Archmage (1)
Owen wasted no time packing his things the moment the Surpuk Duke gave his approval. He set off at once to find the mage.
The miserly servant Ben tagged along as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He'd loaded his pony down with food, blankets, and all manner of supplies.
Even astride his mount, the old man never stopped munching on his snacks with relish—a hearty eater through and through.
"Chomp chomp. Young master, headin' west, are ya? Sure relieved it's not east."
"You don't like the east?"
"What kinda question's that? East is full o' orcs—'course I hate it!"
"But the west has the capital."
"Even if that emperor's a right nasty piece o' work, he's better'n orcs. Orcs are enemies o' humans."
"……."
Owen fell silent.
He couldn't help wondering if the emperor truly was any better than humanity's foes.
The pair pressed westward for three days straight.
The dry winds had begun to carry a hint of moisture.
The seasons were shifting.
On the noon of the third day, a massive fork in the road appeared.
"Hold on now, lemme check the map. Eh... ah, there we go. Right takes us to the big city Edel. Left to Golden Mountain. Goin' to Edel, then?"
"No. We're going to Golden Mountain."
"Eh? Ain't nobody lives there—monsters everywhere. Weren't we lookin' for somebody?"
"That's where he lives. The archmage Bellatel."
Ben's eyes bulged wide.
"Eh? Bellatel?"
It was no surprise that Ben was shocked.
Bellatel was the legendary archmage who starred in countless folktales and wild yarns.
He'd punish greedy lords or torch griffin nests, always the hero of the tales.
The Empire's subjects naturally adored him.
But since he'd vanished long ago, many now dismissed those stories as fabrications or outright lies.
"That for real? Bellatel actually exists?"
Even Ben was half-doubting it.
"Of course. Can't go lookin' for someone who doesn't exist, can I? Ben, I'm not that idle."
"Goodness me, young master, you're somethin' else! How'd ya even know where Bellatel hides out? Beats me."
"Learned it by chance."
Naturally, it was a vague brush-off.
He knew the reclusive archmage's hideout thanks to ties from his past life.
Bellatel had hidden his destination upon vanishing—but he'd confided it solely to Duke Owen Glendower, the Empire's guardian.
For the archmage owed the duke a debt.
"That should serve me well."
"Eh? What was that?"
"Nothing."
Another day beyond the fork brought them to the foothills of Golden Mountain.
Once rich in gold—hence the name—now it was just overgrown with dense forest.
"Well now... young master, how we gonna find Bellatel in this huge mountain?"
"I know that too. No worries."
Midway up the slope stood three ordinary boulders in a row.
An unremarkable sight, easy to overlook—but it was the gateway to Bellatel's lair.
Speak the proper code there, and entry was granted.
But upon arrival, Owen didn't even need to recall the passphrase from memory.
Bellatel was already sitting in the sunlit spot before the rocks.
He was a rare sight in the Empire: skin black as night.
An old man with a wild white beard, yet his half-bared torso and one arm were toned enough to shame his years.
Thick gold bracelets adorned his wrists—exotic designs, every one.
But that wasn't the issue.
Despite the archmage's striking, impressive figure, Ben paid him no mind.
Across the table from Bellatel sat an old orc.
"Lord have mercy! O-orc! Oooh, mercy!"
Ben very nearly fainted at the sight.
It wasn't an overreaction, really.
In the east, orcs were nightmares straight from hell.
Even Owen paled, his hand drifting to the sword at his waist.
He'd never imagined finding this before Bellatel.
Memories of past-life horrors surfaced, making Owen's lips tremble.
That old orc was Karaku.
The greatest orc warlord, legendary for never losing a single battlefield in his life.
Karaku had suffered tactical defeats, but always emerged victorious strategically.
Not even Owen in his previous life had truly bested him.
A few battles saw enraged dragons sweep away Karaku's forces—but the war was always lost in the end.
Unlike his brutish orc kin, Karaku executed plans with chilling precision.
"Why is he…."
Owen groaned, half-drawing his blade without thinking.
Then the old orc spoke lowly.
"Best not draw that sword, little one."
Fluent Imperial tongue.
Yet he ignored Owen entirely.
His gaze bored into the table.
A chessboard lay there.
For reasons beyond comprehension, the archmage Bellatel and the great warlord Karaku were basking in the midday sun on Golden Mountain's flank, idly playing chess.
Even the seasoned Owen couldn't make sense of it.
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At that moment, Karaku stroked his chin beard with satisfaction.
"Heh heh! It's nearly over."
"Damn you orc bastard. Fat chance. Taste the genius archmage's counterattack!"
"Battlefield or chessboard, it's all the same. I've a talent for this."
The two ignored Owen and Ben, lost in their game.
Owen's temper flared.
In his past life, those two together outshone his own honors.
To be treated like straw dummies rankled.
"Ben, stay here."
"Young master? What're you—don't go!"
Owen patted Ben's quaking shoulder, then approached the board.
He was a chess master himself.
In spare battlefield moments, he'd summon anyone claiming skill—regardless of rank—for matches.
He had to be good.
Up close, Bellatel was cornered.
Too focused to notice Owen.
No threat, after all.
Owen seized the lapse.
"Put it there. Right here."
A masterful move to escape peril.
Bellatel's face lit up.
"Oh ho! What a brilliant stroke!"
Karaku, certain of victory, gaped in disbelief.
"Wh-what? You mad bastard!"
He even pointed at Owen, hand shaking.
Springing up, he bellowed.
"This is a serious wager! Know what you've done, whelp?!"
Now he stared Owen down.
Owen was pleased inwardly.
"A dull child merely offered a word from the sidelines—why such fury from the great warlord?"
"What? You know who I am?!"
"The game's not over yet. Does it matter?"
"Your meddling blocked my path!"
"Abandon greed. Only then do you see. You excel on the field, yet falter on this tiny board."
"Grrk!"
No retort forthcoming, Karaku slumped back down.
Bellatel grinned wickedly.
"Kekeke! Where'd that chess-playing... orc go?"
"Shut it! Grrmph!"
Karaku refocused, but defeat was inevitable.
Owen intervened each time his foe teetered.
Few pieces left; a couple blunders were fatal.
At last, Karaku bowed his head.
"I lose…."
Bellatel clapped in delight.
"Kuhahaha! I finally beat you!"
Despite Owen's aid, Karaku offered no excuses.
Telling of his character.
He saw unsolicited advice as just another battlefield surprise.
To win, one must outwit even advisors.
He hadn't—so he'd lost.
Karaku accepted it plainly.
Though miffed, of course.
"You brat! Where'd you crawl from?! Ruining this elder's game—I won't let it slide!"
Fuming, nostrils flaring, the orc warlord was terror incarnate.
At 250 centimeters, his fists dwarfed Owen's head.
Even bold eastern knights would quail.
But Owen remained composed.
Even if crushed in one blow, no matter.
He knew Karaku well.
"As atonement, I'll teach you those moves later. How's that?"
"What?"
Karaku's eyes widened in shock.
Soon realizing he couldn't stay mad.
For all his bluster, rage melted like spring snow; lips twitched upward.
"Learn those brilliant plays?"
"Naturally. Master them, and my advice won't faze you next time."
"Splendid!"
Karaku smacked fist to palm in admiration.
This old orc had pursued knowledge lifelong.
Amid kin who scorned literacy, remarkable.
And he obsessed over arts of war.
Chess—the tabletop battlefield? He'd welcome it with open arms.
"Kuhahaha! Deal!"
Karaku roared with joy.
"Excellent! I fancied myself no slouch at chess, but that advice struck like a dagger. Haven't been pierced so keenly in ages. To learn it—my blood sings!"
He fairly danced with glee.
"Strike while the iron's hot, as they say! Teach me now."
"Forgive me, but later. I came for Bellatel. Business first—then time for lessons."
"Ah, so be it. I'll wait. Got things with my men anyway. See you later. Hahaha!"
Karaku thumped Owen's back heartily, bellowing as he vanished.
The boy recognizing him? Seemingly fine.
Watching the storm-like departure, Bellatel spoke up.
"Amusing lad. Seems to know Karaku and me well."
"Merely overheard tales of your famed selves."
"Quaint excuse. We're relics washed away by time. A young pup like you wouldn't know. Where'd you spring from? Are you what you seem?"
"Yes, a human of sixteen, surely."
"Aye, no magical disguise. If some face-shifting dark elf, I'd have torn you apart by now."
"Fellow human—go easy."
"Ha! Shameless whelp."
Bellatel frowned faintly, gesturing to a seat.
"Sit. Tell your servant to relax."
"Thank you. Ben! Sit and rest."
"Eek! Young master."
"It's fine, he says. Have some wine."
Before them, Bellatel cleared the pieces.
He eyed Owen slyly, greedy.
"A game?"
"Business first. As many as you like after."
"Tch. Finicky sort. More to the point—how'd you find this place? No one knew my hideout post-seclusion."
"Not no one. Heard from someone who did."
"Hmmm…."
Bellatel pondered Owen's reply.
The only one who'd known was the late Duke Glendower.
'From the dead? Did the duke leave word...? Nah, doesn't resemble him—not kin.'
A chance arrival? Absurd.
Recognizing legends like himself and Karaku? No ordinary boy.
"Enough prattle. Details later."
"My thanks."
"So, what's your business? Bore me with trivia, and I'll lightning-bolt your arse."
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