Chapter 12
Chapter 12
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: The Iron Wall Battlemage: Creighton Lukbart (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Creighton Lukbart.
The chief mage of the Battlemage Legion was now living out his middle years, his face etched with deepening wrinkles.
Life experience didn't always grow in proportion to the years lived, but Creighton prided himself on possessing insight that was second to none.
At the very least, he had seen far more than the young knight outside the carriage, Sir Max.
And from all his years, one truth stood out: things in this world didn't always happen at the convenient times you wanted.
Sometimes, you were forced to confront the very events you desperately wished to avoid.
Just like right now, with the carriage carrying Creighton coming to a halt.
"Enemy attack! Everyone, stay on alert!"
"S-Sir Max... Are you alright?!"
"Barbarians! The barbarians have... guhgh...!"
As dusk began to settle and darkness crept in.
Creighton, dozing lightly in the carriage, was jolted awake by a clamor of screams.
The urgent shouts and cries of the soldiers.
At that, Creighton seized the staff leaning against the carriage wall.
He immediately began assessing the situation outside.
"Sir Max! What's happening?!"
The first thing Creighton did was call out to the young knight outside.
To hear the rundown of the situation from Sir Max.
"Cr-Creighton, sir... The knight was struck by a sudden arrow...!"
"Charge! Today, we'll claim the blood price from these imperial dogs for our brothers!"
"Enemy raid! Barbarians from beyond the mountains are attacking the carriage!"
But there was no reply from Max to Creighton's shout.
Instead, chaotic voices poured in from outside the carriage.
The panicked voice of a soldier.
A sharp voice that sounded vaguely familiar.
And the urgent report from someone addressing Creighton directly.
Creighton frowned as he pieced together the situation from the voices ringing in his ears.
"This is exactly why green knights are no good. You need veterans like Sir Benjamin."
It seemed the overconfident Max had finally caused a mess.
Creighton clicked his tongue at the commotion outside as he cautiously rose to his feet.
Swish-.
As Creighton stood up inside the carriage, a sharp clash of metal rang in his ears.
Clang, clang! Claaang-!
The soldiers outside had begun clashing with the barbarians.
"The Iron Wall of the Battlemage Legion! I, Gord of the Baltur Tribe, have come to kill you!"
Even a barbarian's voice desperately calling out to Creighton echoed from outside.
The warrior Gord.
A name even Creighton, who had fought barbarians endlessly, knew well.
Only then did Creighton understand why he was being targeted.
"Word must have leaked to the barbarians beyond the mountains that I left the fortress."
The barbarians, learning of Creighton's departure, had seized the chance while his escort was thinned to launch a surprise attack.
A reckless, brutish strategy, just like them.
It also meant Creighton's infamous reputation had spread far beyond the mountains.
Creighton pondered briefly amid Gord's resounding bellows.
Then, he flung open the carriage door and stepped out toward the fray.
"Honestly, these northerners—barbarians and imperials alike—are all so damn noisy-."
"I-Iron Wall...!"
Creeeak-.
As Creighton opened the door and emerged, all eyes turned to him in unison.
The Iron Wall Battlemage, Creighton.
The weight of a northern battle mage was enough to dominate the scene.
Step, step-.
Right after Creighton, gripping his olive wood staff, descended from the carriage.
Gord, who had just felled a soldier with his brutal blade, pointed his sword at Creighton from afar and bellowed.
"Imperial mage scum! Today, I'll kill you and wash away our warriors' disgrace with your blood!"
"You again, Gord? You've chased me all the way here without tiring of it."
Creighton tutted in disdain as he faced Gord.
Gord glared at the mage before him and shot back.
"The mountain brothers have never forgotten their grudge against you vile mages, not even for a day."
"......"
"Your days of lording over the battlefield from behind imperial lackeys are over. This spot will be your grave."
Click-.
Gord and his barbarian warriors raised their weapons, herding the soldiers.
Fresh blood dripped from their viciously honed blades.
The surviving soldiers retreated toward the carriage, faces taut with tension.
With their border ghost knight felled in such an absurd manner, it was no wonder their morale had plummeted.
"Cr-Creighton, sir..."
The soldiers' fear-laden voices echoed.
Creighton took in the surroundings as the soldiers fell back.
Then, he flashed an arrogant smile and quietly spoke.
He had decided it was time to step in and clean up this mess himself.
"Gord."
"......"
"Foolish warrior. Did you really think this paltry number could kill me?"
Gord's eyes, fixed on Creighton, showed no relaxation.
He had to kill the mage before he could pull off whatever trick he had.
Swish, step-.
Gord advanced, shoving the soldiers aside.
"Big talk for a dead man, Iron Wall."
"Big talk... You truly believe that, don't you?"
In the tense atmosphere, their gazes locked.
Gord's eyes flicked to the seasoned mage's hand.
Creighton's eyes swept over the battlefield foes.
He was no longer the Creighton Lukbart of yesterday.
Having been instructed by a great archmage, Creighton now understood the wall he had surpassed.
A colossal wall.
The starting point toward true powerhouses.
The mage, who had begun crossing beyond it, looked down at those still staring up at the barrier.
"Do you even know whose protection I now enjoy?"
"......"
"Feast your eyes. Marvel at it. Let your body comprehend what true magic is."
Though he hadn't obtained the magic he truly desired—.
Even so, Creighton had received a special spell from an archmage who had lived for centuries.
The Second Archive of the Illusory Library Celestia.
There, he had encountered one spell as if by fate.
To a sage, it was merely basic magic, but to those pursuing the art, a secret technique that might take a lifetime to grasp.
A grave voice flowed from Creighton, who had memorized this great magic.
"—[Grimoire] Activate."
Fwaaash!
The grimoire bound to his staff glowed brilliantly on its own.
Mana spread in all directions.
And radiance flashed.
A prelude of potent magic brushed against their skin.
A crushing pressure gripped the hearts of his enemies.
Beyond the rippling light, Gord's sword charged recklessly.
Expanding mana.
A sharp assault that even death would endure.
A blade slicing the air.
Amid it all, the Iron Wall Battlemage stared at his foe with murderous eyes.
"Pierce."
In an instant, a deafening roar exploded across the battlefield.
Kwaaagaagaaga—!
The ground twisted, rocks erupting from all sides.
Sharp spikes like thorns shot up, densely covering the entire landscape around Creighton.
Kwachik! Kwaaaang!
Rocks hammered in like wedges, impaling the barbarian warriors' bodies.
Kwadddddrk!
Gord, charging toward Creighton, was halted, skewered by the razor spikes.
Chains of rock burrowing deep through flesh.
Endless thorns mercilessly tore through the warriors.
"Kuhk... guhgh...!"
Gord, impaled on the rock before he could even swing his sword arm, let out a scream.
His first encounter with war magic of a lifetime.
Veins bulging in his eyes, Gord stared at Creighton in disbelief.
The scene where everything visible was blanketed in sharp thorns.
Magic too vast in scope to have been wrought by human hands swept the area.
Kwachik! Kwadddddrk-!
The unrelenting wave of spikes now shredded even the surrounding trees beyond Gord.
"Aaagh! Aaaaagh...!"
"I-Iron Wall... guhhaaa...!"
Wheeze!
Blood gushed from Gord's mouth.
This was no spell for merely slaying a handful of warriors.
It was unmistakably magic born for war.
A hyper-destructive slaughter spell, developed to shift the tide of battle with a single incantation.
A calamity no single human body could withstand—.
As Gord stared at the wave pulverizing everything in its path, the mage who had conjured this spectacle stood before him.
"Hey, Gord."
The warrior of the Baltur Tribe, Gord.
Creighton gazed at him and quietly drew a cigar from his pocket, lighting it.
Fwoosh-.
Flames from Creighton's fingertips naturally ignited the cigar.
As he began puffing on it, Creighton asked Gord, who was dying impaled on the rock.
"How does it feel to witness this magic for the first time?"
Hoo-.
Thick tobacco smoke billowed from Creighton's mouth.
Gord, facing it, rasped weakly.
"Mon... ster... no doubt..."
"Yeah, I figured you'd say that. That's what I thought when I first saw it too."
Creighton approached Gord with a smile.
It wasn't the simple grin of a mage reveling in victory.
His lips curved in a complex smile, laden with far deeper emotions.
Smiling at Gord, Creighton extended his staff and lightly tapped the barbarian warrior's shoulder.
Tap, tap-.
Like bidding a final farewell, Creighton offered a simple gesture of respect before speaking.
"With power like this, it's worth offering even your soul to a centuries-old monster, wouldn't you say?"
"......"
"At least, that's what I think."
Creighton Lukbart.
The moment the wandering mage recognized his true calling.