authority, but hesitated every time he recalled the constellations in his inner world.
Before Tuon flowed into him, the stars shining in Kriel's inner realm were two colors: the crimson of the system-granted Dark Knight, and the gold he'd forged himself.
But Tuon's pale blue starlight was a hue even he had never witnessed. The high priestess of Eve Kaha had assured him it wasn't Abyss-tainted, yet accepting some unknown entity into his core still gave him pause.
Kriel reverted Tuon to her ash-gray straight sword form and sheathed her. The greatsword was intimidating by sheer size, but Tuon at least resembled a work of art.
'This is an inn?'
The inn where Armed was staying upended Kriel's very definition of one. To him, inns were modest lodgings. But for a wealthy noble visiting another rich territory, it was more like a luxury hotel.
The entrance alone evoked a noble estate's grand garden courtyard. It matched the "high-class inn" from game systems, but simple icons and text back then paled against the tangible opulence now.
Stepping inside revealed a reception desk manned by clerks.
'Feels just like a hotel.'
Kriel approached the clerk.
"I'm Kriel, invited by Lady Armed Ket. Where to?"
The clerk paused briefly at his sharp demeanor but kept a straight face—professional poise. Reviewing the ledger slowly, he found Kriel's name on the reservation list. The notes described an unusual guest.
'Notes: Ominous white hair.'
Ominous hair color? Makes sense seeing it in person.
"Sixth floor restaurant, Topaz Room. Lady Ket has reserved a meal."
"Oh."
That explained the "don't eat before coming" warning.
[Wait, I thought it was some other reason if not dinner?]
Orishin asked incredulously. Was Kriel really that oblivious?
"Figured it was a heads-up 'cause the sight might make me hurl."
Orishin started to retort, then remembered they were here to lift the Abyss curse and shut up. Probing the Abyss often meant facing grotesquely twisted abominations. Not great for the stomach.
Passing through the main dining hall to a private room deeper in. Kriel confirmed the topaz-plated nameplate and entered.
Armed sat waiting at the white table, no attendants in sight.
"Too early?"
"Nah, right on time."
At the academy, Armed wore simple mercenary-style clothes for ease. But now, it was a modest yet formal dress.
"Oops. Dress code spot?"
"Nobles come here. But you're my private guest—no one's griping about your outfit."
Kriel chuckled dryly.
"Wait, aren't you a noble?"
"Ah, about that. I stepped down as heir candidate."
"Why?"
Because of you, idiot.
...She couldn't say that outright. Too brazen.
Armed shrugged nonchalantly.
"Wasn't fun. Turns out I prefer jumping into the fray like a merc."
It was after Kriel fought the Wraith King and drove him off. Among Ket's three heirs, only Armed knew him.
She could've spun his exploits into a claim for succession: The great knight who fought the Wraith King did it at my request.
With Kriel gone from Ket County and her as his last contact, no one could've argued. But she didn't.
She didn't want to exploit that knight's honor. Better to subtly aid his life's quest: purification of the Abyss.
The retainers yapping only about heirship, ignoring her comatose father? Her rivals? Utterly repulsive.
Armed stepped down as heir in exchange for an annual budget she could freely use. With the count incapacitated, his two wives—the regents—agreed.
Why oppose when a powerful rival threatening their kids bowed out early?
Now, she was the "disowned" child in several senses. No one would even object if she picked her own spouse from outside.