Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Ironwall Archmage: Creighton Lukbart (2)
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Beyond the northern borderlands of the Astio Empire lay a mountain range blanketed in white.
The rugged, treacherous, and barren northern lands had been abandoned even during the height of the Empire's conquest wars.
A harsh domain sustained only by hardy warriors through hunting.
A land of respite where they fought for survival, scorned as barbarians.
Such was the mountain range where the Erbar Alliance made their home.
"Chieftain, word is that one of the Empire's mages will soon leave the fortress and return to the Empire. It seems the Imperial Magic Corps plans to send another mage to the fortress in his place."
In the heart of the snow-covered mountains.
There, Gord, one of the warriors of the Valtur Tribe, spoke to the chieftain beside him.
The Valtur Tribe, where warrior Gord served, held considerable standing within the alliance.
Though few in number, they boasted extraordinarily brave warriors.
And recently, one of the chieftain's close aides, known as the "Five Tusks," had emerged from their ranks.
Thus, Gord and his brothers took immense pride in their tribe.
"Hmm... Gord, do you know which mage is returning to the Empire?"
Yet there were those even Gord and his brothers feared and guarded against.
—The Empire's Imperial Magic Corps.
No one in these mountains was ignorant of their infamous reputation.
How the warriors of the mountains had trembled at the thought of those vile mages.
To them, the mages who rained down spells from the protection of imperial soldiers were objects of pure hatred.
For that reason, Gord had long strived to gather intelligence on the northern mages.
And today, he had finally reaped the fruits of his efforts.
The Ironwall Archmage, Creighton Lukbart.
He had barely uncovered news of this famed mage on the northern front departing the fortress.
"The Ironwall Archmage Creighton. The Magic Corps' 'Ironwall' will return to the Empire tomorrow."
"What...? That Ironwall is heading back to the Empire?"
A gasp of astonishment escaped the chieftain's lips upon hearing the familiar name from Gord.
The Empire's "Ironwall" had clashed endlessly with the Valtur Tribe's warriors over the past few years.
He haunted the chieftain's dreams nightly, alongside a few other mages.
The news of such a foe departing for the Empire brought relief like pulling a rotten tooth.
"I confirmed it directly from an imperial courier. It's confirmed that 'Ironwall' is leaving the fortress."
"If that's true, it's joyous news indeed. We won't have to see that fox-like mage's face for a while."
Hearing Gord's assured words, the chieftain made no effort to hide his delight.
The Ironwall Archmage let the dying live only to send them back, and imprisoned the living only to kill them.
Creighton might not be the strongest mage in the Magic Corps, but he was the most troublesome by far.
As the chieftain basked in the joy of that mage's departure, thinking of downing a jug of liquor and sleeping it off.
Gord, who had brought such valuable intelligence, continued speaking to the jubilant chieftain.
"But, Chieftain. Are we really going to let that bastard who tormented our brothers just go like this?"
"What are you getting at, Gord?"
"I think we shouldn't send him off quietly."
The grand chieftain fixed Gord with a serious gaze.
He realized the warrior before him was not speaking lightly.
Hoo—
Receiving the chieftain's stare, Gord spoke gravely of his plan.
"Was it because we were weak that our warriors couldn't breach 'Ironwall' all this time? It couldn't have been for that reason."
"It was because of the Empire's soldiers protecting him."
"All this time, countless soldiers guarded him. But on his journey back from the fortress, they won't have that many to protect him."
The chieftain understood what Gord was driving at.
Nod.
Meeting the chieftain's eyes, Gord nodded and revealed his true intent.
"Assign a few brothers to me. I'll lead them across myself and ambush 'Ironwall' on his way back to the Empire."
"Gord. That's..."
"I've clashed with him several times already, so I know. The escorts within imperial territory won't be many. I'll win for sure."
"There will be knights with him, Gord."
"You know this too, Chieftain. I've already felled two imperial knights."
"......"
"So let me lead a few warriors and return swiftly with Ironwall's head."
An exceedingly dangerous plan.
Yet it held more promise than any opportunity they had faced so far.
And the one proposing it was Gord, the warrior who had slain two imperial knights.
Gazing at Gord, the chieftain nodded silently.
It was his assent.
"I will avenge our brothers with that bastard's blood."
Valtur Tribe warrior, Gord.
That was the moment his hatred for the Ironwall Archmage burned fierce.
* * * * * *
The day Chief Mage Creighton departed the fortress arrived.
Having studied the new battle incantations through the night, he reached the carriage with a face heavy with fatigue.
Was it because Johan's revised battle incantation surpassed Creighton's expectations in complexity?
Creighton had spent a full half-day from waking until transcribing the new incantation into his grimoire.
In that process, he couldn't help but marvel endlessly at the archmage's thought process.
'To think the same magic could be unraveled in such a completely different way.'
To Creighton, Johan's mindset was utterly unlike that of ordinary mages.
Johan obsessed over incantation length and mana efficiency to an excessive degree.
This tendency even extended to altering the sequence of spell activations.
The modified incantations barely retained traces of the originals.
Not even a mage with obsessive compulsions would fixate on length to that extent.
'Perhaps it was the trend of the era he lived in.'
What kind of life had the library's archmage lived?
And for what reason had such a pinnacle archmage been sealed away for centuries?
As Creighton approached the carriage lost in such thoughts.
He halted upon seeing the knight standing before it.
"A knight sent by the Margrave?"
"Yes. I am Max Portline, tasked with escorting Sir Creighton on the return journey."
"Pleased to meet you, Sir Max."
Creighton extended his hand to Max before him.
Max clasped it and responded in kind.
"It's an honor to escort the Ironwall Archmage."
"You lot really like me too much. If possible, make this trip's gift a barrel of beer."
Hearing Creighton's jest, Max let out a hearty laugh.
The booming laughter, loud enough to burst eardrums, was typical of northern men.
As Creighton and Max clasped hands in greeting.
Soon, Max released his grip and flung open the carriage door.
Creak—
Pointing beyond the open door, Max said to Creighton.
"Please, board. We've packed ample supplies, so your journey back should be comfortable."
"Right, it's about time to head home. No dawdling—let's depart promptly."
Creighton boarded the carriage following Max's guidance.
The modest carriage had been prepared solely for Creighton.
It was special treatment for the Magic Corps mages unskilled in riding.
Right after Creighton climbed aboard.
Max approached his own horse and spoke.
"There won't be any trouble. The barbarians would have to be mad to come this far just to die."
"......"
"Unlike your time at Glombart Fortress, this will be a leisurely trip."
With those words, Max mounted his waiting warhorse.
Neigh—
Watching Max grip the reins, Creighton stroked his beard.
It wasn't wrong, per se, but the young knight's bold assurance stirred an odd unease.
There were far too many knights of that age drunk on their own confidence.
This one clearly hadn't long outgrown squirehood.
Of course, his prior companion had been the seasoned Sir Benjamin, so comparisons were inevitable for Max.
Tsk tsk.
Creighton quietly clicked his tongue and reached for his staff.
"Sir Max. No worries here—let's get moving. I'd grown tired of barbarian faces anyway."
"It'll take about four days to the nearest castle. Then we're off."
With the spur of hooves, the procession carrying Creighton departed.
Clop.
Inside the advancing carriage, Creighton unhooked the grimoire from his staff.
He replaced it with the new one he had inscribed at dawn.
It held the battle incantation memorized via memory inscription, one Creighton had labored over for half a day.
Rumble, rumble.
In the shaking carriage, Creighton's eyes fixed on the still-unfamiliar grimoire.
When would the moment come to use this grimoire?
The battlefield would be fine, but this time, Creighton simply wished for a relaxed return.
May no nuisances entangle him on the way back.
With that light wish, Creighton closed his weary eyes inside the carriage.