Chapter 13
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: The Skeptical Archmage
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An 8th-Circle archmage. After finally meeting the white-haired boy from the outlandish rumors, Alter Haindel was struggling to hide his disappointment.
When he first heard the story—that a mage who had fought an Overlord and survived was merely 4th-Circle, and a street urchin who had never properly learned magic at that—he dismissed it as the usual nonsense from the apprentices.
Never having properly learned magic meant that even if one had mana, there was no opportunity to cultivate it.
Most archmages, before they learned and trained in magic, possessed mana barely at the 2nd-Circle level. Some of the magus lords he knew hadn't even realized they possessed mana as children.
No matter how immense one's potential, mana does not grow without training and study.
Yet, a child who had never trained or studied possessed mana equivalent to the 4th Circle.
And not only that, but his mastery of magic was so exceptional that he could fight an Overlord and survive? A mage who was only at the 4th-Circle level?
The rumor was so absurd it was laughable.
Not even fiction was that far-fetched, so Alter had paid the news no mind. It seemed certain to be debunked as a baseless rumor soon enough.
Then, a letter from the emperor arrived.
A letter informing him that the boy from the rumors was real, that he had joined the Sword Saint's party, and that they were even looking for someone to teach him magic.
…Could this even be possible?
It was the emergence of a genius who defied all the knowledge and experience he had accumulated.
As soon as he confirmed the letter's contents, Alter set off for the capital with one of his best disciples.
His magus tower was over a week's journey from the capital. However, he pushed onward, stopping in towns to switch out his exhausted horses for fresh ones and even changing coachmen, repeating the process to hasten his pace.
Thanks to this, Alter managed to reach the capital just three days after the letter had arrived at his tower.
The boy from the rumors, whom he had gone to such lengths to meet, was quite different from what he had expected.
The boy certainly possessed mana at the 4th-Circle level.
So, for his age, his talent was indeed outstanding. Considering he had never received a proper education… it was an unbelievable level of talent.
The apprentice mages at the tower he managed often failed to reach even the 2nd Circle at this age, let alone the 4th.
However, he hadn't rushed here, leaving the position of master of the tower he had built himself to another, just to see this level of talent.
What Alter wanted to see was an overwhelming talent that completely defied his knowledge and experience.
Until he had boarded the carriage, he had expected to witness a once-in-a-century talent that shattered all norms… Alter did his best to keep his disappointment from showing on his face.
“It is an honor to meet you, Sir Bin.”
Alter placed a hand on the shoulder of Bin, who was shaking hands with his disciple.
His frame was so thin and frail; it felt as if it would break with the slightest pressure.
‘…Did he really survive with this body? In a battle against an Overlord?’
While not to the extent of a warrior, a certain level of physical fitness and training is essential for a mage who steps onto the battlefield.
This is because casting spells properly on a battlefield chaotic with screams, arrows, explosions, and magic requires immense concentration.
Furthermore, swift feet are needed to evade enemy attacks or secure advantageous positions, and at times, an exceptional mental fortitude is required to endure the pain of injury and complete a spell to the very end.
The battlefield is by no means a forgiving place. The mage, who had lived for over eighty years, knew this fact all too well.
And in Alter's eyes, the white-haired boy looked nothing but suspicious.
Look at those frail arms and legs. Put him on a battlefield, and he looked like he would collapse before he could do anything, struck not even by a stray arrow… but by a piece of rock kicked up by one.
‘It seems the whole story about surviving against an Overlord is just a baseless rumor…’
Scholars, by nature, are creatures bundled with curiosity and doubt.
No matter how much everyone, including the Sword Saint, clamored about him being a once-in-a-century talent who would save humanity, it meant nothing to him.
In his eyes, this boy appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary genius, the kind that appears once every few decades.
After all, his own disciple, Rireu, who was currently squatting in the corner of the reception room examining her hand, had reached the 4th Circle at nineteen.
‘For a genius born with the overwhelming talent to save the world… he's rather plain and unremarkable.’
Born a mage who had walked the path of a scholar his entire life, Alter Haindel was a man who was never satisfied unless he tested and judged everything for himself.
“Could you show me some of your magic? A simple ‘Bolt’ will suffice. It is to accurately assess your current level, Sir Bin.”
‘Bolt.’
The most basic of basics for lightning mages.
A spell with a simple mechanism: converting the mana within one's body into an electrical current and releasing it from the fingertips.
Just by watching someone cast this simple spell, Alter could gauge a mage's level.
How much mana was lost in the conversion to electricity, how quickly the current could be generated, and the power of the resulting bolt.
‘Bolt’ was the foundation of a lightning mage and the surest, clearest indicator of their caliber.
“I refuse.”
But the boy named Bin flatly refused Alter's request.
“…And why is that?”
Alter asked, doing his best to hide his displeasure.
His hope of seeing a remarkably refined and clean Bolt was completely shattered, and his eyebrow twitched faintly.
“Because I wish to conserve as much mana as possible for tomorrow’s expedition.”
“It’s just a single Bolt. Surely that would be fine?”
“Because the lack of mana for that one spell could be enough to turn the tide of a battle. A mage’s mana is a key resource for an expedition party. You know this well, Sir Alter. If you wish to confirm my level, you may accompany us on the expedition tomorrow.”
“…”
With him putting it that way, Alter couldn't very well keep insisting he show him a ‘Bolt’.
After all, there were many cases where an expedition party was annihilated in vain because a mage's mana ran out at a critical moment.
A single, insignificant Bolt—lacking the mana for that one spell could lead to losing a winnable battle, or the deaths of soldiers who didn't have to die.
“…Then, let us do that. It is late, so I wish you a peaceful night’s rest.”
He would find out tomorrow anyway.
Whether the boy's level was truly enough to survive an encounter with an Overlord.
For tonight, all he had to do was lie comfortably in bed and hope the rumors about the boy were not false.
If the rumors were false… then the boy would pay dearly for deceiving the leaders of each race, including the emperor, and for wasting his time.
* * *
Morning came, and the expedition party, quickly prepared, set out before nine o’clock.
Bin wore a black robe and a large, wide-brimmed hat. A ring set with a jet-black sapphire adorned one of the boy's bony fingers, and a necklace made of a mermaid’s pearl hung around his slender neck.
The ornate accessories didn't quite match the boy's sharp, decadent features, but their destination was a battlefield.
No fool in this world would refuse to wear gear that boosted their mana and aided their magical accuracy simply because it didn't suit their appearance.
Alter and Rireu boarded the carriage next to the boy's and idly watched the changing scenery.
Since they had no intention of fighting, they hadn't come as fully prepared as the boy.
Alter's combat robe was hanging back at the inn, and Rireu, aside from her usual hat, had only put on a few rings in case of an emergency.
As the carriage carrying the three of them rolled north, leaving the capital behind, the boy named Bin simply stared intently at his grimoire.
“By the way, where is our destination?”
Alter cautiously asked about their destination only when the capital had faded into the distance.
“The Enker Highlands.”
The destination was farther than he'd thought.
“Why there…?”
“Because that’s where the dragon is.”
The boy answered calmly, his eyes scanning his grimoire.
The Enker Highlands.
With its uniquely fertile soil, brilliantly sunny weather perfect for farming, and a fantastic environment with few weeds or pests, it was once the world's foremost breadbasket, responsible for seventy percent of the continent's wheat production.
But that became a thing of the past after a young dragon settled in the granary.
The reason a dragon, which would normally live only on high mountain peaks, had suddenly built a nest on the plains of the Enker Highlands was simple. Its original territory had been taken by the Mazoku.
At the sudden appearance of the dragon, all the local farmers fled… and because of that, the price of food skyrocketed abnormally in most parts of the continent.
This was also why the number of street urchins had increased so drastically during this time.
“…This seems like an insufficient number of people to hunt a dragon. For the record, I will not be fighting. I am here to observe your skill, Sir Bin, not to needlessly exert myself.”
The dragon that had taken up residence in the Enker Highlands was just a fledgling, not yet a full adult.
But even a fledgling dragon was still a dragon.
It wasn't an enemy that a 4th-Circle mage and a squad of regular infantry could just charge in and defeat.
At the very least, they would need a squad that included an archmage of the 7th Circle or higher, or a warrior of an orc chieftain's caliber.
Failing that, they would have to increase the number of infantry by about tenfold for the expedition.
‘Does he really have the skill?’
Alter stroked his beard, giving the boy a look of half-belief, half-doubt.
‘…It seems more likely that he’s just a novice who doesn’t understand what kind of monster a dragon is.’
He looked to be sixteen or seventeen at most. When could this boy, who wasn't even an elf, have possibly seen a dragon?
Alter's assumption was logical, but this boy was someone who had hunted the young dragon of the Enker Highlands hundreds, even thousands of times.
Albeit from behind a monitor….
“This would be over in an instant if they sent the Sword Saint.”
“The Sword Saint is busy saving people. The other party members are busy assisting him….”
The boy replied calmly, his eyes never leaving the grimoire.
“I’ve been told that until I’ve received all the basic teachings from my master, I won’t be deployed to the front lines where the Sword Saint's main party is active. But that doesn’t mean I can just do nothing. I am, after all, a soldier who is clothed and fed by the hard-earned taxes of the continent’s people.”
The boy's small voice filling the rattling carriage created a rather peculiar atmosphere.
“A young dragon, at the very least, must be dealt with.”
“…Well, I suppose so.”
Alter chuckled lightly and slowly moved to sit beside the boy.
He had wondered if the boy, being a former street urchin, might be an ill-mannered brat, but he was far more polite and thoughtful than Alter had expected.
“…You’ve been fiddling with that grimoire for a while now. Is there a part you don’t understand?”
Alter decided to offer a bit of guidance to the commendable boy.