The Mage of the Lake
The mage of the lake, Merlin.
A constellation like a calm, ever-flowing lake—beautiful, serene, static. And yet right now its waters boiled like madness itself in the pot.
“Wow… wow… wow…”
She gripped her heated nape.
“What kind of mad bastard is this?”
Stars listen to human voices.
The common knowledge was one thing; the truth was a little different. An extra condition had been attached.
Stars listened to the voices of those who possessed talent.
Originally, not every human voice reached the stars. Most voices merely skimmed past as faint noise, but only the voices of those with talent could become sentences carrying meaning.
‘Especially when that meaning was nothing more than a tiny murmur…’
Surely that was how it was supposed to be. But why, then?
Merlin recalled the voice that had rung out beside her ear moments ago. It had been so clear. Clear enough to discern not only the level of a sentence carrying meaning, but even the mocking tone.
Her first clear voice in hundreds of years.
Truly the unmistakable will of one who possessed the talent of a hero.
And that will had been more than enough to stir Merlin’s once-silent lake. The voice had directly denied King Arthur’s achievements. It had mocked the king she served as “the storm child of an era.”
“Are you actually insane?”
Merlin’s pupils bristled.
She was the Star of Selection, protagonist of Arthur’s entire legend, the constellation that held the most disciples across the continent. No one who knew anything doubted it.
And yet she had been insulted by him?
By words like that?
Perhaps he had gone mad wanting to die?
Merlin bared her eyes and looked down at the ground. Her gaze could reach anywhere starlight touched. She quickly scanned the sky for the owner of the voice that had reached her ear.
But the face did not appear.
At the moment the voice had sounded, she had seen a certain insolent boy. Yet even now, wherever she looked, the boy’s face remained hidden.
‘Has he hidden where starlight cannot reach?’
That did not matter.
If he could hide forever, let him try.
“I’ll catch you in my eyes.”
Merlin ground her fingernails together. Her pupils darted with unblinking intensity.
“You won’t die pretty, brat.”
Whether he was the once-in-a-generation genius possessing the talent of a hero, the disciple of a star serving another constellation, or the student cherished by a sword master, it meant nothing to Merlin.
She would only teach him the price of insulting her king.
The mage of the lake had sworn it upon her constellation. She would find that insolent little rascal, drag him down, and crush him.
2.
“Ugh, what’s this.”
She touched the back of her neck.
Her nape had suddenly grown prickly, the feeling sharp. It felt as if someone had vowed to catch her by the sky itself.
‘Who?’
She had piled up quite a few grudges in various places, and there were plenty who had threatened to kill her. It wasn’t much of a problem. It could have been the pickpocket Tos who had lost an arm recently, or the drunkard Belga, or…
In any case, it didn’t seem like an important issue.
“Hah…”
She opened her eyes after shaking off the trivial thoughts.
“Oppen, does this meditation thing actually work?”
She turned her head and looked at a corner of the empty lot. A disheveled man sat there. A mentor-like man who taught her how to wield a sword. He slowly opened his mouth in response to her question.
“Of course. Collecting the mind through meditation is the foundation of foundations. If the mind wavers, so do the tip of the sword…”
Again.
She shook her head and drew the sword.
“That’s enough of that. Just show me how to swing the sword.”
“Tsk. Bring some respect for your master, you damn brat.”
“Then put down the bottle you’re chewing on.”
She glared at Oppen with eyes full of contempt. She had been pouring liquor from the morning. He had once been a mercenary who had made a name for himself in the upper city before his banishment to the underground city… Every time she saw that appearance, her doubts about the rumor grew a little.
Untidy beard.
Disheveled clothes and bloodshot eyes.
Anyone looking at him would have muttered, ‘He’s drunk,’ and moved on.
‘Still…’
She took her stance and swung the sword.
‘His skill is certainly real.’
The moment she swung the sword, a sharp voice echoed across the lot.
“Too stiff. Loosen up. Elbow in more.”
It was Oppen’s instruction.
She adjusted her posture to match. The effect appeared immediately. The sound of her swing grew a little heavier. Even though she had loosened her grip, the sound had become heavier, and she let out a short sigh of admiration.
Whoosh.
She continued swinging. Oppen offered short advice here and there. Oppen’s teachings had always been like this. He never demonstrated the swing or corrected the posture himself, but he always gave advice.
‘And…’
The advice was genuine.
At first glance he looked like a drunk, and he truly was a drunk… but when it came to the sword, Oppen became unfailingly serious.
“Lower your stance.”
Right now, like this.
“Eyes wide open.”
Sharp voice.
“Breathe. Exhale. You’re putting too much power into it.”
A piercing gaze instead of bloodshot eyes.
“It’s not pressing down with weight. What you hold in your hand is not a blunt weapon. It’s a blade meant to cut. Don’t press down—swing it as if you’re just gliding past.”
Listening to Oppen’s voice, she swung the sword for a long time. Sweat ran down her back.
“Put strength into your legs and step. It’s not swinging with power. Look at the place where the sword is swinging until the very end.”
Listening to that advice, she thought.
Perhaps this swing would be the last one today. There were still many things to do.
‘It has to be clean.’
She adjusted her grip on the sword.
She committed the advice she had heard today to memory and steadied her breath. Oppen’s voice lingered beside her ear like a hallucination.
“Take a big step.”
Thud.
“Steady your breathing, and in a body that isn’t yet stiff, look at the very tip of the blade.”
She exhaled and swung the sword.
From above downward—a swing so basic it was almost embarrassing to call it a technique. But the moment she swung the sword, she felt it was different from usual.
Shick!
The sound of the blade cutting through the air rang out.
The arc drawn by the tip became crystal clear. A silver-white line drawn cleanly without any tremor. Only after the slicing sound had echoed did she finally draw a long breath.
“Cough, cough!”
She did not know why, but the breath she had drawn in had been hot. She coughed dryly in the hot air and turned toward Oppen.
“Oppen, was that swing okay just now?”
It was a clean sword strike—cleaner than she had expected.
She asked with a mix of expectation and excitement, but Oppen only stared at her with a troubled gaze. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.
“W-what…”
After a little time passed.
Oppen muttered vaguely.
“It was… not bad, was it?”
“What kind of vague answer is that?”
“No, it was fine. Clean.”
“Right?”
She smiled faintly. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and sheathed the sword. After putting everything away, Oppen asked her a question.
“Where are you going? You’re wrapping things up earlier than usual today.”
“Where else would I go? There’s work to do.”
“…Who this time?”
Oppen’s pupils instantly narrowed.
She answered with a bitter smile.
“Trixie.”
“‘Trixie at the Lilac Pub’?”
She nodded. Oppen clicked his tongue shortly.
“He must have crossed the line this time.”
“He brought in kids, cut them up, and got caught by Ivan. What can I do? I have to clean up.”
“You?”
“I have to. I’m Ivan’s hunting dog, after all.”
Muttering something along the lines of “how annoying,” Oppen drank from the bottle.
“Ivan sure assigns all kinds of things to brats like you. The damn bastard and the damn organization.”
“You’re part of the Ivan family too, Oppen.”
“That’s because the guy begged me too much… Hah, fine.”
Oppen waved his hand dismissively.
It was a clear signal to leave.
She laughed faintly and turned to walk away.
“Najin.”
After walking a few steps.
She heard her name called and turned back. There stood Oppen, having set the empty bottle on the ground and staring straight at her.
“Come back tomorrow too.”
“You don’t have to say it. I’ll come.”
3.
The empty lot where Najin had disappeared.
Oppen slowly stood up. He walked to the spot where Najin had been swinging the sword.
“…”
He gazed silently at the traces Najin had left. His gaze lingered for a long time at the place where Najin had last swung the sword.
“Hah…”
Oppen exhaled a long breath.
Before he had been confined to this underground city, he had been a mercenary whose name was known far and wide, and a swordsman who handled the blade. He had not possessed the strength to fight proper strong opponents… but at the very least, he had been able to judge the level of his opponent.
Oppen mulled over the arc of the sword Najin had swung at the very end. The damn brat probably had no idea what he had swung in the last swing.
‘The sound would have reached him.’
A slicing sound.
He probably hadn’t taken it seriously. Even though he had sliced through empty air, a sound of cutting something had been heard. There was only one reason.
Oppen touched the ground where Najin’s sword had grazed.
It was warm.
Heat rose from the ground.
When he scooped up the dirt, the pebbles mixed into the earth had melted and stuck together. He could not have performed such a trick merely by swinging the sword. Oppen’s lips twitched. He knew what it was.
Mana, and a fragment of sword qi.
“Madman. He’s learning something he’s never been taught.”
Oppen let out a hollow laugh upon realizing his prediction had come true. It had been two years since he had first watched Najin’s sword on Ivan’s request—his employer and long-time friend.
Two years, enough time to gauge talent.
He had known long ago that Najin was a promising talent. A single lesson had awakened a hundredfold, and there had been cases where Najin had understood things even when he had not been taught.
‘I knew the brat was a genius…’
Who could have guessed it would be to this degree?
Oppen’s expression grew heavy as he contemplated the talent Najin possessed.
“Tsk.”
He clicked his tongue shortly.
Since he knew the true value of the talent Najin possessed and knew that, in this damned city, that talent could never shine, Oppen grumbled irritably.
“Brat, even if you have that talent here, you’ll only become miserable.”
Even in this trash city.
Even in this trash city where nothing but trash existed.
Children possessing light are born.
And whether those children’s fates would be wretched or not, everyone in this city knew it. No matter how brilliant the talent, no one could leave this city. That was the rule.
In the end, even that brat Najin…
Would lose his light and slowly rot away in this city. In other words, he would slowly die. Buried among a mountain of trash and decaying. Upon learning this, Oppen sighed a long sigh.
Thump.
Oppen stomped the ground roughly.
He erased the traces of sword qi left on the ground and thought. He felt the thirst for alcohol. A little more than usual.
Just as he was about to leave the spot.
Oppen suddenly lifted his head. It was because a rumor from the time he had lived as a mercenary in the upper city resurfaced.
Those possessing brilliant talent that could reach the stars received the stars’ attention.
“…”
The sky of the underground city had stones embedded in it instead of stars. Oppen looked up at the ceiling of the underground city and let out a faint laugh. For a moment he had felt the ridiculousness of thinking ‘maybe.’
“If it were that easy, he wouldn’t have said it.”
It was only a futile dream.
Why would the stars of that night sky pay any attention to a brat from this underground city? The rumor was nothing but a rumor after all. Hoping for a futile dream would only make him more miserable.
“Hah…”
With a sigh that sounded like resignation.
Oppen picked up the empty bottle and left the empty lot.
[Constellation, the Staff of Selection is screaming.]
[The Staff of Selection swears upon its constellation that it will definitely catch and crush that insolent brat!]
Unaware that the constellation of that night sky had become so obsessed with Najin that it was boiling with rage.