The Disciple's Mage Companion Is Excessively Kind
Transplanting an Aura Heart into another person.
It was an act so utterly absurd that it defied all reason.
An Aura Heart was the crystallization of a warrior’s entire life—everything they had poured into themselves across a lifetime. To call it their very existence would not have been an overstatement. In other words, giving it away meant handing over the life one had lived. Even the greediest mercenaries, eyes gleaming at the sight of gold, would never commit such madness no matter how staggering the sum offered. What good was any fortune if one lacked the strength to protect it? Not even a parent would bestow upon their child an Aura Heart that held a lifetime of hard-won power. Of course, in the case of a withered old man’s Aura Heart, few children would want that murky lump anyway—it would only become poison.
In short, transplanting an Aura Heart was not something that could be done by will alone. The conditions were exacting, which meant fortune had to smile as well. And even if everything somehow fell into place, there was no guarantee the recipient could properly wield that aura. People spent their whole lives learning to handle their own. Unless one had been an Aura Master in a previous life and reincarnated with those memories intact, perfectly controlling another’s Aura Heart was unimaginable. The best one could hope for was that, in a moment of crisis, the sheer will to survive might let them grasp an Aura Heart that should have been beyond them. Raising the odds of survival—that was the absolute limit of what could reasonably be expected.
It was the kind of act that could only spring from a parent’s desperate wish to feed their child even one more spoonful of rice, from the fervent prayers offered to the gods that no tragedy would befall their child, from the frantic resolve of a parent willing to tear out their own heart if only their child might live.
To transplant his Aura Heart into his disciple was surely such a sacred act—one that could never be casually judged or measured. That was as far as the Grand Mage William could even begin to guess. Even as a Grand Mage, he could not presume to fathom that noble spirit.
Steel Jade… He was famous for a brief stretch precisely because he was so unlike a mercenary, then vanished in an instant.
William had married late, so Ely was still young, but he had occupied the seat of Grand Mage for a long time. Holding a high position in any field for so long inevitably meant information flowed in through countless channels. Of course, some men in such seats lived as if the world held no interest for them and could simply claim ignorance, but William was not that type. That was why he had heard a fair number of rumors about Jade in his prime.
Still, because Jade had retired so quickly, the moniker “Steel Jade” had flared brightly only for that short era before fading. It was not a name everyone knew. Consequently, even Sera—who had regressed so many times and knew virtually every scrap of information—could be forgiven for knowing little about Steel Jade.
That was why Sera, hearing only the name, had assumed Jade must have been some overwhelming powerhouse to earn such a title. An easy mistake to make. An A-rank mercenary was certainly a formidable fighter, yet that alone did not earn the epithet “Steel.” And knowing Jade’s usual temperament, he would never have swaggered about flaunting his strength enough to attract so grandiose a name.
The real reason was surprisingly simple.
A mercenary who kept to his principles. A man who lived by an iron code. One who would gladly clash with knights or nobles for the sake of that code. Because he never bent and never broke, they called him “Steel.”
These days only those who had lived through that era and possessed sharp memories still recalled the truth. William was one of them.
“It’s finished. You may put your clothes back on.”
Once dressed, Jade asked William,
“…Teacher Las, so how is my condition?”
William had introduced himself under a convenient alias drawn from his family name, Laswell. He had told Jade to speak freely, yet because a high-ranking mage ranked equal to nobility, Jade insisted on addressing him as “Teacher” and using polite speech. Being called that by his lord’s master made William’s stomach clench tighter and tighter, but true to the moniker Steel, Jade was a man who never yielded. In the end it was William who had to give way.
“I can’t call it good, but we’ve avoided the worst.”
“That’s a relief.”
Jade’s face remained utterly composed. Even if he had acted out of pure goodwill, the suffering that followed should have left some bitterness—yet not a trace showed. He looked as if he felt not the slightest regret, calm and unshaken.
Suppose, for example, one saw a beggar father and daughter, felt pity, and gave them the money one had. Then supper that night came up short. Would anyone truly feel no regret? Would no one think, Why doesn’t that father work for his daughter instead of begging?
And what Jade had lost was not mere coin. It was the Aura Heart that held a lifetime of a warrior’s effort. To lose that and still feel no regret?
To a Grand Mage, an A-rank mercenary was honestly nothing so impressive. Grand Mages were Transcendents; from that height, mercenaries strutting about as A-ranks because they had reached the level of experts looked little better than neighborhood thugs. Yet Jade, at least, could never be seen that way.
In Grand Mage William’s eyes, Jade appeared almost a saint.
“You mentioned the Elf’s Breathing Method, yes? You must keep at it constantly.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Did you acquire such an extraordinary technique during your mercenary days?”
“No. Sera discovered it by chance, and thanks to her I had the opportunity to learn it as well.”
William easily recognized it as Sera’s handiwork. His lord was so transcendently strange that nothing she did would surprise him. When a strange person kept accomplishing strange things, there was nothing strange about it; William simply accepted it with a quiet Ah, I see, I see.
Just what kind of life has she lived…? Could she even be a regressor?
It was a fantasy no Grand Mage should entertain, yet his lord was so thoroughly bizarre that William had reached the point of considering even that possibility quite plausible.
“How is Sera’s daily life?”
“The Candidate’s life, you mean?”
“She’s not a picky child, so I don’t worry about her eating, but…”
“…….”
No, she is extremely picky—I’m the cook and I’m suffering terribly. Even when I prepare dishes with the exact ingredients and recipes she wants, she shakes her head every time and sets down her spoon. She regulates her metabolism and lives on starvation.
William desperately wanted to protest, but he knew that one careless word could turn him into roast meat under Sera’s Aura Blade. He crushed the impulse and endured. He wanted to live a long, happy life with his daughter.
“Is she well?”
“Yes, she is doing well. There are times she gazes quietly toward the north alone. I believe she was thinking of her master.”
“…Is that so?”
Partly true, but not the whole truth. Not occasionally—frequently. Staring blankly northward whenever she had a free moment was practically her daily routine. Yet speaking that truth would surely draw no good reaction from his lord, so he offered only a partial fact.
“Here is a letter from the Candidate.”
He did not bother explaining how many sheets of paper had been sacrificed for that letter, or how many trees had given their lives in vain. As he had already noted, the future with his daughter was far too precious to William.
“Our girl has caused you a great deal of trouble, Teacher. I am ashamed.”
“Not at all. If I cannot do even this much for the Candidate, what kind of man would I be?”
Compared to being treated as a cook, this was far better, so William was sincerely pleased. Without even realizing it, the Grand Mage William was being thoroughly domesticated by Sera.
“And these are potions. You must take them steadily.”
William had brewed them, yet from the recipes to every preparation the potions required, Sera had handled it all. It was deeply strange that his sword-wielding lord possessed such profound knowledge of potion-making, but as he had already decided, strange things were only natural for her. Thus William avoided unnecessary questions that might anger his lord and simply let it pass.
“To go so far for me… I have nothing I can offer in return.”
“Not at all. You have already given me a great deal. If anything, the debt of gratitude I owe you, Master, is piled as high as a mountain.”
“……?”
Jade wore a look of incomprehension, yet William—knowing that arguing the point would overwhelmingly likely earn him a miserable fate at his lord’s hands—could only smile.
Every word he spoke was sincere. Without Jade, William would certainly have died from that overwhelming energy, and then his daughter would have succumbed to that vicious disease without ever being cured. That salvation had been possible only because of Sera, and Sera had been able to use Anti-Aura only because the Aura Heart—filled with a master’s desperate wish for his disciple’s safe return—resided within her.
Thus Grand Mage William now had two benefactors whose grace he could never fully repay even if he devoted his entire life. One was, of course, Sera. The other was Sera’s master, Jade.
Without ever knowing it, Jade had become a Grand Mage’s benefactor—yet for now he had no way of learning that truth.