Chapter 17
Chapter 17
----------------------------------------------------------------- Translator: penny Chapter: 17 Chapter Title: With Water (1) ----------------------------------------------------------------- Completely exhausted, Galen slumped into the cart, but that posed no issue for the Narok side claiming victory. In the meantime, the Gaud Family's unbroken streak had relied entirely on Redna's flames, and with those now thoroughly blocked, their morale was already in shambles. Everyone had witnessed the wave crashing over her. It was impossible for a mage—whose body was no different from an ordinary person's—to withstand bare-handed the massive blow delivered by Water Flow Manipulation. Once the wave that had turned the surroundings into a watery hell subsided, Redna was found collapsed in a wretched state. Naturally, she had stopped breathing.
"Retreat! Retreat!"
The Gaud forces, having completely lost their will to fight, pulled back in haste. Fortunately, their mercenary command structure was still intact, allowing some to hold off the Narok advance while others supported the wounded, managing a somewhat orderly withdrawal. They even took Redna's body, if not their dead.
"It's over."
Terti muttered softly. Anyone who could target Galen in that situation would be remarkable in their own right. He eased his mental tension slightly. His physical senses remained sharp, of course.
"Here, these."
"Pardon?"
"Clear them out. Just a few."
"Ah, right!"
Galen directed his guards to toss the empty jars onto the ground, then sprawled out on the newly freed space in the cart.
"Huu..."
"You sure you're alright? Looked like you pushed too hard."
"I did push it. Normally, wouldn't go this far."
Terti asked with a worried look. Galen groaned in response.
"But with the chance right there, I hated to put it off. Who knows what might happen later."
"Well, I'd say you did well. They might come up with countermeasures next time. Best to minimize variables."
Galen had meant acquiring Spirit Creation when the opportunity arose, but Terti—unaware of the details—took it as meaning he'd seized the chance to snap Redna's neck. Either way, words aligned with actions. In the end, both Galen and Narok had gotten what they wanted. As the two exchanged casual banter, the Gaud forces vanished entirely from the battlefield.
"We won!"
"Waaaaah!"
"Long live the mage!"
If eyes had been painted on the victory, no one could miss whose credit it was. Anyone with a shred of insight would figure they'd keep winning from here on out. Galen waved appropriately to the cheering Narok warriors. A bit embarrassing, but the feeling wasn't bad. After finishing cleanup around the warehouse, they returned to the mansion in triumph. Galen stayed sprawled in the cart the whole way, but no one complained.
"Hahaha! You did splendidly!"
Bruno, who'd received word ahead, came out to the gate to greet them enthusiastically.
"To take down a spirit mage in your very first clash! The Gaud dogs are finished now."
"Just luck."
"Luck, my foot! I heard all about it—the fire spirit got utterly smashed. How satisfying it would've been to see it myself."
"Haha..."
"Come on in. I've prepared something modest. We'll have a proper feast this evening—" "Lord Bruno, if I may—we can join just for the evening dinner?"
Terti, picking up on Galen's SOS, cleared his throat and cut in.
"This one's nearly depleted, got carried back in the cart. He's still in bad shape. Better let him rest first..."
"Oh, that so? Didn't realize. Sorry. Got too carried away. Head to the annex. Rest up!"
"Much appreciated."
After excusing themselves from the exuberant Bruno, the pair headed to the guest annex from the night before.
"I'll rest straight through till evening."
"What about lunch?"
"Eat separately. All I want now is sleep."
"Got it. See you later."
Parting with Terti, Galen washed up, changed into comfortable clothes, and collapsed into bed. Plush and oh-so-relaxing. His body went limp on its own. Until now, whether training or in real combat, he'd always kept a minimum reserve of mana. This was the first time he'd squeezed out every last drop. A torment distinct from physical exhaustion. If anything, it resembled the utter depletion after grinding through brutal exam questions for hours, only for time to run out. 'Brought it on myself, so no complaining...' Had Spirit Creation's progress been slow, Galen would've paced himself. Overwhelm too soon, and Redna might flee in fear—bye-bye new spell. But progress had spiked so well he judged he could master it today. Couldn't hold back. Fatigue? Crash here and recover. That mindset had led to this.
⚔ STATUS ⚔
Anyway, that's for later.' Recovery was priority now. Galen closed his eyes and soon fell into deep sleep.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Mages were rare, and spirit mages rarer still, so little was known about them. Mages in general were tight-lipped, lest their weaknesses leak. Even the basics—like where a spirit mage's spirits came from—went unanswered. Thus, speculation filled the void, splitting into two camps for that question.
"Spirits dwell in all things; the spirit mage contracts one."
Or: "Spirits live in another world, summoned via some link."
Galen saw merit in both, yet flaws too. If spirits were everywhere, shouldn't they appear more often? Why only the scant few with ultra-rare spirit mages? Now he knew. Neither was right. Truth lay elsewhere. 'That's why the status window lists it as "creation," not contract or summon.' Refreshed from his nap, Galen finished sorting the instinctive knowledge imprinted upon mastering Spirit Creation. He let out a hollow chuckle. Spirits were artificial constructs "made" by the spirit mage. Not quite living beings. Not truly alive. Extremely speaking... like the "imaginary friends" kids often conjure in play. Immature young brains blurring real and pretend. Adults rarely clung to such childhood fancies. But fused with magical talent, it warped physical laws—turning delusions real. That explained why spirits stuck solely by their mage. Created by them from the start; nowhere else to be. 'Pure beyond belief... or utterly deranged.' Redna must've fixated intensely on fire from some childhood trauma. Perhaps even personified it. Normally? Just labeled crazy, maybe arsonist at worst. But her talent had sculpted fire into spirit form. Pure conjecture, of course—but informed by grasping Spirit Creation's principles, so likely close to truth. 'Thus... my spirit can't be like hers.' Galen had learned his spells via status window alone. No mental twists like hers, no fire obsession whatsoever. So what was his? He already knew. Realized naturally upon awakening Spirit Creation. Over twenty years post-reincarnation seaside life. Recent months mastering Water Flow Manipulation till instinct. Water was Galen's most familiar element. Shhh... Moisture from around converged on his palm. Power from Water Flow Manipulation, partially recovered during sleep. Galen gazed at the fist-sized water blob. Required contact volume met. Dormant Spirit Creation mana stirred. Blob absorbed it. Galen released Water Flow Manipulation. Yet the blob held form. Spirit Creation mana sustaining it—he felt it. The spirit was born.
"Hm."
An indescribable sensation: a mental link channel opening in his consciousness. The squishy feel on his palm was unique too. Water, yet no wetness. 'What to do with this thing?' Answer came instantly. Not verbal—instinct as spirit mage, knowing his servant's abilities. Born of water, his spirit consumed water... and spat it back. That was it.
"..."
Galen poked the silent spirit. Squirt! Squirt! Responding, it squirted water. Like a toy squirt gun. On the verge of massive disappointment, Galen reined himself in. 'Water Flow Manipulation was lame at Lv.1 too. Spirit scales with Spirit Creation level—so Lv.1, naturally weak.' Though Water Flow could fountain from a canteen even at Lv.1... Galen shoved that memory aside. 'Shooting's fine. But consuming means internal storage, right?' A bedside pitcher for odds-and-ends. Galen slowly poured atop his palm-borne spirit. Gulp, gulp. No real sound, but his mind supplied it. Not a drop spilled; it drank eagerly. Suddenly, something odd struck Galen. Watching, the pitcher neared empty—yet the spirit, fist-sized, kept guzzling. Far beyond its volume. No size or weight increase. Poured water vanished somewhere. 'Stomach's a black hole?' Blinking, Galen set down the empty pitcher and scrutinized. No visible change from before.
"Spit it back out."
Poked again. Pssshhhh! A thick jet—undeniably a water stream—shot forward. A rainbow flickered in the room.
"...
Oh." This might be way more useful than expected.