What in the World Is That?
[What is that?]
It wasn't magic. Without a body, I couldn't sense mana as keenly, but even basic light magic like that should have registered. Yet there was absolutely no mana.
A moment later, as the light faded, the king slowly spoke.
"This is... the Shield of God."
"That was divine power just now, wasn't it?" one of the knights asked the king, his face slack with shock.
"Indeed."
Divine power could only be wielded by priests. That was common knowledge in this world. There were artifacts that let non-mages cast spells, sure. But nothing allowed a non-priest to use divine power. Even the so-called Holy Relics only amplified a priest's abilities—they didn't grant that power to ordinary folk.
In short, the miracle that shield had just performed shattered the world's common sense.
"In the ancient royal records, there's a scant mention of two divine treasures used by the founding king: a sword forged from dragon scales and a shield made from the metal of the gods."
[So that's Sein Tallium?]
"The soul is asking if that's Sein Tallium," Isabel translated.
"Yes. Though it's said only a tiny amount—like a fingernail clipping—was used."
Sein Tallium was, simply put, the metal of the gods. No natural ore, but a legendary substance bestowed directly by divinity. The only known instance was in the grand cross of the Holy Kingdom's cathedral, or so the legend went. Good luck verifying that with a cross that massive. The other was the pendant on the necklace passed down through the Holy Kingdom's saintesses—again, impossible to confirm. A saintess already wielded immense divine power; who could tell if the necklace amplified it? The Holy Kingdom might have verified it internally, but nothing was public.
Anyway, what we'd just witnessed couldn't be anything but Sein Tallium. Defying the world's logic and concepts? Only a god's power could pull that off.
[I thought it was just some old sword and shield, but they've handed us a national treasure.]
Isabel beamed at my mutter.
"We're always so grateful to you, soul."
"Thank you, soul!" Ether chimed in from the side.
[Well, if it makes you happy, that's what matters.]
Our casual treasure hunt had ended in staggering success. Word spread of how the royal family, guided by the Guardian Spirit, unearthed the founding king's trove. It peaked when the king drew the sword and demonstrated the shield's power before his ministers. The stuff of heroic epics, right?
In the capital, any gathering turned to praising the royals and the Guardian Spirit. Of course, the king's behind-the-scenes maneuvering helped. What better way to bolster royal authority?
Whatever. I slipped back into my leisurely academy days, lost in the bliss of timeless drift.
And at last, graduation day arrived.
This ceremony was special: the entire royal family attended. Because of me, naturally. I might ascend right after. The king even planned to award me an honorary diploma as an "honor student."
After all the pomp, it was time for diplomas. I was last.
"The academy students may not know this, but the Guardian Spirit who protects the royal family has resided here these past six years, watching over and nurturing you all. Thus, as an honor student, we bestow this special diploma upon the Guardian Spirit."
Handing a diploma to a soul? A bit cultish, but with the king himself presiding—and his authority stronger than ever—no one dared complain.
I savored the moment before the king like a real graduate. No regrets now, even in death... wait, could I achieve enlightenment?
[Thank you.]
Isabel and Ether smiled at my polite words. Isabel had been dabbing tears with a handkerchief. Bodiless as I was, something inside felt lighter.
Ah, is this enlightenment? I waited a bit, but nothing happened.
What? Why nothing? I felt something odd. Was it not that? Or had I never been a proper wandering soul?
No answers.
Over the years, I'd sought out spirit mediums in the capital. None heard me—they were all frauds. After the shield's divine power sparked doubts, I'd visited a temple. I'd always avoided priests and temples, fearing divine power might harm or erase a soul like me.
But nope—zero effect. Felt downright foolish for dodging them. I even gained a sense for divine power, like mana.
So now what? My six-year goal of graduating was done, leaving a hollow void.
Embarrassed at failing to ascend, I wandered off—to the mage tower I frequented, the markets, drifting like a true Wandering Soul.
Days later, I returned to the palace. Isabel and Ether were thrilled.
But when I shared my new goal after much deliberation, their faces fell.
[Looks like graduation wasn't my regret. Maybe it was learning more knowledge. So I'm thinking of traveling.]
"Could we ask His Majesty to summon renowned scholars for you?"
[Nah, I want to see every corner of the world myself.]
"I'm envious."
[Yeah, and as a soul, I'm safe as long as I avoid black mages.]
"You're not leaving forever, right?"
[I'll tour the kingdom first. Unless something comes up, I'll drop by every few years at least.]
"Then I'm relieved."
Isabel seemed to accept it. Even if not, what could she do? How do you restrain a soul?
"Don't go, soul!" Ether pleaded, voice cracking, but I couldn't indulge him this time.
[Ether, obey your mom, care for your sister, become a fine prince. Then I'll visit more often.]
The queen had borne a princess, giving Ether a sibling. The baby couldn't hear me, of course, but she was adorable. In life, I'd wanted a son but dreamed of a daughter too. Would that become a regret? Wait, I couldn't even have kids now.
Anyway, I left the capital after six years.
To avoid getting lost like last time, I memorized a detailed military map reserved for high command. First stop: the Great Forest in the kingdom's southeast.
Home to countless magical beasts clashing with humans. Deep inside lived elves, or so they said.
En route, I visited cities and large villages, observing lives and spying on local nobles. I'd note tyrants' weaknesses to report to the king later.
Rural life mirrored my old viscountcy—similar or worse. Commoners everywhere scraped by alike. I couldn't speak for foreign nobles, but this kingdom's were cruel and stingy toward the masses.
A question from my administrator days. It took minimal effort. No tax cuts needed—just better ways to live, which most nobles ignored.
The academy covered this; reformist scholars had pointed it out for decades.
Yet nobles didn't change because: "Give them an inch, they'll take a mile."
From a noble view, understandable. From the commoners'—who made up most of the world—nearly intolerable. Still, society had spun this way for millennia, and it would tomorrow too.
Two months short of flying there, I reached my goal: the Great Forest's entrance.
Like facing a green ocean. Even at the mouth, giant trees—tens of meters tall—blanketed my view.
Beasts grew common long before arrival, but here at the edge? Scarce. Thanks to Regisline, the fortress city of beast hunters, mercenaries, and merchants buying their spoils.
Regisline boasted walls over thirty meters high, topped with dozens of ballistae. Built solely to fight beasts.
Inside, amid the stark fortifications, lived even rougher folk: thousands of hunters, mercenaries, merchants. Drawn by one thing: money. Beasts meant profit. That raw lure pulled people into the life-risking forest.
I lingered in Regisline, gathering intel. Days later, hearing of a major expedition, I tagged along into the forest.
Three hundred strong—huge even for Regisline. One senior knight, twenty juniors, three mages. A small earl's full force.
Target: Zentas blood. Zentas were mid-tier beasts, rare outside the forest. Avian types darting nimbly through dense trees despite bulk. Bird-like, but flightless. Beaks and talons shredded armored knights easily. Took three junior knights to fell one.
Its blood cured skin ailments—or beauty treatments. The commissioning noble's intent? Not my concern.
With this crew, the forest's outskirts should be a breeze.
"Hold the left flank!"
"Front line, stand firm!"
That notion shattered fast. Barely past the entrance, goblins hit the side—organized.
Not your typical green goblins. Black ones, unique to the Great Forest.
My beast encyclopedia described them: "Three times faster than greens, twice as strong, five times smarter."
Sounded vague reading it. Seeing them? Spot-on.
Fast and strong, fine—they were still goblins. But five times smarter? Game-changer.
Three hundred stretched the line thin; they struck the gap perfectly. No fair fights—they hit and retreated like drilled troops.
Flank support rushed from front and rear. Goblins exploited it, slamming both ends at once.