Chapter 48
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Ariete (4)
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Richer wore the most complex expression in the world upon discovering Ariete. It was a multifaceted shift in expression that even the quick-witted Ariete could only discern a few layers of.
Sadness, regret, pity, a sense of kinship. Yet the final expression that lingered was a hollow laugh. Of course, it didn't come with any cheerful sound.
"My goodness. When that old geezer went on about 'the feeling of your disciple showing up as a War Mage,' I never dreamed it'd happen to me."
Ariete smiled brightly.
"Right? Somehow it all worked out this way."
"Tell me about it. Was it just War Mage training all through last spring and summer?"
"Yes, that's right. It was more doable than I expected."
"How on earth did you decide to become a War Mage? Didn't you hate studying and learning magic?"
"The deeper I dove in, the more I realized intense study just wasn't for me. And since I had such a rough childhood, now I wanted to live it up in luxury. Pretty shallow, huh?"
Ariete shyly echoed it in her heart, like the bashful petals of a touch-me-not.
Please recognize how much effort I put in just to stand by your side.
Mages can't read other people's hearts either. Richer let out a sigh and murmured.
"Yeah. It's my karma. A human butcher went and taught butchery, so of course you'd end up a butcher too."
"It was my choice. Don't blame yourself."
"No. My karma and the blood price don't end with me. You've been drenched in my blood now. I'm sorry."
Richer was truly suffering, and it hurt Ariete's heart.
But she could feel a dark pleasure bubbling up from a corner of her mind.
Master is hurting because of me. That means I've become someone that important to him. My choice was right.
Ariete painfully suppressed that small, dark happiness, and Richer sighed again before speaking.
"But now there are two of us who have to pay the blood price, so forget settling it—it's just spreading further. Whatever shall we do?"
"It's okay. Let's try together. They say there's always a path somewhere."
"Yeah. You're right."
But unlike her spoken words, Ariete prayed fervently in her heart.
That the path filled with dark sins and red corpses would stretch on endlessly.
That the war-maddened emperor would live just a little longer.
That the wars and misfortunes filling the world would never end.
And that she could savor happiness by Richer's side for as long as possible.
Even if it led to the deepest hell, Ariete could find ample happiness walking it alongside Richer.
She already knew hell awaited at the end, so her one wish was simple.
That the road to hell would be just a bit longer. Tediously, endlessly long.
"Think you can handle it?"
"Of course I can. I'm a War Mage too. I've trained plenty."
"No, that's not the point. It's whether you can endure it."
"I've had more than enough stress training. I can finish casting even with an arrow whizzing past my head, no flinch."
"Sigh. Everyone's got a first time, and it's something you have to face eventually."
Ariete and Richer prepared for battle, keeping a solid distance between them.
Over three thousand troops from both sides clashed.
The battle began, and blood flowed.
As time wore on, excitement built, and the enemies who'd been spaced out began clustering tighter.
It was inevitable. Without closing ranks, they couldn't withstand the Empire's army pressure, and their formation would crumble.
In the midst of it, a faint horn blared, and the mage unit around Ariete layered up defensive spells.
Ariete stood amid the pale, flickering barriers, gazing at the enemy soldiers' faces.
Mostly humans, with other races mixed in here and there. Even among humans, they looked worlds apart.
But every last one wore the same expression. Nothing but raw awe, despair, and fear. Their faces alone screamed what they were thinking.
'No way. It can't be. A War Mage right in front of me?'
'If I turn tail right now, can I make it? Has the poison officer bolted already?'
'Please, if I have to die, make it quick and painless. Better yet, let me live.'
'Blast that magic somewhere else. I don't wanna die yet.'
[Before using magic, do not take in the faces of the enemy.]
Ariete finally understood what her stress-training instructor had drilled into her.
Their faces brimmed with unfiltered, primal emotions.
For soft-hearted Ariete, the sheer volume was overwhelming.
'But if I stop the spell here, I can't stand by Master's side. They'd ship me back home.'
Ariete steeled herself and pressed on with the casting.
The mana cell formed solid and stable. She methodically shaped the mana for her specialty: flame magic.
'Master might be watching from over there. I have to show him how excellently I've grown.'
It'd be a lie to say she hadn't felt any tension before stepping onto the field.
But knowing Richer was watching nearby was enough for Ariete to regain her calm.
She arranged the mana swiftly. More precise and faster than on empty training grounds.
A shout rose from the enemy lines.
"Don't run! It's too late! If you wanna live, punch through the front! Shoulder to shoulder with the enemy!"
It was half-right. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with allies meant dying to blades, not magic.
Her magic power piled up to her limit, and a puny fireball was hurled forth.
A tiny spark not even the size of an adult fist.
The enemy soldiers staring at that spark overflowed with ecstatic relief, the thrill of survival.
The whole plain pulsed like a heartbeat with raw will to live.
Someone yelled.
"The War Mage's cast failed!"
"We can live! Push!"
And the spark touched a soldier's shoulder guard.
The spark bloomed into a vast inferno, swallowing dozens of soldiers whole.
The long cast belied it—the flames raged for barely five seconds. At temperatures ordinary fire couldn't dream of.
The moment the massive blaze erupted, silence blanketed the battlefield.
And as the flames died down, just before Ariete blacked out. She stood rigid, confronting the sin she'd wrought.
The enemies' padded and cloth armors were charred or still burning.
Many died instantly, spared the lingering agony—blissfully so. But others didn't go quick.
Even the survivors had skin burned to ruin.
The living had eyeballs melted, blind to the world ahead. They couldn't even blink—eyelids crisped away.
Lungs scorched, they couldn't draw breath; they dropped to knees, heads bowed, gasping with wet, searing hisses.
Those trapped in heated plate writhed, pain shattering their resolve.
That scene branded itself into Ariete's eyes.
And she knew, deep down. She'd never forget it till death.
The day she reached hell, her accuser would shove this in her face first.
And then consciousness fled.
Ariete awoke amid a gentle warmth. A blanket?
No. Whatever enveloped her was moving, slow and steady.
Her eyes fluttered open to Richer's face first. To comfort his pitiful disciple, Richer held her lightly in his arms.
"Awake?"
"...Yes."
"Fainted on impact? Or after seeing?"
The object went unsaid, but she knew exactly what he meant.
"...I saw."
"Yeah. Good work. And your chance to quit War Mage is now or never."
"Huh?"
"Over half bow out after their first fight—stress breaks them. The mark on you's still faint. Last shot to quit is right here."
People say the most shocking sights linger vivid even behind closed lids.
It was true. The scene from before she fainted floated crystal-clear before Ariete's eyes.
People ablaze. People gasping.
"It's okay. I... I can endure."
"A soft kid who can't ignore a single soul in pain—how do you think you'll bear that? This road isn't yours."
"I've already started. Can't forget it now. If it has to be done, the one who began should finish."
Richer heaved his deepest sigh yet.
A profound, bottomless one—like his breath might just stop for good.
"Yeah. You're paying my debts alongside me. Sorry. But when you're worn out, come cry to me. That's all I've got to offer."
"Then... can I cry a little now?"
"Yeah. Let it out."
Ariete sobbed her heart out in Richer's arms.
For someone so innately gentle she could hardly swat a bug, the weight was crushing.
Like a miracle, the scene haunted her eyes open or shut.
The searing heat of her own flames.
Their ragged gasps.
The stench of countless flesh charring.
The tidal wave of emotions crashing over her.
The terror etched on faces meeting a War Mage head-on.
The spark of life reigniting at that tiny ember.
None faded.
But Ariete didn't cry from regret or guilt.
She cried from sheer happiness in that moment.
Richer's embrace was that warm.