Fiery Lessons and Knights of the Faith

It's often said that people learn from their mistakes. The mercenaries had clearly seen Ian burn a man alive yesterday. They also knew that the red-haired woman stuck to his side like glue wasn't your average traveler. If they'd given it any thought, they wouldn't have been dumb enough to run their mouths in front of Kira.

But for a brief moment, the mercenaries forgot just how eccentric mages could be. Spouting their bullshit philosophy in front of one had cost them their legs.

"Arghhh...!"

Ian glanced indifferently at the fleeing mercenaries. He'd grown so accustomed to this goddamn medieval fantasy world that even seeing someone hurt barely registered anymore. There was no solid rule of law here, no public authority upholding justice. You had to protect your own honor—with your own hands. And that usually meant violence.

"Kira. Use magic carefully from now on. Especially you, as a pyromancer. One slip, and you lose control—who knows what could happen."

"...Yeah. Got it."

Ian didn't chew her out for torching the guy. Kira hadn't just lashed out in anger; she'd carved a painful lesson into them for all the weaklings out there—especially wanderers and performers like her. Now those thugs would think twice before pulling any bandit crap.

The problem was her letting emotions dictate her magic. What if the mystery of flame misunderstood her will and tried to burn the whole area to the ground? The scary thing about pyrokinesis was how hard it was to cancel. Once the fire caught, it didn't go out easily. It wouldn't die down until it reduced everything around it to ash.

"You have to infuse your spells with precise intent through the Maronius language. No getting swept up in emotions."

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Ian gave her a quick scolding and moved on.

"Alright then. Shall we get going?"

As they headed south, the weather grew muggy and oppressive.

"It's getting hot."

The sweltering heat drained Ian's stamina fast. It was surprising how much the warmth got to him.

"...The north was nice and cool."

Just a short while ago, Ian had been trekking through the snow-covered mountains up north. Sure, you could say it was the real deal up there, so cold was expected. But the Empire's north wasn't some barbarian wasteland blanketed in eternal ice. Still, it was way cooler than the south.

Now that he was down here, it was obvious. The sun blazed too brightly, and the vast fields teemed with monstrous green weeds growing at an insane rate. Watching the goats grazing far off and the shepherd boy tending them filled him with an unexpected inner peace.

Ian reined in his donkey for a moment, taking in the serene fields. Not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a soul in sight. It really drove home how pitifully low the Holy Empire's population was. The whole country was one big horrific countryside—no wonder people were scarce.

"Ian. There's a shepherd over there."

Belenca said, gulping water from her waterskin.

"Must be a village nearby."

Livestock herding was a business that turned profit even in the most primitive settings. In theory, with enough animals, you didn't need to farm to survive. Nomads were the prime example. Just protect the herd and let the numbers grow—simple.

Such shepherds were common in the Empire.

"Hm?"

Ian squinted. Shepherds were plentiful, but so were the thieves and wolves targeting them. The smart ones were human bandits. The dumb ones? Wolf packs. And what had caught Ian's eye was the dumb variety.

"Those wolves?"

"Looks like it..."

Belenca squinted too. They were wolves, alright. But something was off. Gaunt, like they'd starved for days? Their bellies looked glued to their spines...

"No, what the fuck???"

Ian rubbed his eyes. Those bastards' bellies were actually glued to their spines!

"Poor things! How long have they been starving?!"

"...You joking right now? They're undead!"

Belenca shot Ian a withering glare for his nonsense even in this situation. The wolves charging the shepherd were undead wolves.

In a world with souls, gods, and an afterlife, undead monsters existed in full force.

"Ugh..."

"Smells weird..."

Kira and Juabil pinched their noses in unison. True to their rotting flesh, the stench reached them even from the distant hill. The air reeked of corpse rot.

"Ian! Let me charge in!"

Belenca shouted. Regardless ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of his say, she was going to fight. As a knight, she was always short on good deeds. Killing was inevitable in her line of work, so she needed to rack up merits to reach heaven after death. This was prime farming for virtue points.

"Not sending you alone! I'm coming too!"

Ian jumped in without hesitation to back her up. First, undead monsters triggered massive visceral disgust. Second, she'd helped him plenty before—this was a good chance to return the favor.

"Juabil! You fight?"

"Yep! I good at fightin'!"

Juabil joined, swinging her massive mace. Kira's eyes gleamed as she dashed forward too.

Ian improvised a plan on the spot. Mages controlled the battlefield with magic—a unique talent.

"Kira! Light fires to narrow their path!"

"Got it!"

Ian swung Anorilsil through the air, igniting flames. Kira amplified them with her magic.

Kira's eyes glowed, and the mystery of flame danced to her will. Sparks flew across the field, igniting into a ferocious blaze at terrifying speed. Nose bleeding, Kira yelled,

"Ian! The fire's... spreading too fast!"

"Don't overcontrol it! Just let it burn!"

"But it'll start a wildfire...!"

Ian spread his arms wide and closed his eyes. Whirlwinds gathered in his palms.

The roaring field fire excited the mystery of wind. The hot flames created updrafts. Ian directed the winds, shoving the blaze toward the undead.

Ian was a Level 4 aerokineticist. His gale struck swiftly and precisely, engulfing the undead wolves. It drove the wildfire toward them at breakneck speed.

Whoosh!

The undead lunging at the shepherd scattered in panic, their movements unnaturally jerky. Ian observed them closely.

'Those fuckers... they hate the fire?'

You might think, who wouldn't? But normal undead didn't fear their bodies' destruction—they were already dead! No pain, no intelligence. No reason to fear flames.

Yet these wolves deliberately avoided the fire. The implication was clear.

'...A necromancer?'

Someone wanted these undead wolves intact. A necromancer.

Ian was certain. These weren't naturally occurring undead. They were raised from corpses by a necromancer.

"Hyaah!"

Belenca swung her longsword with a kiai. The rotting, mushy wolf flesh sloughed off like mud in the rain. Thanks to the mages' fire, only a few undead reached the shepherd. Numbers Juabil and Belenca could handle.

...Hm?'

But Belenca couldn't smash them cleanly. Something burst from the grass.

"Receive the sword of heaven!"

"The sun shall judge thee!"

They were well-equipped men-at-arms. Chainmail, matched with green surcoats. The men-at-arms methodically crushed the undead wolves.

Ian watched from afar. And... he was a little impressed. No idea who they were, but they looked like proper soldiers!

As anyone who'd skimmed this medieval fantasy world knew, nothing here was up to snuff. Nobles to peasants, everyone seemed a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bit off-kilter, sloppy. But matched uniforms? That required an organization that could afford custom gear. Tough in this post-apocalyptic... er, medieval fantasy world!

In a place where people just threw on whatever rags they had, uniformed soldiers were no small deal.

Ian wrapped up his magic and galloped over. Belenca had already doffed her helmet and was chatting with them.

"Ian."

Just then, someone approached from the soldiers' side. Light brown hair, brown eyes. Classic Imperial look. But sharply handsome features stood out.

"You're the mage who started the fire?"

"And you are?"

Ian and the man sized each other up briefly, checking for anything suspicious. The man extended a hand first.

"Knight of Saint Cassius's Order. Cleric Le'Shahr."

'Saint Cassius?'

Ian was mildly surprised. Saint Cassius was the top disciple among the Holy Church's 13 saints. While other saints' disciples were called cardinals, his direct lineage bore the exalted title of Pope.

So... this handsome knight was a knight of the Pope!

"Disciple of Eredis. Mage Ian."

Now it made sense—the matching heavy infantry. A Pope's knight could afford such escorts.

'...But why's a Pope's knight out here?'

Reading Ian's suspicion, Sir Le'Shahr spoke first.

"We're investigating sinister magic incidents cropping up across the Empire."

"Sinister magic?"

"Demonic arts. Transmutation. Necromancy... Reports of black magic use are at unprecedented levels."

Ian glanced at the fallen undead wolves. Fair point. He hadn't heard undead rumors much as a kid.

"We'd heard of necromancer activity nearby... Looks like the rumors are true."

Ian got it now. Sir Le'Shahr was a Pope's knight tasked with hunting down necromancers and demon summoners.

'Oh ho.'

Ian pondered. He'd just offed a demon summoner on the road. Sticking with Sir Le'Shahr for a bit sounded like a sweet deal. Who'd be crazy enough to attack a cleric with men-at-arms?

As he thought that, the shepherd boy came running up, bowing frantically.

"Th-thank you for saving me! Sir Knights!"