The Stench of Rot
Veron, an elder of Benheim and a black mage, judged that this hunting festival was the perfect opportunity.
I must not fail, no matter what.
To achieve the feats of the age of gods with a human body, he needed materials worthy of the endeavor.
The old, diseased mana cores of aging mages like himself were utterly useless.
What he needed was a fresh, newly blooming mana core with infinite potential for growth.
"Two successors of Benheim, and even the daughter of Lucen."
Although a mishap had occurred where Markel, one of their key operatives, had his identity exposed and was forced to flee, this hunting festival—with even the Lucen children participating—was an opportunity they absolutely could not afford to miss.
That was why they had risked everything to interfere with the festival.
The plan had been proceeding smoothly.
They had erected a barrier to isolate the forest from the outside world and deployed subordinates to deceive the sentries. Tracking the locations of the heirs was simple enough, as they had concealed tracking magic within the qualification plaques used to record the festival scores.
Veron and his fellow black mages had easily slipped into the forest and successfully synthesized a demonic beast using black magic.
Normally, while the rampaging beast kept the arriving Benheim forces occupied, Veron would have made a timely entrance, pretending to rescue the children to win their trust.
Wearing the mask of a dependable elder, he had intended to lead them straight into his trap. And yet...
"Did you children defeat this beast?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"..."
Some random upstart had slain the beast, throwing a wrench into his plans.
Raygan.
The impurity Stern had brought in.
A lowborn wretch who had been fed the family's mana cultivation method despite being an outsider.
And the boy wasn't just skilled.
"How long have you known?"
"From the moment you first showed your face. The stench of rot was too strong to ignore."
Veron thought he had concealed it perfectly, but the boy had sniffed out the scent of black magic behind his mask.
At this point, even Veron had to admit it.
Stern brought back quite a useful pawn.
Because of this boy, Raygan, the beast he had prepared was dead, and his own identity had been compromised. In the end, Veron had no choice but to show his true colors earlier than planned.
But it was fine. The barrier was still holding, and the black mages sent to support him were arriving one by one.
"Elder, everyone has assembled," a black mage approached and reported.
Veron nodded.
"Good. Capture all of them."
"But... what should we do with that gray-haired brat?"
"Kill him."
The black mage frowned at Veron's command.
"...But he has mastered Benheim's mana cultivation method. He would make excellent material."
"I know. Stern taught it to him on a whim."
Since he didn't carry the direct bloodline, his value as a vessel would be somewhat diminished, but he was still far better than any branch family members who hadn't even learned the cultivation method. There was no harm in taking him.
Yet, Veron shook his head.
"The boy is a rebel by nature. Keeping him alive will only bring us trouble. It is far better to cut him down here and nip any future threat in the bud."
"Understood."
Veron was deeply unsettled by the strange aura hidden beneath Raygan's sly attitude. It was not the kind of composure a mere 3rd-circle brat should possess.
His intuition told him that it was safest to eliminate the boy right now.
Step.
Perhaps he had sensed that murderous intent.
Raygan, who had been standing still, dropped his broken sword and took a step forward.
"Are you going to surrender?"
How pathetic.
In the end, a brat was just a brat.
Just as the corners of Veron's mouth began to curl upward—
"Not a chance."
Raygan's next move was entirely outside Veron's expectations.
Pale blue threads spun out from his raised fingertips. Lines became planes, and planes formed a shape. Knots of mana materialized at key points, locking the structure in place.
"What in the..."
Veron had held his position as an elder of Benheim for twenty years. Because of that, he recognized the foundation of the magic Raygan was casting in an instant.
"Sword Creation Magic!"
The unique spell of the prestigious Lucen family, Sword Creation Magic.
Though the sword Raygan conjured was not as sharp and sleek as those forged by Lucen mages. It was crude and rough.
Rather than a finely honed masterpiece, it resembled a club carved from a beast's bone.
Yet... he successfully materialized it.
Even mimicking it so crudely was a miracle—an utter absurdity.
It was common knowledge that a prestigious family's unique magic could not be replicated without their specific mana cultivation method to support it.
Since the flow of mana was entirely different from standard magic, attempting it without the proper cultivation method usually resulted in becoming a crippled wreck.
Yet Raygan, who had clearly learned the Benheim cultivation method, had somehow manifested Lucen's Sword Creation Magic, however imperfectly.
"...Ha."
Veron let out a hollow laugh.
He turned his head and called for his subordinate.
"...Ruben."
"Yes, Elder."
"I retract my previous order. That boy must be captured without a single scratch. No matter what, you must take him alive."
Elder Veron had a sudden realization.
The most valuable target here was neither the heirs of Benheim nor the daughter of Lucen.
It was him.
Sshring.
The sensation of swinging my newly forged sword was bizarre.
It was light. At the same time, it was hot.
It lacked the heavy, cold feel characteristic of metal.
It couldn't be helped. The pale blue haze of light I held in my hand was less of a sword and more of a sharply honed mass of mana.
"Well, not bad for a rush job."
Not a bad result for a first try. Behind me, Petra's eyes were so wide they looked ready to pop out of her head.
"No... way. H-how did you do that on your first try...?"
Instead of replying, I drew up the core from the section of my mana core that governed aura, pushing past the barrier. Two opposing forces mingled within the mana circuits extending to my fingertips.
Yet, rather than clashing, the two energies achieved a delicate balance. Atop the pale blue sword, a deep blue aura flared to life.
"Seems to take aura well, too."
This would be far more useful than an ordinary sword.
As expected of a prestigious family's signature spell, its performance was exceptionally good.
"...Ha, hahahaha!"
Meanwhile, Elder Veron burst into wild laughter as he stared at the magic sword I had created.
"Stern truly picked up a hidden gem!"
Beaming with delight, Veron raised his hand and signaled. The surrounding black mages began to close in on us.
I calmly assessed our situation. The enemy numbered twelve. All of them were mages of the 3rd to 4th circle. To make matters worse, Elder Veron was a powerhouse of the 6th circle.
And what about our side?
Just four 3rd-circle mages. And that was including Petra, who was trembling as if she might collapse at any moment, and a terrified Arno.
The odds were not in our favor.
"Lunia, I'll buy some time. Why don't you run?"
"Are you seriously asking me that?"
Lunia carefully picked herself up and pressed close to my side. Runic characters began to drift from her fingertips.
"I told you I was going to kick their asses."
"Right. You were always like that."
The enemies were black mages, and the one by my side was Lunia.
We were overwhelmingly outnumbered and outmatched.
A chuckle escaped my lips.
"Reminds me of the old days."
It was a painfully familiar setup.
The battle against the Archduke of Demonic Magic's forces had been quite similar to this.
I looked back at Arno and Petra, who were still frozen in place, and asked,
"You two, are you just going to stand there and watch?"
"W-what...?"
"If you don't want to die, do something. Cast a spell, throw a rock, or at least beg for your lives in tears."
"Ugh..."
My provocation snapped Arno back to his senses. Petra bit her lip and began to gather mana with trembling hands.
They were heirs of prestigious magic families, after all; they weren't completely useless.
"Seize them!"
Veron barked. At his signal, the black mages raised their hands. A barrage of dark red mana bolts and curses rained down upon us.
Thud! Thud!
While Lunia deflected the incoming attacks with her runic barriers, I lunged forward, swinging my newly forged sword. The blue blade sliced through the air, cleaving the magic apart.
"What?!"
The black mages faltered in unison.
They were utterly dumbfounded to see their spells so easily sliced in half.
Every single movement of theirs awakened the instincts of my past life.
I exhaled and lowered my stance.
In the distance, I spotted a black mage attempting to chant a spell.
The distance was too great. Running over to slash him would be too late.
Without hesitation, I threw the sword in my hand like a javelin.
Swish!
"Aaagh!"
A blue flash of light pierced the black mage's shoulder. His chant cut off with a scream.
"H-hey! If you use it like that, my father will beat you to death!"
Petra shrieked in horror. She seemed utterly appalled to see her family's signature magic being used as a throwing weapon.
"Well, I'm not a Lucen."
Why worry about saving face when there was a perfectly efficient way to survive a life-or-death battle?
Ignoring her, I materialized another sword and hurled it.
"Gah!"
Thud! The thrown blade buried itself deep into the chest of another black mage.
"Damn it! Deploy defensive magic!"
Two of their number had already fallen. It was the black mages who were now intimidated. They scrambled to erect defensive barriers, which noticeably reduced the offensive spells flying our way.
From that moment, the battle line stabilized.
While Lunia and I held the front line, intercepting the black mages' attacks, Petra and Arno fired off harassing spells from behind.
Surprisingly, despite the numerical disadvantage, we were holding our ground.
They can't kill us.
The reason was simple.
Their goal was to capture us alive without causing serious injury. While the gap between the 3rd and 4th circles was not small, the story changed entirely when the opponent had to pull their punches.
If the battle dragged on, it was the black mages who would be cornered.
Veron, who had been watching with his hands behind his back, began to look grim.
"What are you doing?! How can you not even handle a few brats?!"
"B-but... their resistance is fierce! Two of us are already dead!"
"And you fear them for that?!"
Veron stepped forward in a rage. It seemed he intended to intervene personally.
This is bad.
Elder Veron was a 6th-circle mage.
Even if he was past his prime and in an aging body, the 6th circle was the domain of high mages. Once he began unleashing his spells in earnest, our fragile balance would shatter in an instant.
"Lunia, hold the line here for a moment."
"Huh? W-what are you going to do?"
"I need to deal with that old man."
"What? Hey! Raygan!"
Lunia shrieked in panic, but I let her voice go in one ear and out the other as I dashed forward.
Veron, who was just raising his hand to chant a spell, looked startled when I suddenly burst through the front line.
"You... arrogant brat! You dare look down on me!"
Veron waved his hand, sending several dark orbs flying toward me. His casting speed was astonishing. By the time I perceived them, they were already closing in on various parts of my body.
It was too late to dodge. If I tried to parry them, I would likely get caught by the binding magic waiting beneath my feet.
Instead, I lunged even deeper into the spell's range.
"Tsk!"
Veron's face twisted in panic. He clearly hadn't expected me to leap directly into the line of fire.
If he unleashed the spell at full power, his precious vessel would be ruined. Sure enough, Veron instinctively dialed back the spell's output...
Hook, line, and sinker.
He tried to act like a seasoned veteran, but in the end, he was just a researcher.
He didn't understand what a split-second hesitation meant on a battlefield.
I didn't miss the opening and slashed upward.
Slash!
"Aaagh!"
Veron shrieked, clutching his severed wrist. I flicked the blood off my blade and smirked.
"For an elder, you seem rather lacking in real combat experience. It seems you've only grown older, not wiser."
"Y-you... bastard...!"
My mockery pushed Veron over the edge. A sinister, turbulent mass of mana gathered in his remaining hand, so intense that even the surrounding black mages looked alarmed.
"Elder...! Our mission is to capture him alive!"
"Silence! I will kill him! I will make sure that bastard dies screaming in agony!"
Rumble!
He had completely lost his mind. The mission no longer mattered to him. He was driven solely by a murderous urge to grind the arrogant brat before him into dust.
...This is dangerous.
A chilling sensation washed over me, one I hadn't felt in a long time.
Cold sweat broke out on my neck.
The sheer pressure felt as if space itself were warping. This was black magic backed by the full power of the 6th circle.
A direct hit meant instant death. Even a glancing blow would tear off a limb.
If I dodged, Lunia behind me would be caught in the blast.
Then I'll break through it.
He was agitated. The spell's destructive power might have increased, but its structure was sloppy. If I could pierce its core, I had a fighting chance.
It was something I had done dozens of times during my mercenary days. There was nothing new about it.
Hummm!
I pushed my mana core to its absolute limit. Aura erupted from the blue blade like an explosion.
"Die!"
Veron unleashed his magic. A dark wave surged forward.
Biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, I raised my sword.
I focused all my senses, preparing to pierce the core of the spell.
At that exact moment—
Crash!
A greatsword radiating crimson light plunged down from the heavens. The moment Veron's full-power black magic collided with the greatsword, it collapsed entirely.
"W-what..."
When magic clashed with magic, the spell of the higher-tier caster would overwhelm the other ten times out of ten. Therefore, this sword was the magic of someone whose realm far surpassed Veron's.
I turned my head. Petra was too busy running away from the black mages trying to grab her to have cast this.
Which meant...
Rumble!
Suddenly, the sun vanished.
No, it only felt that way for a fleeting second.
In reality, a countless number of swords were raining down, blotting out the sun.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The crimson rain brought with it an equally crimson spray of blood.
It was far from a simple shower of blades.
Rather, it felt as if massive iron pillars launched from siege engines, or hail the size of grown men, were crashing down.
"Aaagh!"
The ground shook as if struck by an earthquake. The black mages caught in the crimson rain were crushed and burst instantly.
"...Ha."
Watching the gruesome deaths, I clicked my tongue.
An overwhelming lethality and destructive power of this scale could only belong to the 7th circle or higher.
And there was only one person at this hunting festival who could wield 7th-circle Sword Creation Magic.
"...Kaiden Lucen."
Looking up, I saw a long-haired man standing with his hands behind his back atop a massive sword floating in the sky.
"The head of the Lucen family? He's a half-baked mage. Of all the 7th-circle mages I've met, he was the most pathetic—both in skill and character."
I clearly remembered Lunia disparaging Kaiden in my past life, calling him a half-baked mage.
But seeing him now, I could say with absolute certainty:
How on earth is that half-baked?
Flying on a sword while raining down twenty greatswords as if they were his own limbs, the red-haired mage...
...was more than worthy of being called a great archmage and the head of a prestigious magic family.
Whoosh!
With a single gesture from Kaiden, everything in his path was shredded. Trees, bushes, and the necks of the black mages were no exception.
The twelve black mages scattered in a panic, but the greatswords were faster. They pulverized and cleaved through everything in their way.
Just as Brock had said, Lucen's Sword Creation Magic boasted unmatched lethality among all spells, and I had now witnessed its terrifying reputation firsthand.
Whoosh.
Kaiden Lucen, descending on his sword, didn't spare a single glance for the corpses of the black mages. He only looked down at his daughter, Petra, with a cold gaze.
"You are a pathetic sight, Petra."
"Ah..."
His voice was far too cold for a father who had just saved his daughter's life.
"I told you to uphold the pride of Lucen. Yet you let yourself be toyed with by a single beast and these lowlifes, dragging our family's name through the mud. How do you expect me to show my face?"
"I-I'm sorry..."
I frowned.
No matter how one looked at it, those were not words to say to a daughter who had nearly lost her life.
"I will hold you strictly accountable for this once we return to the estate."
Kaiden clicked his tongue and turned his head.
Soon, his gaze landed on me.
"The lowborn..."
More precisely, it locked onto the blue magic sword in my hand.
"...That thing in your hand... what on earth is it?"
For the first time, the eyes of the consistently arrogant and expressionless Kaiden widened in sheer shock.