Episode 7. The Night the Storm Came
Mana.
That was the word spat out in unison by everyone—from those who wielded swords and treated battle like daily bread.
"You can't win without mana."
"No mana? Then give up. What else can you do?"
Mana.
"Why the hell are you struggling when you don't even have mana?"
"Mana is essential. Sorry, but you..."
Mana.
"What do you think you can do without mana?"
"Just give up, Ain."
"You should quit, Ain."
"You'll... you'll definitely die if you keep this up."
Goddamn mana.
And Beks from the swordsmanship hall, as well as Sir Yosep from Crepen, had drilled it into me time and again.
"Ain, sorry, but without mana, you can't win. That's just how the world works..."
"Someone without a scrap of mana can't beat someone blasting mana everywhere, Ain. It's practically an absolute truth these days."
They said that if you weren't born with the talent for mana, it was better to give up advancing altogether.
But.
"What if a situation arises where you have to fight a knight who wields mana freely—or worse, a paladin who commands divinity?"
I needed to know what to do if, despite dodging and weaving, I was inevitably cornered by the strong.
So.
"...Ain. I have no idea what you'd have to do to end up fighting a knight or paladin... Are you planning to become a criminal or something...?"
To my question, my teacher Beks from the swordsmanship hall replied with a look like he'd seen something bizarre.
"Hm, Ain. You've only trained in interpersonal swordsmanship. From a knight's perspective, that question of yours doesn't sound good—in a positive way, I mean."
Sir Yosep from Crepen furrowed his brow in response to my question.
Then both tacked on the same answer.
"Well... you're a good kid, so it'll never come to that."
"Hm, but since it's you—a good soul—who asked, there must be a valid reason behind it."
They were always the ones who truly saw me and believed in me.
"What you need in that case boils down to just two things, Ain. Obviously, the first is skill, no need to even say it."
"To be honest, your swordsmanship is top-notch, Ain. As I said earlier, your blade, honed solely for fighting people, is incredibly practical and without hesitation."
The two stood in different positions, but they told the same story.
"In a spar without mana, you might even beat most knights. Your talent with the sword is definitely exceptional."
"It's only natural you can't beat me now, Ain. I've rolled in more battlefields as a knight of the snowlands than the years you've been alive. But give it time to close that experience gap, and who knows what'll happen next time we meet."
Bitterly, they said I lacked the talent for mana but had a gift for the sword.
And then.
"So the second is gear. Screw that crap about craftsmen not blaming their tools. You absolutely need top-notch equipment. For a swordsman, that's a mana-infused blade! Oh, and it's insanely expensive! I don't even have one!"
"There are swords made for those without mana. The cheapest ones run about a million dera, I think. Well... work hard, make money, and you'll get one someday. Earn that coin diligently. It's so pricey even I couldn't afford it."
There was a peculiar answer they both gave identically.
A mana-infused sword.
The worries and anguish of those without mana had persisted since ancient times, birthing these relics of the past from adults' earnest deliberations and the innocent questions of children.
"Teacher, what if a mana-wielding thug breaks into the home of someone without a drop of mana?"
"Hm? Run, obviously."
"What if you can't escape?!"
"Then you die."
"Pardon...?"
To put it simply, it started from such trivial tales, evolving into something more refined and serious as time passed and generations turned.
There are those who press on without talent, refusing to quit, and those who craft tools to aid their journeys.
"Can't you borrow someone else's magic if you lack mana?"
"Hmm, not sure if that's possible."
"What if you engrave the spell into something instead of drawing it in the air?"
"Engraving magic into an object... That's a brilliantly idiotic idea. Well, let's give it a shot."
The starting point was magical engraving, widely commercialized through such efforts after repeated failures—ultimately succeeding.
By inscribing various spells into staves, robes, armor, or swords, even those without mana could take a step forward.
Etching and storing spells into objects to grant magical effects—that was the idea.
However.
It didn't bind mana itself; it merely stored spells right on the verge of activation.
"Hmm... Efficiency's too low. Power's weak. And you can't even use strong spells."
"Can't be helped. Every attempt to go beyond this has failed. No one's succeeded in storing more powerful magic."
For some, it was a huge help; for others, an unsatisfying compromise.
Magical engraving was revolutionary and elegant, but its limitations were clear, as those words showed.
And from that arose a new line of research.
"If we can store spells in objects, why not store mana itself?"
"Storing mana in an object... Sounds outright impossible. Binding an intangible energy in one place is tough."
"Hm, exactly."
"No proper medium for it, that's the issue. Engraving pre-activation spells works because of the magic circle's form."
"Let's try anyway."
"You're working me like a dog, you little shit. Fine, let's do it."
Some dared to pursue what others deemed impossible.
Objects infused with mana itself.
An effort born from shoving heads into the problem despite no suitable medium.
In time, the fruits of that labor emerged: mana-infused swords, armor, shields.
Relics crafted for those who pushed forward.
Ironically, unlike engravings, these had fallen out of practical production, becoming ancient artifacts no longer made.
So.
"Urk...! Watch that sinner! He's using relics from the past!"
In other words, the gear Asha had gifted me was mana-infused.
The Tebris sword, armor, gauntlets, and boots she'd given me—all brimming with mana.
I hadn't noticed until now, with no real fights lately, but they were packed full.
(For the record, Horn's hammer is infused with mana too.)
"Horn! Keep everyone off the carriage! Control your strength so no one dies!"
"Got it! Be grateful I'm showing mercy, you holy zealots!!"
That made it possible to hold off paladins wrapped in divinity as they charged.
Claaang—
Of course, I couldn't squander the mana recklessly.
It refilled gradually over time, but the total capacity was fixed, so it had to last until we shook them all.
So I swung my sword as trained.
'Wield only the weak's sword. Don't clash head-on. Deflect thrusting blades smoothly.'
I angled my blade to glance off the paladin's ferocious overhead smash, kicking him away before his sword could reach the carriage.
"Hup...! You vile sinner!"
"Talented pricks always call it 'vile' if you don't clash fair and square. No conscience."
It wasn't always best to deflect—there was a reason not to meet head-on.
'A mana-infused sword can take an aura clash head-on, sure... but your body isn't mana-reinforced, right? Clash directly, and even if the blade doesn't break, you will first.'
As he said, my body couldn't take it.
The shock from my emotional clash with the first paladin still lingered.
So I had to remember not to get cocky just because I could wield mana.
Seizing his lapse, I tripped the paladin.
"Kuh, such a sinner's vile fighting style!"
"Agh, shut your...!"
I shoved the endlessly "vile"-spouting paladin off the carriage.
You might think falling off meant death, but the carriage had slowed considerably—likely just scrapes from tumbling.
Meanwhile, pure-white carriages flanked us, some already overtaking.
Soon, they'd surround us and force a stop.
I shoved back another leaping paladin, then called down to Asha.
"Asha! Can't you open a space-time rift like last time?"
If we escaped through and sealed it, we'd break free instantly.
"Ugh, that's tough! I could only open them freely thanks to Versio Ruins' unique space... I can't make one big enough for us...!"
Regrettably, that idea was shot down.
"Can't be helped. Just keep the barrier up!"
"Sorry... Future me could probably do it..."
Yeah, future Asha could've handled it easily—no chants needed for spells, so a rift would've been trivial.
But she scared me a bit.
Her gaze back then was pure predator, intent on devouring me.
Still, seeing that hopeful future meant she was our milestone.
And finally—Whiiiinny—Chunsik and Chunbae halted their sprint.
"Ha... "
White carriages hemmed us in completely.
Over ten of them disgorged priests and paladins, blocking every gap to prevent escape.
A middle-aged paladin, likely the commander, stepped forward and declared:
"Commit ritual suicide where you stand, and we won't crucify your corpses, foolish sinners."
"..."
"Hand over the gray one and end yourselves. That's our final mercy."
He strode up boldly, calling it mercy, standing before me.
I wasn't small, but this near-two-meter paladin looked down with a blunt, indifferent gaze.
He seemed utterly defenseless—confident I posed no lethal threat.
With that many priests backing him, a few sword thrusts would be healed instantly.
I looked up at him; he loomed, demanding my choice.
So I spoke.
"Even if we did, you'd just take her and execute her."
"Obviously, sinner. The gray is evil."
The gray was evil.
An unchanging truth of the world, upheld for ages.
"Can you call her evil when she hasn't done anything wrong yet?"
"Being born gray is the sin, harboring something no different from a demon. That's why it's evil."
Regardless of race, being gray was the crime itself.
They couldn't control emotions, inevitably causing disasters.
"She hasn't done anything wrong. She's just lived normally, following the law."
"Maybe now, but she's a ticking bomb. Can you swear she's never been dangerous?"
Of course not—countless times, from minor risks to spilling ash when she couldn't hold back her feelings.
"That's why we're on this journey—to cure it."
"Impossible. If it were, things wouldn't have come to this. History proves the gray's evil."
Mistrust and contempt for the gray, piled up since antiquity.
It had overflowed long ago.
Researchers persisted, but none had truly cured it.
"We can. I saw a future where she lives normally in Versio Ruins."
"The only cure is death and purification, bettering the world. Foolish sinner trapped in illusory futures—no more words needed. End yourselves. Hand over the gray."
I knew.
I understood the paladin's stance and convictions.
Winning faith with mere words, changing beliefs—it was brutally hard.
Those who'd believed me and helped Asha based on words alone were the odd ones.
But I would succeed.
I believed I could give her a normal life.
I'd promised her as a child; I'd keep it, no matter what.
With that thought, I swung my sword.
"I'll pass."
"Then execution."
Brilliant light flowed from the paladin as he drew and parried in an instant.
"Asha!!"
"Yes."
So we'd enact our pre-planned counter.
"Paladins! Begin the execution!!"
"Do it now, Asha!"
At my call, she drew a gleaming orb from her bosom.
Dream Essence.
A crystal forged by Tebris's black mages from the dreams of its citizens over long years.
So.
"Sorry. I'll borrow your dreams."
With that murmur, mana residue dwarfing her ash enveloped us.
I blocked the charging paladin commander's massive sword.
Claaang—
Glancing off his heavy blade, I glimpsed Asha's activating spell.
Purple like twilight.
A subtle, strange fragrance wafted.
Vast, beautiful waves crashed from every direction.