Episode 81: Mage Larabel, the Chronomancer
Like any other chronomancer, Larabel had become one at the urging of fellow chronomancers. They called it "fate," and she naturally accepted it.
"You'll accomplish great things in the future. Won't you join me in creating a better one?"
"...Me?"
"Yes! You can become a splendid mage!"
Larabel had a mentor who had opened the door to her future. But one day, that mentor was [eliminated] by another chronomancer.
The reason was absurd. Her mentor had opposed the opinions of the other chronomancers.
"Why! Why did you kill my mentor?!"
"The future with him alive wasn't all that bright. It was necessary to alter the worldline."
"You kill people to change the worldline? Are you messing with me?"
Though she had become a chronomancer under the guidance of fate, Larabel felt no joy in it. They were people blinded by their obsession with destiny—hanging their hopes on futures that might never even come to pass.
Fed up with the selfish machinations of the chronomancers, Larabel withdrew from their council and set out on her own path. Naturally, the chronomancers tried to kill her to prevent any changes to the future.
But as a chronomancer herself, she evaded them easily.
"I need my own faction."
To counter the schemes of those vile chronomancers, she needed a base of support. And so, she began laying the groundwork to build her own power.
Taking over the Drbosi Barony was part of that plan.
"Mage Ian. It's such a pity you couldn't heed my warning. The night I sent the summons beast to you—that was our last branching point. The final one where we could have avoided this clash."
Ian was dumbfounded by Larabel's brazen words. So, when assassins crawled into his room, he was supposed to go, "Whoa! Someone's out to get me! I'm as good as dead!" and run away?
And what was this attitude that made it sound like his refusal to flee was the problem?
"Why's a bitch who sends assassins so damn chatty?"
From the moment he'd nearly been assassinated, Ian had zero intention of backing down. He'd resolved to crush the culprit no matter what, and he was one step away from doing just that!
Larabel sneered at him.
"I peered beyond the veil of the future. And there, I saw your death, Mage Ian."
"Bullshit."
Futures, branch points, chronomancy—whatever. Ian knew nothing about that stuff. But he did know Larabel wasn't some master chronomancer.
If she really was exceptional, she would've foreseen his assassination failing. Yet she hadn't even predicted whether he'd live or die.
And she called herself a chronomancer.
Even among pyromancers, a level 1 and a level 9 were worlds apart. By the same logic, even if Larabel was a chronomancer, if her skill (level) was low, her magic would be crap.
Ian's guess was spot on. In truth, Larabel hadn't diligently trained her chronomancy. After all, she'd stormed out of the chronomancers' council on her own two feet!
Still, she relied on her shallow foresight spells and fancied herself a true chronomancer.
"One question. When you sent that monkey into my room, did you see my corpse then too?"
"..."
"You must've. You saw me dying and sent the assassin. But shit, it failed. Total trash, right?"
"...Foresight isn't as simple a magic as you think..."
"Heard all the loser's excuses I need."
As Ian snarked back, Larabel's face twisted.
She had plenty to say. Futures were fluid and ever-changing; even successfully observing one didn't guarantee the present would lead there—that was the subtlety of chronomancy... blah blah blah.
But that was all just excuses. Yeah. Next loser.
Larabel's chronomancy was worthless. The real threat was her summoning.
"No matter what you say, your death is inevitable!"
As Larabel projected her will, the dire wolves leaped forward in unison.
"Rip that bastard apart!"
The summoner's powerful will transmitted to the summoned beasts. To fulfill their summoner's desire, the dire wolves charged at Ian as one.
This was akin to a mage facing a magical assault.
Ian had experience with this exact scenario. Yes—his underground clash with Inglean.
A mage's will could transform all things... but that will could be blocked by another mage's will!
Ian focused his mind, infused his voice with unyielding resolve, and shouted.
"Halt!"
⟨ Level 3 Summoning Mastery ⟩
"!!!"
The shout, laced with level 3 summoning mastery, rang out, and the dire wolves froze in terror, abandoning their charge.
Ian's will had overridden Larabel's.
Gritting her teeth, Larabel shouted again.
"What are you doing?! Don't be scared! He's just a loudmouth scarecrow!"
The dire wolves growled. Larabel's will gave them a spark of courage.
But then—
"You dare bare your fangs at one who shares friendship with the mountain's king?!"
Ian roared back fiercely, and the dire wolves lost their will to fight once more.
Larabel was stunned and baffled by Ian's ability. What kind of mental image did he project to pull this off?
Dire wolves were fierce predators. Regular wolves were tough enough, but these were bigger and meaner. They didn't flinch at ordinary killing intent, knowing strength in numbers meant no prey was unbeatable.
Yet here they were, cowed by Ian.
The mental image woven into Ian's will was simply overwhelming.
Larabel couldn't even guess what it was.
And why would she? The image Ian conjured...
Was his otherworldly friend, the drake Longtail.
Who was Longtail? Longtail, [the ultimate homeowner]. In the harsh post-apocalyptic world where survival was a grind, he was a successful man with his own house.
No matter how brave dire wolves were, they couldn't muster the guts to challenge a guy with a proper home. Ugh! That homeowner glow...
...In truth, it was just that drakes were way too high-tier monsters. But anyway.
Ian had projected the image of Longtail he knew, and the dire wolves, mistaking him for part of Longtail's "pack," were terrified. They figured attacking him would bring Longtail's vengeance.
"Attack!"
"Back off!"
"I said attack!"
"Only come at me if you wanna die!"
Larabel and Ian glared at each other, spewing nonstop verbal barrages. This was mage combat—two bigmouths yapping endlessly, leaving the poor dire wolves caught in the middle, unable to act.
Furious, Larabel played her next card.
"Damn it...! Louis! Jullatan! Come out and deal with him!"
Two puppets stepped forward. One a werewolf, the other a monkey.
"Eek! Eek!"
"I warned you then! You're gonna die!"
The monkey excitedly charged at Ian, nimbly ignoring the human woman in front and aiming to rip out his throat.
The monkey had a solid plan.
...Right up until Belenca's sword tip got in the way.
Seeing the sword-wielding monkey try to leap over her, Belenca mercilessly swung, shredding it.
"Kyak!"
Sliced from head to toe by the longsword, the monkey tumbled across the floor in a bloody mess.
Belenca flicked her sword casually and muttered,
"What the hell? That guy? Is he nuts?"
They must've seen her standing still and thought she was easy pickings. But they had no idea about Belenca.
Unlike the monkey, the werewolf approached cautiously, gauging distance. Having witnessed the monkey burst like a poorly stitched doll, it was the smart move.
"Impressive skill, miss!"
"Thanks! Chihuahua!"
The werewolf was far stronger than the monkey. He calmly dodged the longsword, waiting for an opening to take Belenca down.
Belenca had no desire to trade blows with the werewolf's brute strength, so she focused on harassing from range, chipping away at its stamina with sword tip feints.
It would take time for a victor to emerge.
For Ian, this was the perfect opening.
The chance to capture Larabel!
Nothing stood between him and her now.
Ian drew Anorilsil and aimed it at Larabel. Unleashing the sun's power here would let him chain into pyromancy with those flames.
The situation was overwhelmingly in his favor.
But—
"As expected. Reaching the final worldline is always fraught with hardship."
"...?"
Larabel hadn't lost her composure.
"Mage Ian. You're planning to overpower me with that magic sword's power, right?"
"Whoa. How'd you foresee that?"
"I already knew everything. That you wouldn't die to the assassination. That you'd lure me out. That the dire wolves wouldn't eat you. That Louis wouldn't kill you."
"..."
Every time that mouth opened, out came the lies.
Ian was floored by Larabel's bluffing. She'd known all the failures in advance? But prepared zero countermeasures?
Spouting "Hmm, I knew it'd fail" after everything bombed? Ian could do that too.
"So, got any countermeasures ready?"
Yes. Ian figured Larabel had botched another foresight and was bluffing again.
But this time, he was wrong.
Larabel had truly foreseen her own failures and hidden a trump card for it.
For the case where every possibility twisted, altering the future to the final timeline...!
A sure-kill move against Ian!
"Of course."
Larabel pulled something from her bosom. Ian recognized it well—a magic scroll...
"I didn't want to use this precious thing, but no choice."
"You motherf—"
Before Ian could react, Larabel tore the scroll, activating the magic stored within.
Flames swirled around her.
"According to my foresight, Ian—you burn to death."
It was clearly a scroll made by an ancient archmage, packed with immensely powerful magic.
The roaring inferno reared up like a serpent.
The tide had turned.
"..."
Overwhelmed by the sight, Ian was momentarily speechless.
"Mage Ian. Still doubt your death?"
Larabel mocked him.
"All I see is your demise."
The wave of flames surged toward Ian, captivating every gaze on the battlefield.
"Ian!"
Even Belenca and the werewolf paused their fight.
...Hot.
Gazing at the blazing wave, Ian recalled a memory from the past.
Training under the pyromancer Eredis.
"Listen to the voice of the flames, Ian!"
Air hot enough to cook his face. Flames white-hot enough to sear his eyes.
Ian feared the fire before him. Who, born of flesh, wouldn't fear flames?
But fire despised cowards. The mystery of pyromancy was an unceasing incinerator. Its sole identity was arson—born to burn all to ash, then return to the void upon completing universal combustion.
To commune with pyromancy's mystery demanded the resolve and madness to turn oneself to cinders.
...Damn it!
Fear not, Ian. You're a mage. Hadn't you braved fire pits under Eredis's tutelage?
Listen to the flames' voice. You will not burn.
To survive, he had to hear pyromancy's mystery somehow.
Ian steeled himself repeatedly.
But instinctual, primal fear was hard to shake.
...Ian had to admit it. He wasn't a true pyromancer.
A novice who'd barely entered pyromancy's threshold with the Status Window's help, not natural affinity.
"Ian!"
The encroaching heat brought excruciating pain. His nerves sizzled as if his body would explode.
Ian's clothes burst into flames.
Focus... your mind...!
Fail to connect with pyromancy's mystery, and he'd burn here. That damned chronomancer's prophecy would come true.
Ian clenched his teeth, ready to confront the oncoming blaze.
"Ian!!!"
Right then.
Something heavy yet gentle nudged Ian aside softly.
...Huh?
Ian had no idea what was happening. It was too bewildering.
And in the spot he stared at...
Was Kira, cloaked head to toe in flames.
Kira had shoved him away and faced the fiery wave herself.
Ian stared blankly at her.
Kira's entire body blazed like a torch.