A Favor from the Wind
Before the war between Ahental and Crombell, Messi spent his days refining the talents of Ahental's knights—and all the while, he turned over in his mind the question of how he himself might grow stronger.
Forging himself into a vessel that could fully contain Enzo Muete's power was already well in hand through his training with Grotein. Learning magic from Frox, however, was not something he could accomplish in a short span—magic was not a thing Heal Scan could simply unravel. As for putting the various mana circulation methods into practice in real combat, he was accumulating that experience through his spars with Ramang.
No matter how he turned it over, only one path remained.
"So you want to learn spirit arts, kyu?"
"Yeah. You said the Spirit Jade was the most important part. I should be able to get the rest of the materials through this young lord pretty quickly."
"Kyu-kyu-kyu! Finally, collection day from that wastrel, kyu!"
As a Ten-Thousand-Year Ant who had inherited the knowledge of her ancestors, Kkyu possessed a vast store of lore. Messi decided to learn spirit arts through her.
Before they began, Kkyu spoke with a hint of worry.
"Just because we perform the ritual doesn't mean a spirit will necessarily join you, kyu. Too much expectation is poison, kyu."
"I won't blame you if it doesn't work, so don't worry."
Kkyu first asked him to hold the Spirit Jade in his hand, then describe whatever sensation he felt.
"A coolness...? And a bit of cold, too."
"Two attributes, kyu. That's remarkable, kyu. Wind and ice are the elements familiar to you, kyu."
Is that really so impressive?
"Even my ancestors, who lived for ages, never saw more than four attributes, kyu. Three is genuinely rare, and two is by no means common, kyu."
A species that spent every day in ant tunnels—how many could they really have seen? Messi took that into account as he listened.
"Wind or ice—which do you want, kyu?"
"Wind. I think that'll be more useful."
"Ask around for a high place nearby where the wind blows well, kyu."
Finding a suitable location was not difficult. Behind Ahental rose a mountain range of mines, and the high ground there was well-swept by wind.
In a remote stretch of mountain wilderness, Messi laid out the necessary materials on the ground.
I thought it'd be like a fantasy novel—summoning through a magic circle... but this is more like...
"The griffin feather doesn't go there, kyu. Put the mana water on the opposite side, kyu."
It felt rather like laying out an ancestral memorial altar. Fish to the east, meat to the west; red on the east, white on the west—that sort of thing. As if preparing for a holiday feast, he arranged several dozen ingredients in a precise pattern across the ground.
"Will mana water work instead of a mana stone?"
"Spirits don't much care for hard things to begin with, kyu. They'll like this better, kyu. Ah, the Spirit Jade goes in the center of the opposite side, kyu."
If this were an ancestral altar, that was the place of honor where the memorial tablet would sit. Messi set the Spirit Jade there.
"...Do I bow now, or what?"
"Just wait quietly, kyu."
Knowing nothing about spirit arts, Messi had no choice but to surrender body and mind to Kkyu's direction.
They waited a long while. Then a fierce wind rose. In the same instant the offerings were swept up, tumbling and vanishing this way and that until the whole arrangement was chaos—and when it settled, the only thing still in its place was the Spirit Jade.
When he thought about it, even a slab of meat like viridian deer's haunch—heavier than the Spirit Jade—had been rolled away by the wind. That the far lighter jade had not moved at all was strange.
"It's done, kyu."
"What's done?"
"The ritual is finished, kyu. From now on, you can receive the aid of the wind spirits, kyu."
"...?"
He had honestly expected even a lesser spirit—a Sylph—to appear and chatter away at him, so he was a little disappointed. Was that it?
"Humans have the wrong idea about spirit arts, kyu."
"What misunderstanding?"
"Why would spirits bother revealing themselves—dangerously—just to form a contract with a human and take one-sided orders, kyu?"
He had never thought of it that way.
"What's more, spirits truly hate humans, kyu. That's why humans who can use spirit arts are so rare, kyu."
"Why do they hate them?"
"Humans only ever think of using nature, kyu."
That was fair enough. The people of this world had built their civilization through a war against flood and disaster. They had cut down trees and burned them, turned the earth inside out, and carved away mountains by every means they knew.
To the spirits' eyes, that was the destruction of nature itself. Spirits lived long, and their grudges ran just as deep—so the hatred was inherited, generation after generation.
Then why don't they hate me?
When he thought about it, this world's destruction of nature was enough to make a Korean yawn. By that logic they ought to hate him—despise him, even. That they seemed to like him instead was puzzling.
I have a guess, though. Maybe Korea's dimension and this one are separate... Since I crossed over, I'm a different being entirely. My record would be clean by default.
Seen that way, the spirits had every reason to take a liking to him. After looking at the descendants of woodcutters, wouldn't a blank-slate otherworlder with no record at all have seemed like a fairy?
"You gave them something they like, kyu. They ate what a human offered, so they'll help you as much as they received, kyu."
The difference between a contract and aid was something he would need to remember clearly. A contract bound the spirit to follow you no matter what; aid could be refused, depending on the circumstances.
In any case, Messi learned from Kkyu how to receive their "aid." He had to learn how to make a sound the spirits could hear, and how to send his intent along with that sound.
Blow a strong wind toward me.
He whistled—a sharp, clear note—and a biting wind swept across his face.
― !
It was a greeting, as if asking him to feel its presence.
Count Crombell's voice trembled.
"A-an other-race? Am I seeing things...?"
"You're not seeing things. If I've overstepped, I apologize. You simply looked to be in a dangerous situation."
The count, rubbing his eyes as if he might be staring at a phantom, foolishly got sweat and ash in them and teared up with a wince. The stinging pain, at least, was real—and Messi was still standing right in front of him. The count knew the man was genuine.
"What on earth are you doing here?"
"I think that explanation would be better given once we're out of here. My spirits are having a hard time holding back the flames."
"...You're telling me you command spirits?"
Crombell knew well how rare spirit users were, and he looked astonished.
Messi gave a light whistle. The wall of fire surrounding them split down the middle, and a path opened through.
With a kind smile, Messi helped Count Crombell to his feet. The man was built like a bear, but to Messi he was light as a feather.
This fellow... just what is he?
Realizing the other man was far stronger and better trained than he had expected, the count grew wary—then changed his mind.
If he were an assassin after my life, there'd be no reason to save me now.
What's more, he had heard nothing lately of an other-race man who commanded spirits. Still less one whose body was like a block of stone. That meant an outsider.
Ah, come to think of it...
I heard something appeared in Ahental—an other-race prince, or a saint, or some such...
Crombell stole a suspicious glance at the man supporting him. But the frail-sounding titles of "saint" and "prince" did not sit well with "spirits" and "muscle."
Messi led Crombell safely out of the burning forest and found a mountain stream. Having come this deep into the mountains, the count seemed to relax, as if the danger of pursuit had lessened.
Too weak even to hold himself up, the count felt both gratitude and curiosity toward the other-race who earnestly tended to him—giving him water, even washing his face.
"What's... your name? We may have met in circumstances like these, but I am a person of higher station than you might think. Tell me your name, and I shall repay you once I return."
"Repayment isn't important, so please don't feel obligated. I merely saved someone in danger along my way."
Messi carried himself with the serene detachment of a monk. But for Count Crombell—who had just escaped death, his body and spirit both worn thin—even an affection he hadn't possessed began to take root. In a situation where he could trust no one, how could he not be moved by words so full of goodwill?
"Ahem, ahem... I see. Then do you live around here?"
"If I lived here, I would have taken you to my home. I'm on my way to Ahental Territory."
"...Ahental?"
Count Crombell's gaze darkened.
"What for?"
"Rumor has it our prince is somewhere in that area."
"I've heard as well. An other-race prince, or a saint, or whatever it was..."
"That's a relief. I needn't worry about making a wasted trip, then."
This is troublesome... Doesn't this mean even a spirit user is going under Ahental's wing?
As Messi smiled in relief, Count Crombell's mind raced.
"Hrm. I wouldn't be so sure it's fortunate. Your prince may be in a dangerous situation."
"Pardon? What do you mean...?"
"House Ahental is currently at war with House Crombell. And House Crombell is a far more powerful and formidable force than House Ahental."
Would you look at this bastard?
Messi listened to the count and laughed inwardly.
"Oh no... Are you saying our prince might get caught up in the war and die?"
"Ahem, ahem. One could put it that way."
"This is grave. If you have any wisdom to share, would you grant it to me? I don't know the ways of humans, you see, so I have no idea what I ought to do."
Messi put on a look of wide-eyed, helpless innocence. Ereb would have broken out in goosebumps if he'd seen it—but fortunately, he was not present.
"Well, that would depend on your own actions, wouldn't it?"
"My actions?"
"If you display your abilities in service of House Crombell and earn merit, that merit could be used to save your prince's life."
"Ah! There's a way like that..."
Messi looked delighted to have found an answer—then his face fell.
"What's the matter?"
"But I... I don't even know where House Crombell is. I don't know anyone there, either."
"Hahahaha!"
"Why are you laughing?"
Count Crombell wore a smile of triumph as he clapped Messi on the shoulder.
"You are a very lucky other-race. I happen to be a person of House Crombell myself. A very high-ranking one, at that."
At those words, Messi looked greatly astonished—then ran a faintly skeptical eye up and down the count.
"But... is that really true? You said Crombell was a mighty house, so whatever happened to you, exactly...?"
He had just said Ahental was inferior to Crombell. He could hardly admit he had nearly died in their ambush. And if he mentioned a Sword Master on top of that, even this innocent other-race would run for the hills.
His face flushing deeply, the count changed the subject.
"Ahem! If you truly cannot believe me, then take me to where House Crombell's forces are stationed. You'll know soon enough."
"Understood. First, let's get you recovered. I'll use Heal on you."
"Heal? You can use that as well?"
"Heal is the specialty of our Forest Tribe. The Heal of the royal family, in particular, is tremendous. I can't match our prince, but I'm fairly capable myself."
"Is that so? Then... I'll take you up on that."
For the first time in a long while, Messi used ordinary Heal magic rather than Holy Fire.
Ayres's insides were boiling.
Things had been fine enough while he led the First Army toward Yorente. The problem had begun with the person his father had assigned to him.
"Haha, Lord Ayres. May Lady Gaia's grace be with you this day as well. Did you sleep well?"
A former holy knight once known by the legendary title of Silver Paladin—and currently a priest. Benedict had come along as military chaplain.
"...My dreams were rather troubled."
"Oh dear! You must be greatly burdened, having to lead this war to victory."
"No. That's not it. There's just someone who keeps getting on my nerves."
"A heart that hates another eats away at itself as well. I shall pray for you, Lord Ayres, so please let go of your anger toward this person—whoever they may be."
This bastard... is he doing this on purpose?
Ayres wondered whether he could use his command authority to have the man executed then and there. But he couldn't touch him. He knew exactly why his father had attached this man to him.
I'm still under suspicion. Father may even have already made up his mind.
They were still looking for the link between himself and the Red Cross. That was why he had kept as quiet as possible within the family until the war broke out. Once war came, he would be one of the commanders. His authority would grow, his movements would be freer—and he had intended to act in earnest from that point. Then this obstacle had appeared.
On top of that, his plans for the war itself had gone awry.
My plan was to wipe out the Crombell bastards in one stroke with the Red Scrolls and pile up military merit. And now it's stalled because of this damned priest...
If he used a Red Scroll, the priest in front of him would notice immediately. He had already been suspected once. If another Red Scroll user appeared in his vicinity, his father would not look the other way. It would be a move against himself—that much was certain.
And so, thanks to all this, it was already the third day since Crombell's surprise attack had started the war. Both armies were fighting quite fiercely.
The Crombell knights, true to their reputation, were shaking the battlefield with overwhelming combat power and training. The Ahental cavalry under Ayres, a force trained in professional horsemanship, crushed the enemy with superior warhorses and hit-and-run tactics. Crombell's soldiers ran wild as if the battlefield were home to them, but Ahental's soldiers, greater in number, were overcoming the gap in fighting strength through coordination between squads.
At this rate, they might remain locked here until both sides battered each other to ruin.
Then again, the other fronts are probably the same, or worse. That Ereb... he's probably keeled over in shock at how hard command actually is.
"By the way, Lord Ayres—have you heard the news of Lord Ereb?"
Why was this man asking that all of a sudden?
A chill ran through him. Ayres glared at Benedict and asked back. Come to think of it, there was no way this man had come to greet him first thing in the morning for no reason...
"Has something happened?"
"I only just heard it myself through Church channels—he's won a great victory. He turned Pasio Territory into a wasteland with a surprise attack and slaughtered the Crombell knights and soldiers who'd been hiding there. And while Count Crombell was off raiding Denver Castle, he took Melta Castle from behind. Your younger brother is truly remarkable, is he not?"
Th-this bastard, again...!!