Anorilsil's Pure Radiance
The blade wasn't particularly long, but sunlight still lingered on it. A magic sword emitting pure white light. Upon witnessing this brilliance—something no mere torch could imitate—the mercenaries crossed themselves almost in unison.
"Lord in heaven...!"
"The heavens protected us!"
Even Belenca followed the mercenaries' lead, making the sign of the cross. It wasn't with their depth of awe, more like gasping in admiration at the wondrous sight. Like Westerners blurting out "Oh my God!" at every turn.
"Incredible! Mage sir!"
"No vampire, no matter how mighty, is anything but a mosquito pupa before you, sir!"
"Mage Ian! Hooray!"
Ian was getting fed up with the mercenaries chattering beside him. Praise felt good the first time, but it got old fast if it dragged on. More than that, he needed time to think about the mystery slumbering within Anorilsil.
So, without losing his mage's dignity, Ian politely requested of the mercenaries, "Shut up. Stop yapping in my ear. If you've got nothing better to do, go fetch the baron."
A request that was politeness itself. Touched by Ian's refined plea, the mercenaries replied, "Of course, sir! Mage sir!"
They scampered off gleefully, singing some ditty about "Ian who scorched the mosquito pupa~." Ian still couldn't wrap his head around their tastes. You guys really like it when I talk like a grumpy old hag that much? He recalled how they'd groveled and fawned when he'd accidentally used polite speech before. The grouchy mage cosplay felt awkward, but if that's what they wanted, he'd play along. Yep, me. A warm gentleman with manners cranked to 100 degrees.
True to his gentlemanly manners, Ian extended a gentle hand to Kira. "You okay?"
"..."
Kira stared up at him blankly.
"Yeah."
She took his offered hand and slowly rose. As she drew close, a sharp tang of gunpowder assaulted his nostrils.
Just as I thought. The explosion had been gunpowder. No way Ian wouldn't recognize the smell. Sure, these days kids played with smartphones and cyber guns, but back in the day, children toyed with real gunpowder-loaded pistols (true story). Who lets kids play with guns? you might wonder, but old Korea was a land brimming with romance. Neighborhood kids stuffing pistols into their jeans pockets was a common evening sight. The pop! and the wafting powder scent were the stuff of boys' dreams—any kid with a wild streak had fiddled with one. With BBs and pellet rounds added, you were fully armed like a guerrilla fighter.
Ian's conservative parents never bought him one, but hanging with friends meant inevitably picking up the scent of gunpowder. And no, he wasn't Somali—he was a proud Korean citizen.
Ian sniffed the air. The smell after fireworks... or a gunpowder pistol skirmish... Man, I miss fireworks. Should he ask Kira if she had any left?
Kira noticed him sniffing and offered an excuse. "I-it smells a bit, right? But my magic always kinda..."
"Magic?"
Sudden magic? Ian paused to think. Do they call gunpowder "magic powder" around here? In the East, the term for gunpowder meant "medicine that ignites fire," but ignorant Western barbarians just called it "gunpowder"—literally "gun powder." No big deal if the Holy Empire dubbed it "magic powder." Heck, gunpowder was magic dust, as proven by those Harry Potter memes with Muggle wands firing it.
"Not fire powder, huh?"
"...What?"
"That magic powder stuff. I figured they called it something like 'fire dust'."
Ian fumbled, translating modern terms into imperial tongue. Straight literal translations from foreign languages sometimes caused hiccups. But by sheer luck, his "fire dust" matched the empire's exact term for gunpowder: more precisely, "flame powder."
Kira jolted at the word from his mouth. He knows about flame powder?!
Flame powder wasn't produced in the empire. It was a rare import, smuggled in tiny quantities by heathen merchants from the southeast. In this northern region, the odds of meeting someone who knew of it were near zero.
Near zero, but not quite. People like Ian existed. Of course, Kira had just gotten royally screwed by coincidence. Who could've guessed a guy who'd shot gunpowder pistols and lit fireworks in his past life would wander the Holy Empire's north?
"Yeah, flame powder. You know it too?"
Kira panicked internally but kept her pro-con artist cool on the surface. Ian nodded. At this point, he had no clue Kira was a total empty vessel when it came to actual magic. Putting on a fire fountain show with gunpowder didn't prove she was fake, after all.
But... it wouldn't be long before Ian stumbled onto her true nature, purely by accident.
On the road, whenever boredom struck, Ian would draw the magic sword and inspect it this way and that. Anorilsil, said to embody the power of sun and moon. Fancy words, but what exactly did it do? What mystery did it hold? Even Ian didn't know for sure. Some fairy queen had forged it with bizarre ingredients—who knew, maybe woman's whiskers or the sound of cat footsteps? Norse dwarves hammered out artifacts like that.
Vague as it was, Ian had succeeded in drawing out the sword's power the night before. It had sparkled with sunlight. Congrats! Your magic sword (sorta) evolved from portable lighter to flashlight-lighter! No major functional upgrade, but it thrilled him. A magical milestone, all the same.
By manifesting sunlight, Ian realized one key fact: Anorilsil's solar power wasn't metaphorical—it truly borrowed the real sun's might.
Back at the baron's tomb, Ian and Ingleen had struggled to awaken the sword. His pyrokinesis and her photokinesis failed, so they'd resigned to using it as a lighter. In hindsight, their whole approach was wrong. Could you define the sun's power as mere flame or light? No. It shared their properties but wasn't flame itself, or light itself—a unique mystery.
The sun was just... the sun.
The moment Ian grasped that, Anorilsil revealed a sliver of its power. A satisfying moment for him. Truth be told, Ian found magic easier than medieval folk—not thanks to his status window, but his mindset. Modern Koreans, products of rigorous public education, brimmed with trivia. Science kids studied poetry, humanities kids tackled calculus. Even art and music majors slogged through math, English, and Korean. Medievals saw the sun as a shiny dot; Ian envisioned cosmic bodies and solar systems. And his intuition nailed the sun's essence.
Like when he'd analyzed echoes and air to master sound control. Knowing the sun's nature upfront made conjuring it a breeze.
...But what about Talian Baron?
Musing on mysteries led to the first Talian Baron. Fairies crammed sun and moon power into it via weird methods—fine. But could the baron wield it properly? Or did he just swing it like "Whoa, fairy sword!" without a clue? If so, only the silk-weaving fairies had truly mastered Anorilsil.
Anyway, Ian had roughly figured out accessing the sword's power: see it for what it is. Mysteries were essence incarnate, after all.
"Ian. Got a sec?"
Lost in thought, Kira approached and called to him. She glanced around, then whispered, "It's important..."
"Important talk?"
Kira nodded vigorously. "I swear on my master's honor—hear me out."
Oof. Invoking her master's honor? This was serious. Ian listened intently.
Kira's tale was grave, yet kinda hilarious.
"The baron's not letting me go?"
"Yeah! Isn't he nuts? I'm a mage, not a slave! He won't let me leave!"
Indeed. Word of the two mages slaying the vampire reached Damon Baron. Ian incinerating it with the magic sword? Impressive, sure. But Kira's feat? The baron couldn't contain his awe.
Because... Kira was his mage! Wow, our Kira's amazing!
Kira had nearly choked. Damon was clueless about mage-noble dynamics. He wasn't even real nobility. Sure, Kira wasn't a real mage, but she'd dealt with plenty of nobles and knew their ways.
No noble oppressed a mage. Mages were all one degree of separation from each other—rare breed. Mess with one? Their master, master's friends, friends' contacts, and those lords' overlords would swarm for a beatdown.
And the empire's north bowed to mage influence, home to Dranheim Magic Academy. A sane noble wouldn't dream of detaining Kira.
But Damon Baron... was just a bandit boss. Bluntly put, he'd flip out, but facts were facts. Developing his land and vassal pacts didn't make him legit without a liege lord.
Damon saw Kira as his underling. Underlings served the boss—gangster logic. If she left? Kira, you betraying the crew...? Off with her head.
That was Kira's bind. Ian, a fellow (sorta) mage, got it completely. No need for oaths—Mages helped mages. Obvious. If roles reversed, he'd beg any passing mage for rescue.
"I'll sort it the second we hit a fork in the road."
"R-really?!"
Kira's eyes sparkled. How?! Hire mercenaries? Epic spell?
"Spread rumors far and wide: 'Fake mage Kira's held by rude bandits!'"
"N-no!"
Anything but that, you madman! Who broadcasts they're a con artist?! Kira was still young—didn't fancy execution for fraud.
But Ian didn't get her panic. Why not? Rumors would summon Kira's mage pals to free her. Common sense to him.
"Why? No friends or noble contacts?"
"...Nope!"
Even so. Debting a mage was no biggie—strangers would come. Was she planning arson and flight? Even for a prickly mage, that was insane. Reckless past reason—straight-up madness.
"Thing is..."
Kira racked her brain for words. Any excuse sounded lame, but she had to try. This was her shot to escape the baron who now saw her as a powerhouse mage.
Then—
"Ahem."
"Hrm."
Damon's goons sidled up, eavesdropping. Fishing for juicy info. Annoying watchdogs to the plotting duo.
A normal person might've panicked, but Ian was a mage. He switched to Maronius Language on the spot.
Wanna eavesdrop? Fine! Try parsing this!
"[So. Reason escape impossible?]"
Ian was a self-proclaimed Maronius master, having bantered solely in it with Eredis for nearly a year. Most mages were—miscommunications could be fatal, so fluency was crucial.
Ian waited silently for Kira's reply.
But...
"???"
No response, no matter how long. Why the silence? Ian glanced at the bandits. Super-spec bandits fluent in Maronius?! Seoul Uni grads turned outlaws from Korea's brutal job market?!
"..."
Fuck no.
"Hey. You... don't know Maronius?"
"N-no? I do?"
"[What do you know?]"
"..."
Ian stared at Kira, dumbfounded. This girl... ain't no mage?!