Chapter 43
Episode 43
The next day at noon, before the western gate of Gran.
"You've arrived, Lord Logan."
"Yes. You look less exhausted than yesterday. Haha, I'll be counting on you from now on."
"My apologies for showing you such a disgraceful state yesterday..."
"Why should you apologize? That damn Tower Master is the one at fault."
A bitter smile crossed Grick's face as Clayton, standing a full head taller behind him, abruptly cut in.
"Lord, let's not waste time on unnecessary greetings. The sooner we leave, the sooner you can wrap up your business."
"Master! Ahem. My apologies, Lord Logan. My master has always been... rather blunt with his words."
"What? Did I say something wrong?"
"Master. Even so— Ow."
At Grick's signal, the disciples, who had been standing quietly, swarmed forward and grabbed Clayton's robes, dragging him back. His thick, caterpillar-like eyebrows twitched, and for a moment, it seemed like he would explode into a furious roar—
"Grr. Fine, you brats. Let go! I said let go! I won't say another word."
Listening to his grumbling, Grick sighed lightly.
"Our master isn't one for formalities... His words may be rough, but his heart is warm. We'd appreciate your understanding."
"Hmm..."
Mages, being rare, tended to be more prideful than knights. Even common-born mages saw themselves as the chosen and often looked down on rural nobles. The receptionist at the Magic Tower yesterday had been exactly like that.
But no such arrogance could be felt from Grick and the others.
It was as if they had endured so much hardship that they'd long since shed any pretentiousness.
From Logan's perspective, that was nothing but a relief.
And as for Clayton's bluntness—what did it matter, when he was a top-tier expert volunteering his help for free?
"It's fine. Having the Elder of the Magic Tower accompany me is an honor in itself."
Logan flashed a bright smile, dispelling Grick's worries.
Logan had prepared three carriages for Clayton and his disciples—each spacious enough to comfortably seat five or six people. More than enough for them to travel in groups.
On top of that, he had invested a whopping 5,000 gold to hire experienced coachmen from Gran's Transport Guild and even prepared camping supplies, including food and tents.
It was a clear display of how much Logan valued the mages—and proof of his determination to push forward without stopping until they arrived.
Yet, even in this luxurious setting, Clayton maintained his gruff demeanor, constantly drilling his disciples with orders like, "You've got a comfortable environment now, so train harder."
To Logan, it seemed like unnecessary pressure, but the disciples accepted their master's words with unwavering smiles.
'They look like subordinates desperately flattering a murderous commander to survive.'
That was the impression they gave, but the sincerity in their smiles was undeniable.
Logan watched them curiously for a moment before shaking his head.
'What do I know? I should focus on my own affairs.'
Crackle.
As the campfire burned, Logan brushed aside his stray thoughts and recalled the Sword Duke's movements—specifically, the way he wielded his sword.
He had pondered it while writing his swordsmanship manual, but now, under the quiet night sky, the memories surfaced more vividly than ever. There was no better time to concentrate than this peaceful moment while preparing for camp.
'Like this... and then like this...'
What the Sword Duke had shown him that day wasn't just the Heavy Pressure Sword.
A golden light surged from Logan's blade, forming a tangible sword edge—a fusion of external aura and force. Though faint, the golden blade held a distinct shape. Gone were the days of erratic flickering.
"A Force Blade, materialized..."
Had the Sword Duke seen this, he would have been utterly astonished.
Force, when concentrated and compressed, evolved into Aura—the pinnacle of swordsmanship. What the Sword Duke had demonstrated was merely a weakened version of Aura, something Logan shouldn't have been able to replicate at his current level.
Yet, borrowing the evolved power of Force, it had bloomed in Logan's still-lacking hands.
Fizz. Crackle.
True, the form collapsed quickly, and maintaining it for long was impossible—but even this fleeting success was a monumental achievement.
"I did it..."
He couldn't shout his joy aloud, but his fists clenched involuntarily.
He had managed, even temporarily, to mimic the Force Blade—a technique only the highest-tier knights could wield.
And more—
Hum.
"Amplify. Concentrate. Disperse."
Force surged from his blade once more, swirling around the campfire's flames, bending and stretching them at will.
The pressure of Force—the foundation of the Heavy Pressure Sword.
Just as the Sword Duke had said, this would undoubtedly be useful. Unlike the Divine Sword Secret Art, it didn't drain much energy.
'This should be usable in actual combat.'
The Heavy Pressure Sword.
The past few days of focusing on this technique had pushed aside thoughts of the complicated future.
Perhaps that was why his progress had been swift—and why he now felt eager to test it in battle.
'I'm not a child...'
Yet the childish urge to swing his newfound weapon was undeniable.
Lately, he had been feeling that not just his body but his mind had regressed along with his youth.
'Well, it can't be helped.'
An unshakable spirit, unaffected by changes in circumstances or environment, was something only transcendent-level warriors could boast about.
Besides, this life—where he was washing away the regrets of his past—was satisfying enough that it was only natural for Logan, the aged mercenary and independence fighter, to fade away, leaving behind Logan MacLaine, the eldest son of House MacLaine.
'As long as I don't forget what's important—the Empire's war, and the civil war.'
Despite the night, the temperature wasn't too cold, hinting at the approaching summer—but Logan's heart grew colder.
'Only a year and a half left.'
The king's death. The start of the civil war.
He had to prepare thoroughly and seize the opportunity when it came.
'I must soar in an instant—when no one can afford to pay attention to us. To do that...'
His thoughts deepened, matching the encroaching darkness.
"Ahem. A remarkable achievement, Lord."
A voice suddenly cut through Logan's contemplation.
"Elder Clayton?"
"I happened to witness a splendid sight."
"Ah, it's nothing special. Just a minor trick."
"I may not know much about Force users, but I do know that what you just displayed shouldn't be possible at your age."
"...You flatter me."
Clayton and his mages weren't yet true allies.
Logan inwardly scolded himself for carelessly revealing his abilities without considering the situation.
"Hmph. Yesterday's events left me in a foul mood, so my attitude was rather rough. I've lived a coarse life and don't know much about etiquette—so I'd appreciate it if a refined lord like you could overlook it."
Clayton's words were somewhere between an apology and a challenge as he plopped down beside the campfire and abruptly changed the subject.
"Those brats have suffered needlessly just for having me as their master. At the very least, while we're together, I want to teach them as much as I can."
"You already seem to be doing that. But why tell me this?"
"Once we arrive at your territory and begin work, I'd like to rotate my disciples so they can rest in shifts. Even if it's just a little, I want them to have time to train. In exchange, I'll work extra. Can you accommodate that?"
His tone was gruff but sincere.
Logan had nothing to lose from the proposal and nodded—
'Hm?'
Suddenly, he sensed something odd around Clayton.
Hum.
A faint disturbance brushed against his senses, and his core vibrated slightly before he began to perceive a thin stream of mana.
A yellowish-brown mana, originating from Clayton, seeped into the ground and flowed smoothly, enveloping only the tents where his disciples slept.
'Magic... this covertly?'
He was first stunned by the secrecy—then stunned again by the warmth radiating from the mana.
Though he couldn't be certain, it was clear that Clayton's mana was imbuing each tent with a soothing energy.
Only then did Logan notice the tiny beads of sweat trickling incessantly down Clayton's forehead—and his face, which looked even more exhausted than it had this morning.
He had assumed Clayton simply ran hot, but that didn't seem to be the case.
'To go this far...'
A sigh escaped Logan, and he spoke words he hadn't intended to say.
"You truly care for your disciples, don't you?"
"Hah. As their master, it's the bare minimum."
"Oh, come now. You even fought the Tower Master for their sake, didn't you?"
"Ahem. That was more about the Tower Master's conduct..."
His excuse was as stiff as ever, completely at odds with the warm mana still pouring into the disciples' tents.
Yet there was something strangely endearing about it.
Logan had a feeling the journey home wouldn't be boring after all.
Clip-clop.
"L-Lord Logan!"
"Ah, greetings!"
"Greetings! You there, bow properly!"
Upon arriving at the territory, Logan was met with a noticeably different reception from the locals compared to before.
There were no cheers like after the war, but at the very least, none of the villagers fled in terror or cowered at the sight of him. That alone was proof of his improved reputation.
However, what weighed on his mind was how few of them looked to be in good health.
"Mom... I'm hungry."
"Just hold on a little longer. Mom's going to the fields to get some potatoes."
"Where's Dad?"
"Dad... Sniff. Dad said he'd come back after sleeping a hundred nights, remember? How many nights have you slept, son?"
"I dunno. I hate Dad. I'm hungry..."
The gaunt mother and her child's heartbreaking complaints darkened Logan's expression.
The wounds of war hadn't yet healed, and now poverty had piled on top.
The sight of a woman hastily bowing her head as he passed, her face shadowed with exhaustion, and her confused child left a heavy weight in Logan's chest.
'Just as I thought...'
He could feel his own expression hardening.
Though he had lowered the tax rate for MacLaine Territory compared to other regions—considering its barren state—even a 30% tax was crushing for the already struggling villagers.
The fact that this was the season when food was scarcest only made it worse.
He had brought the means to solve this problem at its root, but there were still many hurdles to overcome.
'Will Father even agree?'
He was confident in his solution—he had seen its results multiple times in his past life.
But he couldn't explain it outright, so persuading his father and others would be the real challenge.
'I'll need to mobilize the villagers for construction...'
Lost in thought, he entered the inner estate—only to unexpectedly run into another person who needed convincing.
"Did you have fun playing around, Lord? Meanwhile, I've been suffering."
Rick, still with a cotton plug stuffed up his nose, greeted him with sunken eyes and a tone that bordered on provocation.
"Ah... Haha. Rick, you rascal. Yes, I'm back. These people behind me are—"
"The stench won't leave me. Every maid who sees me grabs her nose and runs. Lord, I'll never get married at this rate."
Rick's blazing eyes made it clear he had no interest in whatever Logan was saying—he was here to vent.
The sheer intensity of his grumbling made Logan break out in a cold sweat.
"How are you going to take responsibility?! Huh?! How long do I have to endure that Kharok— Mmph?!"
Logan swiftly clamped a hand over Rick's mouth and whispered in his ear.
"An extra 50 gold per week. Deal?"
Shake shake.
Glare.
"100 gold extra. That's my final offer."
Only then did Rick, who had been resisting fiercely, shut his mouth.
Logan sighed in relief and removed his hand—
"Gah! Ptooey."
The delinquent-like attitude and still-grudge-filled eyes made him laugh despite himself.
"Rick, escort our guests first. I'll go see Father and return shortly. After that, we'll decide where everyone will stay."
"Yes, yes. I'll do as I'm told. Unlike some people who get to frolic around while others wallow in filth—"
"That's enough. I won't indulge you further."
"Ahem. Honored guests, this way please. I'll guide you."
The sudden shift in attitude drew a chuckle from Logan, and in an odd way, it made him feel like he had truly returned home.
For some reason, the worries that had plagued him moments ago now felt trivial.
'Right. Since when have I ever convinced anyone with logic? If it doesn't work, I'll just force it through.'
With a lighter heart, he turned back with a smile.
"Elder Clayton, please wait here for a while. I'll see my father and arrange accommodations for you."
"Wouldn't it be better if we accompanied you? This is a costly project..."
"No, for now, you're simply my guests. I'll explain everything when I return."
Leaving the bewildered mages behind, Logan strode toward the inner estate with light steps.