Setting Off to Find the Dark Crystal!
Ian’s party carved through the forest at a brisk pace and emerged after a single hour. Ahead of them now stretched a boundless reed field, the stalks rising well past their waists like a swaying emerald sea.
Fortunately, no one had to labor at clearing a path. Bartin Hammer walked at the front, swinging his intimidating greatsword in one hand as though it weighed nothing. Each sweep sliced the reeds cleanly in two. The gusts he created sheared stalks as far as fifteen meters ahead, sending them fluttering in every direction.
Ian was practically jogging to keep up, lungs burning and breath scraping the back of his throat, yet he could not look away from the astonishing feat.
Good lord… The wind alone from his sword swings is shredding those swaying reeds as if some colossal pair of shears had cut them!
Zenon, walking beside him, seemed amused by Ian’s stupefied face and spoke up.
“First time watching a swordsman swing his blade?”
Ian began to nod before the memory hit him like a splash of ice water. He had once told Zenon the lie about living in the mountains east of the capital, Veloa, and traveling all the way here. Anyone who had journeyed that far should have seen mercenaries wield cold steel against bone monsters until they were sick of it.
“Ah, it’s not that… I’ve just never seen anyone swing a sword that huge like it was a feather.”
“Fair enough. Even I get sore wrists from that monster. Only an ogre like Bartin can treat it as a personal weapon.”
Between ragged breaths, Ian finally asked the question that had lingered in his mind for days.
“Hey… huff… huff… There’s something I’ve been wondering. Why did you name the guild the Shield of Thorny Vines?”
“Nothing complicated. In battle I stand at the front and summon ‘thorny vine shields’ with my skill. They move freely and pierce straight through the enemy.”
“Whoa! So the guild name was taken from your own skill!”
“Pretty much. That’s how it turned out.”
Zenon noticed the sweat beading on Ian’s forehead and offered a faint, sympathetic smile.
“How much stamina do you have left right now?”
Stamina: 80 / 250
“It started at 250… but now it’s down to 80. Huff… Please, can’t we slow down even a little?”
“Perfectly average for an adult male. Here, drink this.”
Zenon pulled a glass bottle filled with yellow liquid from the small, luxurious leather pouch at his waist. Surprisingly, the bottle was far larger than the pouch’s opening. Ian stared back and forth between them in open wonder. It had to be one of the expansion-magic “magic bags” he had only heard about in stories.
“Lowest-grade stamina potion. I packed it for you. It’ll restore around 120 points and ease the fatigue in your body.”
At that moment Lucas, who had been striding ahead, deliberately slowed until he fell in beside them.
“Oho, already handing out potions! Ian, keep knocking those back while you walk all day and your total stamina stat could rise by as much as 50.”
Ian’s eyes flew wide.
“You can raise your stamina stat this way?”
“Sure. But only because yours is still so low. Past roughly a thousand points, the only thing that works is hellish physical training.”
Ian nodded in understanding and drained the bottle. The taste was surprisingly like tart lemon water with a pinch of salt. The instant it was empty, a miracle happened. The ragged burning in his throat vanished, and fresh strength flooded back into his trembling legs.
“Wow! It feels like I just woke up from a solid two-hour nap!”
“Haha, that’s the beauty of potions. And the lowest-grade ones have no risk of mana poisoning no matter how many you drink, so they’re perfect.”
Ian managed a refreshed smile, but the pleasure was short-lived. After he had emptied four more of the lowest-grade potions during their relentless march, his body felt fine yet his mind was frayed to tatters and his face had gone deathly pale.
The Shield of Thorny Vines guild members, who maintained a constant pace without shedding a single drop of sweat, now seemed less admirable than outright monstrous.
By the time the sun climbed to its zenith, the dazzling surface of Melin Lake glittered on the horizon like scattered jewels. At last they could stop, rest their exhausted bodies, and enjoy a well-earned lunch.
Bartin Hammer reached the lakeshore first. He glanced back and let out a pleased chuckle. Ian was bringing up the rear, staggering like a drunkard.
His laughter wasn’t merely because the boy looked half-dead. Throughout the half-day forced march from the north gate to Melin Lake, Ian had never once asked to rest. The sight of him doggedly following with superhuman endurance was so admirable that Bartin couldn’t help smiling.
Just like Zenon to spot a gem. His eye for talent really is second to none.
Bartin dropped onto a sunny patch of grass near the water’s edge. Truthfully, his fondness for Ian was amplified by personal memory. The twin-blade warrior Selin had simply given the boy a satisfied glance before returning to her own affairs. Every member of the Shield of Thorny Vines was a high-ranking adventurer; a civilian’s tenacity rarely impressed them.
But Bartin Hammer was different. The man now boasting a rock-solid giant frame had once been a sickly, weak boy with a poor appetite. Because he had been that boy, he had trained with several times the ferocity of others, throwing himself into practice until he spat blood. He knew better than anyone how horrific it felt to endure brutal training with a frail body. He had not been born with the natural gifts the other top adventurers possessed.
When Ian finally arrived, practically crawling, Bartin personally offered him a cool canteen.
“Hey, Ian! You did great!”
“Huff… huff… Thank you, Bartin.”
Ian accepted the metal flask, puzzled by the warmth in Bartin’s eyes. After drinking deeply and handing it back, Bartin clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him down to sit beside him. Ian followed as limply as a paper doll.
That wasn’t all. When Bartin saw the plain potato sandwich Ian produced, he clicked his tongue, then readily shared one of the thick beef pies he had brought.
“Chew it well, Ian. We’ve still got a long road ahead before supper.”
“Yes, Bartin. Thank you. I’ll enjoy it.”
Lucas had been watching the warm exchange with interest. He jumped in with a cackle.
“Bartin, you’ve fallen for another tenacious civilian!”
“Shut your mouth. What would a mage who lives off raw talent know? Do you have any idea how brutal it is for a weak civilian to keep up with this pace for half a day?”
“Oh please, you’re a complete ogre yourself yet you always pretend to understand normals!”
“How could a spell-slinger understand this big brother’s deep heart? Just guard your own lunchbox.”
Lucas flinched and glanced at his lunch. In that instant Selin, who had already finished her own meal, darted a hand out and snatched a thick grilled sausage from his box with blinding speed.
“Ah! Selin! You greedy pig!”
“Heh. Maybe don’t lose focus while you’re running your mouth?”
Selin popped the last sausage into her mouth and gave a cold, mischievous smirk. Ian could only chuckle as he watched. The truth was, her hand had moved so fast he hadn’t even seen the theft clearly.
Once again he felt a surge of awe at what it truly meant to be a high-ranking adventurer.
After the meal, Zenon announced a thirty-minute rest. Since Ian was the only one showing obvious exhaustion, the break was clearly a thoughtful gift meant for him alone. Ian leaned against the broad trunk of a willow tree and let his body sag, savoring the golden reprieve.
Yet despite his fatigue, he could not tear his eyes from the magnificent sight of Melin Lake. It was the first time in his life he had seen a body of water so vast. Sunlight shattered across the emerald surface in countless glittering fragments, breathtakingly beautiful. Every so often multicolored fish leaped from the water, lending the scene an almost unreal sense of mystery. It felt like a dream—like living jewels were leaping and vanishing inside an enormous jewelry box.
Ian was blinking slowly, sinking into that peace and on the verge of dozing off, when Bartin and Selin suddenly sprang up as if launched from springs. The moment Ian’s eyes flew open in alarm, the two blurred like mirages and vanished from sight.
The next instant they reappeared at the edge of the reed bed beside the lake, weapons already drawn. The air around them grew taut with tension. Bartin broke the silence. He brought his massive greatsword down with the speed of a thunderbolt.
Whooooooong—!
A heavy roar of wind erupted. The storm-like slash ripped a straight line through both the reeds and the earth.
“Yelp—! Grrrrrr!”
Where the Sword Qi had passed, bone wolves that had been hiding were gruesomely bisected and sent tumbling across the ground. Shattered bone fragments danced through the air like gruesome confetti.
The peaceful, jewel-like landscape had transformed in an instant into a killing field. Faced with such overwhelming power and the abrupt ambush, it was only natural that Ian’s face drained of all color.