Chapter 301
Chapter 301
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 301
Chapter Title: Crossing Paths (5)
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"Never give a mage time to spare."
"If you're going to rush a mage, do it as fast and stealthily as possible. Never tip them off that you're targeting them. Don't even give them time to hatch some elaborate plan."
"Just charge in."
"Before they can prepare."
This was once a famous adage among assassins, but nowadays it's a line mages toss around half-jokingly. In the end, it all boils down to one core truth.
"The more time you give them, the trickier mages become."
Mages—wizards, especially.
Facing them in their domain, etched with dozens or hundreds of spell circuits, is never easy. And the more time passes, the more circuits they carve into their territory, making a prolonged battle all the more nightmarish.
That's how troublesome mages are.
Celly Dravella, master of the White Mage Tower, knew this fact all too well. As the lord of a tower painstakingly built by those very troublesome folk, how could she not?
'But still...'
Even so.
"I've never seen anyone go this far... before."
Celly swallowed hard as she surveyed her surroundings.
It had been ten days since they arrived in the Kennel Snowfield. In those ten days, she had witnessed what one mage could accomplish.
A single line slashed across the horizon.
Dozens, hundreds of circuits unfolding from that line.
The chaotic lines filling the snowfield were dizzying just to look at. The geometric patterns crammed onto the pristine white canvas bordered on madness.
Counting them was impossible.
She didn't even know how many spells were etched into the ground right now. She could probably tally them if she tried, but it hardly seemed worth the effort.
Tik.
The number was still growing, after all.
Celly turned her head to gaze at the girl far off, still drawing circuits. The girl's expression was blank as she dragged her staff across the ground—like some magitech automaton performing rote tasks.
Tik, shhh.
She etched a circuit into the earth, poured in mana potion, confirmed it seeped in, then moved to the next spot. Rinse and repeat, endlessly.
And thus, a mage's domain was born.
In Celly's eyes, the place was starting to look like a mage tower itself—one that would obliterate any intruders without a trace, built by a mad genius.
"Ah, you've arrived?"
Lania, pausing her circuit work, spotted Celly and approached. Celly nodded slowly.
"...I brought the items you requested."
She gestured behind her.
There stood the White Mage Tower mages, rigid and wide-eyed, staring alternately at the circuits on the ground and the approaching girl.
They looked utterly incredulous.
That a single mage had pulled this off.
'...No wonder they're reacting like that.'
Celly rubbed her eyes.
Even she could hardly believe it. Dozens or hundreds of high-ranking mages couldn't manage this. Etching the circuits alone might be feasible somehow, but controlling them all? Near impossible.
Yet the girl before her was doing just that.
Celly was beyond surprise at this point. She let out a hollow laugh and handed the items to Lania.
"If you go this far, you might actually pull it off."
Celly had heard the gist of what was unfolding here. The Sword of Death—that terrifying calamity—was headed their way, or so the rumors went.
'I thought there was no way to stop it at first...'
But staring at the scene before her, it didn't seem so impossible anymore. However, the girl doing the etching herself seemed to think otherwise.
"With just this? No chance."
Lania gave a wry smile as she accepted the items.
"We're short thousands more."
"...That many?"
"Even then, the odds are slim."
That's why.
"We have the Hero."
Lania turned her head.
There stood Kyle, gripping his holy sword as he stared at the circuits etched into the ground.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 2.
The White Mage Tower's lord handed over the items and departed. Midway through etching circuits into the blizzard-swept snowfield, Raniel turned and shot Kyle a glare.
The blowing snow whipped at the Hero's uniform.
The two strips of cloth on his epaulets fluttered in the wind—a symbol of victory among knights, though it didn't impress Raniel much. She sighed.
"Hoo..."
To face the Sword of Death, they needed Kyle.
As much as she hated to admit it, Raniel knew the strategic value of his presence better than anyone. With him around, their tactical options doubled at least.
"You read it all?"
"Roughly."
Kyle replied curtly.
What Raniel had given him was the intel on the circuits etched across the area—and the strategy to counter the Sword of Death.
"Clashing with the Sword of Death head-on is our absolute last resort. I'll do everything to avoid it if possible."
"Doesn't seem likely."
"Yeah."
Raniel knew it too.
No matter how meticulously they planned, one swing of that blade would wipe them out.
"Hundreds of circuits slashed apart in a single stroke—makes you wonder what the point is. But we have to try. More plans, the better."
"That's her turn of phrase."
"Yeah, my bad habit."
"You said, 'That's her turn of phrase.'"
"Ugh, fuck off."
Kyle was still like that.
Tired of reacting to his gritted-teeth denials every time, Raniel let out a short sigh.
A moment passed.
Then Raniel spoke.
"Why are you here?"
An out-of-left-field question.
But one she had to ask. Kyle didn't answer right away. After a brief silence, he spoke.
"Because I have to be."
"Why? I didn't even ask you to come."
"Standing where you belong, even without anyone asking—that's what a Hero does, isn't it? Guess you never told him that."
Raniel blinked.
She thought she'd misheard at first, but no. She let out a hollow laugh.
"Now you say that?"
"Then let me ask you something. Are you really Kyle? Cut the act. It's gross."
"You don't believe me."
"Would you?"
"No."
He responded as if he'd expected the insincere jab.
As Raniel stared in disbelief, Kyle fiddled with his holy sword's hilt and spoke.
"Probably."
Kyle said.
"If the Sword of Death shows up, you'll be here, no matter what. That's what I figured."
"Since I'm the only one with a shot, right?"
"Yeah. She'd stake her life on it again. Even if I didn't come, even if no one else showed, she'd do it. Without fail."
Kyle muttered.
"She can't do that."
"What?"
"I said she can't."
His firm tone irked Raniel.
Where had she felt this disgust before? It wasn't hard to recall.
"The star said."
"The star's words."
"The star."
Kyle's voice, forever droning on about that damn star.
Recalling Kyle, who could never break free from it, Raniel sneered.
"What, did the star tell you to?"
Still.
"Did the star say to come here? Because I can't die, so you have to save me?"
Still clinging to that star.
"Can't do anything without it, so you follow its orders and show up here?"
My words never reach you.
But the star's? You drag yourself to a deadly battlefield for those. It pissed Raniel off. What the hell was so special about that star?
"Did it tell you to kick me out too?"
She couldn't help suspecting it now.
Raniel snapped at him, glaring.
"No."
Kyle answered.
"That was my choice."
"What was?"
"Kicking you out."
"Oh. You're an even bigger asshole than I thought."
Tsk. Raniel clicked her tongue.
"So coming here was the star's orders after all?"
Kyle fell silent.
His old habit of clamming up and dodging when cornered hadn't changed. Raniel sighed and ruffled her hair.
"I'm the idiot for expecting anything."
What was the point of hoping?
After years of waiting and betrayal. She knew she shouldn't expect more, knew she should give up—but she couldn't, and that annoyed her.
As Raniel roughly swept back her hair, Kyle spoke.
"One question."
"What."
"When mages fulfill a contract, do they call it their own will?"
"...What the hell? Depends on the contract."
"A contract I entered of my own will, and acting on its terms... is that my will?"
Raniel pondered briefly before answering.
"If you entered it willingly, sure."
"Then it's my will."
Kyle let out a light chuckle—not faked, not mocking, not hollow. A real smile. One he'd worn often years ago.
It threw Raniel off.
"...What are you?"
Kyle said nothing more.
He just stood there in the snowy wind, toying with his holy sword.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 3.
"Fulfill the contract."
"...Pardon?"
"Words passed down through the Grace family."
The lord of the North, Eryahl van Grace.
He gazed at his son sitting before him. A boy with talent surpassing his own. A warrior with the potential to claim a seat among the superhumans.
"From ancestors' ancestors, defying and enduring since the founder's time. The founder's dying words."
Fulfill the contract.
"The founder said he made a promise with his master—one that was a contract, and thus must be upheld."
Rak posed the obvious question.
"What was it?"
"Showing pride before death."
Eryahl answered.
"Before death, Grace must show a warrior's pride. So death never forgets it."
Abstract words strung together.
"One who knows pride, ready to answer death's question, shall reach the sanctuary's heart."
Yet somehow, Rak felt he understood what it meant. Since ancient times, only one being symbolized death.
"Rak."
Eryahl looked at him.
"The Sword of Death comes to the North. This is prophecy—and a confirmed future. I don't trust the zealots, but our founder trusted prophecies."
Death was coming to the North.
Eryahl couldn't chalk it up to coincidence. It was a warrior's instinct. And his instincts were usually spot-on.
"I'm not telling you to stand before death. At your level now, it'd just be a dog's death."
But, Eryahl added.
"Will you challenge the sanctuary's trial once more?"
Eryahl regarded his son.
Rak nodded slowly.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "So you're challenging the sanctuary's trial again?"
"Yes, that's how it turned out."
Raniel rubbed her chin.
She'd been about to suggest Rak try the sanctuary's trial again anyway.
"Good call. You should go way further than before now. You've been training daily, right?"
"I've repeated my training near the mana spring."
Rak nodded.
The method Raniel had taught him to control mana arrays. He'd practiced it without fail, every single day for the past six months.
"Let's go together, then."
Raniel set down her staff.
The sanctuary lay not far from where she was etching circuits in the Kennel Snowfield.
A place buffeted by blizzards, surrounded by towering ancient trees piercing the sky. The site where Grace had once bled with every step. Raniel and Rak headed there.
The moment the two reached the sanctuary's entrance.
Swish.
A gust of wind blew in.
It reeked of rot.