No Need for a Shield

The kingdom's capital, Solion Impel. It might not compare to the Empire, but Solion Kingdom's national power was no slouch. Even setting aside the might of its heroes, Solion was a kingdom the Empire had to keep a close eye on. And the capital was a grand metropolis befitting that strength.

At the heart of Solion Impel stood the palace fortress Solarium, commonly known as the Sun Palace. Thousands passed through its gates every day, yet thanks to the magic towers' aid in its construction, it was still riddled with mysteries. Young bureaucrats new to the palace often got lost. After wandering for a while, they'd occasionally stumble upon a certain building.

Unlike the other ornate structures, this one was a plain edifice of red brick. But staring at it, even the least observant would notice something off. It had an unnaturally low number of windows. A four-story building, yet only the top floor had any—and even those were sparse. Palace buildings typically had four doors, one on each cardinal direction, or at least two. But this one had only the main entrance, guarded by sentries. No other doors in sight.

What could this place be? Just as the lost bureaucrat's curiosity peaked, someone would appear.

"Step back, please. This is a restricted area."

Before they could even react, they'd be firmly escorted away. Only later, asking around their seniors, would they learn its name: Swallow House. Nicknamed the "Bird's Nest." It housed the kingdom's premier intelligence agency, the Royal Intelligence Bureau.

That only fueled their curiosity further, rather than quenching it. What went on inside? Rumors swirled that the windowless design hid torture and executions—inhuman acts unfit for the light of day. Tales spread through every department of nosy bureaucrats vanishing after snooping around the Bird's Nest.

Amid the endless speculation and ghost stories, some hit the mark, others were pure nonsense. The lack of windows up to the third floor was indeed for security—partly to conceal interrogations and executions, but also to thwart magical eavesdropping and scrying.

So why the windows on the top floor? The reason was disappointingly mundane. There hadn't been any at first. But a few years after construction, they had no choice but to punch some in for ventilation. The bureau's exhausted officials puffed through hundreds of cigarettes per meeting combined. Reports warned of mass deaths from lung disease mid-duty, ballooning compensation costs, and straining the royal treasury.

Today, too, smoke billowed from the fourth-floor windows. The Royal Intelligence Bureau's Threat Assessment Security Meeting had dragged on for 48 hours straight, leaving the officials drained.

Then, someone burst through the door, panting.

"Director, intel from an Empire agent just came in. *Cough*!"

The director was younger than expected—a woman, tall as any man, with an eyepatch over one eye.

"What'd they say?"

"The Empire's 4th Infantry Division was wiped out. *Hack*, but they took casualties too—looks like they stopped the monster wave in the end."

"That's it? Disappointing."

She took a drag from her cigarette, exhaled toward the ceiling, and asked again.

"Anything official from them to us?"

The kingdom had steered the monster wave toward the Empire—a tightly guarded secret, but these insiders knew.

"They're prepping something, but nothing through official channels yet."

"Unofficially?"

"They offer condolences for Marquis Martain's death and the damage to his territory."

"Pfft-haha."

The director chuckled. A hero and marquis like Gerard Martain dying was big enough for condolences. But for the Empire, reeling from their own losses, to send that right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠away?

"The Emperor himself ordered aid—material and moral support—for rebuilding Martain territory."

"And if we refuse, they'll throw a fit?"

"Probably."

The bureau quickly read the Empire's play. They wanted to investigate why the monster wave erupted from the Great Forest—and why it veered their way.

"Let 'em. They'll see Martain lands are trashed and head home."

But the Empire couldn't push too hard openly. The kingdom had suffered far worse. The capital survived, but who could control a wave mid-turn toward the Empire? No grounds for complaints.

"Understood."

Working in the shadows yet upholding justice, the Royal Intelligence Bureau had saved the kingdom from ruin once more.

"More importantly... still no sign of that thing?"

"That thing... you mean?"

"Goddamn it, you know exactly who. That black snake!"

The director stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette.

"Might be the birth of a new calamity."

Marquis Martain had mutual-killed the wave's chimera leader—or so the public story went. But insiders knew the chimera had an extra small head. And the marquis's direct cause of death? A black snake. That intel had the director buzzing.

"My gut's screaming it. Dead certain."

"How much budget have we blown chasing your 'gut'?"

"You were so cute when you first started here. Anyway, no sightings?"

"None, ma'am. Probably gone for good—a little snake like that."

"Yeah. Hm... doubt it's sticking around our lands."

"Monster waves draw beasts like magnets."

The Empire's in for a headache, the director muttered.

"If it's really bugging you, we could list it as a watch-beast and put a bounty?"

Watch-beasts existed—lists sent to hunters and realm wardens.

The director pondered, then shook her head.

"Nah. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Why do the Empire any favors?"

The fate of one black snake (actually white) shifted slightly.

"Put it on the monitored list instead."

"Yes, ma'am. What name?"

Her naming sense had saddled countless beasts with awful monikers.

What would this snake get?

"It's black, so Blackie..."

"How about Black?"

"Yeah, Black..."

A crowned black snake. Its name was set.

"...Black Death King."

I cast Lightweight on the knight's gauntlet. It was huge and insanely heavy. Even with my leveled-up Transparent Hand, I could barely swing it around. But with Lightweight, it moved freely enough.

I slipped the Transparent Hand into the gauntlet. No longer invisible—it was a living, moving gauntlet now. Meaningful? Who knows. But it looked badass, and that was enough for me.

And it wasn't just cool. I could ride atop the sturdy gauntlet. I wrapped my tail around it once to secure myself, then carefully—oh so carefully—climbed on.

Focus. This chance might not come again. Focus.

Aha. My body lifted clean off.

The fearsome white snake Ouroboros, mounted on a living gauntlet, complete. Could this sub for my incompatible Flight skill? Sword in the gauntlet, and it'd be perfect sword-flight.

Floating in midair? Nailed it.

- Impossible!

Pellelian gasped in shock. When I announced my plan, he'd scoffed, daring me to try. His "never gonna happen" attitude fired me up. Dozens of failures later... success.

Now just move the gauntlet.

But at the twitch, the mana sustaining Transparent Hand scattered.

Thud!

I crashed down with the gauntlet. Hope that didn't echo outside? Good—silence.

- Bwahahaha!

Pellelian burst out laughing, as if he'd never been tense.

- Told you it wouldn't work. Same reason Lightweight fails on living things. If it did, telekinetics would've been flying ages ago.

There were scientific—or magical—reasons Transparent Hand couldn't fly. Per Pellelian:

- It's like jumping into the air, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠then stepping on your own instep for a double jump.

'Sounds like Foot-on-Instep Leap, a lightness skill.'

- Or yanking up a huge tree, throwing it, and riding it like a broom.

'Pretty sure that's from Dragon Ball.'

Too bad.

- Enough fooling around. Time for real lessons.

'Yes, sir.'

I listened obediently to Pellelian's lecture. Our deal: I try what I want first, then his turn.

- Today's topics: mandalas, magic circles, and talisman magic.

Pellelian looked like a crusty traditionalist who'd scorn anything but "proper" magic. But no—at least with spells, he was open-minded, versed in all varieties, no hesitation on learning or using them.

- You've bulked up your mana pool through luck, but it's still pathetic.

'Hey, I was born not long ago.'

- True enough. Can't be helped. You're around the same age as those centipede triplets, anyway. Wonder if they're doing okay. Their mom taking good care of 'em?

- Compared to your dad, you'd get it.

'Dad mastered Giantification and Destruction Beam.'

Mana grows with time, so adults pull ahead.

- Beyond evolution, train like knights or mages—build mana reserves.

'You mean breathing in ambient mana?'

- How'd you guess?

'Just a hunch.'

- Fair. Not sure if a snake can, but worth a shot.

Learning inner arts? Heart raced.

'So auras are mana bursts? Different elements too—Gunter spat lightning, that last knight fire...'

- Focus on relevant stuff.

Pellelian shut that down. I nodded.

- Anyway, learn Mana Breathing alongside efficient spells for low mana. That's mandalas, talismans, magic circles.

His logic: Circles slash mana cost, prep time's the catch—but pre-draw them.

- Need writing tools, but for now...

Then—

Chirrrrp, chirp chirp.

A cricket's cry. One I'd dominated as a sentry.

Sentry down. Intruder!

Assassin? I tensed, slithering to the wagon entrance.

...Sigh.

Just a dog.

"Huff huff, woof!"

'Shh, quiet, you mutt!'

Royle the merchant's dog. Jackie. He'd eaten my cricket again.

'Can't just off him.'

Tried dominating the dog before. Tamed it at best—full control failed. Since snacking on my first cricket, he treated this like a free buffet, dropping by constantly.

'Scram already!'

"Woof!"

Jackie licked my face. Cute, so forgiven.

Then—

"What's up, Jackie?"

A human voice. I hid quick.

"What? Nothing there. C'mere, boy."

Jackie snooped the cargo again, front paws up, whining to climb. Royle dragged him off.

"No jerky, told ya."

Obviously the jerky from that potion buy. The scent drove him nuts.

Merchants paused the wagons, resting the mules.

"Amaen, fed Jackie?"

Royle sought his son. A fellow merchant answered.

"Saw him do it just now."

"Right? Kid was studying."

Royle grinned at his twelve-year-old. Trailing Dad on trade runs was tough, yet Amaen never complained. Too mature for his age—sometimes heartbreaking. But also Royle's pride and joy.

"Mana training or whatever?"

"Yeah, gotta grind for academy next year."

Amaen had magic talent—a wandering mage spotted it. Royle shelled out big for mana exercises and a basic grimoire.

Now the boy sat eyes closed, meditating. Impressive.

Royle would bankrupt himself to get Amaen into a good academy next year.

Naive, outsiders might say. Trust a vagabond mage? Magic's commoner now, but genius-level talent and cash were still barriers.

But Amaen had it. Mastered mana breathing on first try. Wore his lone grimoire ragged. His breathing? Spot-on—drawing in ambient mana with each inhale. Kid had focus.

Amaen sensed the flows around him.

"Fuuu."

The boy's cheeks flushed from tension, heart pounding. No illusion. From Dad's wagon cargo—mana stirred again.

'For real.'

His grimoire, "Liberta the Sage's Mystical Magic Primer", covered oddities: cloud-riding beasts, mermaid-bellied whales, magic snakes.

Liberta called snakes mages' friends—mana-affine, evolved ones even talked.

Amaen flipped pages. Snake tongue: Sae (Snake Speech).

Ridiculous at first read. But now? Proof in the cargo. Saw Jackie lick a snake's face—not bite. No ordinary snake.

Mature, sure—but still a boy. Curiosity burned.

'Tell Dad, get scolded?'

"I'll start stew."

"Gonna gather firewood."

Adults busy—perfect. Amaen snuck to the wagon, Jackie in tow for courage. Dusk made it pitch black inside.

He cleared his throat, mimicking the book's Sae.

"Saaak, saak. Shiriit."

Snake, you there?

Silence.

Again: "Saaak, saak, shiriit."

Still nothing. Disappointing—

Sslither, slither.

A white snake emerged from the dark. Not huge. Not scary. But crystalline scales gleamed, crowned head.

"Shiriit."

It answered his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠call.

What the hell's this kid saying?

Heard hissing outside, peeked out cautiously. Some brat clutching a book, waiting.

- No clue. The kid stared, then:

"Shh, saararak."

Yeah, definitely.

- Crazy human brat.