Can You Help Us?
The written exchange with the king began.
'How?'
Tailing the envoys to glean information wouldn't be hard. But it hardly seemed like it would help much. What the king needed right now was quick, reliable intel on which side would win.
And in this situation, who could provide that?
'How about going to the scene yourself?'
Getting there wouldn't be difficult. But reaching the border that would become the battlefield would take over a month, even at top speed.
'Isn't that too late?'
'No formal declaration of war has been made yet. Wars don't start that easily. Lionia is short on time, so they'll probably move faster than expected.'
Come to think of it, he was right. I'd only read history books about war progression, strategies, and tactics—I didn't know much about the preparations or how they actually kicked off.
Wars rarely started with just standing armies. Issuing mobilization orders and assembling troops at the border took time.
'I'll help.'
'I'll assign someone as a liaison. You can't use teleportation magic yourself.'
'Send him to Ether.'
Then I returned to Ether and relayed the conversation with the king.
"We've ended up owing the Guardian Spirit another favor."
[Being called Guardian Spirit comes with obligations. Besides, I've wanted to see a war up close.]
"I'll be heading there too, then?"
[Probably. No—you absolutely have to participate.]
The king wouldn't lead the army himself. Normally, Ether wouldn't be sent out either, but the king would dispatch him. Even if it was just a nominal commander role, Ether needed the achievements.
"I'll see you there."
[Good. Take care until then, and look after Elizabeth too.]
Ether grinned in response.
No sooner had the conversation ended than a servant announced a visitor outside.
I stepped out alone. There stood a middle-aged man whose face screamed "mage" to anyone who saw him. He was a familiar face to me, someone who frequented the Mage Tower.
Baron Iobill Harsen, one of the tower's senior mages. Though affiliated with the tower, he handled a lot of palace work too—a mage walking a delicate line. His specialty wasn't combat magic but practical support spells. He excelled at artifacts for teleportation and similar auxiliaries.
He wasn't great at battle magic, so he got a bit of flak for it, but he made a killing financially. Probably one of the highest earners in the tower right now.
Iobill held a small chalkboard with chalk dangling from it. Its purpose was obvious.
I moved the chalk and wrote on the board: 'Greetings, Baron Iobill Harsen. If there's nothing pressing, shall we depart immediately?'
"Oh! It's an honor to meet you, Guardian Spirit."
Chalk writing on its own might look eerie to a newbie, but as a mage, he seemed more intrigued—like it was something to study.
"Then let's head out right away."
Following Iobill, I saw two carriages ready. The escorts bowed to him, climbed aboard, and prepared to leave. They looked fully prepped already.
The king had clearly set everything up before dumping this on me. Annoying bastard. I'd smack him upside the head next time we met.
Iobill chattered nonstop, barely checking if I was there, curiosity overflowing. Writing with chalk got tedious, so I mostly ignored him, though he occasionally said something interesting.
"Guardian Spirit, you must see things we can't, right? What kind of world is it?"
'A world of souls. For example, that coachman has three resentful souls attached to him.'
Most of the escorts in the two carriages had resentful souls clinging to them. These weren't simple attendants—they handled the king's dirty work.
"Gasp! What about me?"
'None on you.'
One of the escorts listening in couldn't hold back and asked a question—against protocol.
"What do resentful souls do?"
'If their power grows strong, they bring misfortune to their host. And when that person dies, they prevent ascension.'
The escort bowed deeply in thanks, looking relieved.
"Why the relief?"
Iobill voiced his own curiosity.
"I just thought it's good—at least I can atone for them, even in death."
One of the resentful souls circling that escort's head snapped its thread and ascended to the sky. I hesitated, then decided to tell him.
'Your remorse severed one resentful soul's thread. It ascended on its own.'
The man closed his eyes quietly. Tears slid down his cheeks. A few other escorts struggled to hold back theirs.
The mood grew solemn. To lighten it, Iobill tossed out another question.
"I've heard you're versed in magic too, Guardian Spirit. Could you perhaps offer some guidance?"
To be precise, I'd only been studying magic for about ten years. Iobill had at least twenty under his belt. Still, my accumulated knowledge rivaled any mage's—I'd absorbed the essence from every mage in the tower during its heyday before the previous lord vanished.
A hassle, but I'd teach him a thing or two.
'You're researching a disk artifact for temperature control, right, Baron Iobill?'
"How did you know? Ah, well, that project... it succeeded but failed. I made the artifact, but the production cost was too high for sales."
That's what I'd thought when I saw it. The magic circuit was too crude, demanding excessive secondary materials and driving up costs.
'Let me help a bit.'
I recalled the original circuit from back then, reorganized it mentally, and sketched an efficient new one. No mana involved—just doodling—but a mage like Iobill could decipher it.
"Huh? This is... incredible... amazing!"
Iobill kept marveling. That's Fortega's talent for you. The tower mages who let it rot deserved to reflect—oh, wait, Iobill was one of them?
My mood soured. I flung the chalk away mid-sketch.
"Guardian Spirit, what—?!"
Iobill panicked, but I didn't respond.
My temper was fraying. Side effect of absorbing so many beast souls and evil spirits? Or from lingering too long as a soul?
The escorts took turns sleeping and driving nonstop, swapping horses midway. We reached the border faster than expected.
The area buzzed with tension. Veners Kingdom wasn't involved yet, but with at least three neighboring countries joining—and Veners plus others—it could spark the biggest war in 300 years.
I tipped off Iobill and slipped across the border into Lionia first.
Lionia was the main player here. If they swallowed their pride and imported food now, war might be averted. But Lionia was traditionally a military powerhouse—or so the stories went.
No full-scale wars, but local skirmishes? They'd never lost.
Crossing into Lionia, I spotted soldiers brimming with discipline. True to their metal-rich land, their gear was top-notch. Elite troops, by the look of their movements.
But I wasn't here just to check infantry. Wars hinged on knights, mages, and commanders.
The king hadn't specified what to scout, so I'd prioritize what mattered.
First, the knight orders. Hundreds had already gathered at the border—royal guards plus levies from nearby houses.
Knight hordes did one thing: endless spars everywhere.
Their skill level was impressive. Objectively, superior to Veners overall. Militarily strong? Fair assessment.
Next, the commander: Duke Jona Zartus, presumed war leader.
Finding him was easy—head to the finest lodgings.
I had high hopes. Jona was the first Master-level knight I'd seen.
And he exceeded them. His soul was enormous, radiating brilliance. Not Fortega-tier—Fortega was once-in-centuries genius; Jona, once-in-a-century.
Honed over years with vast experience. Even without seeing Silimaron or Odysia yet, I wondered: better commander out there?
Veners had none like him. Give Ether 20 more years, maybe he'd surpass.
More shocking: Jona's staff. Every one had superb souls. In strategy meetings, they were already winning—dozens of plans, contingencies for every scenario. Food shortage a pretext? They'd prepped for war from the start.
Mage forces were decent, not exceptional—but accounted for in their plans. No major variables, no issue.
I left Lionia straight for Silimaron.
Their border thrummed with tension too—but only among rank-and-file and junior officers.
Knight orders? Pathetic. Cocky greenhorns playing dress-up.
Silimaron boasted fertile lands and advanced culture. These "knights" looked more like sword-wielding clowns.
Shifting to mages: solid force. Senior mages outnumbered Lionia's twofold. Magic costs money; rich nation, rich mages.
Despite crappy knights, mage superiority meant commanders would decide victory.
Silimaron's top commander: Count Hector Marsios. Per Iobill's info, the king's favorite princess's husband—a consort. Sharp mind, top mage skills.
But seeing Hector myself, I could only tilt my head in doubt.